I turned round. It was Madame, my benefactress, my patroness. She was in a hackney coach.
"I TURNED AROUND; IT WAS MADAM."
'Come in,' she cried, stopping her driver. 'Come in with me.'
I obeyed, nothing loth.
'Why,' she said looking at me. 'What is the matter? Your cheeks are hollow: your face is pale: your limbs are shaking: worse still—you are shabby. What has happened?'
I could make no reply.
'Your sweet wife—and the lovely boy. They are well?'