"'Go,' said she, 'kneel before him, for you and you alone can soften his
heart.'"

"Then you knelt before me because your mother told you to do so."

"Yes, for if I had followed my own inclination I should have rushed to
your arms."

"You answer well. But are you sure of persuading me?"

"No, for one can never be sure of anything; but I have good hopes of
success, remembering what you told me at the Hague. My mother told me
that I was only three then, but I know I was five. She it was who told me
not to look at you when I spoke to you, but fortunately you made her
remove her prohibition. Everybody says that you are my father, and at the
Hague she told me so herself; but here she is always dinning it into my
ears that I am the daughter of M. de Monpernis."

"But, Sophie dear, your mother does wrong in making you a bastard when
you are the legitimate daughter of the dancer Pompeati, who killed
himself at Vienna."

"Then I am not your daughter?"

"Clearly, for you cannot have two fathers, can you?"

"But how is it that I am your image?"

"It's a mere chance."