'Oh—but it wasn't horrors, Dick.—That's just what it wasn't. Because Marthe was there, shining through everything.'
Graham stood up and drew her to her feet. 'Come on. To bed with you. They've given you a fever, between them.'
'No; I remember now; I must have caught his cold from that disgusting boy who dined next us two nights ago.' Jill went obediently with Graham up the stair. 'Don't you remember him;—the dark boy with dirty nails, who sneezed and blew his nose—or didn't blow it—all through dinner?'
'Yes. Damn him! I remember,' said Dick.
Next morning it was evident that Jill had the influenza. The local doctor was called in after lunch and pronounced upon her case. Warmth, quiet, nourishing food. There must be no question of leaving Buissac for a fortnight and he would come in and see Madame every day. Monsieur, no doubt, would not regret the enforced stay, for he had observed him often with his easel. He himself was something of an amateur and always made a point of going to the Salon, if it was open, when he was in Paris. Monsieur and Madame knew Paris? Well? It went without saying. Paris was the capital of the world.
He chattered until Graham became impatient. It was rarely that he had a case so interesting. Jill was charming with her russet locks tossed and the rose-coloured bow on her breast. She was sorry for the poor man, and amused by him and looked at him very
