"Ah, Miché,"—Madame Delphine might have tried a thousand times again without ever succeeding half so well in lifting the curtain upon the whole, sweet, tender, old, old-fashioned truth,—"Ah, Miché, she wone tell me!"
"Bud, anny'ow, Madame, wad you thing?"
"Miché," she replied, looking up again with a tear standing in either eye, and then looking down once more as she began to speak, "I thing—I thing she's lonesome."
"You thing?"
She nodded.
"Ah! Madame Carraze," he said, partly extending his hand, "you see? 'Tis impossible to mague you' owze shud so tighd to priv-en dad. Madame, I med one mizteg."
"Ah, non, Miché!"
"Yez. There har nod one poss'bil'ty fo' me to be dad guardian of you' daughteh!"
Madame Delphine started with surprise and alarm.
"There is ondly one wad can be," he continued.