The old man bowed down his head with a pensive air, and remained silent for some time, seemingly absorbed by recollections of the past.
“Can it be so?” at length ne said, raising his head, “can it be twenty-five years ago. Good heaven! it appears to me only yesterday that you were born in this house, that you first saw the light in that very room:” and the old man raised his head, and pointed to a door which led into another room.
Paul, in his turn, appeared to reflect, and then, looking around him, to strengthen by the aid of objects which presented themselves to his view, the recollections which crowded on his memory.
“In this cottage, in that room,” he repeated, “and I lived here till I was five years old, did I not?”
“Yes,” murmured the old man, as if fearful to disturb the feelings which were taking possession of the young man’s mind.
“Well,” continued Paul, leaning his head on both his hands, as if to concentrate his thoughts, “allow me for one moment to look back, in my turn, to the past, for I am recollecting a room which I had thought I had seen in a dream—it may be that one. Listen to me! Oh! how strange it is—remembrances now rush upon me.”
“Speak, my child, speak!” said the old man.
“It it be that room, there ought to be on the right, as you go in, at the end of the room, a bed with green hangings.”
“Yes.”
“A crucifix at the head of the bed.”