When, early on the following morning, the little Laura went into her friend's room, she found him stretched on the sofa pale and gaunt, like one who has passed through a death-agony. She noticed the change at once, and ran to his side: "Mon père is worse?"
"Yes, Laura," he replied; then he took her small face in his hands, and holding it there for a few moments gazed on it earnestly: "Petite chèrie, we must lose no time."
"In finding papa?" replied the little one seriously. "Mon père, I think it will be soon. Last night I dreamt I saw him. Is he here, in this house, I wonder?"
But her friend turned away: "Little one, you are too much shut up here, and this makes you imaginative. It is a fine day. We must ask the good girl who waits on you to take you for a run on the crisp snow."
The little girl clapped her hands. "Yes," she said, "it will be nice, but mon père must have breakfast first."
She rang the bell and proceeded to arrange everything, to have the stove lighted, to set out the breakfast-things in their little sitting-room, and to superintend the preparation of chocolate à la Française, for Laura had become quite a little woman in her ways: then, as she saw that her friend was still suffering, she sat by his side and sang to him in her sweet, childish way till his eyes closed. The little child-heart, by the outcome of its tenderness, had brought rest to the weary brain, the pain-racked soul.
It was nearly midday when, all radiant with color and life, Laura returned from her ramble with the good-natured chambermaid. As she entered the room one of the waiters left it. She found L'Estrange dressed, and sitting in an easy-chair close by the stove, which showed a little patch of glowing red.
He called her to his side, and lifting her on to his knees took off her warm cloak and hood with all the tenderness of a woman, then stroking back her fair hair he kissed her on the brow. "Laura, petite chèrie," he said in a low tone, as if speaking to himself rather than addressing her, "the time has nearly come."
She put her arms round his neck, and resting her fair head on his shoulder looked up into his strong, pale face. "What time, mon père?" she asked in an awed whisper.