Yes. Don't draw it tight; leave it loose--so; but you can tie the knot
tight. That will do; there!" She smiled broadly. "Don't tie me in as if
you were tying me in forever."

Madame Zenobie understood perfectly, and, smiling in response, did tie
it as if she were tying her in forever.

Half an hour or so later the quadroon, being--it may have been by
chance--at the street door, ushered in a person who simply bowed in
silence.

But as he put one foot on the stair he paused, and, bending a severe
gaze upon her, asked:--

"Why do you smile?"

She folded her hands limply on her bosom, and drawing a cheek and
shoulder toward each other, replied:--

"Nuttin'"--

The questioner's severity darkened.

"Why do you smile at nothing?"

She laid the tips of her fingers upon her lips to compose them.

"You din come in you' carridge. She goin' to thing 'tis Miche Reechin."
The smile forced its way through her fingers. The visitor turned in
quiet disdain and went upstairs, she following.

At the top he let her pass. She led the way and, softly pushing open the
chamber-door, entered noiselessly, turned, and, as the other stepped
across the threshold, nestled her hands one on the other at her waist,
shrank inward with a sweet smile, and waved one palm toward the huge,
blue-hung mahogany four-poster,--empty.

The visitor gave a slight double nod and moved on across the carpet.
Before a small coal fire, in a grate too wide for it, stood a broad,
cushioned rocking-chair, with the corner of a pillow showing over its
top. The visitor went on around it. The girlish form lay in it, with
eyes closed, very still; but his professional glance quickly detected
the false pretence of slumber. A slippered foot was still slightly
reached out beyond the bright colors of the long gown, and toward the
brazen edge of the hearth-pan, as though the owner had been touching her
tiptoe against it to keep the chair in gentle motion. One cheek was on
the pillow; down the other curled a few light strands of hair that had
escaped from her brow.

Thus for an instant. Then a smile began to wreath about the corner of
her lips; she faintly stirred, opened her eyes--and lo! Dr. Sevier,
motionless, tranquil, and grave.

"O Doctor!" The blood surged into her face and down upon her neck.
She put her hands over her eyes, and her face into the pillow. "O
Doctor!"--rising to a sitting posture,--"I thought, of course, it
was my husband."

The Doctor replied