"Ah, my mother!" he sobbed, speaking in this sudden excitement in
the dear Bearnais of his childhood, "I am Alphonse. Do you not know
your little lost son Alphonse?"
CHAPTER XXVI.
LAND OF BEULAH.
The whole scene had changed. She had closed her eyes in a deserted
hut lying on a bed of pine needles. She had closed her eyes to the
consciousness of Maurice gone, of everything lost and over in her
life. It seemed but a moment, but the working of an ugly dream,
and she opened them again. Where was she? The hut was gone, the
pine-needle bed had vanished; instead she found herself in a pretty
room, with dimity curtains hanging before latticed windows; she felt
soft white sheets under her, and knew that she was lying in a little
bed, in the prettiest child's cot, with dimity curtains fastened back
from it also. The room in its freshness and whiteness and purity looked
something like an English room, and from the open windows came in a
soft, sweet scent of roses.
Had Cecile then gone back to England, and, if so, what English home
had received her?
She was too tired, too peaceful, to think much just then. She closed
her languid eyes, only knowing that she was comfortable and happy,
and feeling that she did not care much about anything if only she
might rest on forever in that delicious white bed.
Then, for she was still very weak, she found herself with her
thoughts wandering. She was back in England, she was in London. Kind
Mrs.
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