"My name is Nadine Tamby. My elder brother bears the same name as was my father's, Cæsar. The second boy is named Abel, and my little sister, who is now just six years old, has our mother's name, Lydia."
At the mention of the name of Lydia Madame Pradère's countenance suddenly grew sad, and she gave a sigh that indicated sorrowful memories. In truth it had been the name of a little daughter that once brought joy into her life for a while, and then was taken from her, leaving a void that could never be filled.
Nadine meanwhile continued her narration.
"Our mother died four years ago when we were in the Tyrol, but it is only six months since we lost our father. He died of consumption after being sick for a long time."
Nadine's voice sank so low as to be scarcely audible, and the big tears moistened her cheeks so that she was fain to wipe them away with her handkerchief. Her parents had always been good and kind, and the pain of their loss was still acute.
"You poor little woman!" murmured Madame Pradère, in whose own eyes the tears were glistening, "and you are the little mother to the others now."
She was more deeply moved by what she had heard than she cared to show, and in order to conceal her emotion she continued to ply Nadine with questions which the latter answered so clearly and correctly that the Mayoress could not understand a young strolling player being so well educated.
Had she only known the girl's parents she would not have been so puzzled. Cæsar Tamby and his wife were of respectable descent, and had always been true to their parentage in spite of the many temptations to which their mode of life exposed them. They had brought their children up with the utmost care possible in view of their roving life, and during the winter season, when it was not possible to give their performances, they had taken pains to teach them quite as much as they would have learned by attending the country school, for they were both well educated themselves.
Thus the Tamby children, although their business was appearing in public and giving performances to crowds that too often were by no means considerate of their feelings, nevertheless remained honest, simple, and refined in a remarkable degree.