The things we do!

She arose. A few minutes later, as she was trying to light the lamp, an
approaching step on the sidewalk seemed to pause. Her heart stood still.
She softly laid the phosphorus-box out of her hands. A shoe grated
softly on the stone step, and Madame Delphine, her heart beating in
great thuds, without waiting for a knock, opened the door, bowed low,
and exclaimed in a soft perturbed voice:
"Miche Vignevielle!"
He entered, hat in hand, and with that almost noiseless tread which we
have noticed. She gave him a chair and closed the door; then hastened,
with words of apology, back to her task of lighting the lamp. But her
hands paused in their work again,--Olive's step was on the stairs; then
it came off the stairs; then it was in the next room, and then there was
the whisper of soft robes, a breath of gentle perfume, and a snowy
figure in the door. She was dressed for the evening.
"Maman?"
Madame Delphine was struggling desperately with the lamp, and at that
moment it responded with a tiny bead of light.


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