“It is always so,” whispered Gawtrey to Morton, in an abashed and apologetic voice. “It is so difficult to get away from her. Just go and talk with her while I steal out.” Morton went to her, as she struggled with the patient good-natured sister, and began to soothe and caress her, till she turned on him her large humid eyes, and said, mournfully, “Tu es mechant, tu. Poor Fanny!” “But this pretty doll--” began the sister. The child looked at it joylessly. “And papa is going to die!” “Whenever Monsieur goes,” whispered the nun, “she always says that he is dead, and cries herself quietly to sleep; when Monsieur returns, she says he is come to life again. Some one, I suppose, once talked to her about death; and she thinks when she loses sight of any one, that that is death.” “Poor child!” said Morton, with a trembling voice. The child looked up, smiled, stroked his cheek with her little hand, and said: “Thank you!--Yes! poor Fanny! Ah, he is going--see!--let me go too--tu es mechant.” “But,” said Morton, detaining her gently, “do you know that you give him pain?--you make him cry by showing pain yourself. Don’t make him so sad!” The child seemed struck, hung down her head for a moment, as if in thought, and then, jumping from Morton’s lap, ran to Gawtrey, put up her pouting lips, and said: “One kiss more!” Gawtrey kissed her, and turned away his head. “Fanny is a good girl!” and Fanny, as she spoke, went back to Morton, and put her little fingers into her eyes, as if either to shut out Gawtrey’s retreat from her sight, or to press back her tears. “Give me the doll now, sister Marie.” Morton smiled and sighed, placed the child, who struggled no more, in the nun’s arms, and left the room; but as he closed the door he looked back, and saw that Fanny had escaped from the sister, thrown herself on the floor, and was crying, but not loud. “Is she not a little darling?” said Gawtrey, as they gained the street. “She is, indeed, a most beautiful child!” “And you will love her if I leave her penniless,” said Gawtrey, abruptly. “It was your love for your mother and your brother that made me like you from the first. Ay,” continued Gawtrey, in a tone of great earnestness, “ay, and whatever may happen to me, I will strive and keep you, my poor lad, harmless; and what is better, innocent even of such matters as sit light enough on my own well-seasoned conscience. In turn, if ever you have the power, be good to her,--yes, be good to her! and I won’t say a harsh word to you if ever you like to turn king’s evidence against myself.” “Gawtrey!” said Morton, reproachfully, and almost fiercely. “Bah!--such things are! But tell me honestly, do you think she is very strange--very deficient?” “I have not seen enough of her to judge,” answered Morton, evasively.