Then, after administering to her patient a draught prescribed by the doctor, Bastringuette lay down on the mattress on the floor of the closet. "I'll be on hand if you make the least movement," she said to Paul. Early the next morning, Elina was at the flower girl's, bringing some sugar and a small jar of preserve. "It's my right to help take care of him," she said to Bastringuette. "My aunt gives me so much a day for my food, and I can afford to pinch myself a little for my poor Paul." That seemed natural enough to Bastringuette, for she would have done as much. If the certainty of being loved had been sufficient to restore the young messenger's health, Paul would have been cured in a very short time. But such was not the case; unluckily, the patient's mind was constantly occupied by other thoughts. He was worried and alarmed by his helpless plight, and the wound on his head, instead of cicatrizing, became more serious, because it was complicated by a sharp attack of fever. The two girls redoubled their zealous attentions to the patient; Bastringuette passed part of the night with him; Elina sometimes arrived before daybreak, and often remained very late in the evening, having succeeded in making her aunt believe that she worked late at Madame Dumanchon's. Both of them deprived themselves of the most essential necessities of life, so that the sick man need lack nothing; but neither of them complained nor would have consented to surrender the place she occupied. One evening, after a day during which the fever had not left him for an instant, Paul looked about and saw that Bastringuette was alone in the room. She had gone into a corner, so that the invalid might not see her eat the piece of dry bread of which her evening meal consisted. Paul called her, and she hastened to his side after thrusting her bread into her pocket. "What day is it?" he asked, fixing his eyes, bright with fever, on Bastringuette's. "What day? This is Tuesday." "No, not that; what day of the month?" "Oh! it's the twenty-fourth." "The twenty-fourth! Why, how long have I been sick?" "It was the fifth you got so used up! I remember it very well; it was a Thursday." "The fifth; so I've been here nineteen days?" "Well, what if it was fifty? I can understand that it bores you to be sick, but ain't you well taken care of here? Don't Mamzelle Elina and I do all that's necessary, all the doctor says?" "Ah! yes, my good Bastringuette--indeed you do too much! But to-morrow's the twenty-fifth. Great God! It can't be postponed. That thought, Bastringuette, is what gives me the fever and keeps me from getting well." "What thought? Come, speak out, tell me what you want me to do. I'll do it right away." "Oh! yes, yes! you will do it, won't you?" "Do you want me to swear?" "No. Listen: that old lady, at whose rooms you met me, on Vieille Rue du Temple----" "Madame Desroches?" "Yes; I absolutely must send her some money." "Money! Mon Dieu! as if----"