"She want you now," replied Irma, with such a look of anxiety upon her face that Mrs. French was constrained to say, "Wait one moment, Doctor. I'll see what it is. I shall not keep you."
She ran into the house, followed by the little girl. The room was full of men who stood about in stolid but not unsympathetic silence, gazing upon Paulina, who appeared to be prostrated with grief. Beside her stood the lad Kalman, the picture of desolation.
"What is it?" cried Mrs. French, running to her. "Tell me what is the matter."
Irma told the story. Early that morning they had gone to the jail, but after waiting for hours they were refused admission by the guard.
"A very cross man send us away," said the girl. "He say he put us in jail too. We can see our fadder no more."
Her words were followed by a new outburst of grief on the part of Paulina and the two children.
"But the Judge said you were to see him," said Mrs. French in surprise. "Wait for me," she added.
She ran out and told the doctor in indignant words what had taken place, a red spot glowing in each white cheek.
"Isn't it a shame?" she cried when she had finished her story.
"Oh, it's something about prison rules and regulations, I guess," said the doctor.