“Most truly.”
“Not I, I hope,” again ventured Mrs. Grange.
“The child,” continued Marriet Motuble, “lived then.”
“What child?” inquired the President.
“Ah, ’tis true, you do not know. What a pity! The beautiful little girl who sat by the Governor during his lecture. Catalina Martinet. Dear child!”
“Can it be possible!” exclaimed the President.
“Quite true, your Honor. She remembers. She died at the age of eighteen of a broken heart.”
“How sad,” remarked Mrs. Grange, persisting in trying to join in the conversation.
“Was her death the result of a disappointed love?” asked the President.
“On the other hand,” replied Miss Motuble, “quite the contrary. Her heart, poor child, was broken when she learned of the cloud under which she was born—that she was an outcast—a waif. She died in my arms.”