"Holloa! all right, children!"
Louise was at that moment peeping into a saucepan, spoon in hand; she left everything, and ran to throw herself into his arms, exclaiming: "Papa Jean-Claude! Papa Jean-Claude! is it you? You are not wounded? you are not hurt?"
Hullin, at the sound of that loving voice, turned pale, and was unable to reply.
It was only after a long silence, and still holding his dear child pressed close to his heart, that he was able at length to say, in a faltering voice, "No, Louise, no; I am very well, and I feel very happy."
"Sit down, Jean-Claude," said the Anabaptist, who saw him trembling with emotion; "see, here is my chair."
Hullin sat down, and Louise, seating herself on his knee, with her arm on his shoulder, began to cry.
"What is the matter, dear child?" said the brave man, in a low voice, and embracing her affectionately. "Come, be calm; a moment ago I saw you so courageous."
"Ah, yes! I was pretending to be so; but, do you know, I was in a great fright all the while? I kept saying to myself, 'Why does he not come?'"
She threw her arms round his neck; then, in a natural outburst of joy, she took the good man by the hand, exclaiming: "Come, Papa Jean-Claude, let's have a dance!" and she waltzed him two or three times round the room.
Hullin smiled in spite of himself, and turning to the Anabaptist, who still preserved his serious air, "We are a little mad, Pelsly," said he; "you mustn't let that surprise you."