"I am Archange, of the Order of Charity."
"Well, Sister Archange, you are really an angel!"
"Oh, fie! don't say so! You must think very poorly, very meanly, of me to give me a title I dare not hope to merit, even by a thousand actions such as attending you."
"Pardon me; I did but—but say what I thought."
"You are a child, and thought wrong," she replied, with playful asperity. "But you have already spoken too much for one who is only beginning to recover; so try to sleep, mon frère."
And, waving her hand with a pretty gesture of authority, she resumed her missal, and read on in silence.
I slept for a time—I know not how long—it might have been an hour, or perhaps two: but, when I looked up, she was still seated, motionless and reading.
"Ma soeur!" said I, as our eyes met, and my heart swelled with gratitude for her generous watchfulness; and she came hastily towards me.
"Mon frère, what do you want?"
"You mistook my meaning when I called you an angel, and were angry with me."