But Mam’selle Diane did not hear her mother; she was in an ecstasy of happiness, with the child’s soft lips pressed to her faded cheeks.
“Tante Pauline says I mustn’t come in,” whispered Lady Jane, between her kisses, “and I must mind what she says.”
“Yes, darling, you must obey her.”
“I’ve been here every day listening, and I haven’t heard you sing before.”
“Dear child, I couldn’t sing; I missed you so I couldn’t sing.”
“Don’t cry, Mam’selle Diane; I love you dearly. Don’t cry, and I’ll come every day to the window. Tante Pauline won’t be angry at that.”
“I don’t know, my dear; I’m afraid she will.”
“Diane, close that window instantly,” cried Madame d’Hautreve, quite beside herself. “A pretty exhibition you’re making before all the neighbors, on your knees crying over that child.”
“Good-by, darling; come sometimes. Mama don’t like me to open the window, but I’ll open the gate and speak to you,” said Diane, hastily returning to herself and the exigencies of her position.
“Forgive me, mama, I really couldn’t help it, I was so glad to see the child,” and Mam’selle Diane closed the window with a brighter face than she had shown for several days.