“P'pa, p'pa, poor p'pa!”
But the father, in a firmer tone:
“Come! stop crying—this is not the time for it. I have to talk to you. Sit down there quite close to me. It will be quickly done, and I shall be more calm. As for the rest of you, kindly give me one minute.”
They all went out, leaving the father and son face to face.
As soon as they were alone:
“Listen, son! you are twenty-four years; one can say things like this to you. And then there is not such mystery about these matters as we import into them. You know well that your mother has been seven years dead, isn't that so? and that I am not more than forty-five years myself, seeing that I got married at nineteen? Is not that true?”
The son faltered:
“Yes, it is true.”
“So then your mother has been seven years dead, and I have remained a widower. Well! a man like me cannot remain without a wife at thirty-eight, isn't that true?”
The son replied: