She had slept long enough. She thanked
Monsieur, not daring to look up, but capriciously refused to touch
little Jacques's medicine.
"And Monsieur," she said, "Monsieur was very angry. He said I was a
disobedient wife, who did not wish to get well, but desired to be a
constant expense and trouble to her husband.
"And so, Christine C----, I trembled and shook, and let fall words I
never meant to have uttered to Monsieur, and I said he had killed
the child, and wished to kill me, that he might marry Mademoiselle
Christine. I did not say any more that day. In the morning, Monsieur
and I discoursed together again. I declared I would get well and go
away. Oh! Monsieur knew well I would not betray him. He was willing,
very willing to consent to my departure. He cared for me well, and
gave me much money; and I went away to my old aunt, who lived in
Paris. I have been dead,--I have died to Monsieur. I should never have
returned, but that my good aunt is gone. When I buried her,--shut her
kind eyes, and wrapped her so snugly in her shroud,--I thought it a
horrible thing to be living without a soul to care for me, or comfort
me, or even to wrap me up as I did her when the time was come.
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