As we passed out, we met the woman going in with the broth.
'Please give it to her at once,' I said.
'Yes, sir, I will; but, gentlemen, don't stand here in the cold. Walk up into the parlor—the front-room.'
We did as she suggested, for the cellar-way had a damp, unhealthy air.
The parlor was furnished in a showy, tawdry style, and a worn, ugly, flame-colored carpet covered its floor. A coal-fire was burning in the grate, and we sat down by it. As we did so, I heard loud voices, mingled with laughter and the clinking of glasses, in the adjoining room. Not appearing to notice the noises, the doctor asked:
'Who is this woman?'
'I don't know; I never saw her before. Is she dying?'
'No, not now. But she can't last long; a week, at the most.'
'She evidently has the consumption. That damp cellar has killed her; she should be got out of it.'
'The cellar hasn't done it; her very vitals are eaten up. She's been beyond cure for six months!'