“He is worth frightening, then,” said the lady, in exquisite English, and she looked at me again.

“You and David should like each other,” said Mrs. Temple; “you are both capable persons, friends of the friendless and towers of strength to the weak.”

The lady’s face became serious, but still there was the expression I could not make out.  In an instant she seemed to have scrutinized me with a precision from which there could be no appeal.

“I seem to know Mr. Ritchie,” she said, and added quickly:  “Mrs. Clive has talked a great deal about you.  She has made you out a very wonderful person.”

“My dear,” said Mrs. Temple, “the wonderful people of this world are those who find time to comfort and help the unfortunate.  That is why you and David are wonderful.  No one knows better than I how easy it is to be selfish.”

“I have brought you an English novel,” said Madame de Montomery, turning abruptly to Mrs. Temple.  “But you must not read it at night.  Lindy is not to let you have it until to-morrow.”

“There,” said Mrs. Temple, gayly, to me, “Madame is not happy unless she is controlling some one, and I am a rebellious subject.”

“You have not been taking care of yourself,” said Madame.  She glanced at me, and bit her lips, as though guessing the emotion which my visit had caused.  “Listen,” she said, “the vesper bells!  You must go into the house, and Mr. Ritchie and I must leave you.”

She took Mrs. Temple by the arm and led her, unresisting, along the path.  I followed, a thousand thoughts and conjectures spinning in my brain.  They reached the bench under the little tree beside the door, and stood talking for a moment of the routine of Mrs. Temple’s life.  Madame, it seemed, had prescribed a regimen, and meant to have it followed.  Suddenly I saw Mrs. Temple take the lady’s arm, and sink down upon the bench.  Then we were both beside her, bending over her, she sitting upright and smiling at us.

“It is nothing,” she said; “I am so easily tired.”

Her lips were ashen, and her breath came quickly.  Madame acted with that instant promptness which I expected of her.

“You must carry her in, Mr. Ritchie,” she said quietly.

“No, it is only momentary, David,” said Mrs. Temple.  I remember how pitifully frail and light she was as I picked her up and followed Madame through the doorway into the little bedroom.  I laid Mrs. Temple on the bed.

“Send Lindy here,” said Madame.

Lindy was in the front room with the negress whom Madame had brought with her.  They were not talking.  I supposed then this was because Lindy did not speak French.  I did not know that Madame de Montmery’s maid was a mute.  Both of them went into the bedroom, and I was left alone.  The door and windows were closed, and a green myrtle-berry candle was burning on the table.  I looked about me with astonishment.  But for the low ceiling and the wide cypress puncheons