"Did I ever see any kind face like mama's looking at me when I was a baby, Floy?"
"Oh yes, dear."
"Whose, Floy?"
"Your old nurse's, often."
"And where is my old nurse?" said Paul. "Is she dead, too? Floy are we all dead except you?"
There was a hurry in the room for an instant—longer perhaps—then all was still again, and Florence, with her face quite colourless but smiling, held his head upon her arm. Her arm trembled very much.
"Show me that old nurse, Floy, if you please."
"She is not here, darling; she shall come to-morrow."
"Thank you, Floy."
Paul closed his eyes with these words and fell asleep. When he awoke the sun was high and the broad day was clear and warm. He lay a little, looking at the windows, which were open, and the curtains rustling in the air, and waving to and fro, then he said, "Floy, is it to-morrow? Is she come?" The next thing that happened was a noise of footsteps on the stairs, and then Paul woke—woke mind and body—and sat upright in his bed. He saw them now about him. There was no gray mist before them as there had been some time in the night. He knew them every one and called them by their names.