Aye, you were right enough;
your father, Maurice D'Albert, never forgot his Rosalie, as he called
her. I always thought as Frenchmen were fickle, but he worn't not
fickle enough for me. Well, Cecile, I'm no way sleepy, and I've a
deal to say, and no one but you to say it to; I'm more strong now
than I have been for the day, so I'd better say my say while I have
any strength left. You build up the fire, and then come back to me,
child. Build it up big, for I'm not going to bed to-night."
CHAPTER II.
A SOLEMN PROMISE.
When Cecile had built up the fire, she made a cup of tea and brought
it to her stepmother. Mrs. D'Albert drank it off greedily; afterward
she seemed refreshed and she made Cecile put another pillow under her
head and draw her higher on the sofa.
"You're a good, tender-hearted child, Cecile," she said to the
little creature, who was watching her every movement with a kind of
trembling eagerness. Cecile's sensitive face flushed at the words of
praise, and she came very close to the sofa. "Yes, you're a good
child," repeated Mrs. D'Albert; "you're yer father's own child, and
he was very good, though he was a foreigner. For myself I don't much
care for good people, but when you're dying, I don't deny as they're
something of a comfort. Good people are to be depended on, and you're
good, Cecile."
But there was only one sentence in these words which Cecile took in.
"When you're dying," she repeated, and every vestige of color
forsook her lips.
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