He staggered as he entered the door of the
tent, and Parpon, seeing, ran forward and caught him in his arms. The
little man laid him down, felt his pulse, his heart, saw a little black
stain on his lips, and cried out in a great fear:
"My God! The black fever! Ah, my Napoleon!"
Valmond lay in a burning stupor; and word went abroad that he might die;
but Parpon insisted that he would be well presently, and at first would
let no one but the Little Chemist and the Cure come in or near the tent.
ETEXT EDITOR'S BOOKMARKS:
Her sight was bounded by the little field where she strayed
I was never good at catechism
The blind tyranny of the just
Visions of the artistic temperament--delight and curse
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