During these terrible reflections, the marshal had not taken his eyes off his children, and his manly countenance assumed an expression at once so touching and mournful—his look revealed so painfully the tortures of his despairing soul—that Rose and Blanche, confused, alarmed, but yielding together to a spontaneous movement, threw themselves on their father’s neck, and covered him with tears and caresses. Marshal Simon had not spoken a word; his daughters had not uttered a sound; and yet all three had at length understood one another. A sympathetic shock had electrified and mingled those three hearts. Vain fears, false doubts, lying counsel, all had yielded to the irresistible emotion which had brought the daughters to their father’s arms. A sudden revelation gave them faith, at the fatal moment when incurable suspicion was about to separate them forever.
In a second, the marshal felt all this, but words failed him. Pale, bewildered, kissing the brows, the hair, the hands of his daughters, weeping, sighing, smiling all in turn, he was wild, delirious, drunk with happiness. At length, he exclaimed: “I have found them—or rather, I have never lost them. They loved me, and did not dare to tell me so. I overawed them. And I thought it was my fault. Heavens! what good that does! what strength, what heart, what hope!—Ha! ha!” cried he, laughing and weeping at the same time, whilst he covered his children with caresses; “they may despise me now, they may harass me now—I defy them all. My own blue eyes! my sweet blue eyes! look at me well, and inspire me with new life.”
“Oh, father! you love us then as much as we love you?” cried Rose, with enchanting simplicity.
“And we may often, very often, perhaps every day, throw ourselves on your neck, embrace you, and prove how glad we are to be with you?”
“Show you, dear father, all the store of love we were heaping up in our hearts—so sad, alas! that we could not spend it upon you?”
“Tell you aloud all that we think in secret?”
“Yes—you may do so—you may do so,” said Marshal Simon, faltering with joy; “what prevented you, my children? But no; do not answer; enough of the past!—I know all, I understand all. You misinterpreted my gloom, and it made you sad; I, in my turn, misinterpreted your sadness. But never mind; I scarcely know what I am saying to you. I only think of looking at you—and it dazzles me—it confuses me—it is the dizziness of joy!”
“Oh, look at us, father! look into our eyes, into our hearts,” cried Rose, with rapture.
“And you will read there, happiness for us, and love for you, sir!” added Blanche.
“Sir, sir!” said the marshal, in a tone of affectionate reproach; “what does that mean? Will you call me father, if you please?”