“A little fairy. And so he gave thee the ride?”
“Yes, Julien, was he not good? He would not take the cross—thou rememberest?—our poor mamma’s beautiful cross. It was yesterday, was it not, that I was telling thee how she gave it to me? Madame locked it in the drawer. I wonder if she would not let thee have it if thou wert to ask her? for thou art a man, and thou canst speak English, and she will comprehend. Oh, dear Julien, what is the matter? what have I said? art thou angry with me?”
“No, not with thee, my poor dear little angel! but with those people there—the brutes!”
“Comment! who has told thee of them, my brother?”
“A little fairy.”
“Who is that little fairy that tells thee so much? what is she called?”
“She is called Julie.”
“Comment! what dost thou say? I am she! But how could I tell thee, since thou wilt scarcely allow me to speak a single word, dear monsieur le docteur?”
“My poor little Julie has had bad dreams and talked in her sleep. There, now, thou art weary. Close thy pretty eyes and rest thee. Already, I fear, I have let thee talk too long.”
“But it is so good to be with one who comprehends, and can speak with me our own beautiful language!”