“Art,” said the Doctor, “may be recompensed, but cannot be purchased. You have already paid me more than enough to take the utmost care I can of your lady; should I accept more money, it could only be for promising, by implication at least, what is beyond my power to perform. Every possible care shall be taken of your lady, and that affords the best chance of her being speedily able to travel. Now, go you to the inn, sir, for I may be instantly wanted, and we have not yet provided either an attendant for the lady, or a nurse for the child; but both shall be presently done.” “Yet a moment, Doctor--what languages do you understand?” “Latin and French I can speak indifferently, and so as to be understood; and I read a little Italian.” “But no Portuguese or Spanish?” continued the stranger. “No, sir.” “That is unlucky. But you may make her understand you by means of French. Take notice, you are to comply with her request in everything--if you want means to do so, you may apply to me.” “May I ask, sir, by what name the lady is to be”-- “It is totally indifferent,” said the stranger, interrupting the question; “You shall know it at more leisure.” So saying, he threw his ample cloak about him, turning himself half round to assist the operation, with an air which the Doctor would have found it difficult to imitate, and walked down the street to the little inn. Here he paid and dismissed the postilions, and shut himself up in an apartment, ordering no one to be admitted till the Doctor should call. The Doctor, when he returned to his patient's apartment, found his wife in great surprise, which, as is usual with persons of her character, was not unmixed with fear and anxiety. “She cannot speak a word like a Christian being,” said Mrs. Gray. “I know it,” said the Doctor. “But she threeps to keep on a black fause-face, and skirls if we offer to take it away.” “Well then, let her wear it--What harm will it do?” “Harm, Doctor!” Was ever honest woman brought to bed with a fause-face on?” “Seldom, perhaps. But, Jean, my dear, those who are not quite honest must be brought to bed all the same as those who are, and we are not to endanger the poor thing's life by contradicting her whims at present.” Approaching the sick woman's bed, he observed that she indeed wore a thin silk mask, of the kind which do such uncommon service in the elder comedy; such as women of rank still wore in travelling, but certainly never in the situation of this poor lady. It would seem she had sustained importunity on the subject, for when she saw the Doctor, she put her hand to her face, as if she was afraid he would insist on pulling off the vizard.