ere at the table she sat in a smart
dress of "jaconas rose," trimming a tiny blond cap: not a living thing
save herself was in the room, except indeed some gold fish in a glass
globe, some flowers in pots, and a broad July sunbeam.

Here was a problem: but I must go up-stairs to ask about the medicine.

Dr. John sat in a chair at Georgette's bedside; Madame stood before
him; the little patient had been examined and soothed, and now lay
composed in her crib. Madame Beck, as I entered, was discussing the
physician's own health, remarking on some real or fancied change in his
looks, charging him with over-work, and recommending rest and change of
air. He listened good-naturedly, but with laughing indifference,
telling her that she was "trop bonne," and that he felt perfectly well.
Madame appealed to me--Dr. John following her movement with a slow
glance which seemed to express languid surprise at reference being made
to a quarter so insignificant.

"What do you think, Miss Lucie?" asked Madame. "Is he not paler and
thinner?"

It was very seldom that I uttered more than monosyllables in Dr. John's
presence; he was the kind of person with whom I was likely ever to
remain the neutral, passive thing he thought me. Now, however, I took
licence to answer in a phrase: and a phrase I purposely made quite
significant.

"He looks ill at this moment; but perhaps it is owing to some temporary
cause: Dr. John may have been vexed or harassed." I cannot tell how he
took this speech, as I never sought his face for information. Georgette
here began to ask me in her broken English if she might have a glass of
_eau sucree_. I answered her in English. For the first time, I fancy,
he noticed that I spoke his language; hitherto he had always taken me
for a foreigner, addressing me as "Mademoiselle," and giving in French
the requisite directions about the children's treatment. He seemed on
the point of making a remark; but thinking better of it, held his
tongue.

Madame recommenced advising him; he shook his head, laughing, rose and
bid her good-morning, with courtesy, but still with the regardless air
of one whom too much unsolicited attention was surfeiting and spoiling.

When he was gone, Madame dropped into the chair he had just left; she
rested her chin in her hand; all that was animated and amiable vanished
from her face: she looked stony and stern, almost mortified and morose.
She sighed; a single, but a deep sigh. A loud bell ran