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Updated: May 7, 2025
Mimo was almost suspicious of the transaction, and she was obliged to soothe and flatter him by saying that he must surely always have understood how intensely she had admired that work; and now she was rich it would be an everlasting pleasure to her to own it for her very own.
It was from Mimo, saying Mirko was feverish again really ill, he feared, this time. So poor Zara spent a night of anguish and prayer, little knowing what the morrow was to bring. And Tristram went out again to the Turf, and tried to divert his mind away from his troubles.
He would not be long, as he had said "as how he was only going to take a telegram." Zara entered at once. A telegram! perhaps for her Yes, surely for her. Mimo had no one else, she knew, to telegraph to. She went up to the dingy attic studio. The fire was almost out, and the little maid lit one candle and placed it upon a table. It was very cold on this damp November day.
She had received a letter from Mimo, by the second post, with all details of what he had heard of Mirko. Little Agatha, the Morleys' child, was to return home the following day; and Mirko himself had written an excited little letter to announce this event, which Mimo enclosed.
Mimo could be a delightfully agreeable guest, even though he was changed by years and poverty. And Mirko would be in healthy surroundings; surely it was worth it, after all! The taxi drew up in the mean street and she got out, paid the man, and then knocked at the dingy door. A slatternly, miserable, little general servant opened it.
Mirko had stolen out, and with the cunning of his little brain fully on the alert he had dodged Mrs. Morley in the garden, and had fled to the near pine woods with his violin; and there had met his father and had a blissful time. He was certainly better, Mimo said, a little fatter and with much less cough, and he seemed fairly happy and quite resigned.
"You are so good to us, Chérisette," the man Mimo said. "You have, indeed, a sister of the angels, Mirko mio; but soon we shall be all rich and famous. I had a dream last night, and already I have begun a new picture of grays and mists of these strange fogs!" Count Mimo Sykypri was a confirmed optimist. "Meanwhile you are in the one room, in Neville Street, Tottenham Court Road.
Zara had accepted everything without protest. She had not desired even to see Mirko once more. She had no morbid fancies; it was his soul she loved and remembered, not the poor little suffering body. It came to her as a comfort that her uncle and Mimo had met and shaken hands in forgiveness, and now poor Mimo was coming to say good-bye to her that afternoon.
But I know that it is better as it is; he is safe there, with her now, far away from all his pain. He saw her when he was dying." Then after a pause she went on: "Uncle Francis, you love Ethelrida very much, don't you? Try to look back and think how Maman loved Mimo, and he loved her.
He then offered her his protection and a home, if she would sever all connection with the two, Mimo and Mirko, and she had indignantly refused.
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