“Father,” said Franceline, laying both hands on his arm with an unconscious movement that was very expressive, “do you know it seems to me as if I were only waking up, only beginning to live now. Everything has been unreal like a dream until this. Is it a punishment for being so ungrateful, so rebellious, so blind to the blessings that I had?”
“If it were, my child, punishment with God is only another name for mercy,” said Father Henwick. “Our best blessings come to us mostly in the shape of crosses. Perhaps you were not thankful enough for the great blessing of your father’s love, for his health and his delight in you; perhaps you let your heart long too much for other things; and if so, God has been mindful of his foolish little one, and has sent this touch of fear to teach her to value more the mercies that were vouchsafed to her, and not to pine for those that were denied. We seldom see things in their true proportions until the shadow of death falls on them.”
“The shadow of death!” echoed Franceline, her white lips growing still whiter. “Oh! if it be but the shadow, my life will be too short for thanksgiving, were I to live to the end of the world.”
“Ha! here they come,” said Father Henwick, opening the study-door as he heard the doctor’s steps, followed by Mr. Langrove’s, on the stair.
Franceline went forward to meet them; she did not speak, but Dr. Blink held out his hand in answer to her questioning face, and said cheerfully: “The count is much better; he has recovered consciousness, and is doing very nicely, very nicely indeed for the present. Come! there is nothing to be frightened at, my dear young lady.”
Franceline could not utter a word, not even to murmur “Thank God!” But the dead weight that had been pressing on her heart was lifted, she gasped for breath, and then the blessed relief of tears came.
“My poor little thing! My poor Franceline!” said the vicar, leading her gently to a chair, and smoothing the dark gold hair with paternal kindness.
“Let her cry; it will do her good,” said Dr. Blink kindly; and then he turned to speak in a low voice to Father Henwick and Mr. Langrove.
He had concluded, from the incoherent account which Mr. Langrove had gathered from Angélique, that he should come prepared for a case of apoplexy, and had brought all that was necessary to afford immediate relief. He had recourse to bleeding in the first instance, and it had proved effective. M. de la Bourbonais was, as he said, doing very well for the present. Consciousness had returned, and he was calm and free from suffering. Franceline was too inexperienced to understand where the real danger of the attack lay. She fancied that, since her father had regained consciousness, there could be nothing much worse than a bad fainting fit, brought on by fatigue of mind and body, and, now that the Rubicon was past, he would soon be well, and she would take extra care of him, so as to prevent a relapse. Her passionate burst of tears soon calmed down, and she rose up to thank her visitors with that queenly self-command that formed so striking a part of her character.
“I am very grateful to you for coming so quickly; it was very good of you,” she said, extending her hand to Dr. Blink: “May I go to him now?”