“Of course, you must go, Matilda!” exclaimed Mrs. De Peyster.  Then the significance to her of Matilda’s absence flashed upon her.  “But what will I do without any company at all?” she cried.  “And without any food?”

“I’ve seen to the food, ma’am.”  And Matilda explained that during the evening, in preparation for her going, she had been smuggling into the house from Sixth Avenue delicatessen stores boxes of crackers, cold meats, all varieties of canned goods—­“enough to last you for a month, ma’am, and by that time I’ll be back.”

Her explanation made, Matilda proceeded, with extremest caution, to carry the provisions up and stack them in one corner of Mrs. De Peyster’s large, white-tiled bathroom.  When the freightage was over, the bathroom, with its supply of crackers and zweibach, its bottles of olives and pickles, its cold tongue, cold roast beef, cold chicken, its cans of salmon, sardines, deviled ham, California peaches, and condensed milk—­the bathroom was itself a delicatessen shop that many an ambitious young German would have regarded as a proud start in life.

“But what about food for the others while you’re gone?” inquired Mrs. De Peyster—­with a sudden hope that the others would be starved into leaving.

“I’ve attended to them, ma’am.  I’ve bought a lot of things that will keep.  And then I told the tradespeople that my niece was going to be here in my place, and they are to deliver milk and other fresh things for her every day in care of William.”

Matilda broke down at the last moment.

“If it wasn’t for you, ma’am, I wouldn’t care if it was me that was sick, instead of my sister, and if I never got well.  For with William—­”

She could say no more, and departed adrip with tears.

Matilda’s nightly visits were a loss; but Mrs. De Peyster had come to take her situation more and more philosophically.  The life was unspeakably tedious, to be sure, and rather dangerous, too; but she had accepted the predicament—­it had to be endured and could not be helped; and such a state of mind made her circumstances much easier to support.  All in all, there was no reason, though, of course, it was most uncomfortable—­there was no good reason, she kept assuring herself, why she might not safely withstand the siege and come out of the affair with none but her two confidants being the wiser.

In this philosophic mood three more days passed—­passed slowly and tediously, to be sure, but yet they did get by.  There were relaxations, of course,—­things to occupy her mind.  She read a little each day; she listened to Mary’s concert in the drawing-room below her—­for Mary dared to continue playing despite Matilda’s absence, since it was known that Matilda’s niece was in the house, though Mary never showed her face; she listened for snatches of the conversation of Jack and Mary and Mr. Pyecroft when they passed her door; at times she stood upon a chair at one of her windows and cautiously peered through the little panes in her shutters, like the lens of a camera, down into the sunny green of Washington Square.