“Ah, but thou art not strong! I remember when thy cheeks were like the rose. Now thou art so pale and thin! and I saw thy hand tremble while thou wast writing. Oh, my brother, if thou shouldst be sick, I fear I could not be to thee the good angel thou art to me. Come, take of this a little: it is excellent.” “I have already dined, cherie.” “When?” “While thou wast sleeping.” “I bet thy dinner was not so good as mine! n’est ce pas?” No, truly it was not. It was of stale bread, as wee a morsel as ever kept body and soul together. But the little one must never know. “Tell me, Julie, who is oncle le capitaine?” “Oh, that is the monsieur charming who gave me a ride in his ship. He promised to find thee for me. But who hast thou heard to speak of him?” “A little fairy. And so he gave thee the ride?” “Yes, Julien, was he not good? He would not take the cross—thou rememberest?—our poor mamma’s beautiful cross. It was yesterday, was it not, that I was telling thee how she gave it to me? Madame locked it in the drawer. I wonder if she would not let thee have it if thou wert to ask her? for thou art a man, and thou canst speak English, and she will comprehend. Oh, dear Julien, what is the matter? what have I said? art thou angry with me?” “No, not with thee, my poor dear little angel! but with those people there—the brutes!” “Comment! who has told thee of them, my brother?” “A little fairy.” “Who is that little fairy that tells thee so much? what is she called?” “She is called Julie.” “Comment! what dost thou say? I am she! But how could I tell thee, since thou wilt scarcely allow me to speak a single word, dear monsieur le docteur?” “My poor little Julie has had bad dreams and talked in her sleep. There, now, thou art weary. Close thy pretty eyes and rest thee. Already, I fear, I have let thee talk too long.” “But it is so good to be with one who comprehends, and can speak with me our own beautiful language!” “Poor little sister! when thou art stronger, we will do nothing but talk for a whole day.” While the child lay sleeping, there came a rap at the outer door. Julien hoped he was going to have a patient. But no, a tall, stout gentleman strode into the office. His face was ruddy, his eyes twinkled merrily. He didn’t look as if he were in any need of medicine. “I came to ask after the little Julie,” he said. “She came over in my ship,” he explained. “Possibly she has made mention of—” “Ah! is it ‘oncle le capitaine’?” “The same,” answered the gentleman, smiling. “Then let me thank you for your kindness to my little sister!” cried the young man, grasping his hand. “I know not how to express my gratitude.” “Bah! where is she?” “In the next room. She sleeps. She is just recovering from a fever—of the brain.” “Indeed! Strange that woman should not have spoken of it! Has she been very sick?” “It has been a struggle for life.”