"She wants air," he said hastily, and Angelique again spread wide the window in the gable, when the thin cry of her tante-gra'mere forbade it. "But, dear tante-gra'mere, Mademoiselle Zhone must have air." "And must she selfishly give me rheumatism in order to give herself air?" "But, dear tante-gra'mere"-- "Shut that window." "I dare not, indeed." Rice seized two corners of the feather pallet, and made it travel in a swift swish across the attic boards to the window at the front, which he opened. Supporting Maria in his arms, he signaled Angelique, with an amused face, to obey her tyrant; and she did so. But Peggy stalked behind the screens, and put her face close to the black eyes in the great soft lair built up of so many beds. "You and I are nice people, madame," said Peggy through her teeth. "We don't care who suffers, if we are happy. We ought to have been twins; the same little beast lives in us both." Tante-gra'mere's eyes snapped. "You are a limb," she responded in shrill French. "Yes; we know each other," said Peggy. "When you are old, there will come a little wretch to revile you." "I don't revile you, madame. I dote on you." "Your mother should box your ears, mademoiselle." "It would do me no good, madame." "I should like to try it," said tante-gra'mere, without humor. Angelique did not hear this little quarrel. She was helping Rice with his sister. His pockets were full of Maria's medicines. He set the bottles out, and Angelique arranged them ready for use. They gave her a spoonful and raised her on pillows, and she rested drowsily again, grateful for the damp wind which made the others shiver. Angelique's sweet fixed gaze, with an unconscious focus of vital power, dwelt on the sick girl; she felt the yearning pity which mothers feel. And this, or the glamour of dim light, made her oval face and dark hair so beautiful that Rice looked at her; and Peggy, coming from the screens, resented that look. Peggy sat down in the window, facing them, the dormer alcove making a tunnel through which she could watch like a spider; though she lounged indifferently against the frame, and turned toward the water streets and storm-drenched half houses which the moon now plainly revealed. The northwest wind set her teeth with its chill, and ripples of froth chased each other up the roof at her. "The water is still rising," remarked Peggy. "Look, Peggy," begged Angelique, "and see if Colonel Menard and my father are coming back with the boat." "It is too soon," said Rice. "Perhaps Colonel Menard will never come back," suggested Peggy. "It was a bad sign when the screech-owl screeched in the old Jesuit College." "But the storm is over now. The water is not washing over the house." "The moon shows plenty of whitecaps. It is rough." "As long as this wind lasts the water will be boisterous," said Rice. "But Colonel Menard no more minds rough weather than a priest carrying the sacrament. He is used to the rivers."