Fleurette smiled but listlessly at all these comicalities.
One day she was taken ill. A doctor, summoned, said many learned words which Aristide and Mme. Bidoux tried hard to understand.
“But, after all, what is the matter with her?”
aristide practised his many queer accomplishments
“She has no strength to struggle. She wants happiness.”
“Can you tell me the druggist’s where that can be procured?” asked Aristide.
The doctor shrugged his shoulders. “I tell you the truth. It is one of those pulmonary cases. Happy, she will live; unhappy, she will die.”
“My poor Mme. Bidoux, what is to be done?” asked Aristide, after the doctor had gone off with his modest fee. “How are we to make her happy?”
“If only she could have news of her husband!” replied Mme. Bidoux.