elle."

"Yes. I shall be glad enough to see him. Wait a moment," as she rises.
"I shall drive over immediately, and it will save you a long walk."

"Oh, no, sir. I can walk."

"You will wait," he says. "Briggs, order the buggy at once. Jane," as
the girl comes out on the porch, "take good care of Miss Cecil to-day.
Do not let her annoy any one, for everybody is tired." Then he goes in
and makes a brief explanation, kisses Cecil, and is off to the waiting
vehicle, into which he hands the old woman with the politeness he would
show to a queen.

Madame Lepelletier is extremely annoyed. She has counted on a long,
idle morning. She has papers for him to overlook, plans to discuss, and
now she must spend the time alone.

"Is Mr. St. Vincent's complaint serious?" Floyd asks of the quaint
figure beside him.

A tremor runs over her and the bright eyes fill with tears. "It is his
heart," she says, with her formal pronunciation. "It has been bad a
long, long while, but never like this. You see he never rested here,"
tapping her forehead. "Day and night, day and night, always working and
studying, and letting his bouillon and tea get cold, and forgetting
all. I made the house bright and cheerful for ma'm'selle, and I thought
he might be happy, a little more at rest; but oh, kind Heaven! it is
not the rest I hoped."

Grandon is quite shocked. St. Vincent's death may complicate matters
still more. Then he checks his own selfish thought.

"Can I drive in?" he asks.

"Oh, yes, there is a little stable. Master meant to get ma'm'selle a
pony. Poor girl!"

They both alight. Floyd fastens the horse and follows his guide.

"Monsieur will please walk up stairs,--this way."

The hall is small, square, and dark. He treads upon a rich Smyrna rug
that is like velvet. The stairs are winding and of some dark wood. A
door stands open and she waves him thither with her hand. In this very
room he has watched a student working. Here was the table, as if it had
only been left yesterday.

He hears voices in the adjoining room and presently the door opens. The
furniture is dark and antique, brightened by a few rugs and one glowing
picture of sunset that seems to irradiate the whole apartment. The
occupant of the bed appears almost in a sitting position, propped up by
pillows, marble pale, and thin to attenuation. One wasted hand lies
over the spread, handsome enough for a woman, and not showing the
thinness as much as the face. The eyes