She was better again the next day, and the next; but on the fourth she was in a very critical state. She lay quite silent during the Doctor’s visit, until he, thinking he read in her eyes a wish to say something to him alone, sent her husband and the quadroon out of the room on separate errands at the same moment. And immediately she exclaimed:—
“Doctor, save my life! You mustn’t let me die! Save me, for my husband’s sake! To lose all he’s lost for me, and then to lose me too—save me, Doctor! save me!”
“I’m going to do it!” said he. “You shall get well!”
And what with his skill and her endurance it turned out so.
CHAPTER IV.
CONVALESCENCE AND ACQUAINTANCE.
A man’s clothing is his defence; but with a woman all dress is adornment. Nature decrees it; adornment is her instinctive delight. And, above all, the adorning of a bride; it brings out so charmingly the meaning of the thing. Therein centres the gay consent of all mankind and womankind to an innocent, sweet apostasy from the ranks of both. The value of living—which is loving; the sacredest wonders of life; all that is fairest and of best delight in thought, in feeling, yea, in substance,—all are apprehended under the floral crown and hymeneal veil. So, when at length one day Mrs. Richling said, “Madame Zénobie, don’t you think I might sit up?” it would have been absurd to doubt the quadroon’s willingness to assist her in dressing. True, here was neither wreath nor veil, but here was very young wifehood, and its re-attiring would be like a proclamation of victory over the malady that had striven to put two hearts asunder. Her willingness could hardly be doubted, though she smiled irresponsibly, and said:—
“If you thing”— She spread her eyes and elbows suddenly in the manner of a crab, with palms turned upward and thumbs outstretched—“Well!”—and so dropped them.