She presses her hand to his forehead again. "No. No, you rest up. It's all right, the boss likes you, he's not going to fire you for one day being sick. It's the slack season anyway."

For all that she'd said she couldn't stay, she seems to have time to issue a barrage of instructions to the older woman: where the blanket is, where there's a loaf of bread she should leave with Feuilly, what to say to Michel if he complains about it, what to say to Michel if he's still here by noon, what to say to Michel anyway because she is done with him, what to do if Feuilly is getting sicker in the afternoon.

Then another shake of Harry's shoulder, and she's out the door.