THEY APPEARED TO BE IN THE DEEPEST DESPAIR.
“Alas!” she replied, speaking bad French with a German accent, “it is the greatest misfortune that could befall us: we are separated for ever from our father. Our poor dear papa is expecting us at New York, where he has some land, and where we could be rich and happy; and now it is impossible for us to go to him. Alas! there is nothing for us but to die.”
“To die! Oh, don’t say that—it’s dreadful,” rejoined Maurice.
“Yes, it is dreadful,” continued the girl. “And my poor father—Ah, what grief for him too!”
“But how does it happen that you cannot go out to join him?”
“We have not the means; we are without money.”
“Money? I’ve got some money.” And Maurice hastened to offer the contents of his little purse—about five or six francs.
The little girl did not take them, but turned to her mother, who was pressing to her heart her other two children, handsome boys of three and four years old. The mother and her daughter spoke together for a minute in German.
“Why do you not take what I offer?” said Maurice.