“Then you wouldn’t like to know you were never to look upon it again,—for all its ugliness; eh, little one?” said the owner, laughing, and turning to Paulina.
“‘Like to know!’” she repeated, with more than even her usual gravity. “It would make me very unhappy. I have taken a great fancy to your face—to you—I should be very, very miserable if I thought—”
The child stopped, with a break in her voice that was even more eloquent than speech.
The man was touched with the artless evidence of liking in this sincere little creature. After the pause of a minute, he said: “Come, give me a kiss upon this ugly cheek of mine. I’ll promise you that you shall hereafter see as much of this homely face that you’ve taken a fancy to as you could wish. You and I are friends for life; for you saved mine, remember.”
“If she don’t remember it, we ever will, will we not, my father?” said Hermione, as Paulina stood on tiptoe beside him, and gave him the kiss he had asked, heartily and affectionately, saying at the same time, with playfulness: “I trust to this promise, though you broke the other. I’ll believe you will keep your word, that we shall be always friends, though you have not yet kept your word, and told me who you are. I ought to have held back my kiss, till I knew who claimed it.”
“I have a father’s right to it,” answered he. “I am your father, while your own is away.”
“My father!” she exclaimed.
“Your father!” he repeated; “the father of all my subjects,—the father of my people. I am the Emperor of Russia.”
Paulina stood gazing at him fixedly, in utter astonishment. Her face worked eagerly; her breath went and came. Then she dropped upon her knees, flung her head on his, and clasped them around, as she exclaimed: “My father! My own father! Think of him! Grant him his freedom! Pardon him! Remember the Christ-child, whose day this is! For His sake pardon my father!”
The emperor kindly bent over her, and spoke soothingly.