the General." Margaret was full of kindliness that day, and the little children who came begging at her gate went away full-handed and rejoicing. She had a smile, one of her rare smiles, for every creature who crossed her path on that sunny spring morning; and when she at last went to her work in the studio, her voice vied with that of the bird in the magnolia-tree in melody and joy.
Just before sundown Margaret left the house, carrying on her arm a basket containing the can of broth she had watched that day with an interest which she had never before felt regarding any culinary operation. She took the road the bearers had chosen on the morning when Robert Feuardent had been carried to the Hôtel-Dieu, the quickest and quietest route, one which Philip Rondelet had traversed many a day on his way to and from the work he had undertaken for love of her. She walked bravely and swiftly for the first half of the way; but as she drew near the hospital her pace slackened and her heart beat fast with excitement. The building was now in sight. With a heightened color and a perfectly oblivious expression she passed the gate and turned down the next street, as if she had no more interest in the place than the first-comer. Near at hand there was a small square, with a few shade-trees and some wooden benches. Here
