The Doctor is alone in his study when Adèle comes in upon him, and she has reached his chair and dropped upon her knees beside him before he has time to rise.
"New Papa, you have been so kind to me! I know the truth now,—the mystery, the shame";—and she dropped her head upon his knees.
"Adaly, Adaly, my dear child!" said the old man with a great tremor in his voice, "what does this mean?"
She was sobbing, sobbing.
"Adaly, my child, what can I do for you?"
"Pray for me, New Papa!" and she lifted her eyes upon him with a tender, appealing look.
"Always, always, Adaly!"
"Tell me, New Papa,—tell me honestly,—is it not true that I can call no one mother,—that I never could?"
The Doctor trembled: he would have given ten years of his life to have been able to challenge her story, to disabuse her mind of the belief which he saw was fastened past all recall. "Adaly," said he, "Christ befriended the Magdalen,—how much more you, then, if so be you are the unoffending child of——"
"I knew it! I knew it!" and she fell to sobbing again upon the knee of the old gentleman, in a wild, passionate way.