"Oh, heavens!" cried Helene, "this emotion, your trembling hand. Monsieur, you said my father is come to meet me."
"Yes."
"Here at Rambouillet?"
"Yes."
"You say he is happy to see me again?"
"Oh yes, very happy!"
"But this happiness was not enough, is it not so? He wished to speak to me, to tell me himself the story of my life—that I may thank him for his love—that I may fall at his feet, that I may ask his blessing. Oh!" cried Helene, kneeling, "oh, I am at your feet; bless me, father!"
"Helene, my child, my daughter!" cried the unknown, "not at my feet, but in my arms!"
"My father, my father!" was Helene's only reply.
"And yet," continued he, "I came with a different intention, prepared to deny all, to remain a stranger to you; but having you so near me, pressing your hand, hearing your voice, I had not the strength; but do not make me repent my weakness, and let secrecy—"