“What is it?” said Margaret in French.
Aladdin listened with intense admiration, for he did not understand a word.
“Monsieur does not carry himself so well,” said Eugenie, “and he asks if mademoiselle will have the goodness to mount a moment to his room.”
“I’ll go at once.” Margaret rose. “Papa’s worse,” she said to Aladdin. “Will you wait?”
“I am so sorry,” said Aladdin. “No, I can’t wait; I have to get out the paper. I”—he smiled—“am announcing to an eager public what general, in my expert opinion, is best fitted to command the armies of the United States.”
“Of course there’ll be fighting.”
“Of course—and in a day or two. Good-by.”
“Good-by.”
“I’ll come round later and inquire about your father. Give him my love.”
Margaret ran up-stairs to her father’s room. He was in great pain, but perfectly calm and collected. As Margaret entered, the doctor went out, and she was alone with her father.