uch is certain--he's going to, and we shall soon hear of Madame
Gobelot, _nee_ Rosa Bonheur Sinel. Qu'en dis tu? L'oncle Auguste
was right. Didn't we one day have to mark his words, 'When she gets
a comb to keep that mop of hers in order, she'll find a carriage
and pair too.' Now she'll have it, and a good deal besides; and you
can be sure she will be the Queen of the Regatta, and win all the
prizes.

"I wish I had you here to tell you more, but I must break off, I am
so tired.

CLAUDE."

The generally cheerful tone of Claude's letters, as of some I received
from his father about this time, was, as I know now, only adopted
because I was considered far too unwell to be told the truth. In
reality, Claude's condition gave cause for grave anxiety.

I was not a little surprised to learn that Madeleine was installed as
Claude's nurse in Mentone. It was all the uncle's doing. He who had
always resented the mention of her name--and it was often on Claude's
lips--had been instrumental in bringing her to his side. The invalid was
told that Madame Chevillard and Madeleine were on their way to Genoa,
where the former had been appointed to superintend the formation of a
school of embroidery. There was no truth in the story; it had only been
concocted to explain their presence to Claude.

His uncle had himself gone to Lyons, and had induced Mademoiselle
Chevillard to bring her ward to Mentone. How matters stood there he told
them with tears in his eyes. They must come at once, and---- stop to the
last.

A month had elapsed, and every day had brought Madeleine nearer to the
friend she tended. Her long enforced stay in a hospital had naturally
qualified her to nurse the sick; but it was not her experience alone,
but her devotion to Claude, deep-rooted and untiring, that came to
wrestle with the messenger of death. And the invalid who had been so
restless, even so querulous, before her arrival, was now soothed by the
mere sound of her voice, and as he looked into her amethyst eyes, an
unknown happiness dawned upon him.

Thus I found him and her when I arrived. I had set out for Mentone as
soon as I was strong enough to travel. It was in April; God's Nature
was bright, but sad was the journey, sadder the meeting.

I was fully prepared to find my friend much changed, but when we met I
had difficulty to conceal from him how shocked and distressed I was by
his appearance. I could not but see