"I believe I have been sick," she said, in a weak little voice.
"Indeed you have, darling—very sick. But you are better now. How do you feel?"
"Better," Matilda answered in that same faint, thin little voice;—"weak."
"Of course you are weak! Here is something to make you stronger."
Mrs. Laval brought a tea-cup presently, and fed Matilda with soda biscuit dipped in tea; very nice it seemed; and then she went off again into a sweet deep sleep.
When she awaked from this, it was high day, and the light was let into the room as it had not been for a good while. It all looked natural, and yet new; and Matilda's eyes went from one object to another with a sort of recognizing pleasure; feeling languid too, as if her eyelids could just keep open and that was all. But the light seemed sweet. And her gaze lingered long on the figure of Mrs. Laval, who was standing by the mantle-piece; going over with quiet pleasure every graceful outline and pretty detail; the flow of her soft drapery; the set of the dainty little French muslin cap which set lightly on her hair. Till Mrs. Laval turned, and smiled to see her eyes open.
"Ready for breakfast?" she said gayly.
"I don't believe I could get up, mamma," said the weak little voice.
"Get up! I don't believe you could! But what do you think of having breakfast in bed? Wait; you shall have your face washed first."
She brought a basin and bathed Matilda's face and hands, first with water and then with cologne. It was pleasant to be tended so, and the fine, soft, sweet damask was pleasant, with which the drying was done. Then Mrs. Laval rang the bell, and presently came up a tray which she took from the servant's hands and brought to the bedside herself. Then Matilda was raised up and propped up with pillows, till she could see what was on the plate.