When we had recovered a little, I said to Buche:
"Jean, you must go on before me, so that my wife and Mr. Goulden may not be too much surprised. You will tell them that you saw me the day after the battle, and that I was not wounded, and then you must say, you met me again in the suburbs of Paris, and even on the way home, and at last, that you think I am not far behind, that I am coming—you understand."
"Yes, I understand," said he, getting up after having emptied his glass, "and I will do the same thing for grandmother, who loves me more than she does the other boys; I will send some one on before me."
He went out at once, and I waited a few minutes; Mother Heitz talked to me but I did not listen; I was thinking how far Buche had gone; I saw him near the ford, at the outworks, and at the gate. Suddenly I went out, saying to Mother Heitz, "I will pay you another time."
I began to run; I partly remember having met three or four persons, who said, "Ah! that is Joseph Bertha!" But I am not sure of that.
All at once, without knowing how, I sprang up the stairs, and then I heard a great cry—Catherine was in my arms.
My head swam—in a minute after I seemed to come out of a dream; I saw the room, Mr. Goulden, Jean Buche, and Catherine; and I began to sob so violently, that you would have thought some great misfortune had happened. I held Catherine on my knee and kissed her, and she cried too. After a long while I exclaimed:
"Ah! Mr. Goulden, pardon me! I ought to have embraced you, my father! whom I love as I do myself!"
"I know it, Joseph," said he with emotion, "I know it, I am not jealous." And he wiped his eyes. "Yes—yes—love—and family and then friends. It is quite natural, my child, do not trouble yourself about that."
I got up and pressed him to my heart.