"Reassure yourself, madame, on that point," said he, cheerfully: "I should imagine there is scarcely any language in Europe that your daughter does not know something of. You will not have to speak English to her at all."
She looked up with bright eagerness in her eyes.
"But not Magyar?"
"I do not know for certain," he said, "for I don't know Magyar myself; but I am almost convinced she must know it. She has told me so much about her countrymen that used to come about the house; yes, surely they would speak Magyar."
A strange happy light came into the woman's face; she was communing with herself—perhaps going over mentally some tender phrases, full of the soft vowel sounds of the Magyar tongue.
"That," said she, presently, and in a low voice, "would be my crowning joy. I have thought of what I should say to her in many languages; but always 'My daughter, I love you,' did not have the right sound. In our own tongue it goes to the heart. I am no longer afraid: my girl will understand me."
"I should think," said he, "you will not have to speak much to assure her of your love."
She seemed to become a great deal more cheerful; this matter had evidently been weighing on her mind.
"Meanwhile," she said, "you promised to tell me all
about Natalie and yourself. Her father does not approve of your marrying. Well, his reasons?"