Sometimes Christian crept in unnoticed, and sat watching, with her arms tightly folded across her breast.  At night, after Greta was asleep, she would toss from side to side, muttering feverish prayers.  She spent hours at her little table in the schoolroom, writing letters to Harz that were never sent.  Once she wrote these words:  “I am the most wicked of all creatures—­I have even wished that he may die!” A few minutes afterwards Miss Naylor found her with her head buried on her arms.  Christian sprang up; tears were streaming down her cheeks.  “Don’t touch me!” she cried, and rushed away.  Later, she stole into her uncle’s room, and sank down on the floor beside the bed.  She sat there silently, unnoticed all the evening.  When night came she could hardly be persuaded to leave the room.

One day Mr. Treffry expressed a wish to see Herr Paul; it was a long while before the latter could summon courage to go in.

“There’s a few dozen of the Gordon sherry at my Chambers, in London, Paul,” Mr. Treffry said; “I’d be glad to think you had ’em.  And my man, Dominique, I’ve made him all right in my will, but keep your eye on him; he’s a good sort for a foreigner, and no chicken, but sooner or later, the women’ll get hold of him.  That’s all I had to say.  Send Chris to me.”

Herr Paul stood by the bedside speechless.  Suddenly he blurted out.

“Ah! my dear!  Courage!  We are all mortal.  You will get well!” All the morning he walked about quite inconsolable.  “It was frightful to see him, you know, frightful!  An iron man could not have borne it.”

When Christian came to him, Mr. Treffry raised himself and looked at her a long while.

His wistful face was like an accusation.  But that very afternoon the news came from the sickroom that he was better, having had no pain for several hours.

Every one went about with smiles lurking in their eyes, and ready to break forth at a word.  In the kitchen Barbi burst out crying, and, forgetting to toss the pan, spoiled a Kaiser-Schmarn she was making.  Dominique was observed draining a glass of Chianti, and solemnly casting forth the last drops in libation.  An order was given for tea to be taken out under the acacias, where it was always cool; it was felt that something in the nature of high festival was being held.  Even Herr Paul was present; but Christian did not come.  Nobody spoke of illness; to mention it might break the spell.

Miss Naylor, who had gone into the house, came back, saying: 

“There is a strange man standing over there by the corner of the house.”

“Really!” asked Mrs. Decie; “what does he want?”

Miss Naylor reddened.  “I did not ask him.  I—­don’t—­know—­whether he is quite respectable.  His coat is buttoned very close, and he—­doesn’t seem—­to have a—­collar.”

“Go and see what he wants, dear child,” Mrs. Decie said to Greta.