She waited for half an hour, during which the sleeping man slept on
without movement, and the voices of the two men in the _salle 'a
manger_ rose and fell in conversation. Presently there was silence,
broken only by an occasional remark. "They have lit their cigars,"
Fanny murmured; "they will take their coffee, and in a few minutes they
will be here."
When they came in a few minutes later, they had their cigars, and Lord
Harry's face was slightly flushed, perhaps with the wine he had taken
at breakfast--perhaps with the glass of brandy after his coffee.
The doctor threw himself into a chair and crossed his legs, looking
thoughtfully at his patient. Lord Harry stood over him.
"Every day," he said, "the man gets better."
"He has got better every day, so far," said the doctor.
"Every day his face gets fatter, and he grows less like me."
"It is true," said the doctor.
"Then--what the devil are we to do?"
"Wait a little longer," said the doctor.
The woman in her hiding-place hardly dared to breathe.
"What?" asked Lord Harry. "You mean that the man, after all--"
"Wait a little longer," the doctor repeated quietly.
"Tell me"--Lord Harry bent over the sick man eagerly--"you think----"
"Look here," the doctor said.
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