nstead for the task of effacing the
painful impression which mademoiselle's words had made on her mind.

On first coming to herself she did not remember them, but, content to
find me by her side--for there is something so alchemic in a mother's
love that I doubt not my presence changed her garret to a palace--she
spent herself in feeble caresses and broken words. Presently, however,
her eye falling on mademoiselle and her maid, who remained standing by
the hearth, looking darkly at us from time to time, she recalled, first
the shock which had prostrated her, and then its cause, and raising
herself on her elbow, looked about her wildly. 'Gaston!' she cried,
clutching my hand with her thin fingers, 'what was it I heard? It was of
you someone spoke--a woman! She called you--or did I dream it?--a cheat!
You!'

'Madame, madame,' I said, striving to speak carelessly, though the
sight; of her grey hair, straggling and dishevelled, moved me strangely,
'was it; likely? Would anyone dare to use such expressions of me is your
presence? You must indeed have dreamed it!'

The words, however, returning more and more vividly to her mind, she
looked at me very pitifully, and in great agitation laid her arm on my
neck, as though she would shelter me with the puny strength which just
enabled her to rise in bed. 'But someone,' she muttered, her eyes on the
strangers, 'said it, Gaston? I heard it. What did it mean?'

'What you heard, madame,' I answered, with an attempt at gaiety, though
the tears stood in my eyes, 'was, doubtless, mademoiselle here scolding
our guide from Tours, who demanded three times the proper POURBOIRE. The
impudent rascal deserved all that was said to him, I assure you.'

'Was that it?' she murmured doubtfully.

'That must have been what you heard, madame,' I answered, as if I felt
no doubt.

She fell back with a sigh of relief, and a little colour came into her
wan face. But her eyes still dwelt curiously, and with apprehension, on
mademoiselle, who stood looking sullenly into the fire; and seeing this
my heart misgave me sorely that I had done a foolish thing in bringing
the girl there. I foresaw a hundred questions which would be asked, and
a hundred complications which must ensue, and felt already the blush of
shame mounting to my cheek.

'Who is that?' my mother asked softly. 'I am ill. She must excuse me.'
She pointed with her fragile finger to my companions.

I rose, and still keeping her hand in mi