'Quite well, I believe,' answered the housekeeper, drily. 'Nothing the
matter that _I_ know of. She eat enough for two to-day. I wish _I_ could
sit in my room doing nothing.'

Madame was sitting, or rather reclining, in a low arm-chair, when I entered
the room, close to the fire, as was her wont, her feet extended near to the
bars, and a little coffee equipage beside her. She stuffed a book hastily
between her dress and the chair, and received me in a state of langour
which, had it not been for Mrs. Rusk's comfortable assurances, would have
frightened me.

'I hope you are better, Madame,' I said, approaching.

'Better than I deserve, my dear cheaile, sufficiently well. The people
are all so good, trying me with every little thing, like a bird; here is
café--Mrs. Rusk-a, poor woman, I try to swallow a little to please her.'

'And your cold, is it better?'

She shook her head languidly, her elbow resting on the chair, and three
finger-tips supporting her forehead, and then she made a little sigh,
looking down from the corners of her eyes, in an interesting dejection.

'Je sens des lassitudes in all the members--but I am quaite 'appy, and
though I suffer I am console and oblige des bontés, ma chère, que vous
avez tous pour moi;' and with these words she turned a languid glance of
gratitude on me which dropped on the ground.

'Lady Knollys wishes very much to see you, only for a few minutes, if you