“Behold a friend for you madame,” he said, “a friend from England.—­Monsieur, this is my beloved English child.”

I turned back, and met the eyes of both, fixed upon me with that peculiar half-tender, half-regretful expression, with which so many old men look upon women as young as I. A smile came across my face, and I held out my hand involuntarily to the stranger.

“You do not know who I am, my dear!” he said.  The English voice and words went straight to my heart.  How many months it was since I had heard my own language spoken thus!  Tardif had been too glad to speak in his own patois, now I understood it so well; and Minima’s prattle had not sounded to me like those few syllables in the deep, cultivated voice which uttered them.

“No,” I answered, “but you are come to me from Dr. Martin Dobree.”

“Very true,” he said, “I am his friend’s father—­Dr. John Senior’s father.  Martin has sent me to you.  He wished Miss Johanna Carey to accompany me, but we were afraid of the fever for her.  I am an old physician, and feel at home with disease and contagion.  But we cannot allow you to remain in this unhealthy village; that is out of the question.  I am come to carry you away, in spite of this old cure.”

Monsieur Laurentie was listening eagerly, and watching Dr. Senior’s lips, as if he could catch the meaning of his words by sight, if not by hearing.

“But where am I to go?” I asked.  “I have no money, and cannot get any until I have written to Melbourne, and have an answer.  I have no means of proving who I am.”

“Leave all that to us, my dear girl,” answered Dr. Senior, cordially.  “I have already spoken of your affairs to an old friend of mine, who is an excellent lawyer.  I am come to offer myself to you in place of your guardians on the other side of the world.  You will do me a very great favor by frankly accepting a home in my house for the present.  I have neither wife nor daughter; but Miss Carey is already there, preparing rooms for you and your little charge.  We have made inquiries about the little girl, and find she has no friends living.  I will take care of her future.  Do you think you could trust yourself and her to me?”

“Oh, yes!” I replied, but I moved a little nearer to Monsieur Laurentie, and put my hand through his arm.  He folded his own thin, brown hand over it caressingly, and looked down at me, with something like tears glistening in his eyes.

“Is it all settled?” he asked, “is monsieur come to rob me of my English daughter?  She will go away now to her own island, and forget Ville-en-bois and her poor old French father!”

“Never! never!” I answered vehemently, “I shall not forget you as long as I live.  Besides, I mean to come back very often; every year if I can.  I almost wish I could stay here altogether; but you know that is impossible, monsieur.  Is it not quite impossible?”

“Quite impossible!” he repeated, somewhat sadly, “madame is too rich now; she will have many good friends.”