"Yes," he said, "you are a good girl." Putting his hand on her head, he added: "Even when my son returns you shall not leave us; he will be grateful to you for what you are to me."
"I am so little, and I want to be so much," she said.
"I will tell him what you have been," said the blind man, "and besides he will see for himself; for my son has a good kind heart."
HE TOLD HER THAT SHE WAS LIKE A LITTLE DAUGHTER TO HIM.
Often he would speak in these terms, and Perrine always wanted to ask him how, if these were his sentiments, he could have been so unforgiving and severe with him, but every time she tried to speak the words would not come, for her throat was closed with emotion. It was a serious matter for her to broach such a subject, but on that particular evening she felt encouraged by what had happened. There could not have been a more opportune moment; she was alone with him in his study where no one came unless summoned. She was seated near him under the lamplight. Ought she to hesitate longer?
She thought not.
"Do you mind," she said, in a little trembling voice, "if I ask you something that I do not understand? I think of it all the time, and yet I have been afraid to speak."
"Speak out," he said.
"What I cannot understand," she said timidly, "is that loving your son as you do, you could be parted from him."