And as a season of mild weather ensued, she grew better, and under skillful medical treatment and tender nursing and good feeding continued to improve every day until the severe cold and high winds of early March came. Then she took cold again, no one knew how; began to cough and complain of oppression, suffocation and fever. Yet her spirits never flagged, nor did she once think of death.
“It is only another cold,” she said to Roma, “but when this month is past then will come the lovely spring, and I shall be well, and go to the country. You are going on the first of April, are you not?”
“Yes, dear, if you should be well enough.”
“Oh, I shall be well enough, never fear.”
One day, when the doctor had made his usual morning visit, he made a slight sign to Roma that he wished to speak to her alone.
So when he had taken leave of his patient Roma followed him into the hall.
“It is my duty to tell you,” he said, “that our poor young patient will not probably live out this month. If she has any friends or relatives, they should be informed of her condition. Try to ascertain the facts without alarming her.”
“Yes, I will,” replied Roma.
And after the doctor had left her she stood revolving in her mind how she should proceed. She soon made up her mind, and re-entered the room.
Marguerite herself led the way up to the subject.