The words fell one by one from the feeble lips.
"Yes, mon chéri, yes. The holy child Jesus knows what little children need," answered the curé.
"He is always good and wise," whispered the dying child; "so good, so wise."
How quickly it was over after that!
CHAPTER THE FIFTEENTH.
A TACITURN FRENCHWOMAN.
Minima was so much worse that night, that Monsieur Laurentie gave me permission to sit up with Mademoiselle Thérèse, to watch beside her. There was a kindly and unselfish disposition about Monsieur le Curé which it was impossible to resist, or even gainsay. His own share of the trouble, anxiety, and grief, was so large, that he seemed to stand above us all, and be naturally our director and ruler. But to-night, when I begged to stay with Minima, he conceded the point without a word.
Mademoiselle Thérèse was the most silent woman I ever met. She could pass a whole day without uttering a word, and did not seem to suffer any ennui from her silence. In the house she wore always, like the other inhabitants of the village, men and women, soundless felt socks, which slipped readily into the wooden sabots used for walking out-of-doors. I was beginning to learn to walk in sabots myself, for the time was drawing rapidly near when otherwise I should be barefoot.