Then she stood up and held out her hand . `` Come , '' she said . `` I am Madame Laurin , and I shall go and sing for Denise . '' Little Joyce piloted Madame Laurin home and into the kitchen and up the back stairs to the kitchen chamber -- a proceeding which would have filled Aunt Isabella with horror if she had known . But Madame Laurin did not seem to mind , and Little Joyce never thought about it at all . It was Little Joyce 's awkward , unMarshall-like fashion to go to a place by the shortest way there , even if it was up the kitchen stairs . Madame Laurin stood in the bare little room and looked pityingly at the wasted , wistful face on the pillow . `` This is Madame Laurin , and she is going to sing for you , Denise , '' whispered Little Joyce . Denise 's face lighted up , and she clasped her hands . `` If you please , '' she said faintly . `` A French song , Madame -- de ole French song dey sing long ` go . '' Then did Madame Laurin sing . Never had that kitchen chamber been so filled with glorious melody . Song after song she sang -- the old folklore songs of the habitant , the songs perhaps that Evangeline listened to in her childhood . Little Joyce knelt by the bed , her eyes on the singer like one entranced . Denise lay with her face full of joy and rapture -- such joy and rapture ! Little Joyce did not regret the sacrifice of her black doll -- never could regret it , as long as she remembered Denise 's look . `` T'ank you , Madame , '' said Denise brokenly , when Madame ceased . `` Dat was so beautiful -- de angel , dey can not sing more sweet . I love music so much , Madame .
Leetle Joyce , she sing XXXXX me often and often -- she sing sweet , but not lak you -- oh , not lak you . ''
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