"You know where I have been, then, Elizabeth?" said he--"to visit my
poor wife. She seems happier in her little room full of birds and
flowers than on the yacht with me, yet the good nuns assure me she is
the better for her sea-trip. The nuns are most kind."

Bessie acquiesced, and Miss Foster remarked that it was at the Bon
Sauveur gentle usage of the insane had first superseded the cruel old
system of restraints and terror. Mr. Frederick Fairfax shivered, stood a
minute gazing dejectedly into space, and then walked on.

"He loves her," said Bessie, deeply touched. "I suppose death is a light
affliction in comparison with such a separation."

The wicket was still open, the sister was still looking out. There was a
glimpse of lofty houses, open windows, grapevines rich in purple
clusters on the walls, and boxes of mignonette and gayer flowers upon
the window-sills. Miss Foster asked Bessie if she would like to see what
of the asylum was shown; and though Bessie's taste did not incline to
painful studies, before she had the decision to refuse she found herself
inside the gates and the sister was reciting her monotonous formula.

These tall houses in a crescent on the court were occupied by
lady-boarders not suffering from mental alienation or any loss of
faculty, but from decayed fortunes. The deaf and dumb, the blind, the
crippled, epileptic, and insane had separate dwellings built apart in
the formal luxuriant gardens. "We have patients of all nations," said
the sister. "Strangers see none of these; there have been distressing
recognitions." Bessie was not desirous of seeing any. She breathed more
freely when she was outside the gates. It was a nightmare to imagine the