“Hydra-headed, remember.”
“Raison de plus, mon cher. In this century we should be able to cope with monsters. Allons! I long for your opinion about the depth of the beds. You say eighteen inches, and my man maintains twenty to be the minimum depth. I shall hear the reason on both sides before deciding. It is an important question, on which one should not pronounce hastily.”
About a week after, Thérèse, who had resumed her favourite walks by the river, asked Nannon:
“What is this about the fever? I heard Monsieur Roulleau talking of it yesterday.”
“There is no use in talking, particularly when it is a little creature like that who talks. All they may say will not stop the fever.”
“It increases then?”
“Increases? But yes. This morning we hear that it is in our street. Louise Gouÿe’s child, of whom I have sometimes told mademoiselle, has it.”
“What, that pretty little blue-eyed thing?”
“Yes, yes. The poor mother is in despair.”
“But, Nannon, it seems to spread terribly. Can nothing be done? What does Monsieur Deshoulières say?”