"Oh! monsieur friend! he kiss Blanche's hand!"
Concealed behind the folds of a portière, Bathilde saw it all, and tears of joy escaped from her eyes.
The count kept the child with him a long while, but at last made up his mind to send her away.
"I do not wish to deprive her any longer of the pleasures, the amusements suited to her years," he said to Jarnonville; "her pretty color will fade beside a sickbed.—Take her away, chevalier.—Au revoir, little one—until to-morrow! I shall wait impatiently for you to come to pass a few moments with me."
Twelve days passed. Léodgard continued to improve and began to recover a little strength; but it was not possible as yet for him to leave his bed, the severity of the wound he had received demanding extreme precautions. To beguile his ennui, to make the hours seem less long, he often had Blanche with him, and each day he tried to keep her longer.
When his daughter was not by his side, Léodgard was silent, and his mind seemed always to be engrossed by gloomy thoughts. He would hardly answer Jarnonville when he tried to divert him, and sometimes passed whole hours without opening his lips, without emerging from the torpor in which he was plunged. But when Blanche's little steps pattered along the floor, when her sweet voice made itself heard in the room, it was as if a fairy had touched the Comte de Marvejols with her magic wand: his brow instantly cleared, he raised his eyes, a bright smile changed the whole expression of his countenance, and, being stronger now, he would hold out his arms to Blanche, draw her to him, and make her sit on his bed, where he could kiss her lovely face at his ease.
Then he would lead the child on to talk; he loved to hear her, to listen to her childish answers, wherein sensibility and intelligence were already apparent. These are natural gifts, which education and years do not give; when they do not manifest themselves early in life, be sure that you will look in vain for them later.
But Léodgard had not yet called Blanche his daughter; and when she spoke of her mother, he very soon found a way to change the subject.
Bathilde continued to keep out of her husband's sight, and he had not once inquired about her. But she did not complain; she was happy because she had been able to nurse him, and even happier for the affection which he displayed for his daughter.
Ambroisine thought it her duty as well to abstain from showing herself to the sick man; the mere sight of her had seemed so unpleasant to the count when she met him on Place Royale, holding Blanche in his arms, that she did not care to cause him a repetition of that sensation.