As for Madame Gosner, she accepted this visit as a blessing from Heaven itself. It renewed her waning strength, and helped to kindle the new idea born to her in the night. Just as the grander design of aiding others was formed, God has sent the food necessary to her life, and she accepted it as a token and an encouragement. In the basket she found a little milk, some eggs, and a sprig of green parsley, all promised to her the night before, though Jacques scarcely knew then how the breakfast was to be provided. With these was a loaf of white bread, and some charcoal for cooking. In a few minutes, Madame Gosner was on her knees, kindling the fire with her own breath. When the charcoal ignited and began to crackle, she went to the bed, and looked tenderly down upon her daughter, who slept soundly. How pale and delicate she was! Not a trace of color remained on those cheeks; and want had almost quenched it from the exquisitely-formed mouth, in which the white gleam of her teeth was just visible as she breathed. No wonder the mother thanked God for the food that had been brought to her when she saw all this; but she would not awake her child then, that delicious breakfast should give her a surprise. It would be, indeed, the beginning of a _fete_ day with them. So the now hopeful woman fell to beating her eggs and chopping up her parsley, with as little noise as possible. At length, when her omelet was on the fire, she went to the bed and aroused Marguerite. “Come, my daughter, breakfast is ready!” “Breakfast!” It was a strange word in that room, where no regular meal had been served for a month. Marguerite started up in her bed, looked around in bewilderment, and murmured, “Let me sleep—I was dreaming so sweetly.” “Dreaming of what, Marguerite?” “Oh! it is you, mother! Nothing. Only it seemed as if you and I were eating such a delicious meal together.” “Indeed! Such as an omelet and white bread, perhaps.” “An omelet! Oh, yes! and—and—— Why, mamma, there is a smell of it in the room yet. I suppose it is Monsieur Jacques who is cooking. He said something about a _fete_ day. Why, what is that? The table out, a cloth on; and, oh, mamma! an omelet—a real, plump omelet. Where did you get it? and parsley. Why, mamma, darling, have you been among the fairies?” “Our fairy was a little market woman, who came with all these things in a basket early this morning.” “A little market woman, how good; how strange.” “Come, come, child, everything is ready.” Marguerite, who had been making a hasty toilet, twisted her hair in a coil around her head, and sat down by the table, where both mother and daughter commenced a delicious meal, thanking God for it in their hearts. CHAPTER XIII. THEY THREE BREAKFAST TOGETHER.