"Yes," I answered, "for my poor daughter takes care of the invalid, and she ought to know all; if the illness is serious, if we are to lose the last creature who loves us and whom we love—well, it is always best to know it beforehand, than to be struck by the misfortune without having been warned."
"Well," said he, "the poor woman is ill not only because of her old age, but principally because of the grief which is sapping her constitution. She has something preying upon her mind, and it is that which makes her cough. Take care not to grieve her; hide your troubles from her. Always look gay before her. Tell her that you have strong hopes. If she looks at you, smile at her. If she is uneasy, tell her it is nothing. Let no one come in, for fear they should tell her bad news; that is the best remedy I can give you."
While he spoke, Marie-Rose, who was very much alarmed, was coughing behind her hand, with a little hacking cough; he interrupted himself, and, looking at her, he said:
"Have you coughed like that for any length of time, Mlle. Marie-Rose?"
"For some time," she answered, flushing.
Then he took her arm and felt her pulse, saying as he did so:
"You must be careful and look after yourself, too; this place is not healthy. Have you fever at nights?"
"No, sir."
"Well, so much the better; but you must take care of yourself; you must think as little as possible of sad things."
Having said that, he took his hat from my bed and his cane from the corner, and said to me, as we were descending the stairs together: