see that soon we shall come to understand one another, you and I. By the
way, I noticed that in your Bible there were quite a number of dry flowers.
If you would like them, I will return them to you immediately."
"Oh, many thanks, uncle. I kept them there as remembrances of my father. I
shall keep them in some book where I can look at them often--often!"
"That's what I thought, my little daughter. I'll go and get your Bible, and
you yourself shall take them out."
But now Paula seemed to have a different idea. "No, I think that I prefer
that they remain where they are," she said in an altered voice.
"What's that you say?" exclaimed my father, astonished. "How is it that you
have so suddenly changed your mind?"
"Well, you see," explained Paula, trembling a bit, "they'd better remain
where they are, for I love my Bible, and I've read it every day, and now if
I saw it again, I'm afraid--I'm afraid--" and poor Paula's lip was
trembling.
"I understand, I understand," said my father.
But on turning to go into Catalina's room, he hesitated with his hand on
the latch of the door, and turning, he looked searchingly at Paula, as if
he would know the secret of the innermost heart of this child, so loving,
so angelic, and yet so absolutely natural.
CHAPTER SEVEN
CATALINA'S ILLNESS
Teresa had not been mistaken. Catalina became so critically ill during the
following week, that my father lost all hope of her recovery. Not being
able to be with her during the day, he watched at her bedside during the
greater part of the night, and if it had not been for Teresa, who compelled
him to go and take some rest, he would have, undoubtedly, suffered a
collapse himself. How long those days appeared to be in spite of the happy
companionship that I had found with my dear cousin Paula! My father hardly
noticed us, absorbed as he was with the fear that filled his heart, and
Teresa was occupied with so many tasks that she had no time for us either.
Rosa had to leave school in order to help nurse the sick one, and Paula
also was required to stay home until the afternoon session. As for me, I
was packed off to school in the morning, carrying my lunch in a little
basket, fearing each night as I came back to the house that I would receive
bad news as to Catalina. My! What grand resolutions for the future I made
during those sad days--to try to love my poor sick sister, and to treat her
better than I had done, should she recover.
One afternoon, I was surprised to find my father at home. It was only about
five o'clock and he generally did not return from work until eight. He
seemed so sad and depressed that I dared not embrace him as was our custom.
Teresa crossed the dining-room and gave me her usual warning. "Don't make
any noise, Lisita. Go and sit down and be quiet"
"Teresa," said my father in a low voice, "do you think Catalina would be
able to see the children?"'
"Why do you ask that, sir?" she said.
"I would like them to see her that she may embrace them for the last time.
You know what the doctor said."
"Oh, those doctors!" said Teresa in a scornful tone. "The doctors don't
know what they're talking about. Don't lose hope, sir. I know that Catalina
may not live to be very old, but if God wills her to live, she will do so
in spite of the doctors."
"Yes, but you know how weak she is. She never will be able to survive so
many complications. And yet, how can I bear such affliction? She reminds me
so much of her mother, the same voice, the same blue eyes, and even her
identical way of smiling. And now to follow this child to the cemetery and
return to the house where she will never be any more. Oh, what shall I do!
What shall I do!"
"Why don't you consult the Great Physician, sir?"
"What do you mean by 'the Great Physician?'"
"I mean the Lord Jesus. Deliver Catalina into His hands. When He walked
this earth, all the sick ones were brought to Him and He healed them all."
"But He's no longer on the earth."
"No; but His power is the same today as it was then."
"Teresa, do you pray nowadays?"
"Yes, sir, I do."
"When did you begin to pray?"
"From the time that Paula entered the house, sir."
"I suspected that."
"Now, please don't go and rebuke her, sir. If you only knew how she loves
you, and how she prays for you and Catalina. Oh, sir, how many times she
has made me blush for shame."
"How so, my good Teresa?"
"That's a fact, sir. I used to think to myself, 'You're a pretty good
woman, you have suffered much in your life, you work hard, you don't do any
harm to anybody, surely you will go to heaven.' But when I saw Paula and
the reality of her religion, and how she loved God, oh, then, sir, I
comprehended for the first time in my life that I was a sinner worthy of
hell, and I prayed to God that He would pardon me."
"And--did He do it?"
"The Saviour assures us, sir, that 'He that cometh to Him, He will in no
wise cast out.' So I dare to believe that He has pardoned me" Teresa was
pale with emotion. It was the first time that she had confessed the Lord
before men, and it cost her a good deal to do so to my father. He was
apparently too depressed to be angry. After a moment of silence he said,
"Where is Paula?"
