tended for its substitute, be hung up in the kitchen.
He eyed the well-scraped over-mantel askance and saw, with scarcely
concealed astonishment, a fine, old, carved wooden seat carried out of
doors to make room for an American rocking-chair. He turned his head
away almost in anger when he saw that the beautiful brown wainscoting
was being painted an ultra-marine blue. His partly disguised
astonishment and dissent were not lost upon the crude but clever
Christine. A new sense was opened up in her, and she felt somehow that
the ultra-marine blue was not right, that the over-mantel had been
spoiled, that the new walnut table was too noticeable, and that the
American rocking-chair looked very common. Also she felt that the plush,
with which her mother and the dressmaker at St. Croix had decorated her
bodice, was not the thing. Presently this made her angry.

"Won't you sit down?" she asked a little maliciously, pointing to the
rocking-chair in the salon.

"I prefer standing--with you," he answered, eyeing the chair with a sly
twinkle.

"No, that isn't it," she rejoined sharply. "You don't like the chair."
Then suddenly breaking into English--"Ah! I know, I know. You can't fool
me. I see de leetla look in your eye; and you not like the paint,
and you'd pitch that painter, Alcide, out into the snow if it is your
house."

"I wouldn't, really," he answered--he coughed a little--"Alcide is doing
his work very well. Couldn't you give me a coat of blue paint, too?"

The piquant, intelligent, fiery peasant face interested him. It had
warmth, natural life and passion.

She flushed and stamped her foot, while he laughed heartily; and she was
about to say something dangerous, when the laugh suddenly stopped and he
began coughing. The paroxysm increased until he strained and caught
at his breast with his hand. It seemed as if his chest and throat must
burst.

She instantly changed. The flush of anger passed from her face, and
something else came into it. She caught his hand.

"Oh! what can I do, what can I do to help you?" she asked pitifully. "I
did not know you were so ill. Tell me, what can I do?"

He made a gentle, protesting motion of his free arm--he could not speak
yet--while she held and clasped his other hand.

"It's the worst I ever had," he said, after a moment "the very worst!"

He sat down, and again he had a fit of coughing, and the sweat started
out violently upon his forehead and cheek. When his head at la