"What say you, Adèle? Would you like to go?"
"Dearly!"
"But," said Maverick, "your friends here,—can you so easily cast them away?"
"No, no, no!" said Adèle,—"not cast them away! Couldn't I come again some day? Besides, there is your home, papa; I should love any home of yours, and love your friends."
"For instance, Adèle, there is my book-keeper, a lean Savoyard, who wears a red wig and spectacles,—and Lucille, a great, gaunt woman, with a golden crucifix about her neck, who keeps my little parlor in order,—and Papiol, a fat Frenchman, with a bristly moustache and iron-gray hair, who, I dare say, would want to kiss the pet of his dear friend,—and Jeannette, who washes the dishes for us, and wears great wooden sabots"——
"Nonsense, papa! I am sure you have other friends; and then there's the good godmother."
"Ah, yes,—she indeed," said Maverick; "what a precious hug she would give you, Adèle!"
"And then—and then—should I see mamma?"
The pleasant humor died out of the face of Maverick on the instant; and then, in a slow, measured tone,—
"Impossible, Adèle,—impossible! Come here, darling!" and as he fondled her in a wild, passionate way, "I will love you for both, Adèle; she was not worthy of you, child."