n properly undressed and made to lie down on the sofa,
for she insisted so that she would not go to bed that they dared not
oppose her, the doctor made his diagnosis. It was double pneumonia, of
that sudden sort which declares for life or death in forty-eight hours.
At her age a desperate case. Her children must be wired to at once. She
had sunk back, seemingly unconscious; and Augustine, approaching the
drawer where she knew the letters were kept, slipped out the lavender
sachet and gave it to the doctor. When he had left the room to extract
the addresses and send those telegrams, the girl sat down by the foot of
the couch, leaning her elbows on her knees and her face on her hands,
staring at that motionless form, while the tears streamed down her broad
cheeks. For many minutes neither of them stirred, and the only sound
was the restless stropping of the parrot's beak against a wire of his
cage. Then her mistress's lips moved, and the girl bent forward. A
whispering came forth, caught and suspended by breathless pausing:

"Mind, Augustine--no one is to tell my children--I can't have them
disturbed--over a little thing--like this--and in my purse you'll find
another--hundred-franc note. I shall want some more francs for the day
after to-morrow. Be a good girl and don't fuss, and kiss poor Polly, and
mind--I won't have a doctor--taking him away from his work. Give me my
gelseminum and my prayer-book. And go to bed just as usual--we must
all--keep smiling--like the dear soldiers--" The whispering ceased, then
began again at once in rapid delirious incoherence. And the girl sat
trembling, covering now her ears from those uncanny sounds, now her eyes
from the flush and the twitching of that face, usually so pale and
still. She could not follow--with her little English--the swerving,
intricate flights of that old spirit mazed by fever--the memories
released, the longings disclosed, the half-uttered prayers, the curious
little half-conscious efforts to regain form and dignity. She could only
pray to the Virgin. When relieved by the daughter of _Madame's_ French
friend, who spoke good English, she murmured desperately: "_Oh!
mademoiselle, madame est tres fatiguee--la pauvre tete--faut-il enlever
les cheveux? Elle fait ca toujours pour elle-meme._" For, to the girl,
with her reverence for the fastidious dignity which never left her
mistress, it seemed sacrilege to divest her of her crown of fine grey
hair. Yet, when it was done