“Das Fräulein, das Fräulein, from home!” and stood before me trembling from head to foot.
I snatched the child to my heart (he looked so much older and sadder), and covered him with kisses.
He submitted—nay, more, he put his arms about my neck and laid his face upon my shoulder, and presently, as if he had choked down some silent emotion, looked up at me with large, imploring, sad eyes, and asked:
“Have you seen my father?”
“Sigmund, I saw him the day before yesterday.”
“You saw him—you spoke to him, perhaps?”
“Yes. I spoke long with him.”
“What did he look like?”
“As he always does—brave, and true, and noble.”