I could wish to spend, not a fortnight, nor three weeks, but a whole lifetime with you." Madame de Montrevel came down the steps of the portico and offered her hand to Sir John, who kissed it with a gallantry altogether French.
"My lord," said she, "this house is yours.

The day you entered it has been one of joy, the day you leave will be one of regret and sadness." Sir John turned toward Amelie, who, confused by the disorder of her dress before this stranger, was gathering the folds of her wrapper about her neck.
"I speak to you in my name and in my daughter's, who is still too much overcome by her brother's unexpected return to greet you herself as she will do in a moment," continued Madame de Montrevel, coming to Amelie's relief.
"My sister," said Roland, "will permit my friend Sir John to kiss her hand, and he will, I am sure, accept that form of welcome." Amelie stammered a few words, slowly lifted her arm, and held out her hand to Sir John with a smile that was almost painful.
The Englishman took it, but, feeling how icy and trembling it was, instead of carrying it to his lips he said: "Roland, your sister is seriously indisposed.

Let us think only of her health this evening.

I am something of a doctor, and if she will deign to permit me the favor of feeling her pulse I shall be grateful." But Amelie, as if she feared that the cause of her weakness might be surmised, withdrew her hand hastily, exclaiming: "Oh, no! Sir John is mistaken.

Joy never causes illness.