“No; I want you, Cherie,” and the boy held her as tightly as his poor weak hands would allow. “I don’t want Jeanne, I want you.” Exhausted by the excitement he sank back unconscious on his pillow.
Madame’s eyes flashed triumphantly at the girl.
“Go,” she said in her honey sweet accents which to the sensitive ear of the girl were full of bitterness. “Go, and let me repair the mischief you have done. Blame yourself if this proves too much for him. His death will be upon your shoulders.”
With white face Jeanne crept from the room, and lay without the door while her aunt summoned aid. After a time the lady joined her.
“Unhappy girl,” she said, “you have almost killed your brother. It is due to my skill alone that he lives. I forbid you to enter his room again until he is beyond danger. If you try to see him I cannot answer for the consequences. Or perhaps you would rather he would die than to live and to care for me more than for you. Did you see how he turned from you to me? How did you like that?”
“Aunt Clarisse,” answered Jeanne, every word of the woman going to her heart like the stab of a knife, “save him, and I will ask nothing more. He may love you best––” her voice faltered. “Only save him.”
“I am going to,” said Madame with emphasis. “Do you want to know why, my dear? Because I took a fancy to Monsieur Dick when you used to talk so about him. I adore a soldier! Had you been a boy I might have loved you. When the Orderly told us that you were here with your brother I came down because I wanted to see him for myself. I saw him, petite. He is the picture of what my own boy would have been had he lived. I would not have come on your account, you little mudsill! You might have been sent to Libby prison for all I cared, but I wanted Dick. I want him for myself. He cares for me now. By the time he is well he will adore me. Nay; he will be so fond of me that he will give up father, mother and even that beloved Union of which you prate so much because I wish it. You shall see!”
“You will do this? Aunt Clarisse, you cannot. Dick believes in you now, but he will never love you better than he does mother. And he never will, no matter how much he likes you, give up his country.”
“We shall see,” and the lady laughed unpleasantly. “You would have said yesterday that he loved you better, wouldn’t you? Yet see! to-day he prefers me. He shall yet wear the gray of my own South.”
Shaking her finger at the girl with pretended playfulness she reëntered Dick’s room leaving Jeanne full of misery.