But he said nothing more to bring a grave look into the eyes of his
young nurse; and she, finding him so gentle and boyish, and withal manly
and profound, chatted on with more confidence and freedom; and, being
gifted with fineness and accuracy of observation, and a clear flow and
order of language and ideas, made talking a delight and a profit.
There was nothing formal or didactic about Sophie, and her talk rippled
forth as naturally and spontaneously as a brook trickles over its brown
stones, or the over-hanging willows whisper in the wind. There was in it
the unwearied and unweariable freshness of nature. And Sophie's vein of
humor was as fine and pungent as the aroma of a lemon: it touched her
words now and then, and made their flavor all the more acceptable.
So Bressant gained his end at last, though he had yielded it; and this
fact was not lost upon the trained keenness of his observation. After
his nurse was gone, he lay with closed eyes, and a general sensation of
comfort, until he fell asleep. Quiet dreams came to him, such as
children have sometimes, but grown-up people seldom. Everywhere he
seemed to follow a cool, white cloud. But where was Cornelia?
CHAPTER XV.
AN UNTIMELY REMINISCENCE.
In spite of nursing and a very strong constitution, Bressant's recovery
was slow.
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