"Yes—yes," sorrowfully murmured the old gentleman.
"Then I will not play with her, but keep her locked in my little cupboard, and call her Philine. That was the name of my little sister who is dead. Come here, Philine, and sit by me."
"Perhaps you might like to look at a book while I am away—"
"A book!" interrupted the child, with a merry laugh, clapping her hands. "Why, I am just learning the alphabet, and can't bring myself to call a two-pronged fork 'y.'"
"You dear little innocent rogue!" tenderly ejaculated the old gentleman. "Are you fond of flowers?"
He brought from the adjoining room a porcelain flowerpot containing a narcissus in bloom.
"Oh, what a charming flower!" cried the child, admiringly. "How I wish I might pluck just one!"
"Help yourself, my dear," returned her host, pushing the plant toward her.
The child daintily broke off one of the snowy blossoms, and, with childlike coquetry, fastened it in the trimming of her chemise.
"What is this beautiful flower called, monsieur?"