"I sent her to the drug store, sir, to get certain medicines that the
doctor ordered."
"When she returns, send her to Catalina's room. I shall remain there until,
until--" My poor father could not conclude the sentence.
Then turning to me, "When Paula returns I wish you to come in to Catalina's
room also, Lisita."
"Yes, father," I answered him in a low voice.
A quarter of an hour later Paula returned. Never shall I forget the anguish
and terror that I experienced when Teresa, warning us to be quiet, led the
way to the bedside of my dying sister.
Catalina did not appear to notice our entrance. Her eyes were closed, and
her face so pale that I believed her already dead, but my father made signs
to us to draw a little nearer and putting his hand over the forehead of my
poor sister, he called to her gently, in a voice that betrayed great
anguish.
"Catalina, Lisita and Paula have come to visit you. Would you not like to
embrace them?"
"Lisita ... Paula ..." I heard Catalina murmur in a far-away voice. "Ah,
yes, I remember. Help me up, father." My father lifted the poor thin body
of his daughter. In spite of all I could do, I could not keep from crying,
thinking that it would be the last time that I would embrace my big sister,
whom I had loved so little. She looked at us for a long while, and then
said calmly, "Have you two come to say good-bye to me?"
"No, no," said my father; "we hope that ..."
"No, father, I'm dying. I know that well. It is useless to keep it from me.
Think of it, only eighteen years old, and yet I've been of no use to
anybody, and nobody's going to miss me very much."
"Catalina," exclaimed my father, "do not speak so. You hurt me talking that
way, and you make Lisita and Paula cry."
"Are you really crying, Lisita?" And Catalina turned her feverish eyes
toward me. "How strange! I have not been a very good sister to you, and I
always thought you didn't care for me."
"Oh, Catalina," I exclaimed, kneeling beside the bed, "please don't die. I
do love you so. I promise to come and care for you every day and I'll never
make another noise while you are sick. I will be always good to you,
indeed--even when you're bad-humored. Please don't die." And then I sobbed
with such violence that my father, fearing that such conduct would cut even
shorter that parting life upon the bed, asked Teresa to take me away.
But Catalina said, "Let her alone, father. It really does me good to see
her cry. I never dreamed that Lisita had any heart at all. But I see now
that it has been all my fault. If I had only been a bit better-tempered
with her, she would have shown me a little more affection. Rosa, give me a
little water, please." And Rosa placed a teaspoonful of water between the
lips of our poor sister.
"Are you quite bad, my daughter?" asked my father.
For some minutes, Catalina could not reply, but finally she said, "Lisita,
don't cry any more, please. Now, listen."
I tried to calm myself.
"We need to ask each other's pardon, my poor little sister," she said.
"Now kiss me. Tell me that you forgive me."
"Oh, yes, indeed, I do forgive you," I answered, "from the bottom of my
heart. It is I who have been wicked, whereas you have been so very, very
sick, while I enjoy such good health."
"Yes, that's true," said Catalina, "but I'm older, and I should have shown
you a better example. I had always thought of myself and now--it's too late
to change! Come, dear Lisita, come and kiss me once more."
I could have wished to have stayed there on my knees for hours and hide my
head with shame and tears, but I didn't dare refuse to show this last sign
of affection for Catalina. So I laid my hot cheek against that of my
sister, toying to bid her good-bye, and her tears mingled with mine.
When Paula's turn came, Catalina was so exhausted that she could hardly say
a word. But finally, she said, "You will take my place at father's side,
Paula. Father, I'm dying. Paula will take my place, and I know she will be
a better daughter that I could have ever been."
Her strength was going rapidly and we could hardly hear her words. And now
my father softly put her back on the pillows and motioned us to retire.
Exhausted by remorse and grief, I threw myself on my bed and continued
crying until at last I fell into a heavy sleep.
* * * * *
During the week that followed, Catalina hovered between life and death and
good old Dr. Lebon came and went two or three times a day. Teresa never
went to bed, but took short cat-naps in her chair at times, as best she
could, and my father made very rare and short visits to his office,
bringing a good part of his work home with him.
Rosa now replaced Teresa, either in the kitchen or at the bedside of the
invalid, as the case might be. And I continued at school where, thanks to
the fears that filled my heart, I was a model of good conduct.
