"We are alone, are we not?" he answered, looking feebly around. "Come and sit up here by me. Can you jump up? That is right," as she climbed up and nestled close to him, her feet tucked under the sheet; "here, petite, let me put my arm round you."
He raised himself with an effort, and passed his arm round her, so that she could lay her head on his shoulder; and then in answer to her question,—
"No, I am not better," he said, "and I do not suppose I ever shall be better now. But never mind that," as she raised her head suddenly, and looked at him with wide, frightened eyes, "let us talk a little, Madelon. We have always been happy together; have we not, my child?"
"Ah! yes, papa."
"And later, when you are grown into a woman—as you will be, you know, by-and-by—and you think of the years when you were when you were a little girl, you will like to recall them; will you not, Madelon? You will remember that they were happy?"
"Yes, papa, I have been happy, ah, so happy!" says Madelon, half crying, and nestling closer to him; "but why do you talk so? What do you mean?"
"You will think of all our travels together, what pretty placed we have visited, all the fête days we have spent; and you will remember that, whatever else I may or may not have done, I have always tried to make you happy, and to be a good papa to my little one. Promise me that, Madelon."
"I promise it, papa," she said. "How could I forget? Why should I not remember? Why do you talk to me in this way, papa? Are you very ill?"
"Very ill," he replied, holding her tighter to him, "so ill that all those happy days are come to an end for me, and for you, too, ma petite; we shall never go about again together. You—you—" his voice broke with a sort of groan, but he went on again directly, "I wonder what my little Madelon will be like when she grows into a great girl? I should have liked to have seen you, my little one. I wonder if you will be tall—I dare say you will—for your mother was tall, and your face is very like hers."
"Am I like her, papa?"