Carlo Batti misunderstood her. "Yes, yes," he went on, with a conceited smile, "you may well be proud of your little sister, and of her advantages. Race—artist blood—and Carlo Batti to the fore,—the devil must be in it if something does not come of all that."
"If it is not too much for her," Helena interposed. "Only see, Johanna, how pale the little face is, now that the excitement of seeing you again is over! That is Carlo's fault. He never knows when to stop!"
"Stuff!" he said, laughing. "The little lady grows too fast,—that's why she is pale and tired sometimes. Say yourself, little mouse, which tires you the most, I or your leather school-books?"
"Oh, the books, the horrid books!" cried the child, taking his outstretched hand, and dancing about him like a little ballet-girl, while he slowly turned round and round.
"So it goes all day long," Helena complained. "No need to hope for the quiet ordered by the doctor when those two are together. Moreover, she ought to have country air——" She broke off and looked inquiringly at her step-daughter.
Johanna's face flushed; she felt that it was best to be frank. "How gladly I would ask you to leave the child with me!" she replied. "But, kind and generous as my grandfather is, he has not yet forgiven my mother's marriage, and detests anything that can remind him of my father."
"You see, Helena, it is just as I told you," Batti interrupted her; adding, with a burst of rude laughter, "I know it—this aristocratic rubbish, stupid, haughty, narrow-minded——"
"Carlo!" Helena whispered, with a glance towards Johanna.
He was not to be deterred, however. "What the deuce are you grimacing about?" he asked. "She"—and he indicated Johanna—"is her father's daughter, and proud of her name, is she not?"
"Indeed I am; but I prize my grandfather too, and love him dearly, dearly!" she replied, and her eyes flashed.