And it is so cold in Paris, the winter.

She got a bad bronchitis and she died, and her old grandmother is now alone." "I am so sorry," said Sylvia.

And her thoughts went off to her own grandmother, and Molly, and all of them, with fresh sympathy for the anxiety they must be suffering.

She leant back on the wall against which the old woman had placed the stool, feeling very depressed and weary--so weary that she did not feel able to do anything but sit still, which no doubt from every point of view was the best thing she could do, though but for her weariedness she would have felt much inclined to rush off again to look for them, thus decidedly decreasing her chance of finding them.
"Mademoiselle is tired," said the old woman, kindly.

"She need not be afraid.