“There were only two little children.  His wife was about to present him with another, and she was so overwhelmed at the sight of him brought home in such a condition, that she was taken ill and a few hours later gave birth to another little one.  What was to be done under such circumstances in a lonely cottage far from any help?  Emile decided to fetch the horse we had left in the wood, to ride as fast as he could into the town and fetch a surgeon.  He let the surgeon have the horse, and not succeeding in finding a nurse all at once, he returned on foot with a servant, after having sent a messenger to you; meanwhile I hardly knew what to do between a man with a broken leg and a woman in travail, but I got ready as well as I could such things in the house as I thought would be needed for the relief of both.

“I will pass over the rest of the details; they are not to the point.  It was two o’clock in the morning before we got a moment’s rest.  At last we returned before daybreak to our lodging close at hand, where we waited till you were up to let you know what had happened to us.”

That was all I said.  But before any one could speak Emile, approaching Sophy, raised his voice and said with greater firmness than I expected, “Sophy, my fate is in your hands, as you very well know.  You may condemn me to die of grief; but do not hope to make me forget the rights of humanity; they are even more sacred in my eyes than your own rights; I will never renounce them for you.”

For all answer, Sophy rose, put her arm round his neck, and kissed him on the cheek; then offering him her hand with inimitable grace she said to him, “Emile, take this hand; it is yours.  When you will, you shall be my husband and my master; I will try to be worthy of that honour.”

Scarcely had she kissed him, when her delighted father clapped his hands calling, “Encore, encore,” and Sophy without further ado, kissed him twice on the other cheek; but afraid of what she had done she took refuge at once in her mother’s arms and hid her blushing face on the maternal bosom.

I will not describe our happiness; everybody will feel with us.  After dinner Sophy asked if it were too far to go and see the poor invalids.  It was her wish and it was a work of mercy.  When we got there we found them both in bed—­Emile had sent for a second bedstead; there were people there to look after them—­Emile had seen to it.  But in spite of this everything was so untidy that they suffered almost as much from discomfort as from their condition.  Sophy asked for one of the good wife’s aprons and set to work to make her more comfortable in her bed; then she did as much for the man; her soft and gentle hand seemed to find out what was hurting them and how to settle them into less painful positions.  Her very presence seemed to make them more comfortable; she seemed to guess what was the matter.  This fastidious girl was not disgusted by the dirt or smells, and she managed