had two sons studying medicine.  His daughter was, perhaps, rather in his way; he loved her much, but she was growing fast into womanhood, and he did not quite know what to do with her.  Saint-Cyr was well-born and he was clever.  If only his health were to take a turn for the better, all might go well.  But then, if not?  He looked at the young man’s pale face and remembered what his stethoscope had revealed.  Still, in such an early stage these physical warnings often came to nothing.  Rest, and fresh air, and happiness, might set him up and make a healthy man of him yet.  So he gave a preliminary assent to the engagement, but forbade the young people to consider the affair settled—­for the present.  He wanted to see how Georges got on.  It was early spring then.  Hope and love and the April sunshine agreed with the young man.  He was much stronger by June, and did well at the hospital and at his work.  He had reached the end of his fin d’aunee examinations; a year’s respite was before him now before beginning to pass for his doctorate.  Le Noir thought that if he could pass the next winter in the south of France he would be quite set up, and lost no time in imparting this idea to Georges.  But Georges was not just then in funds; his time had been lately wholly taken up with his studies, and he had been unable to do any literary hacking.  When he told the professor that he could not afford to spend a winter on the Riviera, Le Noir looked at him fixedly a minute or two and then said:—­ ’Pauline’s dot will be 10,000 francs.  It comes to her from her mother.  With care that ought to keep you both till you have taken your doctorate and can earn money for yourself.  Will you marry Pauline this autumn and take her with you to the south?’ Well, you can fancy whether this proposal pleased Georges or not.  At first he refused, of course; he would not take Pauline’s money; it was her’s; he would wait till he could earn money of his own.  But the professor was persuasive, and when he told his daughter of the discussion, she went privately into her father’s study where Georges sat, pretending to read chemistry, and settled the matter.  So the upshot of it was that late in October, Pauline became Madame Saint-Cyr, and started with her husband for the Riviera.

“The winter turned out a bitter one.  Bitter and wild and treacherous over the whole of Europe.  Snow where snow had not been seen time out of mind; biting murderous winds that nothing could escape.  My friend Dr S. says the Riviera is not always kind to consumptives, even when at its best; and this particular season saw it at its worst.  Georges Saint-Cyr caught a violent chill one evening at St Raphael, whither he and his wife had gone for the sake of the cheapness rather than to any of the larger towns on the littoral; and in a very short time his old malady was on him again,—­the fever, the cough, the weakness,—­in short, a fresh