"Yes."
"Why?"
The child hesitated.
"It does one good to look at them--n'est-ce pas?--when one is sad?"
"Why do you suppose I am sad?"
Thérèse was silent a moment; then she flung her little skeleton arms round Julie, and Julie felt her crying.
"Well, I won't be sad any more," said Julie, comforting her. "When we're all in Bruges together, you'll see."
And smiling at the child, she tucked her into her white bed and left her.
Then from this exquisite and innocent affection she passed back into the tumult of her own thoughts and plans. Through the restless night her parents were often in her mind. She was the child of revolt, and as she thought of the meeting before her she seemed to be but entering upon a heritage inevitable from the beginning. A sense of enfranchisement, of passionate enlargement, upheld her, as of a life coming to its fruit.