“You are not strong enough for nursing, Salome. Why don’t you go home to America?” she asked. “Do you ask me that? Where should I find a home in America?” inquired Salome bitterly. “You can go back to the old place and remain there, if you wish, until we return.” “I do not wish to go back to the old place,” said Salome coldly. “But it is not proper for you to remain in Paris alone; you are liable to get into trouble, going about by yourself,” returned Mrs. Rochester, somewhat impatiently at being thus opposed. “I am not alone—I am at present under the protection of the gray sisters.” “Do you intend to ally yourself with them permanently?” “No; only as long as I can be especially useful in this emergency.” “Perhaps you are seeking for a reconciliation with Dr. Winthrop—possibly you think you may yet win him to acknowledge you as his wife, or rather lure him to ratify that ceremony which occurred in Boston. Is that what you are here for?” demanded Mrs. Rochester, searching the young face opposite her with an eagle glance. Salome flushed a vivid scarlet, and a look of anguish almost convulsed her features for a moment. Then she said proudly: “No, I could never wish any man to acknowledge me as his wife, who had once thrust me from his home—I did not even know that Dr. Winthrop was in Paris until I met him in the hospital.” Mrs. Rochester’s face lighted. “I am glad to know you are so sensible,” she said. “Of course, you could not expect him to acknowledge you after he had committed himself to another. Who is the Harriet Winter who came here to nurse us through your recommendation?” she continued, with some curiosity, for she had recognized the woman as an American, and wondered how she happened to be associated with Salome. “She is a woman who came to Europe on the same steamer with me,” the young girl evasively answered. “How is it you happen to be so friendly?—she seems a very common sort of person.” “She is at least a true-hearted person,” Salome returned, with some warmth. “She was maid to a lady who recently died of cholera, and whom I nursed. She also was very ill, and I took care of her.” Salome did not consider it needful to give further particulars regarding her relations with Miss Leonard or Harriet. “Do you get paid for your services in the hospital?” queried Mrs. Rochester, wondering how she lived if she did not. “No.” “Then what supports you—how can you live?” “I have sufficient for my needs,” Salome quietly responded. “You are fortunate, truly,” sneered her companion, “though to be sure you must have been well paid for your services for this family, and—I will add something to that when you go away.” “You offer to give money to me!” Salome cried, with blazing eyes. The woman colored vividly, while her glance wavered before the almost fierce indignation of her companion, and Salome went on vehemently.