"Ah, ze sweet leetle white angel!" he would cry, as she tugged and
kicked. "I luf you so--I luf you, an' will stay always, ah' play ze
violon! Ah, mon Dieu, you will be ze gr-r-r-eat bea-utiful white angel
lak--HER!"
He would laugh and coo like a mother, and talk, for at these times Jan
Thoreau's tongue was as voluble as his violin.
Sometimes Melisse listened as if she understood the wonderful things
he was telling her. She would lie upon her back with her eyes fixed
upon him, her little red fists doubled over his bow, or a thumb thrust
into her mouth. And the longer she lay like this, gazing at him
blankly, the more convinced Jan became that she was understanding him;
and his voice grew soft and low, and his eyes shone with a soft mist
as he told her those things which John Cummins would have given much
to know.
"Some day you shall understand why it happened, sweet Melisse," he
whispered, bringing his eyes so near that she reached up an inquiring
finger to them. "Then you will luf Jan Thoreau!"
There were other times when Jan did not talk, but when the baby
Melisse talked to him; and these were moments of even greater joy.
With the baby wriggling and kicking, and making queer noises in her
tiny cot, he would sit silently upon his heels, watching her with the
pride and happiness of a mother lynx in the first tumbling frolics of
her kittens.
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