"Yes, mother, but still a baby to you, and I want always to keep the old name for you, no matter how I grow. Ma mère, you have grown younger, and are more beautiful than ever."
"No flattery, mignonne! It is not good for me. Sit down here and tell us all there is to tell. You are very lonely, now?"
"I am alone—yes."
Joyce drew a chair close beside the other and sat down, while the older women smiled slightly.
"Yes, there is a difference. They tell me you are very rich."
"Too rich, dear mother; it frightens me!"
"Money is a great power, my child."
"And a terrible responsibility, as you have always taught me, ma mère."
"True. We have both known happy days without it. Still——" "If it had only come in the right way, Mother Bonnivel!" cried the girl in an irrepressible outburst, "But oh! there's a stain on every dollar. I must spend my whole life trying to remove the stain, trying to make it honest money. Do you remember our little French fable? How the cursed coin of the oppressor left its mark in boils and burns, until it had been sanctified by relieving the starving child? I must sanctify what my father—snatched—ma mère."
"And you will, Joyce—I know that."