“But, my child, it is criminal to be serious all the time; it kills the real life and leads to melancholia. You would grow morbid through your fears if I did not laugh at them sometimes, and it would never––never do for me to approve them.”
She touched the girl’s hand softly with her own and looked at her with a certain affectionate chiding.
“You are going away from me, Louise, and you must not go in dread or despondency. It may not be for long, perhaps, but even if it should be, you must remember that I love you––I trust you. I pity you for the childhood and youth whose fate was no choice of yours. Never forget my trust in you; when we are apart it may comfort you to remember it.”
The girl looked at her with wide black eyes, into which the tears crept.
“Marquise,” she whispered, “you talk as if you might be sending me away for always. Oh, Marquise––”
Judithe raised her hand warningly.
“Be a soldier, child,” she said, softly, “each time we separate for even a day––you and I––we do not know that we will ever meet again. These are war times, you know.”
“I know––but I never dreaded a separation so much; I wish you were not to remain. Perhaps that Pluto’s words made me more nervous––it is so hard to tell how much he guesses, and those people––the Lorings––”
“I think I shall be able to manage the Lorings,” said her mistress, with a reassuring smile, “even the redoubtable Matthew––the tyrannical terror of the county; so cheer up, Louise. Even the longest parting need only be a lifetime, and I should find you at the end of it.”