of half a dozen charitable institutions, but the chief thing that she did was to spend money.  Gold seemed to melt in her grasp like so much snow, and she never knew what became of the sums she lavished so profusely.  Husband and wife had long been almost totally estranged, and led almost separate existences.  Dr. Hortebise was well aware of this, in common with others who moved in society.  Upon the appearance of the doctor, the Countess dropped the book she had been perusing, and gave vent to an exclamation of delight.  “Ah, doctor, this is really very kind of you;” and at the same time signed to the servant to place a chair for the visitor.

The Countess was tall and slender, and at forty-five had the figure of a girl.  She had an abundance of fair hair, the color of which concealed the silver threads which plentifully interspersed it.  A subtle perfume hung about her, and her pale blue eyes were full of pride and cold disdain.

“You know how to time your visits so well, doctor!” said she.  “I am thoroughly bored, and am utterly weary of books, for it always seems to me, when I read, that I had perused the same thing before somewhere or other.  You have arrived at so opportune a moment, that you appear to be a favorite of timely chance.”

The doctor was indeed a favorite of chance; but the name of the chance was Baptiste Mascarin.

“I see so few visitors,” continued Madame de Mussidan, “that hardly any one comes to see me.  I must really set aside one day in the week for my at home; for when I do happen to stay at home, I feel fearfully dull and lonely.  For two mortal hours I have been in this room.  I have been nursing the Count.”

The doctor knew better than this; but he smiled pleasantly, and said, “Perfectly so,” exactly at the right moment.

“Yes,” continued the Countess, “my husband slipped on the stairs, and hurt himself very much.  Our doctor says it is nothing; but then I put little faith in what doctors say.”

“I know that by experience, madame,” replied Hortebise.

“Present company of course always excepted; but, do you know, I once really believed in you; but your sudden conversion to homeopathy quite frightened me.”

The doctor smiled.  “It is as safe a mode of practice as any other.”

“Do you really think so?”

“I am perfectly sure of it.”

“Well, now that you are here, I am half inclined to ask your advice.”

“I trust that you are not suffering.”

“No, thank heaven; I have never any cause to complain of my health; but I am very anxious about Sabine’s state.”

Her affection of maternal solicitude was a charming pendant to her display of conjugal affection, and again the doctor’s expression of assent came in in the right place.

“Yes, for a month, doctor, I have hardly seen Sabine, I have been so much engaged; but yesterday I met her, and was quite shocked at the change in her appearance.”