"Good," repeated the maniac.
"Then you can put on your new cap to-morrow."
"The one with the ribbons?"
"Yes."
"Oh, then I will be good."
The poor thing clapped her hands, but suddenly she uttered a cry of pain.
"Ah!—my head—it is burning!"
Louison, with heavenly patience, caressed her gray hair and calmed her.
"Ah! where is the box?" the maniac complained after a while.
"To-morrow I will bring it to you," said the songstress, who knew the whims of the sick woman.