"Ah, that--that! . . . Do you think that possible, m'sieu'? Tell me, do
you think that was in her mind--to have loved, and been a mother, and
given her life for the child, and then the bosom of God. Answer that to
me, m'sieu'?"
There was intense, poignant inquiry in Jean Jacques' face, and a light
seemed to play over it. The Young Doctor heeded the look and all that was
in the face. It was his mission to heal, and he knew that to heal the
mind was often more necessary than to heal the body. Here he would try to
heal the mind, if only in a little.
"That might well have been in her thought," he answered. "I saw her face.
It had a wonderful look of peace, and a smile that would reconcile anyone
she loved to her going. I thought of that when I looked at her. I recall
it now. It was the smile of understanding."
He had said the only thing which could have comforted Jean Jacques at
that moment. Perhaps it was meant to be that Zoe's child should represent
to him all that he had lost--home, fortune, place, Carmen and Zoe.
Perhaps she would be home again for him and all that home should mean--be
the promise of a day when home would again include that fled from Carmen,
and himself, and Carmen's child. Maybe it was sentiment in him, maybe it
was sentimentality--and maybe it was not.
"Come, m'sieu'," Jean Jacques said impatiently: "let us go to the house
of that M'sieu' Doyle.
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