"No, not at night. We love the moor, though, by day, and know it well, and I am not really afraid of the wild things."
"No, m'amzelle," politely. Silence followed again. Esther grew desperate.
"I—I hope your wife will soon be better," she said sympathetically.
"Thank you, m'amzelle. I hope so, too."
"Is she very ill?"
"Well, not—not dangerous, but she troubles. Our M'amzelle Lucille is not strong, she suffers so, and when Laura—my wife—is ill, M'amzelle does too much, she is so good."
"Can't you have some one in to help you?" asked practical Esther.
"No, m'amzelle, we are so far away. But we do not want any one really. I can do all. I know how to nurse," with evident pride, "but M'amzelle likes to help us, and—and she is not strong, she suffers so."
"Does she?" asked Esther sympathetically. "I am so sorry. I noticed she was lame. Does she suffer pain from her lameness?"
"Yes, m'amzelle. She had a fall some years ago. You know, I daresay, that M'amzelle Lucille was at one time a famous singer. No? She has not told you? Then perhaps I should not have, but I thought that when she told you her name you would know."