"No, my poor boy," my father said; "you need no further punishment. Now go
to your heavenly Father and ask Him to make you His child." And I know that
Louis did so.
* * * * *
In silence we waited. Paula was the bond of love that had united us all;
not only to one another but now also to God. How wonderful, how beautiful,
had been that short life, and how she had poured out her love upon us.
Again the scene came back to me of that moonlight night at this same
bedside, when at prayer she had seemed more like an angel talking with the
One who had sent her to us, than merely the simple, honest-hearted country
girl that she really was.
Suddenly the door opened slowly and a woman poorly dressed entered, leading
a little boy of about three years old. When he saw us he stopped and turned
to hide behind the folds of his mother's dress.
"Come in, come in," said Teresa kindly, as she led them both to the side of
my dear one lying there so white and still.
"Oh, Carlito," exclaimed the poor woman turning to her little son as she
dropped upon her knees beside the bed. "How I wish you could understand!
This is that lovely one who saved your life! She took your place there
under the horses' hoofs!" Then taking Paula's two hands in her own she
said, "Oh, Mademoiselle, oh, that you might hear me! Would that I might do
something in return for what you have done for my boy! Oh, is there nothing
I can do?"
"Yes, my dear woman," said our old servant--and her eyes were
streaming--"I'll tell you what you can do.
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