“Then may the blessing of heaven descend on your white hairs,” said Paul, in a voice which at once changing its tone, assumed that of deep feeling and respect; “for here is a letter which I believe was written by my father, in which he says that you are an honest man.”
“Does not that letter enclose something?” cried d’Auray, and advancing a step nearer to the young captain.
“It does,” replied the latter, opening the letter and taking out of it one half of a Venetian sequin, which had been broken in two; “it seems to be part of a gold coin, of which I have one half, and you ought to be in possession of the other.”
Achard mechanically held out his hand, while gazing with intense interest at the young man.
“Yes, yes,” said the old man, and eyes gradually became more and more suffused with tears: “yes, this is the true token, and more than that, the extraordinary resemblance,” and opening his arms, he cried, “child!—oh! my God! my God!”
“What is it?” cried Paul, extending his arms to support the old man, who was quite overcome by his emotions.
“Oh! can you not comprehend?” replied the latter, “can you not comprehend that you are the living portrait of your father, and that I loved your father—loved him so much that I would have shed my blood, have given my life to serve him, as I would now for you, young man, were you to demand it.”
“Embrace me, then, my old friend,” said Paul, throwing his arms around the old man, “for the chain of feeling, believe me, is not broken, which extended from the tomb of the father to the cradle of the son. Whatever my father may have been, if in order to resemble him it be only necessary to have a conscience without reproach, undaunted courage, and a memory which never forgets a benefit conferred, although it may sometimes forget an injury; if this be so, then am I, as you have said, my father’s living portrait, and more so in soul than in form.”
“Yes, he possessed all these,” replied the old man, with solemnity, and clasping Paul to his breast, looking at him with affectionate though tearful tenderness—“Yes, he had the same commanding voice, the same flashing eyes, the same nobleness of heart. But why was it that I have not seen you sooner, young man? I have, during my life, passed many gloomy hours, which your presence would have brightened.”
“Why—because this letter told me to seek you out only when I should have attained the age of twenty-five, and because it is not long since I attained that age, not more than an hour ago.”