We recoil from the attempt to transcribe the glowing intimacy of their first talk.
After a time, Maverick says, "You will be glad to return with me,—glad to embrace again your mother?"
"My own, true mother?" said Adèle, the blood running now swift over cheek and brow.
"Your own, Adèle,—your own! As God is true!"
Adèle grows calm,—an unwonted calmness. "Tell me how she looks, papa," said she.
"Your figure, Adèle; not so tall, perhaps, but slight like you; and her hair,—you have her hair, darling (and he kissed it). Your eye too, for color, with a slight, hardly noticeable cast in it." And as Adèle turned an inquiring glance upon him, he exclaimed: "You have that too, my darling, as you look at me now."
Adèle, still calm, says: "I know it, papa; I have seen her. Do not deceive me. She died in these arms, papa!"—and with that her calmness is gone. She can only weep upon his shoulder.
"But, Adèle, child, this cannot be; do not trust to so wild a fancy. You surely believe me, darling!"
Had she argued the matter, he would have been better satisfied. She did not, however. Her old tranquillity came again.
"I will go with you, papa, cheerfully," said she.