Nevertheless, Bressant was at once impressed with the young girl's presence. It was as if an ethereal cloud—such as that which, shone through by white sunlight, was just floating past the window—had eddied unexpectedly into his chamber, cooling and quieting him with the freshness of its heavenly vapor. Her eyes met his with a simple directness which made his glance waver, though he was not given to humility. Something, whereof neither science nor philosophy can take cognizance, seemed to emanate from her, elevating while it humbled him.
"If I'd known who you were, I—I shouldn't have asked you to shut the door!" said he, in an apologetic tone quite new to him.
"And how do you know who I am?" inquired the vision, with a refreshing smile.
"I meant, what sort of a person you were; but you must be Miss Sophie: only I thought she was ill."
"I am Miss Sophie, but I'm not to be thought ill any more. One invalid in the house is enough. I'm going to nurse you, and, since I'm well, you may be twice as ill as ever, if you choose."
"Well!" said Bressant, quite resignedly. He was becoming a very respectable patient.
"In what way do you want to be taken care of?" resumed the nurse with a cheerful, business-like gravity which was at once becoming and piquant.
"Stay here and talk; I like to hear your voice: and you look so cool and pleasant."
Very few people could oppose this young man in any thing; he knew so well what he wanted, and demanded it so uncompromisingly. But Sophie's sense of fitness and propriety was as sound and impenetrable as adamant, and scarcely to be affected by any human will or consideration. She felt there was something not quite right in his manner and in the nature of his demand; and, being in the habit of making people conform to her ideas, rather than the reverse, she at once determined to correct him.
"If there's any thing you wish me to read to you, I'll do it. I didn't come to sit down and talk to you; but, if you like my voice, you can have more pleasure from it in that way."