Poor little woman! She ought to have been laid in a quiet little nest hours ago, instead of being exposed to the close, hot, stifling air of the theatre through all the long hours of a weary night.
In about an hour's time her mother woke, and found her little girl sleeping in her uncomfortable position, her white dress unfastened, and the pink roses from her hair fallen on the ground. Weak as she was, the poor mother dragged herself out of bed to help her tired child to undress.
'Rosalie, dear,' she said tenderly, 'wake up!'
But for some time Rosalie did not stir, and, when her mother touched her, she sat up, and said, as if in her sleep—
'"Rejoice with Me, for I have found My sheep which was lost."'
'She is dreaming of her picture, poor child,' said the mother to herself.
Then Rosalie woke, and shivered as she felt the cold night air on her bare neck and arms. Very gently the poor weak mother helped her to take off her white dress and her small ragged petticoats; and then the child crept into bed and into her mother's arms.
'Poor little tired lamb!' said the mother, as the weary child nestled up to her.
'Am I the lamb?' said Rosalie, in a sleepy voice.
The mother did not answer, but kissed her child passionately, and then lay awake by her side, weeping and coughing by turns till the morning dawned.