characteristic of him when he had to reason out a problem as he
talked. 'Monsieur Armstrong, the man who has half-confidences with his
physician is in serious error.'

'I don't understand,' said Paul.

'You know of nothing,' said Laurent, 'which would help to explain these
symptoms apart from the fact that madame believes herself to be about to
become a mother?'

'Nothing else,' Paul answered in some astonishment, 'Unless----'

Laurent, holding up his bowl in both hands, echoed:

'Sinon?----'

'Well,' said Paul, 'I'm afraid that I may have been a little neglectful
lately. I have a piece of work in hand which occupies me a great deal. I
may, perhaps, be too absorbed in it.'

'That, of course, is perhaps possible,' said Laurent 'I will contrive
to see her in the course of the day, and you may trust an old doctor's
_savoir faire_. She shall not guess that you sent me.'

Immediately upon this the doctor's servant rapped at the door to say
that all was ready, and Paul took his leave. He went immediately to his
study, and there the embers of last night's fire, being fanned ever
so little, began to glow again, and he became absorbed in his work,
insomuch that when the bell rang for dejeuner at noon he was amazed to
notice how quickly time had flown. When he got to table Annette was in
her place, still looking a trifle pale and heavy-eyed, but evidently
much relieved since he had last seen her.

'I want you to do me a little favour, Paul,' she said

'Yes,' he answered gaily.

'I want what you call--what is your word for it? Oh yes, I know--I want
what you call a pick-me-up. Will you share a pint of wine with me? I
want a glass--just one glass of champagne. I quite long for it.'

'Why, yes,' said Paul, 'that is a simple matter enough,' and he gave the
order for the wine.

Annette drank the greater part of it, and began to glow and sparkle.
The colour came back to her cheeks and the light to her eyes. She was
unusually bright and animated, and chattered all manner of good-humoured
nonsense with the juge de paix and the garde-champetre.

'That is your medicine, my dear,' said Paul, in a half-whisper, tapping
the bottle with a finger-nail. 'I shall prescribe it for you daily.'

She made a little face at him and laughed. 'I don't like the stuff,'
she said, 'very often, but I longed for it this morning; and, oh! I am
better for it.'

They were as much at home in the Hotel of the Three Friends by this
time as if t