'Better than I deserve, my dear cheaile, sufficiently well. The people
are all so good, trying me with every little thing, like a bird; here is
cafe--Mrs. Rusk-a, poor woman, I try to swallow a little to please her.'

'And your cold, is it better?'

She shook her head languidly, her elbow resting on the chair, and three
finger-tips supporting her forehead, and then she made a little sigh,
looking down from the corners of her eyes, in an interesting dejection.

'Je sens des lassitudes in all the members--but I am quaite 'appy, and
though I suffer I am console and oblige des bontes, ma chere, que vous
avez tous pour moi;' and with these words she turned a languid glance of
gratitude on me which dropped on the ground.

'Lady Knollys wishes very much to see you, only for a few minutes, if you
could admit her.'

'Vous savez les malades see _never_ visitors,' she replied with a startled
sort of tartness, and a momentary energy. 'Besides, I cannot converse; je
sens de temps en temps des douleurs de tete--of head, and of the ear, the
right ear, it is parfois agony absolutely, and now it is here.'

And she winced and moaned, with her eyes closed and her hand pressed to the
organ affected.

Simple as I was, I felt instinctively that Madame was shamming. She was
over-acting; her transitions were too violent, and beside she forgot that
I knew how well she could speak English, and must perceive that she was
heightening the interest of her helplessness by that pretty tessellation
of foreign idiom. I there-fore said with a kind of courage which sometimes
helped me suddenly--

'Oh, Madame, don't you really think you might, without much inconvenience,
see Lady Knollys for a very few minutes?'

'Cruel cheaile! you know I have a pain of the ear which makes me 'orribly
suffer at this moment, and you demand me whether I will not converse
with strangers. I did not think you would be so unkain, Maud; but it is
impossible, you must see--quite impossible. I never, you _know_, refuse to
take trouble when I am able--never--_never_.'

And Madame shed some tears, which always came at call, and with her hand
pressed to her ear, said very faintly,

'Be so good to tell your friend how you see me, and how I suffer, and leave
me, Maud, for I wish to lie down for a little, since the pain will not
allow me to remain longer.'

So with a few words of comfort which could not well be refused, but I dare
say betraying my suspicion that more was ma