much all day, pined for more care. He married, but not loving his
wife, he did not add to his happiness. The woman who came into the
house came with a sore and broken heart. She brought no love for
either father or children. All the love in her nature was centered on
her own lost child. She came and gave no love, and received none,
except from Cecile. Cecile loved everybody. There was that in the
little half-French, half-Spanish girl's nature--a certain look in her
long almond-shaped blue eyes, a melting look, which could only be
caused by the warmth of a heart brimful of loving kindness. Woe be to
anyone who could hurt the tender heart of this little one! Cecile's
stepmother had often pained her, but Cecile still loved on.

Two years after his second marriage D'Albert died. He died after a
brief fresh cold, rather suddenly at the end, although he had been
ill for years.

To his wife he explained all his worldly affairs, He received fifty
pounds a year from his farm in France. This would continue for the
next few years. There was also a small sum in hand, enough for his
funeral and present expenses. To Cecile he spoke of other things than
money--of his early home in the sunny southern country, of her
mother, of little Maurice. He said that perhaps some day Cecile could
go back and take Maurice with her to see with her own eyes the sunny
vineyards of the south, and he told her what the child had never
learned before, that she had a grandmother living in the Pyrenees, a
very old woman now, old and deaf, and knowing not a single word of
the English tongue. "But with a loving heart, Cecile", added her
father, "with a loving mother's heart. If ever you could find your
grandmother, you would get a kiss from her that would be like a
mother's kiss."