The servant obeyed his master's orders, and brought him a small phial containing a yellowish liquid. Léodgard took it, examined it carefully, and placed it under his pillow, saying:
"Now, you may inform madame la comtesse that I am ready to receive her."
Bathilde was evidently waiting in an adjoining room, for she appeared almost instantly with Blanche, who ran to her father's bed, crying:
"Friend! papa! Blanche is very glad you came back. You sick; we are going to take care of you, like we did before. But then you won't go away any more, will you? you will stay with us?"
"No! oh, no! I shall not go away any more, darling girl!" replied Léodgard, motioning to Bathilde to place Blanche on the bed, so that he might kiss her. And in a moment he held her lovely face against his breast and covered her brow with kisses, while great tears escaped from his eyes, which had never wept.
Bathilde, profoundly moved, knelt beside the bed, murmuring:
"Dear Léodgard! it makes me so happy to see the love that you bear your child! Ah! do not doubt that we will both do our utmost to be worthy of your affection. To live with you will be the sweetest reward of our devotion of every instant, of our zeal to please you in everything."
"Thanks, Bathilde! Give me your hand, that I may press it.—Do you too come near, so that I may kiss your brow."
"O my dear! your lips are burning—your eyes seem more sunken—you are suffering more! Please let me send for the doctor?"
"Do nothing of the sort; I forbid it! In a little while I will rest, and that will cure me; I shall not suffer any more.—Blanche, my child, look at me again. Ah! how lovely you are! how proud we shall be of you! And you will be good, too; I can read it in your face. You love your mother—you will make her happy."