It was not the disease itself, but the weakness after that nearly killed me.

And the poor bon papa would shake his head and say he might have known what was coming, by the apple-tree.

And my mother would console him--she, poor thing, who so much needed consoling herself--by saying, 'Come, now, bon papa, the apple-tree lives still, and doubtless by next year it will again be covered with beautiful fruit.

Let us hope well that our little one will also recover.' And little by little I began to mend--the mother's words came true--by the spring time I was as well as ever again, and the six brothers too.

All of us recovered; we were strong, you see, very strong.
And after that I grew so fast--soon I seemed quite a young woman." "And did the small-pox not spoil your beauty, Marie ?" inquired Sylvia with some little hesitation.