“The infirmary was a large, gloomy room, at the other end of the house, where the pupils were sent, to be nursed, when the least indisposed, if it was only a headache, or ordinary cold, and Madame happened to notice a heavy eye, or listless demeanor, among any of her flock, they were immediately dismissed to the sick room.
“I did not want to go; it was only a slight cold I had taken from over exercise, but Madame’s word was law, and must be obeyed, and I, therefore, reluctantly followed my conductress to the infirmary. Wilhelmina repeated her message to Miss Jones, and then returned. Twilight was stealing over that vast city, not the unclouded twilight of a summer’s eve, but winter’s dusky clouds, mingled with the clear blue of the atmosphere.
“Miss Jones, although English, spoke German well; she asked me if I felt sick, and what ailed me? I replied, ‘only a slight headache and vertigo; that I would have remained at my desk, but Madame, imagining I was ill, had told me to come to the infirmary.’
“‘Madame is right, of course, my child; for all you know, these may be the premonitory symptoms of a fever,’ and Miss Jones, with a learned air, felt my pulse. I could scarcely help smiling at the comical expression of assumed wisdom in the good-natured little woman’s face. ‘Your head is hot,’ placing her hand upon my head, ‘and your eyes look heavy; sit down quietly here; the doctor is coming soon, to prescribe for Miss Clarendon, and then I’ll ask him what I shall do for you?’
“The little woman bustled about the room awhile, and then went out to order some gruel made for one of the sick girls. I sat still, where she had left me, in an arm-chair, near the window, and looked around the room. Some half dozen girls were its occupants, all sick, and with the exception of one, all in bed; my eyes dwelt more particularly upon her than any other, being the most beautiful and conspicuous one among the invalids, it was the young girl the teacher had called Miss Clarendon. I afterwards learned from one of the pupils, that she was the daughter of a widowed English nobleman, who had placed her at the institution to complete her education, while he pursued his travels alone in the East. She sat in a large fauteuil, nearly opposite me, on the other side of the room; her whole person, except her etherial looking face, enveloped in an enormous cashmere shawl. Her maid, a mulatto woman, stood by her, bathing her pale face with eau de Cologne; her large blue eyes, heavy and listless from ill health, and probably low spirits, were gazing on vacancy; a slight, bright tinge of pink illumined each cheek, and gave a brilliant expression of evanescent bloom to the countenance of this dying beauty.
“For dying she evidently was, of that most insidious and deceptive of all diseases, consumption; far away from the home and associations of her childhood,—alone, in a land of strangers. I thought, while looking at her, that I had never seen any one half as lovely. Inez and Blanche were beautiful, but they were not to be compared to her; they did not possess that elegant bearing, that innate consciousness of superiority, which showed itself in the very looks of this girl. She looked so calm, so lady-like; at intervals she pressed one of her small, delicate hands to her mouth, as if to stifle the hacking cough, which seemed to convulse her frame. Her attendant offered her a lozenge; she took it mechanically, put it in her mouth, and still gazed on. I walked across the room and took a seat near her; she looked at me languidly, but made no remark.
“‘Are you sick, Miss?’ I asked, curiously, for I wanted to hear her speak. ‘Are you one of Madame Deville’s pupils? I have not seen you before.’
“‘You are a new pupil, I suppose, and I have been sick for many weeks,’ she replied, in intelligible German, but with a marked English accent; her voice was sweet, and intonation very clear, ‘Are you on the sick list?’ she asked.
“‘Yes, Madame says so; she sent me here because I had a bad headache and vertigo, but I don’t like the room, it’s so still and gloomy.’