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hardly knows how, looking about her as she went.
The cabins, that yesterday had sent a clamor of voices to
pursue her, were quiet now. No one was yet astir at Bellissime.
Only the birds that darted here and there from hedges were awake,
and singing their matins.
When La Folle came to the broad stretch of velvety lawn that
surrounded the house, she moved slowly and with delight over the
springy turf, that was delicious beneath her tread.
She stopped to find whence came those perfumes that were
assailing her senses with memories from a time far gone.
There they were, stealing up to her from the thousand blue
violets that peeped out from green, luxuriant beds. There they
were, showering down from the big waxen bells of the magnolias far
above her head, and from the jessamine clumps around her.
There were roses, too, without number. To right and left
palms spread in broad and graceful curves. It all looked like
enchantment beneath the sparkling sheen of dew.
When La Folle had slowly and cautiously mounted the many steps
that led up to the veranda, she turned to look back at the perilous
ascent she had made. Then she caught sight of the river, bending
like a silver bow at the foot of Bellissime. Exultation possessed
La Folle rapped softly upon a door near at hand. Cheri's
mother soon cautiously opened it. Quickly and cleverly she
dissembled the astonishment she felt at seeing La Folle.
"Ah, La Folle! Is it you, so early?"
"Oui, madame. I come ax how my po' li'le Cheri do, 's mo'nin'."
"He is feeling easier, thank you, La Folle. Dr. Bonfils says
it will be nothing serious. He's sleeping now. Will you come back
when he awakes?"
"Non, madame. I'm goin' wait yair tell Cheri wake
up." La Folle seated herself upon the topmost step of the veranda.
A look of wonder and deep content crept into her face as she