“Richling, I did the best I knew how”—
“Whatever you did was all right, Doctor.”
“I wrote to her months ago, by the hand of Ristofalo. He knows she got the letter. I’m afraid she’s somewhere in the Confederacy, trying to get through. I meant it for the best, my dear boy.”
“It’s all right, Doctor,” said the invalid; but the physician could see the cruel fact slowly grind him.
“Doctor, may I ask one favor?”
“One or a hundred, Richling.”
“I want you to let Madame Zénobie come and nurse me.”
“Why, Richling, can’t I nurse you well enough?”
The Doctor was jealous.
“Yes,” answered the sick man. “But I’ll need a good deal of attention. She wants to do it. She was here yesterday, you knew. She wanted to ask you, but was afraid.”