“Excuse me once more,” said she; “I am distressing you, instead of showing my gratitude as I ought. I could not restrain myself, but I think
I can safely promise it will not happen again. I seldom give way to tears.”
She uttered these words in a firm tone, drying her tears, and throwing back her hair with her two hands as if to cool her brow, then she rose.
“Where are you going, pray?” asked Mademoiselle Josephine in an abrupt tone of authority.
“Why,” stammered Fleurange, “I am going up-stairs. I—”
“Perhaps you are thinking to spend the night all alone in the cabinet next the chamber—the chamber—” She stopped. Fleurange turned pale, and her lips trembled as she replied:
“What can I do? It is sad, it is painful, I know well; but it must be done. Besides, I am not afraid: I feel I am under your roof.”
“Well, for the present you shall also be under the protection of our lock and key,” said the kind Josephine: and, taking Fleurange by the arm, she led her into a little chamber next her own, where a small bed surrounded by white curtains was in readiness for the young girl. This little chamber, with its walls covered with blue paper, and lit up with a good fire, had a most cheering aspect.
“Here, child, is your chamber and your bed,” said she. “Come, come, no thanks, and, above all, no tears! Go to bed at once without giving yourself the time to think, still less to say a word. You think you are not going to sleep, but you are mistaken. On your knees? Well, I consent to that, but let it be a short prayer. That is right. Now stop till I gather up your thick hair. Is your head easy on that pillow? Well, I am glad. May God, and all good angels, watch over you! Allow me to kiss your forehead. Good-night!”
Mademoiselle Josephine lowered the curtains of the bed, and softly