t good for my mind, nor my
body either, to sit smiling at Louis's friends until I feel like a
hypocritical Cheshire cat, talking stiff nothings with one and another
in order to let Louis have a chance with the one he cares the most
for, and all the time furtively watching the clock and thirsting for
their blood because they stay so late...."

The vigilant eyes of love had taught her by this time something yet
undiscovered by the scientists, that is, the contagious nature of
influenza, and, having observed that whenever her husband came in
contact with any one suffering from a cold, he invariably caught it--a
very serious matter for one in his condition--she kept guard over him
like a fiery little watch-dog, never allowing any one with a cold to
enter the house. If she had one herself she kept away from him till
it was over. There were many quarrels on the subject, for his friends,
some of whom refused to recognize the necessity for such precautions,
would be furious; but the worst trouble was with the doctors
themselves, who would come to attend him with sneezing and snorting,
and find their way blocked. One doctor said she was silly about it,
for it was absolutely impossible to catch a cold from anything but an
open window, or wet feet, or a draught. Her friends, or rather Louis's
friends, were well trained in time, and she would sometimes get a
message something like this: "I can't keep my engagement to see Louis
to-day, for I have a cold, but as soon as I am over it I will let you
know." Mr. Stevenson himself had a humourous way of referring to
persons with colds as "pizon sarpints," and strangers may have
wondered to hear him say: "I'm not seeing my friend So-and-so just
now, because he's a pizon sarpint." Once at Saranac, in the Adirondack
Mountains in America, their friends the Fairchilds came to see them,
but, as both had colds, they were not permitted to enter, and
conversed by signs with Mr. Stevenson through a closed window. They
were good-natured, however, about what they probably regarded as Mrs.
Stevenson's whim, and when both were well came again, waving from a
distance perfectly clean handkerchiefs as their passport.

Having at last escaped from the dreaded London fogs, they reached
Troyes in France, where Fanny's heart expanded under the brighter
skies that brought back memories of her own land. She writes: "We have
had lovely weather--warm, sunny, fragrant. I did not realize before
how much like Ameri