Lady Jane agreed to madame’s arrangements with perfect docility, but she would not leave her mother, who had fallen into a heavy stupor, and appeared to be resting comfortably.
“If you’ll please to let me sit by the bed close to mama and eat the rice and milk, I’ll take it, for I’m very hungry.”
“Certainly, my dear; you can sit there and hold her hand all the time; I’ll put your supper on this little table close by you.”
And madame bustled about, apparently overflowing with kindly attentions. She watched the child eat the rice and milk, smiling benevolently the while; then she bathed her, and put on the fine little nightgown, braided the thick silken hair, and was about to lift her up beside her mother, when Lady Jane exclaimed in a shocked voice:
“You mustn’t put me to bed yet; I haven’t said my prayers.” Her large eyes were full of solemn reproach as she slipped from madame’s arms down to the side of the bed. “Mama can’t hear them, because she’s asleep, but God can, for he never sleeps.” Then she repeated the touching little formula that all pious mothers teach their children, adding fervently several times, “and please make dear mama well, so that we can leave this place early to-morrow morning.”
Madame smiled grimly at the last clause of the petition, and a great many curious thoughts whirled through her brain.
As the child rose from her knees her eyes fell on the basket containing the blue heron, which stood quite neglected, just where she placed it when her mother fainted.
“Oh, oh!” she cried, springing toward it. “Why, I forgot it! My Tony, my dear Tony!”
“What is it?” asked madame, starting back in surprise at the rustling sound within the basket. “Why, it’s something alive!”
“Yes, it’s alive,” said Lady Jane, with a faint smile. “It’s a bird, a blue heron. Such a nice boy gave it to me on the cars.”