He sent Henri away and sat down beside the divan to watch with a feeling of weariness that was not bodily.
Henri was pouring out coffee when she came back, and Saint Hubert turned to her with a cup in his outstretched hand.
They carried him into the tent and laid him on the divan, beside which Henri had already put out all the implements that his master would need.
The courage that had kept her up so far had not extended to asking Saint Hubert again, and a few muttered words from Henri, to which the Vicomte had responded with only a shrug, had killed the words that were hovering on her lips.
He wrote four columns of editorial matter (his copy, wittily says Junius Henri Browne, "strangers mistook for diagrams of Boston"), dozens of letters, often forgot whether he had been to his meals, and was ready to see and advise with everybody.