do not bring it to
him."

Indeed, about an hour after, I heard his bell. I wrapped myself up in the
sheets and pretended to be asleep. He rang a second time. "Veronica,
Veronica," he cried, "my posset; what are you doing then? Have you
forgotten it? Veronica!"

I turned a deaf ear.

LIII.

THE LEG.

"One is compelled sometimes to say to oneself,
'On what does ruin or safety depend?'"

J. TOURGUENEFF (_Les eaux printanieres_).

Then I heard him come upstairs cautiously and stop at the door of my room.
All at once he opened it. He remained standing still for a moment, then he
came near my bed on tip-toe.

I half-opened my eyes quickly, and the first thing I saw was his naked
legs--my word, he had a very well-made leg! I looked again and saw that he
was covered with an old black cloak which served him as a dressing-gown.

I closed my eyes again quickly, and, without giving an account of my
feelings, I was overcome by a strong emotion.

My uncle passed his hand over my forehead. He found it burning, for he
cried out directly: "But she is really ill, she is really ill, poor child."
Then leaning over me: "Little one, little one, where are you in pain?"

I pretended to wake up with a start, and I stared wildly at him, as if I
was much surprised to see him there. We women have the instinct of deceit
from birth; believe me, what I tell you is true, Monsieur le Cure.

--It is possible, Veronica.

--Well, then be said to me, "Where are you in pain, little one?" I put my
finger on the pit of my stomach, and replied in a feeble voice "Here."

He put his hand there, and I saw that he moved it about with complacency on
that part.

This touch seemed to make him beside himself, "Oh, the pretty little girl,
the pretty little girl!" he said, "she is ill, poor dear child." And his
hand continued to caress me.

You may think how I was trembling. Although he did it very decently, I said
to myself that it was not altogether proper, but I took good care not to
utter a word. A girl is inquisitive, you know, and I was not displeased to
see what he would come to.

"Will you have a fomentation?" he said to me after a moment. "No, uncle," I
answered, "I feel I am getting better, it is not worth while; I am even
going to get up to make you your posset." "To get up, do you dream of
it?... All the same, perhaps you are right, there is still some fire in my
room: will you come there? you will warm yourself better tha