Madam Crewe was sitting in her chair, as Eunice had described her, but as Martha came forward, the drooping head lifted ever so slightly, the heavy eyes gave out a faint spark.
Without a word Martha poured into a glass one of Dr. Ballard's stimulants, in the use of which she had been well instructed. She held the glass to Madam Crewe's lips, supporting her while she drank, then waiting until the lips showed a tinge of color.
"Good—morning! Why don't—you—ask—me, how I—slept?"
Martha caught the labored words with difficulty. She caught, what was even more difficult, the intention to preserve the old tone of caustic raillery.
"I never do," she answered imperturbably, playing up with gallant spirit, to the required pace. "I never do. Mornin's, when folks ask you how you slep', mostly it's just for the chance to let you know how they didn't."
"Kath—er—ine?"
"I see her before I come in here. She's kinda played out, this mornin'. I guess we better let her rest a while, hadn't we?"
Madam Crewe's eyes conveyed assent.
Chatting lightly on, ignoring any reason for not doing so, Martha undressed the rigid little body, and laid it tenderly in bed. Somehow, she managed to prepare a breakfast which the Madam patiently suffered herself to be fed, though Martha knew it was a hardship.
"It'd astonish you, how she's fightin'," Mrs. Slawson told Miss Claire, whom Mr. Ronald brought out in the course of the early forenoon to make inquiries. "It'd astonish you. She won't give in. She falls asleep, in spite of herself, but after a minute, there she is awake again, for all the world as if the spirit in her wouldn't let itself be downed. I never see anybody livin' as fierce as her. She's doin' it, for all she's worth. Every minute, full up, begrutchin' the time she has to lose for rest."