"What do you want, my child?"
"Dear parents, grant me a few words with you."
"Gladly," responded Christian, "but let us go downstairs. Our poor friend Mary La Catelle is sharing your sister's bed; the woman needs rest; our conversation might disturb her sleep."
CHAPTER IX.
THE PENITENT.
Father, mother and son proceeded downstairs to the room on the ground floor where the distressing scene of the night before was enacted. Hardly had they touched the lowermost step of the staircase when Hervé threw himself upon his knees, took his father's hands, kissed them tearfully and murmured in a smothered voice:
"I beg your pardon—for my past conduct—pardon me—my good parents!"
"God be praised! We were not deceived in the boy," was the thought that rushed to the minds of Christian and Bridget as they exchanged a look of profound satisfaction. "The unfortunate lad has been touched by repentance."
"My son," said the artisan, "rise."
"No, not before I have obtained from you and my mother forgiveness for my infamous act;" and he added, amid sobs: "It was myself, I, your son—it was I who stole your gold!"
"Hervé," replied Christian, deeply moved by the manifestations of remorse which he took to be sincere, "last night, in this same room, your mother and I said to you: 'If you forgot yourself for a moment and committed the theft, admit it—you will be forgiven.'"