“Yes.”
“A closet opposite, in which were books, among the rest a large Bible, with numerous engravings.”
“There it is,” said the old man, pointing to the sacred book which was lying open on a desk for prayer.
“Oh! it is that—it is that,” cried Paul, pressing his lips against the leaves.
“Oh! good and pious heart,” cried the old man, “I thank thee, oh! my God—I thank thee.”
“Then,” said Paul, rising, “in that room there is a window, from which you can discern the sea, and on the sea, three islands?”
“Yes, Houat, Hoedic, and Belle-Ileen-mer.
“Then, it is really so,” said Paul, rushing towards the room, and then perceiving that the old man was about to follow him, he said: “No, no! I must be alone—let me enter it alone—I feel that I must be alone,” and he went into the room, closing the door after him.
He then paused a moment, impressed with that holy respect which accompanies the remembrance of our infancy. The room was as he had described it, for the religious devotedness of the old servant had preserved it from any change. Paul, feeling doubtless that the eye of a stranger would have interrupted the expression of the feelings he experienced, and now certain of being alone, abandoned himself to them He slowly advanced, and with clasped hands, towards the ivory crucifix; and falling on his knees, which formerly he had the habit of doing, morning and evening, he endeavoured to remember one of those simple prayers, in which a child, still on the threshold of this life, prays to God for those who have opened its gates to him. “What events had succeeded each other in the lapse of time which had passed between these genuflexions! Paul remained for a considerable time absorbed in thought, and then slowly arose, and went to the window. The night was beautiful and calm, the moon was shining in the heavens, and tipped the ocean waves with silver. The three islands appeared on the horizon, like blue vapor floating on the ocean. He remembered how often in his infancy he had leaned against that window, gazing upon that same scene, following with his eyes some bark, with its snowy sails, which glided silently over the sea, like the wing of a night bird. Then his heart swelled with sweet and tender recollection; his head fell upon his chest, and silent tears ran down his cheeks. At that moment he felt that some one pressed his hands—it was the old man—he wished to conceal his emotions; but instantly repenting this vain feeling, he turned toward Achard, and frankly let him see his face, down which the tears were streaming.
“You weep, my child,” said the old man.