There was about that figure the scent of the far East,，
I rang in all haste. The abbe now came in, and fortunately we succeeded in bringing my uncle back to life.
But when he opened his eyes, his mind seemed to be struggling against the impressions of a fearful dream.
"Has he gone? Has the vile phantom gone?" he repeated several times. "Ho, there, Saint-Jean! My pistols! Now, my men! Throw the fellow out of the window!"
"What has happened?" I said the Edmee, in a low tone. "Who has been here in my absence?"
"If I told you," answered Edmee, "you would hardly believe it. You would think my father and I were mad. But I will tell you everything presently; let us attend to him."
With her soft words and loving attentions she succeeded in calming the old man. We carried him to his room, and he fell into a quiet sleep. When Edmee had gently withdrawn her hand from his and lowered the wadded curtain over his head, she joined the abbe and myself, and told us that a quarter of an hour before we returned a mendicant friar had entered the drawing-room, where, as usual, she was embroidering near her father, who had fallen asleep. Feeling no surprise at an incident which frequently happened, she had risen to get her purse from the mantel-piece, at the same time addressing a few words to the monk. But just as she was turning round to offer him an alms the chevalier had awakened with a start, and eyeing the monk from head to foot, had cried in a tone half of anger and half of fear:
"What the devil are you doing here in that garb?"
Thereupon Edmee had looked at the monk's face and had recognised . . .
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