"What's the matter with popsy?" he asked, cheerfully, as he entered the room, but his countenance became grave as his eye rested on the sick child. "What is this?,"
he inquired, "why was I not told before? Tut, tut, what have you been thinking about, Natalie," he added, as he felt the child's pulse.
"I asked you to come and see her before you went out," Natalie answered, in an almost inaudible voice.
"Yes, but you did not say that there was anything particularly the matter." He stooped over the child and examined her more carefully. "She is seriously ill," he said.
And the words sent a thrill of pain to Natalie's aching heart.
"Why do you treat me in this shameful manner?" he continued bitterly. "Why let the child go on until it is almost past recovery, and then send for me in the greatest haste?—just the same way when she had the croup. I am surprised at you Natalie; it is really quite childish." He ordered the bath to be brought immediately.
Impatiently waving Natalie aside, he took the child in his arms and put her into the bath; while Natalie stood by, in speechless agony, Louis refusing to allow her to assist in any way. How cruel! To have done anything for her darling would have been an unspeakable relief. As it was, she could only stand by while he murmured, in a tone which greatly distressed her "poor little popsy," "Did they neglect papa's darling?" He would suffer no one to touch her but himself, and what assistance he did accept was from Sarah, it being into her arms he put baby while he went for the medicine she required. Poor Natalie, how this grieved her; for though she took the child from Sarah, the slight was the same. "Oh, baby, baby!" she murmured, as the burning tears fell on little Isabel's face, "what should I have left if you were taken from me?"
When Louis returned, he took the child, administered the medicine, and was about to lay her in the bed.
"Let me take her," whispered Natalie, in a tone of tremulous earnestness and passionate entreaty.
"No, she is better here," he replied.