“It’s a great come down from the grand African scheme, you see,” he observed, laughing; “but under such good guidance there is no saying what I may not achieve. I may turn out a hero in the end.”
“If you do your duty perfectly, of course you will,” replied Franceline confidently. “Papa says the real heroes are those that do their duty best and get no praise for it.”
“Oh! but I should like a little praise; you would not grudge me a little now and then if I deserved it?” And the look that accompanied the question would have most fully explained the praise he coveted, if Franceline had not been as unlearned in that species of language as one of her doves.
“Bless me! how beautiful that child is!” said the admiral in a sotto voce. “Just look at her color; did you ever see anything to come up to it? It reminds me of that tinted Hebe that we went to see together in Florence; you remember, Harness?”
The excitement of talking had brought an exquisite pink glow into Franceline’s cheeks, and made her eyes sparkle with unwonted brilliancy. Her father listened to the flattering outburst of the old sailor with a bright smile of satisfaction, not venturing to look at Franceline, lest he should betray his acquiescence too palpably.
“And she’s the very picture of health too!” remarked the admiral.
At this Raymond turned and looked at her.
“How like her mother she is!” said Sir Simon, appealing to him; but he had no sooner uttered the words than he wished himself silent. The smile died immediately out of M. de la Bourbonais’ face, and a sharp spasm of pain passed over it like a shadow. Sir Simon guessed at once what caused it: the bright and delicate color, that the admiral had aptly compared to the transparency of tinted marble, reminded him of Armengarde when death had cast its terrible beauty over her.
“Like her in beauty and in many other things,” resumed the baronet in a careless, abstracted tone. “But, happily, Franceline does not know what delicacy means; she has never known a day’s illness in her life, I believe.”
But this reassuring remark did not bring back the smile into the father’s face; he fixed his eyes on Franceline with an uneasy glance, as if looking for something that he dreaded to see there.