"From the symptoms," said Bertha, "I suppose it is typhoid fever. That is why we have not a minute to lose; it is an illness that requires to be taken in time. Are you coming with us, Monsieur Michel?"
"But, mademoiselle," said the young man, "typhoid fever is contagious."
"Some say it is, and others say it is not," replied Bertha, carelessly.
"But," insisted Michel, "it is deadly."
"Yes, in many cases; though it is often cured."
The young man went close up to Bertha.
"Are you really going to expose yourself to such a danger?" he said.
"Of course I am."
"For an unknown man, a stranger to you?"
"Those who are strangers to us," said Bertha, with infinite gentleness, "are fathers, brothers, husbands, to other human beings. There is no such thing as a stranger in this world, Monsieur Michel; even to you this man may be something."