The child turned her head earnestly to one side and the other. “It’s very pretty, papa. Did you make it yourself?”
“Certainly I made it. Don’t you think I’m clever?”
“Yes, papa, very clever; I also have learned to make pictures.” And she turned round and showed a small, fair face painted with a fixed and intensely sweet smile.
“You should have brought me a specimen of your powers.”
“I’ve brought a great many; they’re in my trunk.”
“She draws very—very carefully,” the elder of the nuns remarked, speaking in French.
“I’m glad to hear it. Is it you who have instructed her?”
“Happily no,” said the good sister, blushing a little. “Ce n’est pas ma partie. I teach nothing; I leave that to those who are wiser. We’ve an excellent drawing-master, Mr.—Mr.—what is his name?” she asked of her companion.
Her companion looked about at the carpet. “It’s a German name,” she said in Italian, as if it needed to be translated.
“Yes,” the other went on, “he’s a German, and we’ve had him many years.”