Page:Maud Howe - Atlanta in the South.djvu/256



one must be ill at all, the Hôtel-Dieu is a pleasant place to be ill in. It stands back from the street; a stretch of cool green turf, shaded by manifold trees and sweetened by innumerable flowers, lying between it and the dusty thoroughfare. Looking between the bars of the high-grated gate, one may catch a glimpse of the interior, where light-footed sisters of mercy glide from room to room, ministering to the sick who are so fortunate as to come under their gentle care. Late one afternoon, perhaps a week from the day when Robert Feuardent had been brought to the hospital senseless and wounded nigh unto death, his friend and physician rang at the gate. From the dark interior came two white-coifed nuns passing down the wide steps and along the flagged path to admit him.

"How is he this evening?" he asked anxiously, as the elder sister, taking a key from her girdle, unlocked the gate.

"He has been worrying himself almost into a fever, calling for you; but his head is quite clear, I think."