"On the evening of my return, you might permit this slight dissipation, it seems to me, Suzanne."

"Heaven be thanked, mademoiselle will have plenty of opportunity to see you now, but allowing her to sit up later than ten o'clock is not to be thought of. She would be sure to be tired out, if not ill, to-morrow."

"In that case, I have nothing to say except good night, my dear child," said Cloarek, taking his daughter's face in his two hands, and kissing her tenderly on the forehead. "Sleep well, my dearest, and may the morning find you well and happy."

"You need feel no anxiety on that score, my dear father. Now I know that you are here beside me, and that you will be with me, not only to-morrow but always, I shall go to sleep with that blissful thought on my mind, and I shall sleep on and on and on like a dormouse—that is the word, isn't it, Suzanne? So good night, my dear father, good night, good night."

Then she whispered:

"I am sure Suzanne is going to speak to you about M. Onésime. How glad I am I got ahead of her. Good night, dearest father, good night."

"Good night, and pleasant dreams!"

"It will be the best night I have passed for many a month. Good night, my beloved father, good night."

"Good night, my child."

Then turning to the housekeeper, Cloarek added: