examined her narrowly. Her skin was dry and burning, and on her forehead there was a slight rash. Her lips were dry, and she continually made the motion of swallowing. Her eyes sparkled, and they seemed to stand out from her head. Also she still bitterly complained of thirst. She wanted, indeed, to stop the carriage and have something to drink at the Caf� de l’Univers, but I absolutely declined to permit such a proceeding, and in a few minutes we were at her flat. The attack was passing away. She mounted the stairs without much difficulty.

“You must go to bed,” I said. We were in the salon. “In a few hours you will be better.”

“I will ring for Yvette.”

“No,” I said, “you will not ring for Yvette. I want Yvette myself. Have you no other servant who can assist you?”