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lapsed once more into unconsciousness. Marie gazed helplessly upon the tumbled feathers of the Snow Bird's plumage, and then upon the floor, where a glass lay smashed to atoms in a dark wet pool, and then at the open jewel-case, where the pearls and rubies and diamon s lay so carelessly, in a glittering untidy heap.

And then she ran to the door, calling for Weiss, and Klein, and for the night-porter. Her voice rang shriĆ¼y and queerly down the bare passages of the hotel, but she continued to call until she heard hurrying footsteps, and then she gave orders that a doctor, the best doctor in San Pablo, was to be fetched immediately, for Madame was

sick, very sick.

When she returned to her mistress bedside Lma lay quite still, and seemed less tangible than a snow-wreath; her lashes flickered, but she did not open her eyes; once she moved her hands, plucking at the counterpane, perhaps still thinking that she played the shadow dance on her piano at the rue d'Antin, but when Marie knelt beside her trying to rearrange her pillows she did not recognize

It seemed a long time before the doctor came, and long before his arrival Weiss and Klein had dressed themselves and come to stand and whisper anxiously at the door. The doctor took one look at her and said at once: "It's the fever, naturally. You must have known this town was full of it. Why will you Europeans come to

these parts of the world?" _

He was a young man, olive-skmned, with a short dark

beard and capable sensitive hands. He was honestly astonished when Weiss, to whom he had addressed these last words, answered sadly: "One must live."

"There's London, Paris, Rome. Why come to such a

place as this?" ,

It was obvious that he knew nothing of the dechne and