He listened, wiping away his tears; his wife had locked herself into Maxime's room as she did every evening, and was folding and unfolding his clothes, arranging the things left behind.... He went into the room where Rosine sat alone by the window, sewing. She was absorbed in thought, and did not hear him coming till he stood before her; till he laid his grey head on her shoulder and murmured: "My little girl."
Then her heart melted also. She took the dear old head between her hands, with its rough hair, and answered:
"My dear father."
Neither needed to ask or to explain why he was there. After a long silence, when he was calmer, he looked at her and said:
"It seems as if I had waked up from a frightful dream." ... But she merely stroked his hair, without speaking.
"You were watching over me, were you not?... I saw it.... Were you unhappy?" ...
She just bowed her head not daring to look at him. He stooped to kiss her hands, and raising his head he whispered:
"My good angel. You h
