lilian went to bed in the morning, not only with the assurance that felix was in no danger, but with his words echoing in her heart: "we shall get married--here--the moment i'm fit." she was nursing his body; he was nursing her mind. he had realized at once, of course, that the situation was completely altered, and that he had now one sole duty--his duty towards her. and, moreover, he had cared for her pride--had not used the least word or even inflection to indicate that she was absolutely dependent on his good nature. the very basis of his attitude towards her was that he and she were indivisible in the matter. she rose about two o'clock, and she had scarcely got out of bed when the irish nurse, kate o'connor, tapped at her door, and having received permission to enter, came in with a conspiratorial air.

"i heard you stirring. he's going on splendidly," said the glinting-eye kate, clad from head to foot in whitest white. "but he sent me out of the room after we'd had our little talk with dr. samson, and the doctor stayed some while afterwards. then there came another gentleman--french gentleman--and i was sent out again. he told me not to say anything to you, and i promised i wouldn't; but naturally i must tell you."

lilian thanked her undisturbed, guessing that felix was at work upon the arrangements for the marriage. in the night he had asked her: "where were you born? what parish?" and on her inquiring why he wanted to know he had replied casually: "oh, it's nothing. just curiosity." but she had not been deceived. she understood him--how he loved to plan and organize their doings by himself, saying naught.

the fact was that he had been asking the doctor about local lawyers, and, having learned what he desired, he had sent for the most suitable avoué, and put into his hands all the business of the marriage of two british subjects in a french town. apparently, as he had foreseen, the chief documents required were the birth certificates of himself and lilian, and he had telegraphed for these to his own solicitor in london.

lilian continued to receive no information concerning the progress of the formalities, and she sought for none. she lived in a state of contemplation. her anxieties, except the vague, wonderful, and semi-mystical anxiety of far-off motherhood had been dissipated. she was uplifted; she had a magnificent sense of responsibility, which gave her a new dignity, gravity and assurance. kate o'connor called her "madam," and referred to her as "madam," especially when speaking to felix. the assumption underlying the behaviour of everybody was that she was felix's wife. as for the french lawyer, she never even saw him.

meanwhile felix's recovery was unexpectedly slow, and he went through several slight relapses. now and then his voice was suddenly become hoarse and faint, and with the same suddenness it resumed the normal. at length he grew cantankerous. the two women were delighted, telling each other that this crotchetiness was a certain sign of strength. one day he got up and dressed fully and sat at the window for half an hour, returning to bed immediately afterwards. the same evening he convinced lilian that there was no more need for her to watch through the night.

the next morning when lilian entered his room the nurse was not there.

"i've sent her off," felix explained. "i much prefer to have you with me than any nurse on earth." he was dressed before ten-thirty. "now put your things on," said he.

"what for? i don't want to go out."

"we're going out together. look what a fine day it is! we're going to be married at eleven o'clock, at the mairie. now hurry up." his voice hardened into a command.

"but--but does dr. samson agree to you going out?" she asked, quite over-taxed.

"samson doesn't know, as it happens; but if he did of course he'd agree."

she might have refused to go. but could she refuse to go and be married--she, the bearer of his child? she perceived that he had been too clever for her, had trapped her, in his determination to regularize her situation at the earliest possible moment. she forced a timid smile and covered him up for the journey.

the lift-boy smiled a welcome to him. the concierge was the very symbol of attentive deference, and in the carriage enveloped lilian's feet with the rug as though they had been two precious jewels--as they were. the manager himself made a majestic appearance, and shot out congratulations like stars from a roman candle. and the weather was supremely gorgeous.

at the mairie waited the avoué and his clerk, who were to act as witnesses. the avoué and felix talked to dirty and splendid officials; felix and lilian signed papers.

"now you've only got one thing to do," said felix. "when i nudge you, say, 'oui, monsieur le maire.'"

they were inducted into the sanctuary of celebration, and lilian saw a fat gentleman wearing the french national flag for a waistband. it would have been very comical had it not been so impressive. the ceremony started, lilian understanding not a word. felix nudged her. she murmured: "oui, monsieur le maire." ... the ceremony closed. immediately afterwards felix handed her a sort of little tract in a yellowish-brown cover.

"you're married now, and if anybody says you aren't, show 'em this."

the avoué was tremendous with bows and smiles. they drove back to the hotel. they were in the bedroom. lilian took felix apprehensively by the shoulders.

"oh, darling. you're sure it hasn't done you any harm?"

"and that's not quite all. there's my will," said he. "ring the bell."

he spoke to jacqueline, who after a few minutes brought in an english valet and an english lady's maid. felix was set upon having his will witnessed by people with english addresses. he silently gave lilian the will to read. he had written it himself. in three lines it bestowed upon her all that was his. not a syllable about his sister. well, that was quite right, because miss grig had means of her own. sitting in the easy chair, with a blotting-pad on his knees, felix signed the will. then the valet and the lady's maid signed, with much constraint and flourish. felix gave them fifty francs apiece, and dismissed them.

"put that with your marriage certificate," he said to lilian, folding up the will and offering it to her. "i think i'll get back to bed. exhausting work, being married!" he laughed shortly. "i'm going to sleep," he said later, after he had eaten and drunk. "you be off downstairs and have your lunch."

but, of course, she could not go downstairs. she dropped into her bed, staggered by the swift evolution of her career. staggered by it! lo! she was a typewriting girl wearing wristlets, poor, hopeless, with no prospects. a little while, and lo! she was the wife of a rich and brilliant adorer, and an honest man in whom her trust was absolute. and she was pregnant. strange fear invaded her mind, the ancient fear that too much happiness is a crime that destiny will punish.