"I am sorry I was late, but won't you let me dress it now?"
"I wish to heaven you would leave me in peace."
"But your arm will get worse if you don't have it dressed."
"And that is exactly what you want."
"Oh, godmother, don't say that, I beg of you."
"Don't come near me! I won't have it dressed, I say."
"Very well, godmother," replied the girl, sighing. Then she added, "I asked Madame Justin to bring up your milk. Here it is. Would you like me to warm it a little?"
"Milk? milk? I'm tired of milk! The very thought of it makes me sick at my stomach. The doctor said I was to have good strong bouillon, with a chop and a bit of chicken now and then. I had some Monday and Wednesday—but this is Sunday."
"It is not my fault, godmother. I know the doctor ordered it, but one must have money to follow his directions, and it is almost impossible for me to earn twenty sous a day now."
"You don't mind spending money on clothes, I'm sure. When my comfort is concerned it is a very different thing."