"They did not come directly to Paris, but stopped at Versailles—at
Versailles—where my poor father went—"
At this thought, which revived all his grief for his father's terrible death, Louis again broke into sobs.
"My dear friend, I understand your bitter grief," said Florestan, moved by his friend's emotion, "but try to be more courageous."
"If I hesitate in speaking more clearly," resumed the young man, when he had wiped away his tears, "it is because, in this hour of sorrow and mourning, I feel to be painfully affected in seeing the satisfaction—very excusable perhaps—which the announcement I have to make will no doubt cause you."
"In heaven's name, Louis, explain yourself!" entreated Saint-Herem, in alarm.
"As I have already told you, my father went to Versailles to meet your uncle and his daughter."
"And then?"
"They must have taken the train together, entered the same compartment—and—"
"My God!—it would be too horrible!" cried Florestan, burying his face in his hands.
The cry of horror and compassion was so spontaneous and sincere, that Louis was touched by this proof of kindness of heart on the part of his friend, whose first impulse had been a sentiment of generous commiseration, and not of cynical, covetous joy.