knock at the door heralded the entry of a woman carrying a tray. Fanny
watched her too, and saw that she was fresh, smiling, clean and big, and
that steam flew up in puffs from the tray she carried. The woman pulled
a little table towards the bed and set the tray on it.

"This is Madame Boujan!" said Stewart's voice.

Fanny tried to smile and say "Good morning," and succeeded. She was not
awake but knew she was in clover. The cups holding the steaming
chocolate were as large as bowls, and painted cherries and leaves
glistened beneath their lustre surface. Beside the cups was a plate with
rolls, four rolls; and there were knives and two big pots which must be
butter and jam.

"Wake up!"

Fanny rolled nearer to the chocolate, sniffed it and pulled herself up
in bed. The woman, still smiling beside them, turned and hunted among
the clothes upon the chair; then held a jersey towards her shoulders and
guided her arms into its sleeves. Ecstasy stole over Fanny; other
similar wakings strung themselves like beads upon her memory; nursery
wakings when her spirit had been guided into daylight by the crackle of
a fire new-lit, by the movements of just such an aproned figure as this,
by a smile on just such a pink face; or wakings after illness when her
freshening life had leapt in her at the sound of a blind drawn up, at
the sight of the white-cuffed hand that pulled the cord.

Oh, heavenly woman, who stood beside the tray, who fed her and warmed
her while she was yet weak and babyish from sleep! Beyond her the white
plains of beauty shone outside the window.... She sat up and smiled: