"I hope you do not mind having a small cup," he said solemnly. "I remember that you do not care to take a great deal of coffee, so I have given you the small cup."
Sylvia looked up.
"Oh dear!" she exclaimed, "I ought to have told you before you made it, Monsieur Wachner—but I won't have any coffee to-night. The last time I took some I lay awake all night."
"Oh, but you must take coffee!" Madame Wachner spoke good-humouredly, but with great determination. "The small amount you have in that little cup will not hurt you; and besides it is a special coffee, L'Ami Fritz's own mixture"—she laughed heartily.
And again? Sylvia noticed that Monsieur Wachner looked at his wife with a fixed, rather angry look, as much as to say, "Why are you always laughing? Why cannot you be serious sometimes?"
"But to-night, honestly, I would really rather not have any coffee!"
Sylvia had suddenly seen a vision of herself lying wide awake during long dark hours—hours which, as she knew by experience, generally bring to the sleepless, worrying thoughts.
"No, no, I will not have any coffee to-night," she repeated.
"Yes, yes, dear friend, you really must," Madame Wachner spoke very persuasively. "I should be truly sorry if you did not take this coffee. Indeed, it would make me think you were angry with us because of the very bad supper we had given you! L'Ami Fritz would not have taken the trouble to make coffee for his old wife. He has made it for you, only for you; he will be hurt if you do not take it!"
The coffee did look very tempting and fragrant.