“Am I not disturbing you?” she asked, with a shade of uneasiness in her voice.
“No, my darling, you never disturb me. Have you had a pleasant visit?”
“Very pleasant. They were all very kind to me.”
Lichtenbach said nothing; his eyes fell on the ground. He did not wish his daughter to catch their expression.
“Madeline is very fortunate to find such devoted friends in her trouble. Madame Baradier is an excellent lady. She is going to keep the poor girl with them. Although I am very sorry she is leaving the convent, since we shall be separated in future, I am very glad to know that she has found such good friends. It will be like a renewal of life for her.”
“You are so sympathetic, my little Marianne.”
“The blow which has struck Madeline is so terrible. Can anything more terrible happen to a child than to lose its parents? And when one has no longer one’s mother, as was the case with both of us.”
The young girl’s voice shook, tears stood in her eyes. Lichtenbach turned pale, but kept his eyes still fixed on the ground.
“It was this similarity of situation which, from the very first day, drew us together. Our common sorrow has been the source of our affection. It seemed to us that, as we were less loved than the rest we ought to be all the dearer to one another. She had for her father the same affection I have for you. It seems he was a great savant. Did you know him?”
He was obliged to reply. In tremulous tones he said—“No; I have only heard mention of him.”