My father looked doubtful.

"Are you often taken in this way?" he asked, with unusual gentleness.

"_Mais oui_, Monsieur," admitted the Frenchman, reluctantly. "He does
often arrive to me. Not--not that he is dangerous. Ah, bah! _Pas
du tout_!"

"Humph!" ejaculated my father, more doubtfully than before. "Let me feel
your pulse."

The Chevalier bowed and submitted, watching the countenance of the
operator all the time with an anxiety that was not lost upon me.

"Do you sleep well?" asked my father, holding the fragile little wrist
between his finger and thumb.

"Passably, Monsieur."

"Dream much?"

"Ye--es, I dream."

"Are you subject to giddiness?"

The Chevalier shrugged his shoulders and looked uneasy.

"_C'est vrai_" he acknowledged, more unwillingly than ever, "_J'ai des
vertiges_."