He had not yet gone to
bed. Monsieur was astonished. He had a Frenchman's eye for the
beautiful, and certainly there the beautiful was. He had heard of Madame
John's daughter, and had hoped once to see her, but did not but could
this be she?
They disappeared within the cathedral. A sudden pang of piety moved him;
he followed. 'Tite Poulette was already kneeling in the aisle. Zalli,
still in the vestibule, was just taking her hand from the font of
holy-water.
"Madame John," whispered the manager.
She courtesied.
"Madame John, that young lady--is she your daughter?"
"She--she--is my daughter," said Zalli, with somewhat of alarm in her
face, which the manager misinterpreted.
"I think not, Madame John." He shook his head, smiling as one too wise
to be fooled.
"Yes, Monsieur, she is my daughter."
"O no, Madame John, it is only make-believe, I think."
"I swear she is, Monsieur de la Rue."
"Is that possible?" pretending to waver, but convinced in his heart of
hearts, by Zalli's alarm, that she was lying.
Pages:
246
247
248
249
250
251
252
253
254
255
256
257
258
259
260
261
262
263
264
265
266
267
268
269
270