good of that? These gentlemen declared yesterday that my illness was a comedy; it would be just the same today, no doubt — for since yesterday evening they have had plenty of time to send for a doctor.”

“Then,” said Felton, who became impatient, “say yourself, madame, what treatment you wish followed.”

“Eh, how can I tell? My God! I know that I suffer, that’s all. Give me anything you like, it is of little consequence.”

“Go and fetch Lord de Winter,” said Felton, tired of these eternal complaints.

“Oh, no, no!” cried Milady; “no, sir, do not call him, I conjure you. I am well, I want nothing; do not call him.”