He paused, for there was a light tap on the door, and Flavia entered.  She bowed to the doctor, and, with the graceful movement of a bird, perched herself upon her father’s knee, and, throwing her arms round his neck, kissed him again and again.

“This is a very nice little preface,” said the banker with a forced smile.  “The favor is granted in advance, for, of course, this means that you have come to ask one.”

The girl shook her head, and returned in the tone of one addressing a naughty child,—­

“Oh, you bad papa!  Am I in the habit of selling my kisses?  I am sure that I have only to ask and to have.”

“Of course not, only——­”

“I came to tell you that dinner was ready, and that Paul and I are both very hungry; and I only kissed you because I loved you; and if I had to choose a father again, out of the whole it would be you.”

He smiled fondly.

“But for the last six weeks,” said he, “you have not loved me so well.”

“No,” returned she with charming simplicity, “not for so long—­nearly for fifteen days perhaps.”

“And yet it is more than a month since the good doctor brought a certain young man to dinner.”

Flavia uttered a frank, girlish laugh.

“I love you dearly,” said she, “but especially for one thing.”

“And what is that, pray?”

“Ah! that is the secret; but I will tell it you for all that.  It is only within the last fortnight that I have found out how really good you have been, and how much trouble you took in bringing Paul to me; but to think that you should have to put on those ugly old clothes, that nasty beard and those spectacles.”

At these words the banker started so abruptly to his feet that Flavia nearly fell to the ground.

“What do you mean by this?” said he.

“Do you suppose a daughter does not know her father?  You might deceive others, but I—­”

“Flavia, I do not comprehend your meaning.”

“Do you mean to tell me,” asked she, “that you did not come to Paul’s rooms the day I was there?”

“Are you crazy?  Listen to me.”

“No, I will not; you must not tell me fibs.  I am not a fool; and when you went out with the doctor, I listened at the door, and I heard a few words you said; and that isn’t all, for when I got here, I hid myself and I saw you come into this room.”

“But you said nothing to any one, Flavia?”

“No, certainly not.”

Rigal breathed a sigh of relief.

“Of course I do not count Paul,” continued the girl, “for he is the same as myself.”

“Unhappy child!” exclaimed the banker in so furious a voice, and with such a threatening gesture of the hand, that for the first time in her life Flavia was afraid of her father.

“What have I done?” asked she, the tears springing to her eyes.  “I only said to Paul that we should be terribly ungrateful if we did not worship him; for you don’t know what he does for us.  Why, he even dresses up in rags, and goes to see you.”