As I prepared to leave a scene perhaps the most gratifying in many respects that I had ever witnessed, I felt a slight touch on my arm.  It came from Mrs. Blake who with her husband had crossed the room to bid me farewell.

“Will you allow me to thank you,” said she, “for the risk you ran for me one day and of which I have just heard.  It was an act that merits the gratitude of years, and as such shall be always remembered by me.  If the old French artist with the racking cough ever desires a favor at my hands, let him feel free to ask it.  The interest I experienced in him in the days of my trouble, will suffer no abatement in these of my joy and prosperity.”  And with a look that was more than words, she gave me a flower from the bouquet she held in her hand, and smilingly withdrew.