At last it was Adele herself who suggested the inquiry,--
"Is it true, dear papa, what the Doctor tells me, that you may possibly
take, me back to France with you?"
"What say you, Adele? Would you like to go?"
"Dearly!"
"But," said Maverick, "your friends here,--can you so easily cast them
away?"
"No, no, no!" said Adele,--"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, Adele, 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, Adele!"
"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, Adele,--impossible! Come here, darling!" and as he fondled
her in a wild, passionate way, "I will love you for both, Adele; she was
not worthy of you, child.
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