connected with her patient. Her thoughts and acts, all her love and
solicitude, referred solely to the invalid in her care.

The departure of Frau Lerch was a relief to her mind, and it seemed an
enigma that Barbara, whose beauty increased her interest, and whom the
physician had extolled as a famous singer, could have given her
confidence, in her days of health, to this woman.

Sister Hyacinthe's appearance beside her couch had at first perplexed
Barbara, because she had not asked for her; but the mere circumstance
that her lover had sent her rendered it easy to treat the nun kindly,
and the tireless, experienced, and invariably cheerful nurse soon became
indispensable.

On the whole, both the leech and Sister Hyacinthe could call Barbara a
docile patient, and she often subjected herself to a restraint irksome to
her vivacious temperament, because she felt how much gratitude she owed
to both.

Not until the fever reached its height did her turbulent nature assert
its full power, and the experienced disciple of the art of healing had
seen few invalids rave more wildly.

The delusions that tortured her were by no means varied, for all revolved
about the person of her imperial lover and her art. But under the most
careful nursing her strong constitution resisted even the most violent
attacks of the fever, and when June was drawing toward an end all danger
seemed over.

Dr. Mathys had already permitted her to sit out of doors, and informed