Day by day his adoration
increased. As Reine grew up he found her more and more like her mother,
and all his thoughts became centred in her. His one yearning was that she
might be very beautiful, very happy, very rich. That would be a sign that
he was forgiven--that would be the only joy for which he could yet hope.
And amid it all there was a vague feeling of jealousy at the thought that
a husband would some day take her from him, and that he would remain
alone in utter solitude, alone with the phantom of his dead wife.
"Married?" he murmured; "oh! not yet. She is only fourteen."
At this the others expressed surprise: they would have taken her to be
quite eighteen, so womanly was her precocious beauty already.
"As a matter of fact," resumed her father, feeling flattered, "she has
already been asked in marriage. You know that the Baroness de Lowicz is
kind enough to take her out now and then. Well, she told me that an
arch-millionnaire had fallen in love with Reine--but he'll have to wait!
I shall still be able to keep her to myself for another five or six years
at least!"
He no longer wept, but gave a little laugh of egotistical satisfaction,
without noticing the chill occasioned by the mention of Seraphine's name;
for even Beauchene felt that his sister was hardly a fit companion for a
young girl.
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