“Perhaps you youngsters are in the right,” said he, “and we old men are in the wrong. But what will you, my child. One cannot give up in two days the creed of sixty years.”
“I know not what may come of all this, but I hope that my eyes will be closed in death before it does come.”
“But uncle,” said I, “although it would be a great treat to me to go to Paris and see the fête, still, if you wish it, I will not go.”
“No, my boy, go; and heaven grant that I may live to see your return, and that we may meet again in this world.”
I embraced him as I wept, for I loved him dearly.
Had he not fed and clothed me and brought me up, and watched the infant become, under his roof a man?
“Bring my arm-chair to the door,” said he; “I do not wish to lose the last glimpse of the setting sun.”
I obeyed. Leaning on my shoulder he reached the door, and sitting down in the chair, took my hand, and kissed me, saying “Go!”
I departed, returning in time to see this good old servitor of royalty die. With kingcraft he suffered, and with its death he died.
When I lost sight of him, it seemed as if I had left him for ever, and I felt half inclined to return at once, never to leave him; but the temptation of seeing Paris was too much for me, and in another moment we were in sight of the houses of Islettes.