relaxing sigh of relief. M. Joseph, however, became full of a
painful attention.




X


He brought into view an unsuspected tube, with a cone of paper at
its end, and bent over her mother, directing a stream of cold air
against her head. "How do you feel?" he asked, with, Linda noticed,
a startling loss of his first accent. Mrs. Condon so far felt well
enough. Then, before Linda's startled gaze, every single one of the
fifteen imprisoning tubes began to steam with an extraordinary
vigor; not only did they steam, like teapots, but drops of water
formed and slowly slid over her mother's face. If the process
appeared weird at the beginning, now it was utterly fantastic.

The little white vapor spurts played about Mrs. Condon's dripping
countenance; they increased rather than diminished; actually it
resembled a wrecked locomotive she had once seen. "How are you?" M.
Joseph demanded nervously. "Is it hot anywhere?" With a sudden
gesture she replied in a shaking voice, "Here."

Instantly he was holding the paper cone with its cold air against
her scalp, and the heat was subdued. He glanced nervously at his
watch, and Mrs. Condon managed to ask, "How long?"

"Twenty minutes."