He did not attempt to touch her, but, standing aside on the staircase, looked at her with kind, gentle eyes. "What is it, dear? is any one hurting you?" he asked.
The child looked up into the frank, boyish face and trusted him. "Perhaps you can help Laura," she said; "but—"
"I was foolish the other day," he said quietly; "I did not quite understand; you must forgive me."
"You wanted to take me away from mon père, and now"—the child burst into tears—"mon père is lost. Please, please take me to find him!"
"Come up stairs and tell me all about it, Laura. I will help you if I possibly can."
Then to the German, who was gazing at him open-mouthed, "Sir, this is the child of one of my dearest friends; I take her under my protection."
"As you like," replied he, and shrugged his shoulders. "Ze young man is offended," he muttered, "because I did not treat ze bébé like one great princess."
He returned to the stove, while Arthur drew from Laura all he desired to know. She had come there with "mon père," as she always called L'Estrange. They were looking for papa. Early that day he had told her that he knew where her father was—that he would go away alone, and return in the evening to let her know if her father had been found. He was not very far away, he had said, and the little Laura had been waiting and watching all the evening. The evening had deepened into night, and still her friend had not come back. He must be lost.
This was the burden of her simple tale. It made Arthur think. What could be the meaning of this? Had a sudden repentance seized this man? Had he really determined to find Maurice Grey and tell him the actual truth about his deserted wife? Or could any other motive have moved him to seek his enemy? No, no; human wickedness could not surely go so far. With this man's child in his grasp, this child, whose pure affection he had undoubtedly won, it was not possible; and yet if the enemies had met alone, face to face, in the great solitude—The young man shuddered.