"What's the other misfortune?" queried Catherine, in the sharp tone of one who has exhausted the measure of human ails and has no fear of an overflow.
"Master Billet was dangerously wounded on the parade-grounds."
"Ah," said she, much less affected by this news than the other.
"So I says to myself, and Dr. Gilbert bears me out: 'Miss Catherine will pay a visit to her father at the hospital on the way down to her mother's.'"
"But you, Pitou?" queried the girl.
"While you go by stage-coach to help Mother Billet to make her long journey, I will stay by the farmer. You understand that I must stick to him who has never a soul to look after him, see?"
Pitou spoke the words with that angelic simplicity of his, with no idea that he was painting his whole devoted nature.
"You have a kind heart, Ange," said she, giving him her hand. "Come and kiss my little Isidore."
She walked into the house, prettier than ever, though she was clad in black, which drew another sigh from Pitou.