She wept, but not with happy emotions.
"My father," she cried, "my father, you are already revenged. To punish me, you have fulfilled my desires. I wished for the clatter of applause, for the tumult of bravos. I am satisfied already. Is it for this, great God, that I have deserted thy ways? Is it for such fugitive pleasure, whose bitterness I have known before even I have tasted it? O happiness of solitude! ineffable family joys! where have you fled?
"Those who have just applauded me little know the inexpressible sadness that overcame me. For a moment despair drew tears to my eyes. They thought it the triumph of my art—but I wept for thee, my father; for thee, my childhood—and the peace of the old, happy hours."
André at this moment appeared.
XXV.
He watched her in silence—he on the threshold, and she half turning toward him proudly in her surprise.
André was the first to break the silence.
"Paganina," said he, "I come from the home that you have left. I found the house deserted, and I went to seek you at the tomb of your father."
"Yes," she replied with bitterness, "and you find me here in the garb of a comedian. What do you wish with me?"
"I wish to snatch you from this cursed place; to fly with you so far that you may forget this fatal evening, and again become obedient to the voice of your father. Come, I will be your protector, your guardian, your slave—until the day," he added in a lower voice, "when I dare breathe to you my secret, and tell you that I love you."