Paula had quickly learned to make herself useful. She lacked experience in
a house like ours, but her willingness and cheerfulness more than made up
for the clumsiness of her hands as she would say to Teresa, "Let me do
that, dear Teresa; you are so tired, and you have so much work now."
Teresa, accustomed as she was to perform everything herself, hesitated a
little at first; but Paula would look at her in such a beseeching way that
she generally yielded to her.
From the time that Catalina fell ill, Rosa had to make all the purchases in
town, and this was not a small thing, for the distance from the old Convent
to the city was considerable. At times Paula was allowed to go with her.
"Why don't you let me go alone to the city?" Paula said to her. "If you did
not have to go out, you could help Teresa so much more in caring for
Catalina."
"That's true; but you couldn't go alone to the city. You'd get lost!"
"No, no, never fear such a thing. Let me go, and I'll have not a bit of
trouble finding my way back." And Rosa, like Teresa, at last yielded to her
pleading.
"How is Catalina now?" was my first question on returning from school.
"Always the same," Paula would say.
"Do you think, Paula, she'll ever get well?"
"That I don't know, Lisita. But I believe she will. Teresa prays for her,
and so do I. God is able to heal all the sick people. You know that; don't
you, Lisita?"
And then, as she thought of the dear sick one that the Lord had not healed,
whose body was lying in the faraway Waldensian valley she added, "I know
the Lord did not heal my father, but then, you know, he was _prepared_ to
go."
"What do you mean 'prepared'?" I said, a bit puzzled.
"Oh, I mean to say that my father had given his heart to the Lord Jesus,
and so he was _ready_ to go to heaven."
"I suppose it is very difficult to prepare one's self for heaven," I said
guardedly.
"Oh, no," said Paula. "If we ask the Lord Jesus to give us a new heart, He
always does so."
"What do you think," I said, "has Catalina received a new heart?"
"I don't know," and Paula hesitated, "but I don't think so. She torments
herself so, and seems so afraid to die."
"Oh, Paula, how I wish she would get well! Before she became so ill, I
didn't care for her a bit, and I believe she didn't care for me either. But
after having said good-bye to her that afternoon, I certainly do love her.
Poor Catalina! In the middle of the school session, many times it comes to
me, 'Suppose that Catalina should die today!' Then I do not seem to be able
to pay any more attention to the lessons. It seems as if Catalina was
there, dead in her bed, and I hardly dare to come home. If I had not been
so wicked to her before she became so ill, I know I would not feel so."
"Now listen, Lisita! This is what you ought to do. You ought to ask the
Lord Jesus to heal Catalina."
"He'd never do it for me," I said.
"And why not?" asked Paula.
"Because I'm sure God doesn't hear the prayers of wicked people."
For a while Paula did not answer me. I saw that she was thinking about what
I had just said. Suddenly, a ray of happiness illumined the dear face with
its great dark eyes, as-she exclaimed, "Yes, He does hear wicked people."
"How do you know that?" I said.
"Because when Jesus Christ hung on the cross, one of the robbers asked Him
to remember him when He came into His kingdom, and the Lord promised to do
so."
"Well, then," I murmured, "perhaps the Lord might hear me also."
Paula turned about and faced me. "But, my dear Lisita, you're not wicked."
"Most certainly I am," said I.
"No, no, you're not that bad, and if you wish to be my sister, you will
love the Lord Jesus, and you love Him now with all your heart; do you not,
Lisita! I don't like to hear you say that you're wicked, for you are a good
girl, and I love you dearly, Lisita!"
I? I? Good! I stared at my cousin. At any rate I knew that that very night,
for the first time in my life, I was going to pray to the good Lord before
I slept. Teresa had come in to say good-night and put out the light. I
hadn't the courage to get up and kneel beside the bed as Paula did, but I
joined my hands in prayer and closed my eyes as she had done, and with my
head buried in the pillow, I murmured, "Oh, my God, I've never asked
anything of You, and I wouldn't have dared to have said a word to You
tonight if Paula had not said that You heard the prayers even of wicked
penitent ones like me. My God, I ask You to heal my sister Catalina, and I
ask it with all my heart I haven't been very good to her, and I'm very
sorry, and I'm going to be better from now on. My God, please let her live,
and if she gets well, I promise You now to do all my lessons faithfully for
a whole week. And so I thank you ahead of time, Amen."
