"Oh, if
you please, God," she whispered, "for the little Christ-child's sake."
When Joyce went back to the house, Cousin Kate sat in the drawing-room
alone. Madame had gone over to see Jules, and did not return until long
after dark. Berthe had been in three times to ask monsieur if dinner
should be served, before they heard her ring at the gate. When she
finally came, there was such an air of mystery about her that Joyce was
puzzled. All that next morning, too, the day before Christmas, it seemed
to Joyce as if something unusual were afloat. Everybody in the house was
acting strangely.
Madame and Cousin Kate did not come home to lunch. She had been told
that she must not go to see Jules until afternoon, and the doors of the
room where the Christmas tree was kept had all been carefully locked.
She thought that the morning never would pass. It was nearly three
o'clock when she started over to see Jules. To her great surprise, as
she ran lightly up the stairs to his room, she saw her Cousin Kate
hurrying across the upper hall, with a pile of rose-colored silk
curtains in her arms.
Jules tried to raise himself up in bed as Joyce entered, forgetting all
about his broken leg in his eagerness to tell the news. "Oh, what do you
think!" he cried. "They said that I might be the one to tell you.
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