She remembered the doctor's warning that the real battle would begin when the patient recovered consciousness. ’ ‘Eh bien, what then?’ Emile sidled closer. She sat on the edge of the bed —the wardress was too busy with the flood of arrivals that day to discover that she had it down—and her skin was shivering from the contact of these garments. It was as if she had grown right past her father into something older and of infinitely wider outlook, as if he had always been unsuspectedly a flattened figure, and now she had discovered him from the other side. She doubted how she stood toward him and what the restrained gleam of his face might signify. I am afraid because I love you, so that the mere thought of failure hurts. At the door through which she had entered the room stood the so-called Monsieur Valade. “It is an annoyance, my friend,” she said, “not a tragedy.
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