* * * * *
Two days later Catalina was out of danger! It was my father who told me the
good news on my return from school. "Oh, how happy, how happy I am,
father!" I cried as I danced for joy.
"No more than I am, my daughter," he answered gravely.
CHAPTER EIGHT
THE FIVE-FRANC PIECE
Catalina recovered slowly and seemed to constantly desire Paula's company.
In the afternoon, on returning from school, I would find her by the
bedside, always happy, always smiling, with the complete forgetfulness of
self that had always been such a wonder to me.
A new gentleness seemed to come over my father as the days passed, and I
noticed that he always seemed to observe Paula with a sort of puzzled air.
Paula, too, seemed to change. That little Alpine flower, accustomed to the
pure mountain air of her beloved country, naturally could not be
transplanted from her native soil without some damage, and besides, that
sensitive conscience of hers always seemed to be in a struggle between
obedience to her God and her duty towards my father.
"That girl is nothing more or less than stubborn," I heard my father say
one day to Teresa; which remark our old servant answered with a grimace
behind his back.
One day, Teresa with an air of triumph, showed us a New Testament on her
return from town. Paula took it from her hand for a moment, and then
returned it to our old servant after caressing the shining cover with great
tenderness.
"Take it," said Teresa, "it's not only mine, but yours, and you will have
more time to read it than I will."
"No, Teresa dear," and Paula sighed as she put her hands behind her back.
"I know I'll get my Bible some day. That's what I've asked God for, and I
know He answers prayer."
A little later, Paula said to me, "I certainly would have loved that New
Testament, for there are two or three favorite passages with which I would
like to refresh my memory, but I simply can't deceive my uncle. But what am
I going to do, Lisita? I must never forget what I promised papa when he
died." (Never forget, never forget! was Paula's constant preoccupation.)
But in spite of these problems which seemed to confront her, her perfect
faith in God came to her aid, and seemed to give her wisdom to take the
right road through it all. At times I would surprise her on her knees with
her eyes closed and a certain strange indefinable light on her tear-stained
face. Immediately however as she sensed my presence, she would spring to
her feet and I found the same natural happy creature that I delighted to
call my companion. It was not in vain that she prayed! Her God, whom she
had not ceased to serve in the midst of the worldly atmosphere that
surrounded her, seemed to come to comfort and strengthen her.
Away off here in Villar, the little orphan was not forgotten. One day, to
her great excitement, Paula received a letter, directed personally to her,
from someone from her own beloved land.
"What beautiful writing!" exclaimed Rosa. "Who could it be from?"
"I think it must be from my god-mother," responded Paula, trembling with
emotion. "Oh, do give me the letter, Rosa."
Rosa, always full of fun, pretended to keep the letter, to the dismay of
our small cousin, who didn't always see through our jokes, but finally
yielded to her entreaties.
"Wouldn't you like to read it to us, Rosa?" asked Paula, tearing open the
envelope. "I find it much harder to read writing than printing."
Rosa was only too glad to learn the secrets contained in such an unusual
communication. And so this is what we heard as she read:
"My dear god-daughter: I cannot tell you how dismayed I was on my return
from Geneva to learn of the death of thy father. I know he is at peace in
heaven, happy at the side of the Lord he so dearly loved. But it is for
thee that my heart was torn with anguish. Canst thou imagine the pain that
filled it when I found on my return to Villar, that both of you had gone
from me?
"The Pastor in the village told me that thou hadst gone to your uncle's
house in Normandy, and that thou wert well-cared for. But oh, how I would
have wished to have kept thee with me. But thou knowest, that for me, that
would have been impossible, having to care for my old father and mother, as
well as pay off their debts. I know, however, with the help of God, some
day I shall be free. Then we shall return to buy the little farm where my
father made us such a happy home, and at that time I trust that thou wilt
come back and live with me--but then, I suppose thou wilt have become a
great lady, and wilt not be content to come back to such a simple life with
an obscure country woman (although I really don't believe that)."
"Oh, no, no, no!" suddenly interrupted Paula. "Godmother knows very well
that I shall never forget the happy life in Villar."
"Then, you will go back there?" inquired Rosa.
"Of course. Why not?" and Paula looked quite surprised.
"What's that you say? You would leave all of us who love you so?"
"Oh, no indeed, you shall all come with me," responded Paula, who generally
had a way of solving every difficulty.
Rosa smiled and returned to her reading.
