"Well, it was about the time when your poor father, Amédée, was a boy of your age, or a little older, that all this sorrow came to an end; and this is the pleasant part of the story. I was living at Madame Paon's then, down near the post-office wharf, and we had the habitude of looking out of the window every day when the packet-boat came in (which was three times a week) to see if anybody would be landing at Port l'Évêque. Well, and one afternoon whom should we see but a fine m'sieu with black beard, carrying a cane, dressed like an American; and next, a lovely lady in clothes of the most fashionable and magnificent; and then, six beautiful young children, all just as handsome as dolls, and holding tightly one another by the hand, with an affection the most charming in the world. Ah, ma foi, if I shall ever forget that sight!
"And Madame Paon to me: 'Rose,—La Rose,—in God's name, who can they be! Perhaps some millionaires from Boston—for look, the trunks that they have!'
"And that was the truth, for the trunks and bags were piled all over the wharf; and opening the window a little, we hear m'sieu giving directions to have them taken to the Couronne d'Or—'and who,' he asks in French, 'is the proprietor there now?'—and they say: 'Gaston Lebal'—and he says: 'What! Gaston Lebal! Is it possible!'
"'He knows Port l'Évêque, it seems,' says Madame Paon, all excitement; and just then the first two trunks go by the windows, and she tells me, 'It is an English name, or an American.' And then, spelling out the letters, for she reads with a marvel of ease, she says, 'W-H-I-T-E is what the trunks say on them; but I can make nothing out of that. I am going outside, me,' she says, 'and perhaps I shall learn something.'
"She descends into the garden, and seems to be working a little at the flowers, and a minute later, here comes the fine m'sieu, and he looks at her for an instant—right in the face, so, and as if asking a question—and then: 'Ah, mon Dieu, it is Suzon Boudrot!' he cries, using the name she was born with. 'Can you not remember me?—That Tommy Leblanc who ran away twenty years ago?'
"Madame Paon gives a scream of joy, and they embrace; and then he presents this Mees W'ite, qui est une belle Américaine, and then he says: 'What is there of news about my dear mother and my father?'—and she: 'Did you not know your poor mother was dead the year after you went!'—and he: 'Ma mère—she is dead?'—and the tears jump out of his eyes, and his voice trembles as if it had a crack in it. 'Well, she is with the blessed angels, then,' says he.
"'But your poor old father,' goes on Madame Paon, 'he is still waiting for you every day. He has waited all these twenty years for you to come back.'
"'He is still in the old place?' asks he.
"'Yes, he would not leave it.'
"'We shall go over there at once,' he says, opening out his two arms—so!—'before ever we set foot in another house. It is my duty as a son.'