“Preposterous idea!” wheezed the patient. “Hardly able to ride down town, how could I think of undertaking to cross the ocean? Suppose there should be a shipwreck; immensely heavy, unwieldy, helpless as I am, I’d go to the bottom like a lump of lead. No, no, home’s the only place for me.” “You will get no better here, Madame,” said the doctor shortly. “And we need not anticipate a shipwreck,” said Ethel. “The sea air might do you great good.” “I tell you it’s nonsense to talk of it!” returned the Madame impatiently. The doctor rose and bowed himself out. Ethel ran after him, stopped him in the hall, and talked eagerly for a few moments. “By all means, if you can persuade her; anything for a change,” he answered, bidding the young girl a smiling adieu. She stood musing a moment when he had left her; then rousing herself, hastened back to her aunt, who said reproachfully: “I wish you wouldn’t run away and leave me alone, Ethel. I want to be read to.” “And I am entirely at your service,” the young girl returned pleasantly, taking up the morning paper again and seating herself near the Madame’s easy chair. “There are some articles here about the Centennial which I am sure will interest you.” She read with an enthusiasm that was contagious. “What a pity we should miss it all!” exclaimed the Madame at length. “There will never be another Centennial of our country in my lifetime, or even in yours.” “No; and why should we not go, as well as others?” Ethel answered with suppressed eagerness. “Impossible, in my invalid condition.” “Aunt Nannette,” cried Ethel, throwing down the paper and clasping her hands together in her excitement, “people will be flocking there from all parts of the land and the civilized world. I have a presentiment that my mother will be there, and that we shall meet her if we go!” “Child, child! do you really think it?” cried the Madame, starting up, then sinking back again upon her cushions panting and trembling. “I do, Aunt Nannette, I do indeed! and we shall never, never have such another opportunity. And Espy, too, will be there--I know it, I feel it! He is an artist. Will he not have a picture to exhibit?” “Yes, yes, I see it! we must go! But how can I? how can we manage it? I can never live in a hotel, never exist in a crowd; I should suffocate!” And the Madame wheezed and panted and wiped the perspiration from her face, while her huge frame trembled like a jelly, so great was her agitation.