“My little darling——”
She had not been exactly weeping, but her eyes had filled and overflowed. He would not have seen it in the gathering darkness, but he kissed amid the tears on her cheek.
“Renée, where have you been?” in a gentle tone. “You were not at the Marchands’.”
“I was up at the church with Father Lemoine.”
Had she some confidence to give the priest that she withheld from him? And he thought he knew all her simple heart.
“Renée, what is the matter? You are not happy. You are not really ill, either. Something troubles you.”
The girl was silent, but he heard her fluttering breath. He took her hand in his. It was cold and spiritless. It did not curl about his fingers in her usual caressing fashion.
“Has some one grown nearer and dearer than I? You need not be afraid——”
“Oh, no, it is not that! No one is so dear. And if I lost you—” Oh, she did not mean to say it, and stopped in her slow pacing.
“You are not likely to lose me. Who has been filling your head with nonsense?”