Evidently the woman, still exceptionally beautiful in her maturity, was hopelessly blind.
Joyce quickly set down the little one, and advanced on winged feet.
"Ma mère," she said in a voice almost of adoration, as she dropped to her knees beside the woman's chair, "Ma mère, I have come back."
"Dear one! Ma petite!" exclaimed the other in liquid southern accents, reaching out a delicate, trembling hand, which the girl caught and kissed devotedly. "We have longed for you. But we knew you would come! Let me see your face, child."
Joyce turned it upward and remained very still while the other lightly touched brow, eyes, lips, and chin, in a swift, assured fashion.
"Ah, you are truly the same little Joyce. There is the breadth between the eyes like an innocent child's, the straight, firm little nose like a Greek outline, the full curved lips--do you still pout when angry, chèrie?--and that square, decided turn to the chin, more apparent than ever. You have grown, Joyce; you are a woman now."
"Yes, mother, but still a baby to you, and I want always to keep the old name for you, no matter how I grow. Ma mère, you have grown younger, and are more beautiful than ever."
"No flattery, mignonne! It is not good for me. Sit down here and tell us all there is to tell. You are very lonely, now?"
Joyce drew a chair close beside the other and sat down, while the older women smiled slightly.
"Yes, there is a difference. They tell me you are very rich."
"Too rich, dear mother; it frightens me!"
"And a terrible responsibility, as you have always taught me, ma mère."
"True. We have both known happy days without it. Still----" "If it had only come in the right way, Mother Bonnivel!" cried the girl in an irrepressible outburst, "But oh! there's a stain on every dollar. I must spend my whole life trying to remove the stain, trying to make it honest money. Do you remember our little French fable? How the cursed coin of the oppressor left its mark in boils and burns, until it had been sanctified by relieving the starving child? I must sanctify what my father--snatched--ma mère."
"Yes, I mean to, God helping me. I have just come from a stormy interview with dear old Mr. Barrington, but I have won him over at last. Yet, it is you, mother, who will do it all, for I shall simply carry out your plans and----"