"I have just been to see the grave of thy dear father where I planted some
hardy white roses which will stand the winter winds. I went also to the
neighboring village of Endroit where thou usedst to visit the poor, and
immediately I was surrounded by thy friends. Papa Pierre Vigne especially
sends his love. They all spoke of thee and called down blessings on thy
head, especially that thou mightst be a witness for the Lord in thy new
home. Mama Vigne recalled the time when thou visitedst her when she was so
sick, and how happy thou madest her when thou didst sing those beautiful
hymns to her. I believe, my dear one, that if thou shouldst write her a few
lines, it would be like letting in a little heaven on her simple life, as
she would thus see that the daughter of their best friend is thinking still
of those whom she used to make happy by her heavenly presence. All those
that have known thee and know that I am writing send kisses and loving
remembrances. Many persons have asked that thou shouldst pray for them.
They love thee so and miss thy presence, my dear, dear god-daughter!
Continue, Paula, always to be obedient. Love everybody, and above all else,
the God of thy father who awaits thee in heaven. Love not the world nor the
things that are in the world. Be thou a valiant soldier, faithful unto
death, and Christ shall give thee the crown of life, for He will never
forget thee, and neither do we in this far-off valley, nor thy good deeds
which thou hast done amongst us. And now, may God bless thee and keep thee
safe in His hands.... Thy loving godmother, Evangelina, who prays for
thee."
Paula, overcome by emotion, buried her face on Rosa's shoulder.
"Wait a minute," said Rosa, "don't cry. Here is something more."
Paula dried her eyes and listened intently as Rosa continued, "P. S. I am
sending thee five francs by money order which you can redeem at your post
office. Buy something with it by which to remember me."
"Five francs!" repeated Paula, with astonishment now instead of tears on
her face, "Are you sure?"
"Of course. See. Here is the money order."
Paula, who never in her life had owned a single cent, could hardly believe
that she was the possessor of so much riches!
Her godmother's letter was, of course, a tremendous event for all of us.
Rosa had to read it over and over many times, and it seemed as if Paula
wished to learn it by heart. Even my father read it with great attention
and appeared quite pleased. Teresa declared that "The god-mother was surely
a 'très comme il faut,'" but she did not explain to us why.
One thing however displeased Teresa--the eagerness with which Paula
immediately planned to spend all her money.
"How now!" she exclaimed, "Is it burning a hole in your pocket? I should
think a little girl like you would prefer to keep the money."
"Keep it?" said Paula. "Why should I keep it?"
But the next day, when Teresa announced that she was going to the city, she
invited us both to come along. "What are _you_ going to buy?" she asked
Paula.
"Oh, so many things. You shall see!"
And the "things" which we "saw" were certainly a great surprise to us.
First we went to the book-shop where a number of souvenir cards were
purchased to send back to Villar. From there, on passing a window filled
with fruit, Paula exclaimed, "Oh, my, Catalina certainly does love grapes.
I must get her some."
"Grapes!" said Teresa. "Look at the price, you silly child."
"Never mind. I'm rich this afternoon."
"Well, you won't be rich long, if you make many purchases like that!"
But Paula would not be satisfied until a great bunch of the luscious fruit
was safely stowed away in Teresa's bag, destined for Catalina. Having
arrived in front of a stationer's shop, two pencils went into the bag, one
for Rosa and the other for Louis.
"And aren't you going to get anything for yourself?" said Teresa, with a
quizzical grin.
"Oh, you shall see," laughed Paula. "Besides, you know, Teresa, I've got
everything I need, and a good deal more."
But now a present for my father was the next object for discussion. "Men
don't need presents," said Teresa impatiently.
But Paula did not agree with her. "I know," she cried at last, "I remember
what he said yesterday that his coffee cup was too small. Let's get him a
big one." So off to the china-shop we went, where a huge blue cup decorated
with flowers of extraordinary size depleted Paula's treasure by a whole
franc. I began to ask myself whether I was going to have any part in
Paula's generosity. But on passing a certain bazaar where a myriad of
things were sold, I saw Paula make signs that Teresa seemed to understand.
Contrary to her custom Teresa entered alone, telling us to walk on a bit
and she would join us soon.
"And now," said Paula, "we must buy an apron for Teresa, while she's not
looking. Where shall we go?"
"I think it would be better to let her choose one, and anyway, Teresa will
soon be out of the bazaar and will be looking for us."
"Oh, my, no! This has got to be a surprise!"