Adelaide wished she could have listened to those last sentences of his; but they were gone completely.
She put up her hand and patted the unutterably soft cheek before her.
“He told me something about putting through your absurd idea of an immediate marriage,” she said.
“We don’t want to do it in a sneaky way, Mama.”
“I know. You want to have your own way and to have every one approve of you, too. Is that it?”
Mathilde’s lips trembled.
“O Mama,” she cried, “you are so different from what you used to be!”
Adelaide nodded.
“One changes,” she said. “One’s life changes.” She had meant this sentence to end the interview, but when she saw the girl still standing before her, she said to herself that it made little difference that she hadn’t heard the plans of the Wayne boy, since Mathilde, her own tractable daughter, was still within her power. She moved into the corner of the sofa. “Sit down, dear,” she said, and when Mathilde had obeyed with an almost imperceptible shrinking in her attitude, Adelaide went on, with a sort of serious ease of manner:
“I’ve never been a particularly flattering mother, have I? Never thought you were perfect just because you were mine? Well, I hope you’ll pay the more attention to what I have to say. You are remarkable. You are going to be one of the most attractive women that ever was. Years ago old Count Bartiani—do you remember him, at Lucerne?”