hich there could be no appeal.

"I seem to know Mr. Ritchie," she said, and added quickly: "Mrs. Clive
has talked a great deal about you. She has made you out a very wonderful
person."

"My dear," said Mrs. Temple, "the wonderful people of this world are
those who find time to comfort and help the unfortunate. That is why you
and David are wonderful. No one knows better than I how easy it is to be
selfish."

"I have brought you an English novel," said Madame de Montomery, turning
abruptly to Mrs. Temple. "But you must not read it at night. Lindy is
not to let you have it until to-morrow."

"There," said Mrs. Temple, gayly, to me, "Madame is not happy unless she
is controlling some one, and I am a rebellious subject."

"You have not been taking care of yourself," said Madame. She glanced at
me, and bit her lips, as though guessing the emotion which my visit
had caused. "Listen," she said, "the vesper bells! You must go into the
house, and Mr. Ritchie and I must leave you."

She took Mrs. Temple by the arm and led her, unresisting, along the
path. I followed, a thousand thoughts and conjectures spinning in my
brain. They reached the bench under the little tree beside the door, and
stood talking for a moment of the routine of Mrs. Temple's life. Madame,
it seemed, had prescribed a regimen, and meant to have it followed.
Suddenly I saw Mrs. Temple take the lady's arm, and sink down upon
the bench. Then we were both beside her, bending over her, she sitting
upright and smiling at us.

"It is nothing," she said; "I am so easily tired."

Her lips were ashen, and her breath came quickly. Madame acted with that
instant promptness which I expected of her.

"You must carry her in, Mr. Ritchie," she said quietly.

"No, it is only momentary, David," said Mrs. Temple. I remember how
pitifully frail and light she was as I picked her up and followed Madame
through the doorway into the little bedroom. I laid Mrs. Temple on the
bed.

"Send Lindy here," said Madame.

Lindy was in the front room with the negress whom Madame had brought
with her. They were not talking. I supposed then this was because Lindy
did not speak French. I did not know that Madame de Montmery's maid was
a mute. Both of them went into the bedroom, and I was left alone.
The door and windows were closed, and a green myrtle-berry candle was
burning on the table. I looked about me with astonishment. But for the
low ceiling and the wide cypress puncheons of