I made no reply, but went up to Mignonne's room. My heart was very heavy; still, I felt that I must try to bring back a little hope to her heart. I arrived under the eaves. The door was still open and Mignonne was kneeling by the cradle, as at my previous visit; but she was not singing; everything was perfectly still. The young mother, with her eyes fixed on her child, seemed to be watching for some gleam of hope on her face or in her breathing. I stepped into the room; Mignonne did not even turn her head. "Excuse me, madame," I said, approaching the cradle; "will you allow me to examine your little girl?" The young woman glanced at me, with eyes dim with tears, and murmured: "Oh! monsieur! just see how she has changed, poor child, in the ten days since you saw her! Just look at her!" Poor little one! My heart sank and my chest heaved when I saw the shocking ravages that disease had wrought in so short a time. When I saw her, ten days before, she was pale and thin; but her pretty features had not changed. Now, her little face was all wasted away; her head, like her body, seemed shrunken; her mouth, which she kept tightly closed, her little features, constantly distorted by nervous contractions--everything indicated great suffering; and yet she was still sweet and pretty. Ought such angels to suffer? What crime can they have committed? I took the child's hand; it was still burning. The mother gazed anxiously at my face and said: "Monsieur, do you still hope?" "I told you that I should always hope." "Oh, yes! you are right; but for that, I should die." "Does she complain? Can you guess where she feels pain?" "Alas! she doesn't complain, poor child! But she groans and cries, and I can't soothe her any more. Oh! monsieur! I can't soothe her any more!" Mignonne paused a moment to weep. I did not try to check her tears. They do much more harm when stored up than when they are freely shed. In a moment she continued, pointing to the child: "Look! see how she keeps her teeth clenched all the time. Oh! that is what frightens me!" "What does the doctor say?" "He ordered her some medicine. But she won't take anything, she won't drink. That is the hardest part of it!" "Yes, for if she drank a little of it, it would probably allay the fire that is consuming her." "But what am I to do if she won't drink it--when she cries if I insist? I can't force her, can I, the dear little pet?" "Will you let me try, madame?" "You, monsieur! Do you think you can succeed any better than I?" "I shall go about it differently." "With her teeth always clenched--I'm afraid she'll break the cup when I hold it to her mouth." "For that reason, I do not mean to try with a cup. Have you a small spoon?" "Yes, monsieur." "Please let me have it, madame."