"Oh! everybody is sad, Tardif," I answered; "there is a great deal of
trouble for every one in this world. You are often very sad indeed."

"Ah! but I have a cause," he said. "Mam'zelle does not know that she is
sitting on the grave of my little wife."

He knelt down beside it as he spoke, and laid his hand gently on the
green turf. I would have risen, but he would not let me.

"No," he said, "sit still, mam'zelle. Yes, you would have loved her,
poor little soul! She was an Englishwoman, like you, only not a lady; a
pretty little English girl, so little I could carry her like a baby.
None of my people took to her, and she was very lonely, like you again;
and she pined and faded away, just quietly, never saying one word
against them. No, no, mam'zelle, I like to see you here. This is a
favorite place with you, and it gives me pleasure. I ask myself a
hundred times a day, 'Is there any thing I can do to make my young lady
happy? Tell me what I can do more than I have done."

"There is nothing, Tardif," I answered, "nothing whatever. If you see me
sad sometimes, take no notice of it, for you can do no more for me than
you are doing. As it is, you are almost the only friend, perhaps the
only true friend, I have in the world."

"May God be true to me only as I am true to you!" he said, solemnly,
while his dark skin flushed and his eyes kindled. I looked at him
closely. A more honest face one could never see, and his keen blue eyes
met my gaze steadfastly. Heavy-hearted as I was just then, I could not
help but smile, and all his face brightened, as the sea at its dullest