Louise drew in her breath. "My lady suffers," she began, and as she
proceeded her words flowed more and more quickly: "while Madame prepares
to forsake her, my lady faints upon the floor in the breakfast parlour,
she expires."

May rose, her heart beating.

"She now swallows a glass of brandy and a biscuit brought by Mrs.
Robinson, who is so slow, so slow and who understands nothing, but has
the keys. I call and I call, eh bien, I call--oh, but what slowness,
what insupportable delay."

May put her letter inside the writing case and moved away from the
writing-table. She was composed now.

"Is she very ill?" she asked quietly.

"My lady has died every day for two weeks," continued Louise; "for many
days she has died, and no one observes it but myself and the angels in
heaven. Madame agonises, over what terrible events I know not. But they
know, the spirits of the dead--they know and they come. I believe that,
for this house, this Lodgings is gloomy, this Oxford is so full of
sombre thought. My Lady Dashwood martyrs herself for others. I see it
always with Monsieur le General Sir John Dashwood, excellent man as he
is, but who insists on catching severe colds in the head--colds heavy,
overpowering--he sneezing with a ferocity that is impossible. At last
old Robinson telephones for a doctor at my demand, oh, how I demand! It
was necessary to overcome the phlegm and the stupidity of the Robinson
family. I say! I demand! It is only when Mrs. Robinson comes to assist
at this terrible crisis, that I go to rush upstairs for Madame. I go to
rush, but I am detained! 'Stay!' cries my lady, 'I forbid you to speak
of it. I am not ill--it is an indisposition of the mildest.' You see,
Madame, the extraordinary generosity of my Lady Dashwood! Her soul full
of sublime resignation! 'I go to prevent Madame Mrs. Dashwood's
departure,' I cry! My lady replies with immense self-renunciation, like
that of the blessed saints: 'Say nothing, my poor Louise. I exist only
to do good on this earth. I ask for nothing for myself. I suffer alone.
I endure without complaint. I speak not of my extreme agony in the head.
I do not mention the insupportable nausea of the stomach. I subdue my
cries! I weep silently, alone in the presence of my God.'"

Louise paused for a second for breath.

Nothing at this moment could have made May smile. She looked at Louise
with gravity.

"But," continued Louise, with the same vehement swiftness, "a good
mom