Yet with her suffering came a wonderful ease, an ability to deal with the details of life.  When at eight o’clock her maid came in and, pulling the curtains, exclaimed with Gallic candor, “Oh, comme madame a mauvaise mine ce matin!” she smiled at her with unusual gentleness.  Later, when Mathilde came down at her accustomed hour, and lying across the foot of her mother’s bed, began to read her scraps of the morning paper, Adelaide felt a rush of tenderness for the child, who was so unaware of the hideous bargain life really was.  Surprising as it was, she found she could talk more easily than usual and with a more undivided attention, though everything they said was trivial enough.

Then suddenly her heart stood still, for the door opened, and Vincent, in his dressing-gown, came in.  He had evidently had his bath, for his hair was wet and shiny.  Thank God! he showed no signs of defeat!

“Oh,” cried Mathilde, jumping up, “I thought Mr. Farron had gone down-town ages ago.”

“He overslept,” said Adelaide.

“I had an excellent night,” he answered, and she knew he looked at her to discover that she had not.

“I’ll go,” said Mathilde; but with unusual sharpness they both turned to her and said simultaneously, “No, no; stay.”  They knew no better than she did why they were so eager to keep her.

“Are you going down-town, Vin?” Adelaide asked, and her voice shook a little on the question; she was so eager that he should not institute any change in his routine so soon.

“Of course,” he answered.

They looked at each other, yet their look said nothing in particular.  Presently he said: 

“I wonder if I might have breakfast in here.  I’ll go and shave if you’ll order it; and don’t let Mathilde go.  I have something to say to her.”

When he was gone, Mathilde went and stood at the window, looking out, and tying knots in the window-shade’s cord.  It was a trick Adelaide had always objected to, and she was quite surprised to hear herself saying now, just as usual: 

“Mathilde, don’t tie knots in that cord.”

Mathilde threw it from her as one whose mind was engaged on higher things.

“You know,” she observed, “I believe I’m only just beginning to appreciate Mr. Farron.  He’s so wise.  I see what you meant about his being strong, and he’s so clever.  He knows just what you’re thinking all the time.  Isn’t it nice that he likes Pete?  Did he say anything more about him after you went up-stairs?  I mean, he really does like him, doesn’t he?  He doesn’t say that just to please me?”

Presently Vincent came back fully dressed and sat down to his breakfast.  Oddly enough, there was a spirit of real gaiety in the air.

“What was it you were going to say to me?” Mathilde asked greedily.  Farron looked at her blankly.  Adelaide knew that he had quite forgotten the phrase, but he concealed the fact by not allowing the least illumination of his expression as he remembered.