breath. Now and again her bosom was raised by a long sigh, which
seemed to relieve her a little, and for a few seconds she would
seem to be quite comfortable.

I went up to her; she made no movement, and I sat down and took
the hand which was lying on the sofa.

"Ah! it is you," she said, with a smile.

I must have looked greatly agitated, for she added:

"Are you unwell, too?"

"No, but you: do you still suffer?"

"Very little;" and she wiped off with her handkerchief the tears
which the coughing had brought to her eyes; "I am used to it
now."

"You are killing yourself, madame," I said to her in a moved
voice. "I wish I were a friend, a relation of yours, that I might
keep you from doing yourself harm like this."

"Ah! it is really not worth your while to alarm yourself," she
replied in a somewhat bitter tone; "see how much notice the
others take of me! They know too well that there is nothing to be
done."

Thereupon she got up, and, taking the candle, put it on the
mantel-piece and looked at herself in the glass.