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. G.o.d 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 G.o.d 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 G.o.d, 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 G.o.d, 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 G.o.d, 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 pa.s.sed, 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 G.o.d 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 G.o.d for, and I know He answers prayer."