mall mirror where she
readjusted her hair.

"Now, Monsieur Jean," she began, in a nervous, business-like way,
suiting the action to the word, "I'm the doctor. You are to do just as
I tell you. First you take this good American whiskey, then you lie
down--here--there--that way,--voila!"

"But----"

"No!" putting her delicate hand over his mouth gently,--"you are not
to talk, you know."

He stretched himself at full length on the low couch without another
protest. She brought a towel and basin and, removing the collar which
had been twisted into a dirty rope, bathed his face and neck. She saw
the red imprint of fingers on his throat with mingled hatred and
commiseration; but she said nothing, only pressing the wet towel to
the spot tenderly. In the place of the collar she put a piece of soft
flannel saturated with cologne, and passed a silk scarf around the
neck to hold it there. With comb and brush she softly smoothed out his
hair, half toying with the locks about the temples, and perching her
little head this way and that, as if to more accurately study the
effect.

"Ah! now that looks better. Monsieur is beginning to look civilized."

She carefully pinned the ends of the scarf down over the shirt-front
to hide the blood that was there.

All of this with a hundred exclamations and little comments and
questions that required no answers, and broken sentences of pity, of
raillery, of pleasure, that had no beginning and no ending as
grammatical constructions.

Purr, purr, purr.

Finally she rubbed his shoes till they shone, and flecked the dust
from his clothes,--to complete which operation it was necessary for
him to get up.

A slight noise on the landing caused him to start nervously.

He was still thinking of one thing,--of a man lying cold and stiff at
the Hotel Dieu.

Both carefully avoided the subject uppermost in either mind,--Henri
Lerouge and his sister.

First, she was astonished that he had not questioned her; next, she
sought to escape questioning altogether. She was secretive by nature.
And now, like a contrite and wretched woman conscious of her share of
responsibility for a great wrong, she could only humble herself before
him and await his will.

"Now, Monsieur Jean," she concluded, "we will eat. Come! You must be
hungry,--come! A table, monsieur!"

"Au contraire, I feel as if I could never eat again," he said,
desperately.

"What nonsense! Come, monsieur,--sit down here and eat somet