‘Has Emmy been long . . .?’

‘Here, dear?  I think so.  I am with my darling.’

Tony moaned.  The warmth and the love were bringing back her anguish.

She said:  ‘I have been happy.  It is not hard to go.’

Emma strained to her.  ’Tony will wait for her soul’s own soul to go, the two together.’

There was a faint convulsion in the body.  ’If I cry, I shall go in pain.’

‘You are in Emmy’s arms, my beloved.’

Tony’s eyes closed for forgetfulness under that sensation.  A tear ran down from her, but the pain was lag and neighboured sleep, like the pleasure.

So passed the short winter day, little spoken.

Then Emma bethought her of a way of leading Tony to take food, and she said:  ’I shall stay with you; I shall send for clothes; I am rather hungry.  Don’t stir, dear.  I will be mistress of the house.’

She went below to the kitchen, where a few words in the ear of a Frenchwoman were sufficient to waken immediate comprehension of what was wanted, and smart service:  within ten minutes an appetizing bouillon sent its odour over the bedroom.  Tony, days back, had said her last to the act of eating; but Emma sipping at the spoon and expressing satisfaction, was a pleasant picture.  The bouillon smelt pleasantly.

‘Your servants love you,’ Emma said.

‘Ah, poor good souls.’

’They crowded up to me to hear of you.  Madame of course at the first word was off to her pots.  And we English have the habit of calling ourselves the practical people!—­This bouillon is consummate.—­However, we have the virtues of barbarians; we can love and serve for love.  I never tasted anything so good.  I could become a glutton.’

‘Do,’ said Tony.

’I should be ashamed to “drain the bowl” all to myself:  a solitary toper is a horrid creature, unless he makes a song of it.’

‘Emmy makes a song of it to me.’

’But “pledge me” is a noble saying, when you think of humanity’s original hunger for the whole.  It is there that our civilizing commenced, and I am particularly fond of hearing the call.  It is grandly historic.  So pledge me, Tony.  We two can feed from one spoon; it is a closer, bond than the loving cup.  I want you just to taste it and excuse my gluttony.’

Tony murmured, ‘No.’  The spoon was put to her mouth.  She sighed to resist.  The stronger will compelled her to move her lips.  Emma fed her as a child, and nature sucked for life.

The first effect was a gush of tears.

Emma lay with her that night, when the patient was, the better sleeper.  But during the night at intervals she had the happiness of feeling Tony’s hand travelling to make sure of her.

CHAPTER XXXVII

AN EXHIBITION OF SOME CHAMPIONS OF THE STRICKEN LADY