Madame (in a faint whisper).—"Ah, my dear Madam, my dear kind friend, I may say now I am going to leave you."
The great Voice.—"I am proud to be your friend always, Madame, but it's all nonsense talking of leaving us. Why you look as well and rosy——"
Madame (a little hysterical).—"Fever, dear Mrs. E., all fever; my poor frame cannot support this long."
The Voice.—"Fever, is it? Let me count your pulse. Very good pulse, rather weak I should say. Take a glass of port wine and you will be all right."
Madame.—"Dear friend, your robust frame knows not what it is to suffer. Ah, the agonies I endure, the insupportable suffering!"
Schillie (a little softer).—"Rheumatism, I dare say; I have it sometimes in my knees, and it is very aggravating."
Madame.—"Alas, alas, would that it were; but I must not lose my precious moments, I must try to speak while I am able."
Schillie.—"Don't hurry, don't hurry, dear Madame. I have nothing to do at present, I can wait as long as you like."
Madame.—"Dear Mrs. E., thanks, but it is I, it is my time that is so short."
Schillie.—"Oh, come, come, that's all nonsense. I see no symptoms of dying about you. Indeed you look better than I have seen you for ages."