a stoical sadness that opened a window on all the unutterable despair of life.
"But they are good to you?" he suggested. From the manner of the two Sisters it was clear that Lamielle was a favorite.
She shrugged her shoulders. "It's dull. All day. Every day. We get up at six! . . . Sometimes they let us work. We take turns. This morning I peeled the potatoes—look!"
Her soft white fingers were stained and scarred, and she was smiling with a hint of her old gaiety, a travesty of it—the poor empty mouth!
He told her that her old friend, the vicomte, had called at the cafe, and her eyes glistened.
"Le pauvre diable!" she said.
When he offered her the basket she drew back, all her childlike embarrassment returning. The head nurse came into the room again as a reminder that their time was up, and suddenly Marthe reached into the basket and began plying her with the contents.
"Tenez! Tenez!" she urged.
But the old Sister protested gently. "They are all for you, my dear, and you shall have some of them each day. I will keep them in a safe place." Turning to Grover she explained. "Miss Barrett brought her some presents for her birthday, and she had given them all away before we knew it. She's a naughty child."
Though this was said in banter it brought a hurt look into Marthe's eyes, and she again sought protec-
