“Look here!” I said, after we had exchanged greetings; “this will never do. My patient must not be allowed to excite herself in this way.”
“Ah, mais monsieur,” she cried, “what vill you? I mus’ veep; zink only; vone veek ago an’ I ’appy voman; now all gone. My ’usban’, ’e mad, and zey zay ’e murderer too, but I zay, No, no.”
Mrs. Atkins patted her hand gently.
“Monsieur Stuah, ’e tell me to go,” she continued, “an’ I don’ know vere; me not speak English vera good, an’ I mus’ go alone vid peoples zat speak no French. Ah, I am a miserable, lonely woman,” she sobbed.
Mrs. Atkins consoled her as best she could, and promised to get her a congenial place. It was a pretty sight to see the dashing little woman in that humble bed-room, and I had never admired her so much. When she got up to leave, I rose also, and, not wishing to pass through Mr. Stuart’s apartments, we left the building by the back way. When we were in the street, Mrs. Atkins started to walk up town.
“Are you going for a walk?” I asked.
“Yes; it is much cooler to-day, and I really must get a little exercise.”
“Do you mind my joining you?” I inquired.
“I’d be glad of your company,” she answered, cordially.
“It’s terribly sad about that poor woman, isn’t it?” she said, as we sauntered along.