ghtful
internal pain. She was a charwoman, sixty-five years of age, named Madame
Simon.

When he heard that she was not dead Hector regained hope and promised to
defray her doctor's bill. Then he hastened to the druggist's. The door
way was thronged; the injured woman, huddled in an armchair, was
groaning. Her arms hung at her sides, her face was drawn. Two doctors
were still engaged in examining her. No bones were broken, but they
feared some internal lesion.

Hector addressed her:

"Do you suffer much?"

"Oh, yes!"

"Where is the pain?"

"I feel as if my stomach were on fire."

A doctor approached.

"Are you the gentleman who caused the accident?"

"I am."

"This woman ought to be sent to a home. I know one where they would take
her at six francs a day. Would you like me to send her there?"

Hector was delighted at the idea, thanked him and returned home much
relieved.

His wife, dissolved in tears, was awaiting him. He reassured her.

"It's all right. This Madame Simon is better already and will be quite
well in two or three days. I have sent her to a home. It's all right."

When he left his office the next day he went to inquire for Madame Simon.
He found her eating rich soup with an air of great satisfaction.

"Well?" said he.

"Oh, sir," she replied, "I'm just the same. I feel sort of
crushed--not a bit better."

The doctor declared they must wait and see; some complication or other
might arise.

Hector waited three days, then he returned. The old woman, fresh-faced
and clear-eyed, began to whine when she saw him:

"I can't move, sir; I can't move a bit. I shall be like this for the rest
of my days."

A shudder passed through Hector's frame. He asked for the doctor, who
merely shrugged his shoulders and said:

"What can I do? I can't tell what's wrong with her. She shrieks when they
try to raise her. They can't even move her chair from one place to
another without her uttering the most distressing cries. I am bound to
believe what she tells me; I can't look into her inside. So long as I
have no chance of seeing her walk I am not justified in supposing her to
be telling lies about herself."

The old woman listened, motionless, a malicious gleam in her eyes.

A week passed, then a fortnight, then a month. Madame Simon did not leave
her armchair. She ate from morning to night, grew fat, chatted gaily with
the other patients and seemed to enjoy her immobility as if it were the
rest to