"What! would you consent?"
"Will there be any difficulty? Is there a family?"
"Alas, no, Madame. These little waifs are alone in the world. There is no place but a foundling asylum for them. But you would do well to reflect carefully before undertaking such a responsibility. Perhaps your husband—"
"I am not married, sir. My name is Germaine Laviguerie. You may, perhaps, have heard of my father (the priest nodded); he is good and kind; he allows me to do as I choose. Besides, I have some fortune of my own, and would like to adopt this little one, and bring it up according to my ideas, which are the same as yours."
The priest bowed. He understood her noble, charitable intentions, and appreciated them. The child still stood with her eyes fastened on the tomb where they had laid her mother. Her grief was most touching in its sad resignation. Germaine bent over her and asked, in her caressing voice: "Would you like to come with me?"
The child replied solemnly, without the least hesitation, "Yes."
The necessary formalities were soon complied with. A certificate, signed by the superintendent of the prison and by the mayor, was given to Germaine, and that was all. She had a daughter. When she arrived at the dépôt, she found Mme. Descoutures impatient at her long delay. When Corinne discovered what Germaine had accomplished, her amazement and indignation were beyond expression. She broke out into strong reproaches, however, saying: "For Heaven's sake! The idea of tying a little beggar like that to you for life! Your father will be very angry! At your age, to adopt a child!" But Germaine did not even hear her. She was whispering tenderly to the poor child.
"What is your name?"
"Elizabeth."
"Where have you been living since your mother left you?"