He clasped Phebe's arm, and, leaning toward her, whispered into her ear, "She took me in her arms, and said, 'I love you, Felix,' and then she kissed me as if she meant it, Phebe.

It was better than all my birthday presents put together.

My father said to me one day he adored her; and I adore her.

She is my mother, you know--the mother of me, Felix; and I lie down on the floor and kiss her feet every day, only she does not know it.

When she looks at me her eyes seem to go through me; but, oh, she does not look at me often." "She is so different; not like most people," answered Phebe, with her arms round the boy.
Madame had gone on sadly enough up-stairs to see if she could find out anything about her son; and Phebe and Felix had turned into the terraced garden where the boat-house was built close under the bank of the river.
"I should be sorry for my mother to be like other people," said Felix proudly.