The simple sweetness of this young girl's face had not faded
from my memory; I could not rid myself of the suspicion that in going
further Pickering might fare much worse. Madame Blumenthal's professions
seemed a virtual promise to agree with me, and, after some hesitation, I
said that my friend had, in fact, a substantial secret, and that perhaps
I might do him a good turn by putting her in possession of it. In as few
words as possible I told her that Pickering stood pledged by filial piety
to marry a young lady at Smyrna. She listened intently to my story; when
I had finished it there was a faint flush of excitement in each of her
cheeks. She broke out into a dozen exclamations of admiration and
compassion. "What a wonderful tale--what a romantic situation! No
wonder poor Mr. Pickering seemed restless and unsatisfied; no wonder he
wished to put off the day of submission. And the poor little girl at
Smyrna, waiting there for the young Western prince like the heroine of an
Eastern tale! She would give the world to see her photograph; did I
think Mr. Pickering would show it to her? But never fear; she would ask
nothing indiscreet! Yes, it was a marvellous story, and if she had
invented it herself, people would have said it was absurdly improbable.
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