would see to his breakfast later on, when he was able to move about.
But, after all, he could not make up his mind. He who lived amid
chronic disorder felt worried by that heap of petticoats lying on the
floor. Some water had dripped from them, but they were damp still. And
so, while grumbling in a low tone, he ended by picking them up one by
one and spreading them over the chairs in the sunlight. Had one ever
seen the like, clothes thrown about anyhow? They would never get dry,
and she would never go off! He turned all that feminine apparel over
very awkwardly, got entangled with the black dress-body, and went on
all fours to pick up the stockings that had fallen behind an old
canvas. They were Balbriggan stockings of a dark grey, long and fine,
and he examined them, before hanging them up to dry. The water oozing
from the edge of the dress had soaked them, so he wrung and stretched
them with his warm hands, in order that he might be able to send her
away the quicker.

Since he had been on his legs, Claude had felt sorely tempted to push
aside the screen and to take a look at his guest. This self-condemned
curiosity only increased his bad temper. At last, with his habitual
shrug of the shoulders, he was taking up his brushes, when he heard
some words stammered amidst a rustling of bed-clothes. Then, however,
soft breathing was heard again, and this time he yielded to the
temptation, dropping his brushes, and peeping from behind the screen.
The sight that met his eyes rooted him to the spot, so fascinated that
he muttered, 'Good gracious! good gracious!'

The girl, amidst the hot-house heat that came from the window, had
thrown back her coverlet, and, overcome with the fatigue of a restless
night, lay steeped in a flood of sunshine, unconscious of everything.
In her feverish slumbers a shoulder button had become unfastened, and