On hearing these words, the old man, seizing Louis's hand, covered it with tears and kisses before the latter could prevent it.
"Come, come, my good father," said Mariette's husband, surprised and touched, "I have done nothing to deserve such gratitude on your part. I may be more fortunate some day, however. But tell me how you feel now. Was it weakness or overfatigue that caused your fainting fit?"
The old man made no reply, but pressed Louis's hand convulsively to his panting breast. The younger man, conscious of a strange and increasing emotion, felt the tears spring to his eyes.
"Listen to me, my good father," he began.
"Oh, say that once more—just once more," murmured the old man, hoarsely.
"Ah, well, my good father—"
But Louis did not finish the sentence, for his guest, unable to restrain himself any longer, raised himself up in bed, at the same time exclaiming, in a voice vibrating with tenderness:
"Louis!"
That name, uttered with all the passion of a despairing soul, was a revelation.
The younger man turned as pale as death, started back, and stood as if petrified, with fixed, staring eyes.