I paid no attention to Barbara's moans, but went to my dressing-room and bathed my face with cold water which refreshed and strengthened me. In the front courtyard the birds were singing and the fountain was playing. I threw the window open; the air was sweet and fresh, and I was grateful for the relief it afforded me. My wife continued to groan and toss about, and still I did not go to her. At length she called my name in a fretful voice. "Well?" I said, standing by the bedside. "Why did you not come to me before?" she asked, querulously. "Did you not hear me?" "Yes, I heard you." "And you kept away! How could you, love, how could you, when I am suffering so?" She paused for a sympathetic word from me, which she did not receive. "I am so ill, dear John, so very, very ill! My head is on fire. Give me your hand." I made no responsive movement, and she looked at me from beneath her half-closed lids. "You are not looking well yourself, John. Have you had a bad night?" "A most horrible night." "I am so sorry, dear. Watching by my side for so many hours has tired you." "I have not been watching by your side." "You bad boy--what could you have been doing; and why do you speak to me so unfeelingly? I am sure I have done nothing to deserve it. Oh, my poor head! You did not know I was accustomed to these headaches." "No, I did not know." "I ought to have told you, dear." "Yes, you ought to have told me. It would have been better for both of us." "I don't see that; unless you have deceived me, it could have made no difference in your feelings, and I believed every word you said--yes, I did, John, dear." She shuddered and moaned, as though seized with an ague. "Get me something, or I shall go mad with pain!" "What will you have? A cup of tea?" An expression of disgust spread over her features. "Tea! It is the worst thing I could take. You do not understand--of course you do not understand. Put your arm round me, dear; let me lean my head on your shoulder; it will relieve me." I did not stir. "What do you mean by treating me so cruelly? I am your wife, and you promised to love and cherish me. Have you forgotten so soon, so soon?" I did not reply, and her voice grew more imploring. "When women suffer as I do, John, they need something to keep up their strength. Oh, this frightful sinking! I am sure a little brandy would do me good. Don't be shocked; I wouldn't ask for it if I wasn't certain it would remove this horrible pain." "Otherwise," I said, with sad and bitter emphasis, "you would not touch it, you have such abhorrence of it." "Why, of course I have. I take it only as a medicine." I picked up the empty brandy bottle, and placed it on the dressing table. "Oh, that," she exclaimed. "It was filled with lemonade, and I drank it every drop while you were away last night. What kept you so long? Oh, my head is racked! I hope no pretty Frenchwoman----"