perfectly safe," she declared. "Madame Boivin says he is an
angel, and Eulalie was there. She said he would sleep straight on end
for two hours. I told her we should be back before--I mean in good time.
Now come along!"

I could see that the young mother only half approved of the scheme
originated in Frieda's fertile brain. Two or three times she looked back
as if minded to return at once and snatch up her baby, never to leave it
again.

"My dear," said Frieda, "don't be getting nervous. Nothing can possibly
happen, and you know how very careful Eulalie is. Little by little you
must get back into the world. How are you going to face it, if it
frightens you? Put on a brave, bold front. Here is a chance for you to
have a few moments of enjoyment. Seize upon it and don't let go. A dark
cellar is no place to pick up courage in, and you must come out of the
gloom, child, and live a little with the others so that you may be able
to live for Baby Paul. There's a good girl!"

Frances opened a little black bag and pulled out a handkerchief with
which she dabbed her eyes once or twice. Then she looked up again.

"Oh! Frieda! I ought to be thanking God on my bended knees for sending
you to me, and--and Mr. Cole too. Indeed I'll do my best to be brave.
It's--it's difficult, sometimes, but I'm going to try, ever so hard."

I am afraid that the little smile with which she ended these words was
somewhat forced, but I was glad to see it. It was a plucky effort. She
was seeking to contend against a current carrying her out to sea and
realized that she must struggle to reach the shore in safety. I saw
Frieda give her arm a good hug, and the three of us walked to Seventh
Avenue, then north a couple of blocks, after which we turned to the
right till we came to the electric lights of the Widow Camus's
flamboyant sign, that winked a welcome at us.

I remember little about the dinner itself, but, after the rather insipid
fare at Mrs. Milliken's, I know that Frances enjoyed it. The place did
not surprise her, nor the people. During her life in Paris, after her
marriage, she had probably been with her husband to some more or less
Bohemian resorts, such as are beloved of artists. At first, she choked a
little over the radishes and olives, but took her _consomme_ with
greater assurance and was quite at her ease before the chicken and
salad. With her last leaf of lettuce, however, came over her a look of
anxiety, and I pulled out my watch.