“Do not pain my heart, Lotte; do not wound me. If you talk to me in that strain, I shall fear that the old contemptible pride I once possessed had made me act so as to cause you to believe that I am hollow and deceptive, and eaten up with a fatuity of which I have long known the worthlessness. You have taught me that difference of station is levelled by human worth—what do I say—oh, Lotte, no station is so high as that held by one in right of truth and honour and virtue. Station, Lotte! If it were of us two to kneel to the one most elevated and entitled to the exercise of a noble pride, it would be for me to bend my knee——”
Lotte placed her hand before Helen’s mouth.
“It is my turn now,” she said, with a playful smile—sad though its expression still was. “Pray, do not speak to me about myself,” she added, almost mournfully, “for, indeed, it makes me feel embarrassed and uncomfortable, but let us talk of him in search of whom, in spite of your tender and kind words to me, your anxious eyes are wandering—little pet.”
“My boy! my dear, dear boy! where is he?” said Helen, with a spasmodic action of her throat, as she clutched Lotte’s shoulder.
Lotte smiled again one of her old, sweet smiles.
“He is so well, and so beautiful,” she whispered, “and such a dear, dear little darling.”
She took Helen’s hand, and on tiptoe they went together into the adjoining room. In a small wicker berceaunette, daintily trimmed with white muslin and pink ribbons, which had cost Lotte at least a dozen dinners, if not more, lay, sleeping, Helen’s child.
Rosy-faced, handsome-featured, and healthy-looking, he lay there a very picture. He slept lightly and pleasantly, and seemed a very cherub of happiness.
The devoted attention paid to him was evidenced in his own appearance and in everything surrounding him.
Once again Helen caught Lotte in her arms and passionately kissed her and sobbed wildly. Then she released herself and suddenly hurried from the room, to Lotte’s intense surprise.