ifling expense of employing a laundress. No one ever came up there;
they were quite alone, thousands of miles away from the world, delighted
with this solitude, in which their youth displayed such fraternal gaiety.

"Do you remember, Sister, the morning when I was first able to walk
about?" asked Ferrand. "You helped me to get up, and supported me whilst
I awkwardly stumbled about, no longer knowing how to use my legs. We did
laugh so."

"Yes, yes, you were saved, and I was very pleased."

"And the day when you brought me some cherries--I can see it all again:
myself reclining on my pillows, and you seated at the edge of the bed,
with the cherries lying between us in a large piece of white paper. I
refused to touch them unless you ate some with me. And then we took them
in turn, one at a time, until the paper was emptied; and they were very
nice."

"Yes, yes, very nice. It was the same with the currant syrup: you would
only drink it when I took some also."

Thereupon they laughed yet louder; these recollections quite delighted
them. But a painful sigh from Madame Vetu brought them back to the
present. Ferrand leant over and cast a glance at the sick woman, who had
not stirred. The ward was still full of a quivering peacefulness, which
was only broken by the clear voice of Madame Desagneaux counting the
linen. Stifling with emotion, the young man resumed in a lower tone: "Ah!
Sister, were I to live a hundred years, to know every joy, every
pleasure, I should never love another woman as I love you!"

Then Sister Hyacinthe, without, however, showing any confusion, bowed her
head and resumed her sewing. An almost imperceptible blush tinged her
lily-white skin with pink.

"I also love you well, Monsieur Ferrand," she said, "but you must not
make me vain. I only did for you what I do for so many others. It is my
business, you see. And there was really only one pleasant thing about it
all, that the Almighty cured you."

They were now again interrupted. La Grivotte and Elise Rouquet had
returned from the Grotto before the others. La Grivotte at once squatted
down on her mattress on the floor, at the foot of Madame Vetu's bed, and,
taking a piece of bread from her pocket, proceeded to devour it. Ferrand,
since the day before, had felt some interest in this consumptive patient,
who was traversing such a curious phase of agitation, a prey to an
inordinate appetite and a feverish need of motion. For the moment,
however, El