The half-fainting girl weakly replied: “I am very sorry, madame, indeed.”
To this Mrs. Falchion rejoined: “When you have been attended to, you may go to bed, Justine. I shall not want you again to-night. But I shall change my dress. It is so unpleasant; I hate blood. I hope you will be well in the morning.”
To this Justine replied: “Ah, madame, I am sorry. I could not help it; but I shall be quite well in the morning, I am sure.” Then she added quietly to me: “The poor madame! She will not see suffering. She hates pain. Sickness troubles her. Shall I be able to use my hand very soon, monsieur?”
There was a wistful look in her eyes, and guessing why it was there, I said: “Yes, soon, I hope—in a few days, no doubt.”
Her face lighted up, and she said: “Madame likes about her people who are happy and well.” Then, as if she might have said too much, she hurriedly added: “But she is very kind;” and, stooping down quickly, her face whitening with the effort, she caught up the broken glass and threw it through the port-hole into the sea.
A half-hour later I went on deck, and found Mrs. Falchion comfortably seated in her deck-chair. I brought a stool over, and sat down beside her. To this hour the quickness with which I got upon friendly terms with her astonishes me.
“Justine is better?” she said, and her hand made a slight motion of disgust.
“Yes. She was not dangerously hurt, of course.”
“Let us change the subject, please. They are going to have a fancy-dress ball on board, I believe, before we get to Aden. How tiresome! Isn’t it a little affectation on the part of the stage-struck committee? Isn’t it—inconsequent?”
“That depends,” I said vaguely, inviting a question. She idled with a book in her lap.