l timidity.

Now, no matter what the weather was like, she never got into the
carriage without looking to see that his overcoat was in its place and a
silk scarf in the pocket; if a slight breeze came up she put the scarf
around his neck or helped him into his coat. If a drop of rain began to
fall she stopped at once and put up the hood. When she first walked out
with him, she had gone her usual pace and he had followed without a word
of complaint. But now that she realized that a brisk walk hurt him and
usually made him cough or breathe with difficulty, she walked slowly; in
every way she devised means of going about their usual day's routine so
that he should feel the least fatigue possible.

Day by day the blind man's affection for little Perrine grew. He was
never effusive, but one day while she was carefully attending to his
wants he told her that she was like a little daughter to him. She was
touched. She took his hand and kissed it.

"Yes," he said, "you are a good girl." Putting his hand on her head, he
added: "Even when my son returns you shall not leave us; he will be
grateful to you for what you are to me."

"I am so little, and I want to be so much," she said.

"I will tell him what you have been," said the blind man, "and besides
he will see for himself; for my son has a good kind heart."

[Illustration: HE TOLD HER THAT SHE WAS LIKE A LITTLE DAUGHTER TO HIM.]

Often he would speak in these terms, and Perrine always wanted to ask
him how, if these were his sentiments, he could have been so unforgiving
and severe with him, but every time she tried to speak the words would
not come, for her throat was closed with emotion. It was a serious
matter for her to broach such a subject, but on that particular evening
she felt encouraged by what had happened. There could not have been a
more opportune moment; she was alone with him in his study where no one
came unless summoned. She was seated near him under the lamplight. Ought
she to hesitate longer?

She thought not.

"Do you mind," she said, in a little trembling voice, "if I ask you
something that I do not understand? I think of it all the time, and yet
I have been afraid to speak."

"Speak out," he said.

"What I cannot understand," she said timidly, "is that loving your son
as you do, you could be parted from him."

"It is because you are so young you do not understand," he said, "that
there is duty as well as love. As a father, it was my duty to