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"'My concert!' said my mother, smiling, and handing me some coffee.
"It was useless for me to try to taste it, the very sight of it turned me sick.
"My mother looked at me rather anxiously.
"'It is nothing, only for some time back I have been getting sick of coffee.'
"'Sick of coffee? you never said so before.'
"'Did I not?' said I, absently.
"'Will you have some chocolate, or some tea?'
"'Can I not fast for once?'
"'Yes, if you are ill—or if you have some great sin to atone for.'
"I looked at her and shuddered. Could she be reading my thoughts better than myself?
"'A sin?' quoth I, with an astonished look.
"'Well, you know even the righteous'
"'And what then?' said I, interrupting her snappishly; but to make up for my supercilious way of speaking, I added in gentler tones:
"'I do not feel hungry; still, to please you, I'll have a glass of champagne and a biscuit.'
"'Champagne, did you say?'
