'And what else was there?'
Phoebe choked back her tears.
'There was a woman—who came to live near us—who had been a maid—'
She hesitated.
'Please go on!'
'Maid to Madame de Pastourelles'—she said, hastily, stumbling over the French name.
He exclaimed:
'In Ontario!'
'She married a man she had been engaged to for years; he'd been making a home for her out there. I liked her directly I saw her; and she was too delicate for the life; she came in the fall, and the winter tried her dreadfully. I used to go in to nurse her—she was very much alone—and she told me all about herself—and about—'
'Madame?'
Phoebe nodded, her eyes swimming again in tears.