The silence of the night alone answered her, and I, having no words to comfort her grief, took one of her jasmine-scented hands and kissed it.
Next morning my Lady of the Fountain had quite recovered her composure, and even talked of her coming Paris escapade, but she was pale and worn out, like a battered ship which has met with a storm.
A few days later I came to bid her good-bye, for this time I was going with my mother on a visit to the island. She put her arms around me as if she did not wish to let me go. Wistfully she said:
“When you are on the island, could you go to Nouri Pasha’s house?”
“Yes.”
“Then go and see the little boy. Kiss him, and bring me a kiss from him. Will you?”
On the day after my arrival on the island I went to the pines, where all the children are taken, but the little fellow was not there. The nurses of his sisters told me that his mother was worse, and wished him kept in the garden so that she could see him from the window.
Thereupon I went to Nouri Pasha’s house. The Bréton nurse in all her finery was seated under an awning, the baby on her lap. I talked with her awhile, and begged her to let me hold the baby, which she did. It was a sweet baby, and strong.
“Is his mother better?” I asked.
“She will never be better, I fear.”