In spite of the long pause that separated the girl's words from the boy's, they were tenderly united, bound together by the thought, dwelling uninterruptedly in both childish hearts, "My mother was so good."
It was again Xanthe who, after some time, had broken the silence by asking "Whom have I now?"
Again it was long ere Phaon, for his only answer, could repeat softly:
"Yes, whom?"
They were trivial words, but they expressed the deep wretchedness which only a child's heart can feel.
Scarcely had they found their way over the boy's lips when he pressed his left hand also over his eyes, his breast heaved convulsively, and a torrent of burning tears coursed down his cheeks.
Both children still had their fathers, but they forgot them in this hour.
Who, if the warm sun were extinguished, would instantly remember that the moon and stars remain?
As Phaon wept so violently, Xanthe's tears began to flow more slowly, and she gazed at him a long time with ardent sympathy, unperceived by the lad, for he still covered his eyes with his hands.
The child had met a greater grief than her own, and, as soon as she felt that she was less sorrow-stricken than her playfellow, a desire to soothe his sorrow arose.