It was little distance to his house in St. Honore Street.
The cold revived Sebastian but his father would not let him walk. When he knocked at his door, a heavy step was heard approaching.
“Is that you, Dr. Gilbert?” challenged one within.
“That is Pitou’s voice,” said the boy.
“Praise heaven, Sebastian is found,” shouted Pitou on opening the door. “Master Billet,” he shouted still more loudly, “Sebastian is found, and all right, I hope, doctor?”
“Without any serious hurt, anyway,” replied the other, “Come, Sebastian.”
He carried his son up to his bed.
Pitou followed with the light; by his mud-bespattered shoes and stockings it was plain that he had come a long journey.
Indeed, after taking the broken-hearted Catherine home and learning from her lips that her deep sorrow came from Isidore Charny being called away to Paris, he took leave of her and Mother Billet, weeping by her bedside, and went home to Haramont. He walked so slowly that he did not get there until daybreak.
He fell off to sleep so that it was not till he awoke, that he found the youth’s letter. Immediately he started to overtake him.