"Better and better, M. Rudolph. The mother is on her feet again; the children improve daily. All owe their life to you—their happiness. You are so generous to them!"
"And how is poor Morel?"
"Better. I had news from him yesterday. He seems occasionally to have some lucid moments; there is great hope of restoring him to reason."
"Come, courage: I shall soon see you again. Have you need of anything?
Do you still earn enough to support yourself?"
"Oh, yes, M. Rudolph; I take a little from my hours of rest, and it is not much damage for I hardly sleep now."
"Alas! my poor little neighbor, I much fear that Papa Cretu and
Ramonette will not sing much more if they wait for you to begin."
"You are not mistaken, M. Rudolph; my birds and I sing no more, for— now you are going to laugh! well, it seems to me that they comprehend that I am sad; yes, instead of warbling gayly when I arrive, they utter such low, plaintive notes, that they appear to wish to console me. I am foolish to believe this, am I not, M. Rudolph?"
"Not at all: I am sure that your good friends, the birds, love you too much not to perceive your sorrow."
"Really, the poor little things are so intelligent!" said Rigolette, naively, much satisfied at being assured of the sagacity of the companions of her solitude.
"Without doubt, nothing is more intelligent than gratitude. Come, once more, adieu. Soon, neighbor, I hope your pretty eyes will become sparkling, your cheeks very rosy, and your songs so gay—so gay—that Papa Cretu and Ramonette will hardly be able to follow you."