“What are you doing, my child?” asked the nun, approaching, as a new shower of dew-drops and blossoms was shaken abroad. “If you desire to fish, I doubt not our reverend mother will make you welcome to our pond yonder.”
“Oh, sister Christine! I am glad you are come out,” said Euphrosyne, bending over the balcony, and speaking in a low, though eager voice. “Do give me a branch of something sweet,—orange, or citron, or something. This humming-bird, will be gone if we do not make haste—Hush! Do not call. Grandpapa is not awake yet. Please, make haste.”
Sister Christine was not wont to make haste; but she did her best to gratify Euphrosyne. She went straight to the corner of the shrubbery where the abbess’s mocking-bird spent all its summer days, hung up the cage, and brought back what Euphrosyne had asked. The branch was drawn up in the noose of the cord, and the nun could not but stand and watch the event.
The bough was stuck between two of the bars of the jalousie, and the girl withdrew to the end of the balcony. The humming-bird appeared, hovered round, and at last inserted its long beak in a blossom, sustaining itself the while on its quivering wings. Before proceeding to another blossom it flew away. Euphrosyne cast a smile down to the nun, and placed herself against the jalousie, holding the branch upon her head. As she had hoped, two humming-birds returned. After some hesitation, they came for more of their sweet food, and Euphrosyne felt that her hair was blown about on her forehead by the motion of their busy wings. She desired, above everything, to keep still; but this strong desire, and the sight of sister Christine’s grave face turned so eagerly upwards, made her laugh so as to shake the twigs very fearfully. Keeping her hand with the branch steady, she withdrew her head from beneath, and then stole slowly and cautiously backward within the window—the birds following. She now heard her grandfather’s voice, calling feebly and fretfully. She half turned to make a signal for silence, which the old man so far observed as to sink his complaints to a mutter. The girl put the branch into a water-jar near the window, and then stepped lightly to the bed.
“What is all this nonsense?” said Monsieur Revel. “Why did not you come the moment I called?”
“Here I am, grandpapa—and do look—look at my humming-birds!”
“Humming-birds—nonsense! I called you twice.”
Yet the old gentleman rubbed his eyes, which did not seem yet quite awake. He rubbed his eyes and looked through the shaded room, as if to see Euphrosyne’s new plaything. She brought him his spectacles from the toilette, helped to raise him up, threw a shawl over his shoulders, and placed his pillows at his back. Perceiving that he still could not see very distinctly, she opened another blind, so as to let one level ray of sunshine fall upon the water-jar, and the little radiant creatures that were hovering about it.
“There! there!” cried Monsieur Revel, in a pleased tone.
“Now I will go and bring you your coffee,” said Euphrosyne.