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Daddy almost leaped out of the car before he brought it to a stop. I couldn't keep up with him. He rushed up the steps two at a time and to the front door. Aubrey was in the corridor speaking with one of our maids and turned with surprise as Daddy thrust the door open. I hurried behind him.

"Monsieur Andreas," Aubrey said, approaching. "My wife. Has she returned?" Daddy demanded quickly.

"No, monsieur." He shook his head and with troubled eyes gazed at me and then back at the maid, who turned to busy herself.

"Has she phoned? Did someone tell her about Pierre?" Daddy asked and nodded, hoping for a yes. But Aubrey could only disappoint him.

"Not that I know, Monsieur."

"Where's Mrs. Hockingheimer?" Daddy glanced up the stairway.

"She went to the hospital with Pierre, monsieur. The ambulance took them both."

"Ambulance?" Daddy released a small moan. Then he turned to me. I shrank into a tighter ball when I looked at those pathetic, sad eyes that showed his suffering.

"Where is she? Where could she have gone?" he cried, turning back to the butler. Aubrey stared, not sure what else to say or do.

"Daddy?" I tugged on his sleeve. "Daddy."

"What? Oh. Yes. We had better go directly to the hospital. Call me if you hear from Madame Andreas, Aubrey, Call the hospital immediately."

"Yes, monsieur."

We charged out the front door and down the steps. "Maybe she called the doctor first and went directly to the hospital," he said, wishing aloud. My silence brought him back to reality.

In no time we were driving into the hospital parking lot

. The elderly volunteer at the front desk moved too slowly for Daddy when he asked where Pierre Dumas had been taken. He slapped the counter as she fumbled with the patient register. "Hurry, madame, please."

"Yes, yes," she said when she finally found Pierre's name. "He was just admitted. He's in ICU."

"Intensive care?" Daddy grimaced.

"Probably just a precaution, Daddy," I said. It was more like a prayer, too.

He took a deep breath and we hurried to the elevator. When we got to the ICU visitors' lounge, Mrs. Hockingheimer came out quickly to greet us.

"Oh, monsieur," she said, "thank God you're here."

Daddy held his breath, the words cluttering on his tongue.

"What's wrong? What's happened to Pierre, Mrs. Hockingheimer?" I asked breathlessly.

"He's gone into a deeper coma. The psychiatrist is upset. She says Pierre has suffered a serious relapse."

"Relapse?" Daddy said. "Back to what he was?"

"Even worse than he was originally," she said and began to cry. Daddy's face turned ashen. I felt my heart stop and then pound. Panic nailed my feet to the floor. My legs felt so numb I didn't think I had the power to move one in front of the other.

"Where is Dr. LeFevre?" Daddy asked finally.

"She's inside with Pierre. She came out and just went back in with another doctor," Mrs. Hockingheimer said. "A urologist."

I tried to swallow, but couldn't. Daddy's shoulders drooped. Although I was really feeling sick, I managed to find my voice. "Let's go talk to the doctor, Daddy."

We started toward the ICU, both of us terrified at what we were going to discover. Before we reached it, the door opened and Dr. LeFevre stepped out. She gazed at us, her eyes filled with confusion and disappointment.

"What's happening to my boy?" Daddy asked softly.