“Wilt thou not have of it also, brother? Let us dine together. I never see thee eat.”
“The beef tea is not for strong men: it is for the little invalids.”
“Ah, but thou art not strong! I remember when thy cheeks were like the rose. Now thou art so pale and thin! and I saw thy hand tremble while thou wast writing. Oh, my brother, if thou shouldst be sick, I fear I could not be to thee the good angel thou art to me. Come, take of this a little: it is excellent.”
“I have already dined, cherie.”
“When?”
“While thou wast sleeping.”
“I bet thy dinner was not so good as mine! n’est ce pas?”
No, truly it was not. It was of stale bread, as wee a morsel as ever kept body and soul together. But the little one must never know.
“Tell me, Julie, who is oncle le capitaine?”
“Oh, that is the monsieur charming who gave me a ride in his ship. He promised to find thee for me. But who hast thou heard to speak of him?”