“I could not help it, Snowball. I know that she does not like me any better than she used to, but she is certainly kind to Dick and he needs that now. Even mother could not nurse him more tenderly.”
“She done got sum crotchet in huh haid,” grumbled Snowball. “Done yer be tuk in, lill’ missy. She up ter sumthing.”
The girl’s words filled Jeanne with alarm. She had sometimes had the same thought, but when she saw Madame’s devotion to her brother, she dismissed the idea from her mind.
One day she sat by Dick’s bedside alone. Madame had lain down for a little rest, although the boy was not yet out of danger.
“Jeanne,” said the weak voice of her brother presently.
“Yes, Dick,” and the girl hastened to his side. “What is it?”
“I wonder and wonder,” said the boy, in a far away voice, “why you told me what you did about Cherie. She is so good, so kind. The sweetest woman that I ever knew besides my mother! Why, why did you tell me such awful things of her, Jeanne? They are not true.”
Jeanne was aghast at the question. She stood, unable to answer, fearing to excite him by telling the truth and yet unwilling for him to be under the impression that her story was false.
“Tell me,” said Dick, weakly. “Why did you do it? I think of it always. It was not like you, Jeanne.”
“Don’t ask me, Dick,” pleaded Jeanne, falling on her knees beside him. “Wait until you are well and then we can talk it over.”