At first she thought he was endeavouring to rid himself of the fleas, but after a time she came to understand that the muck had healing qualities and soothed the burning scratches made by his claws. And, as he quitted the room, the poor widow fell with her face upon the floor. She moved towards it slowly and picked it up, holding it out in front of her whilst the familiar perfume seemed to assert itself with damning insistence. Michelle answered the door. He took into his soul some of the father's misery, some of the daughter's, to mingle with his own. For his own part he could not sufficiently admire the pluck of this lady, who, notwithstanding all that she had been through, had chosen to appear this evening rather than break her engagement. “Time for my Patience,” she said.
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