“This heat will kill us all, I believe,” said Thérèse, sighing. “I feel as if I would give any thing to get down by the river. Do let me go, Nannon!”
“Mademoiselle must not dream of it,” answered the old woman with decision. “As it is, I believe Monsieur Deshoulières would say I was doing wrong in coming up here. But he positively forbade me to let mademoiselle pass through those streets.”
Amid all his labours he had thought of her.
“Do you love Monsieur Deshoulières better by this time?” asked the girl, suddenly.
There was a minute’s silence.
“Monsieur is admirable at present,” said Nannon at last, stubbornly. “Admirable. But then it is his métier, mademoiselle must understand. It has absolutely nothing to do with those other matters we have talked about. For the sick he devotes himself like a saint. I do not know how he can do all he does. If it were not for mademoiselle I believe I should go to him and ask to be allowed to nurse. One can do that though one is old and stupid. And they want nurses so terribly, the poor things.”
“How I wish I might be one.”
“Mademoiselle! You!”
“Yes, I. Do you think nobody can have any good idea but you?”
“Mademoiselle jests.”