"Oh, I have something to show you. Come."
She placed her finger to her lips in token of silence and led him back to the room she had left. The child was still sleep.
"What an angel," he murmured. "Is it—how did it come here? I thought you said the little girl was ill."
"She was, and is. Doesn't she look like a marvellous statue? But no one seems to regard her beauty here."
"She is too delicate."
"But she was well and strong and daring, and could climb like a deer, M. Destournier says. She will be well again with good care. I want to keep her."
"She will be a good plaything for thee when I am away. Though this may change many plans. The Sieur is bent on discoveries, and now he has orders to print his book. The maps are wonderful. What a man! He should be a king in this new world. France does not understand the mighty empire he is founding for her."
"Then you do not mind—if I keep the child? She has crept into the empty niche in my heart. I must have been directed by the saints when I felt the desire to go out. She would have died from exhaustion in the broiling sun."
"Say the good Father, rather."
"And yet we must adore the saints, the old patriarchs. Did not the disciples desire to build a memento to them?"