The child began to cry, and had to be consoled—Her silence which she could not explain, was the mysterious intuition of the divorce of her parents, whom she had to love separately without the knowledge of either of them, for fear of hurting them. She could not think that she might have both a father and mother at the same time like her little friends—And yet both were alive—The meeting that afternoon had settled all doubts concerning the existence of her father, whom she never saw, and about whom she had even heard it said that he was dead to her. But these complications put her in a state of uneasiness which wearied one of her age. Elizabeth continued her questions more tenderly this time:
"You recognized him at once?"
"I did not look at him when he passed us—but afterwards he called me...."
"He called you?"
"Yes, then I knew him."
"Tell me about it, dearie."
"He called: 'Marie Louise.' I raised my head and I ran. When I was quite near him I cried, 'Papa.' He held me so tight that I choked—and he wet my cheeks because he was crying. Why, Mamma?"
"He was touched at seeing you after such a long time."
Marie Louise seemed to reflect.
"Why didn't he come home before? He said to me, 'And Philippe?' So I called 'Philippe!' Philippe came, but he said, 'Who is that?' I said, 'It's papa.' Then Mme. Blanche came up too. They quarreled."