eport the state of the institution
and its inmates.

All were as usual, the country doctor said, except "Mademoiselle."

"And what of her--how is Mademoiselle--?"

"A patient most interesting, Doctor Rocke," said the old Frenchman,
alternately questioning his substitute and addressing Traverse.

"She has stopped her violent ravings, and seems to me to be sinking
into a state of stupid despair," replied the substitute.

"A patient most interesting, my young friend! A history most pathetic!
You shall hear of it some time. But come into the parlor, and you,
Angele, my sister, ring and order coffee," said the old Frenchman,
leading the way into a pleasant apartment on the right of the hall,
furnished with straw matting upon the floor and bamboo settees and
chairs around the walls.

Here coffee was presently served to the travelers, who soon after
retired for the night.

Traverse's room was a large, pleasant apartment at the end of a wide,
long hall, on each side of which were the doors opening into the cells
of the patients.

Fatigued by his journey, Traverse slept soundly through the night; but
early in the morning he was rudely awakened by the sounds of maniac
voices from the cells. Some were crying, some laughing aloud some
groaning and howling and some holding forth in fancied exhortations.

He dressed himself quickly and left his room to walk down the length of
the long hall and observe the cells on each side. The doors were at
regular intervals, and each door had in its center a small opening to
enable the proprietor to look in upon the patients.

As these were all women, and some of them delicate and refined even in
their insanity, Traverse felt shocked at this necessary, if it were
necessary, exposure of their sanctuary.

The cells were, in fact, small bedrooms that with their white-washed
walls and white-curtained beds and windows looked excessively neat,
clean and cool, but also, it must be confessed, very bare, dreary and
cheerless.

"Even a looking-glass would be a great benefit to those poor girls, for
I remember that even Clara, in her violent grief, and mother in her
lifelong sorrow, never neglected their looking-glass and personal
appearance," said Traverse to himself, as he passed down the hall and
resolved that this little indulgence should be afforded the patients.

And except those first involuntary glances he scrupulously avoided
looking in through the gratings upon those helpless women