"Come, you are not well enough to go upon deck—let us talk of something else. Do you not long to see France again?"
"France, la belle France?" murmured the poor girl.
"Yes, your own France."
"I see the home of my childhood; O, is it not beautiful! How full the vine-tree hangs with the clustering grape, and the village girls are dancing on the green. I see myself among them—and I look smiling and happy; but, O! there is William! how dark he looks as he gazes through the vines upon me; he beckons me away. I will come! I will come!"
Julia wept as she looked sorrowfully upon this wreck of happiness and beauty.
"My dear Florette, I hope you will yet again dance with your village girls beneath the bower of vines you seem to see."
"O, never, never! Did I not tell you I should never see France again? No, no! I am going to William, he is impatient. See! he frowns!" and again she strove to break from Julia, but suffered herself to be restrained by the gentle violence of her companion.
"Come, Florette, will you not sleep?"
A gleam of intelligence seemed to pass across her countenance, and her eyes lighted as if with a sudden resolve. She was too weak to escape from Julia, and with the cunning which so often characterizes the fevered mind, she determined to attain by deception, what she saw could not be done otherwise.
"Yes, lady, I will sleep."