tin of soup and half a cold chicken in the cupboard. I set the soup on the stove, and while it was warming I spread the cloth, and set out on the table the chicken, bread and butter and a cake. I brought the soup to her in the arm-chair. She took the first two or three spoonfuls in a very feeble way. Then she grew stronger, finished it quickly and turned hungry eyes on the chicken.
"I don't think you ought to eat much straight off," I said doubtfully. "When did you eat last?"
"This morning," she said in a stronger, clearer voice. "I had a penny loaf."
"Then you may safely have a moderate meal," I said, and drew a chair to the table for her.
I carved some chicken and cut some bread for her, bade her eat very slowly, and watched her with a good deal of pleasure. I had never seen any one so hungry. I opened a small bottle of Burgundy and poured her out a glass. Then I sat down at the table and helped myself to some chicken; that Franco-Italian dinner had proved as innutritious as unmanning. I would only allow her the one helping of chicken, two slices of bread and butter and one of cake. But that took the gauntness out of her face.
When we had finished, I begged her to sit in the easy chair again, took the easy chair opposite to her, with her permission lighted a cigarette,
