And the voice of Louise was stifled with sobs.
Morel had listened to his daughter's recital with a mournful apathy and indifference which alarmed Rodolph. However, seeing her burst into tears, the lapidary, who was still leaning on his work-board with his two hands pressed against his temples, looked at Louise steadfastly, and said:
"She weeps,—she weeps,—why is she weeping?" Then, after a moment's hesitation, "Ah, yes,—I know, I know,—the notary,—isn't it? Go on my poor Louise,—you are my daughter,—I love you still,—just now I did not recognise you,—my eyes were darkened with my tears,—oh, my head,—how badly it aches,—my head, my head!"
"You do not believe me guilty, do you, father, do you?"
"Oh, no, no!"
"It is a terrible misfortune; but I was so fearful of the notary."
"The notary? Ah, yes, and well you might be; he is so wicked, so very wicked!"
"But you will forgive me now?"
"Yes, yes."
"Really and truly?"