"
"But please, ma'am, if this is a French farm, how do you speak
English?"
"I am English by birth, child; though 'tis a long time now since I
have seen my native land. Not that I feel very English, for my good
Jean's country is my country, and I only spoke English to you because
you don't know French. Now, little girl, lie very still. I shall be
back in a minute."
The young woman did come back in a minute, holding, of all people in
the world, Maurice by the hand.
Maurice then, who Cecile thought was quite lost, was back again, and
Cecile looked into his dear brown eyes, and got a kiss from his sweet
baby lips. A grave, grave kiss from lips that trembled, and a grave
look from eyes full of tears; for to little Maurice his Cecile was
sadly changed; but the young woman with the bright hair would not
allow him to linger now. She held a cup of some delicious cooling
drink to the sick child's lips, and then sat down by her side until
she slept, and this was the beginning of a gentle but slow recovery.
Pretty young Mme. Malet sat most of the day in Cecile's room, and
Maurice came in and out, and now and then an old woman, with an
upright figure and French face, came and stood by the bedside and
spoke softly and lovingly, but in a tone Cecile could not understand,
and a lovely little boy was brought in once a day by his proud young
mother, and suffered to give Cecile one kiss before he was taken away
again. And the kindest care and the most nourishing food were always
at hand for the poor little pilgrim, who lay herself in a very land
of Beulah of rest and thankfulness.
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