CHAPTER III.
AND AT DELHI WHAT AM I TO DO?
Major Alan Hawke was the "observed of all observers," in the cosy
salon of the Grand Hotel Faucon, when the sympathetic hotel manager
interrupted a colloquy between the handsome Briton and the Doctor.
"A mere syncope, my dear sir. Perhaps--even only the result of
tight lacing, or inaction. Perhaps some sudden nerve crisis. These
are the results of the easy luxury of an enervating high-life. All
these social habits are weakening elements. Now, fortunately, your
wife has a singularly strong vital nature. You may safely dismiss
all your fears. Madame will be entirely herself in the morning."
"Can I be of any service?" demanded the genial host, secretly urged
on by a coterie of curious, womanly sympathizers in silk and muslin.
"I am the trustee of Madame Louison, in some important business
matters, and not her husband," gravely remarked the Major. "I only
came up here to confer with her upon some matters of moment." Both
the listeners bowed in silence.
"Then, my dear sir, you can be perfectly reassured," the physician
briskly concluded, tendering his card. "My professional conscience
will not allow me to make even a single future visit, as doctor,
to the charming Madame Louison. Should Madame awake in other than
her normal health and spirits, I should be professionally at fault."
Major Hawke then led the doctor aside and pressed a five-pound
note upon him.
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