I'd like to hear it once again."
"The last verse, Joe?" answered Cecile. "I think I know the last
verse by heart. It is this: 'He that loveth father or mother more
than Me, is not worthy of Me'"
"My poor old mother," said Joe suddenly. "My poor, poor old mother."
Here he covered his face with his hands, and burst into tears.
"But, Joe," said little Cecile in a voice of surprise, "you will
soon see your mother now--very soon, I think and hope. As soon as we
find Maurice we will go to the Pyrenees, and there we shall see
Lovedy and your mother and your good brother Jean. Our little Maurice
cannot stay much longer away, and then we will start at once for the
Pyrenees."
To this Joe made no answer, and Cecile, who had intended to remain
awake all night, in a few moments was asleep, tired out, with her
head now resting on Joe's knees.
He covered the pretty head tenderly with his great brown palm, and
his black eyes were full of the tenderest love and sorrow as they
looked at the little white face.
How could he protect the heart of the child he loved from a sorrow
that must break it? Only by sacrificing himself; by sacrificing
himself absolutely. Was he prepared to do this?
As he thought and Cecile slept, a great clock from the not far
distant village struck twelve. Twelve o'clock! In four hours now
Anton would return for his answer--what should it be?
To sacrifice Maurice--that would be impossible. Even for one instant
to contemplate sending little baby, spoiled Maurice to endure the
life he had led, to bear the blows, the cruel words, the starvations,
the bad company that he had endured would be utterly impossible.
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