"Miette?" demanded Madame Dalize. "What has she said to you?"
"She simply said, when I spoke to her of Roger, "The poor gentleman."
And she was right,--the poor gentleman, poor Roger."
"Undoubtedly," answered Madame Dalize; "but ten years have pa.s.sed since that terrible day, and time heals many wounds."
"That is true; but I know Roger, and I know that he has forgotten nothing."
"Of course, forgetfulness would not be easy to him over there, in that long, solitary exile; but once he has returned here to us, near his family, his wounds will have a chance to heal; and, in any case," added Madame Dalize, taking her husband"s hand, "he will have at hand two doctors who are profoundly devoted."
"Yes, my dear wife, you are right; and if he can be cured, we will know how to cure him."
Madame Dalize took the telegram from her husband"s hands, and read this:
"=Monsieur Dalize=, Chateau de Sainte-Gemme, at Sens:
"=Friend=,--I am on my way home. Learn at Paris that you are at Sainte-Gemme. May I come there at once?"
"=Roger.="
"And you answered him?"
"I answered, "We are awaiting you with the utmost impatience. Take the first train.""
"Will that first train be the eleven-o"clock train?"
"No; I think that Roger will not be able to take the express. The man with the telegram will not have reached Sens soon enough, even if he hurried, as he promised he would. Then, the time taken to send the despatch, to receive it in Paris, and to take it to Roger"s address would make it more than eleven. So our friend will have to take the next train; and you cannot count upon his being here before five o"clock."
"Oh!" cried Miss Miette, in a disappointed tone.
"What is the matter, my child?" asked Monsieur Dalize.
"Why, I think----"
"What do you think?"
"Well, papa," Miss Miette at last said, "I think that the railroads and the telegrams are far too slow."
Monsieur Dalize could not suppress a smile at hearing this exclamation.
He turned to his wife, and said,--
"See, how hurried is this younger generation. They think that steam and electricity are too slow."
And, turning around to his daughter, he continued,--
"What would you like to have?"
"Why," answered the girl, "I would like to have Monsieur Roger here at once."
Her wish was to be fulfilled sooner than she herself could foresee.
[Ill.u.s.tration]
[Ill.u.s.tration]
CHAPTER III.
MONSIEUR ROGER.
Monsieur and Madame Dalize went back into the chateau, and soon reappeared in walking-costumes. Miette, who was playing in the shadows of the great chestnut-trees, looked up in surprise.
"You are going out walking without me?" said she.
"No, my child," answered Madame Dalize, "we are not going out to take a walk at all; but we have to go and make our excuses to Monsieur and Madame Sylvestre at the farm, because we shall not be able to dine with them this evening, as we had agreed."
"Take me with you," said Miette.
"No; the road is too long and too fatiguing for your little legs."
"Are you going on foot?"
"Certainly," said Monsieur Dalize. "We must keep the horses fresh to send them down to meet Roger at the station."
Miss Miette could not help respecting so good a reason, and she resisted no longer.
When left alone, she began seriously to wonder what she should do during the absence of her parents, which would certainly last over an hour. An idea came to her. She went into the chateau, pa.s.sed into the drawing-room, took down a large alb.u.m of photographs which was on the table, and carried it into her room. She did not have to search long. On the first page was the portrait of her mother, on the next was that of herself, Miette, and that of her brother Albert. The third page contained two portraits of men. One of these portraits was that of her father, the other was evidently the one that she was in search of, for she looked at it attentively.
"It was a long time ago," she said to herself, "that this photograph was made,--ten years ago; but I am sure that I shall recognize Monsieur Roger all the same when he returns."
At this very moment Miette heard the sound of a carriage some distance off. Surely the carriage was driving through the park. She listened with all her ears. Soon the gravelled road leading up to the chateau was crunched under the wheels of the carriage. Miette then saw an old-fashioned cab, which evidently had been hired at some hotel in Sens.
The cab stopped before the threshold. Miette could not see so far from her window. She left the alb.u.m upon her table, and ran down-stairs, full of curiosity. In the vestibule she met old Peter, and asked him who it was.
"It is a gentleman whom I don"t know," said Peter.
"Where is he?"
"I asked him into the parlor."
Miette approached lightly on tiptoe to the door of the parlor, which was open, wishing to see without being seen. She expected she would find in this visitor some country neighbor. The gentleman was standing, looking out of the gla.s.s windows.
From where she was Miette could see his profile. She made a gesture, as if to say, "I don"t know him;" and she was going to withdraw as slowly as possible, with her curiosity unsatisfied, when the gentleman turned around. Miette now saw him directly in front of her in the full light.
His beard and his hair were gray, his forehead was lightly wrinkled on the temples, a sombre expression saddened his features. His dress was elegant. He walked a few steps in the parlor, coming towards the door, but he had not yet seen Miette. In her great surprise she had quickly drawn herself back, but she still followed the visitor with her eyes. At first she had doubted now she was sure; she could not be mistaken. When the gentleman had reached the middle of the parlor, Miette could contain herself no longer. She showed herself in the doorway and advanced towards the visitor. He stopped, surprised at this pretty apparition.
Miette came up to him and looked him in the eyes. Then, entirely convinced, holding out her arms towards the visitor, she said, softly,--