"Father!" "My boy!" The words were interrupted by convulsive sobs.
After the first passionate greeting was over, the old man passed his hand over his son's dress, and a smile of joy was revealed by the bright moonbeams.
"A soldier! I thought I heard the clatter of your sabre," said the old man. "Where did you get these epaulets?"
"At Austerlitz, father—they were given me by the emperor."
"Long live the emperor!" said the old man. "He never forgets his children."
"No, father. For when he gave me my commission, he said, thoughtfully, 'Bertrand! your name is familiar.' 'Yes, sire—my father served under the tricolor.' 'I remember—he was one of my old Egyptians.' And then—father—then he gave me the cross of the legion—and told me, when I found you, to affix it to your breast in his name."
"It is almost too much!" sighed the old soldier, as the young officer produced the cross and attached it to his father's breast.
"And now," said the young man, "give me your hand as of old, dear father, and let me lead you."
"Whither?"
"Into the saloon of the chateau, to present you to General Duvivier and his guests."