"Mîr welle jô kê Preise gin;
Mîr welle bleime wat mor sin!"
"That means we shall never become Prussians. We shall remain what we are," he translated, and his eyes flashed.
Rebecca Mary's eyes were larger than any saucer as she gazed at him. She had known Russians and Italians and Bohemians and Roumanians and Serbians, she had taught children of almost every nationality, but she had never met a Luxembourger before, and she tried to remember something of the grand duchy. But she couldn't remember a thing.
"Joan should have told you." Frederick Befort did not understand why she should look so pleased. "You have been away from your native country many months, mignonne, but you have not forgotten which side of the Sure was your home?"
"No," wriggled Joan. "But no one knows of Luxembourg and the grand duchess, and every one knows of Germany and the old kaiser."
"Alas, that it is so!" Frederick Befort shook his head sadly before he looked at Rebecca Mary and said, oh, so feelingly: "I cannot understand how Mrs. Muldoon could desert my little girl, but I am grateful to the good God that he sent her such a friend in you. I cannot thank you for your heavenly kindness to my little daughter." And before Rebecca Mary realized what he was doing he had taken her hand and kissed it.
If it had thrilled Rebecca Mary to have her fingers kissed by fat Mrs. Klavachek you may imagine how shaken inwardly she was to have them kissed by Count Ernach de Befort.
"It wasn't anything," she stammered, wishing for goodness' sake that she could think of something clever to say.
"It was everything!" he insisted, gazing into her eyes.
"Aren't you glad I found my daddy, Miss Wyman!" Joan was jumping up and down as she clung to her father's hand. "But I'm sorry you haven't found any payment for your memory insurance," she went on regretfully.