'You are a little angel, my dear!' cried Madame Bernard, much affected. 'They did right to name you Angela!'
But Angela shook her head, as she put the paper shade over the cheap lamp, and then went to the window to close the inner shutters before drawing the chintz curtains.
'I have been a very useless little angel,' she answered, 'and I am sorry for it. But I mean to do better now, and you will help me, won't you?'
'That is all I ask! But to tell the truth, I was discouraged to-day, and I have been to ask the advice of a very good man. There! I have told you, and I am glad of it, because I hate secrets! He has promised to come and see you, and talk to you, but now that you are yourself again——' She stopped, as if embarrassed.
'Who is he?' asked Angela with a shade of distrust. 'A priest?'
'Please do not be angry!' Madame Bernard began to repent of what she had done. 'I was so much distressed—I felt that you were slipping out of the world day by day, just dying of a broken heart, so I went to see him this afternoon.'
'I am not going to die,' Angela said confidently. 'Who is he? I think I know at last what I must do, without the advice of a priest. But tell me who he is.'
'He is such a good man, my dear—Monsignor Saracinesca.'
'That is different,' Angela said, changing her tone at once. 'I shall be very glad to see Monsignor Saracinesca. He is a real saint, if there is one living.'