“No doubt. But she wishes that I should enjoy it near her, so that she can enjoy it too. Isn’t that only natural?”
Paule thought of her own mother, who had borne so many separations and who had never turned her children from their path. She was silent and her dark eyes sparkled no more. Alice took her hand, and then releasing it she began to cry.
“Paule, I’m afraid, I’m so afraid. But I love you so.”
It was to Marcel that these passionate words were addressed—through the medium of Paule. The latter soothed the timid girl as she might a little sister of her own.
“Someone is coming,” she said suddenly, hearing a noise among the leaves. “Take care.”
“Will they see that I have been crying?”
“No, hardly. Don’t rub your eyes.” And in a low voice she murmured, “Be brave. You promise me that?”
“Oh, yes.”
“Dear little sister!”
Alice smiled, comforted by this sweet name.