And Mam’selle Diane had something of the same feeling when, after the first long embrace, she looked at the child and asked Mother Margaret if it was necessary for her to wear the uniform of the Home. “She must wear it while she is an inmate,” replied Margaret smiling. “But that will not be long, I suspect. We shall lose her—yes, I’m afraid we shall lose her soon.”
Then Mam’selle Diane talked a long while with Margaret about her hopes and plans for Lady Jane. “I am all alone,” she said pathetically, “and she would give me a new interest in life. If her relatives are not discovered, why cannot I have her? I will educate her, and teach her music, and devote my life to her.”
Margaret promised to think it over, and in the mean time she consented that Lady Jane should remain a few days with Mam’selle Diane and her friends in Good Children Street.
That night, while the child was nestled close to Mam’selle Diane as they sat together on the little moonlit gallery, she suddenly asked with startling earnestness:
“Has your mama gone to heaven, too, Mam’selle Diane?”
“I hope so, my darling; I think so,” replied Diane in a choked voice.
“Well, then, if she has, she’ll see my papa and mama, and tell them about me, and oh, Mam’selle, won’t they be glad to hear from me?”
“I hope she will tell them how dearly I love you, and what you are to me,” murmured Mam’selle, pressing her cheeks to the bright little head resting against her shoulder.
“Look up there, Mam’selle Diane, do you see those two beautiful stars so near together? I always think they are mama and papa, watching me. Now I know mama is there, too, and will never come back again; and see, near those there is another very soft and bright, perhaps that is your mama shining there with them.”
“Perhaps it is, my dear—yes, perhaps it is,” and Mam’selle Diane raised her faded eyes toward the sky, with new hope and strength in their calm depths.