"When I began to suspect that you were my son's child, I then quickly got positive proofs, and I gave you every chance to tell me that you were. Finally I employed Fabry, who, with his investigations, forced you to throw yourself into my arms. If you had spoken sooner, my little darling, you would have spared me many doubts."
"Yes," said Perrine sweetly, "but we are so happy now, and doesn't that prove that what I did was all for the best?"
"Well, all is well. We will leave it at that. Now tell me all about your father ... my boy."
"I cannot speak to you of my father without speaking of my mother," said Perrine gravely. "They both loved me so much, and I loved them just the same."
"My little girl," said the blind man, "what Fabry has just told me of her has touched me deeply. She refused to go to the hospital where she might have been cured because she would not leave you alone in Paris...."
"Oh, yes; you would have loved her," cried Perrine; "my darling mother."
"Talk to me about her," said the old man, "about them both."
"Yes," said Perrine; "I will make you know her and then you will love her."
Perrine told about their life before they lost all their money; then about their travels through the various countries and the wanderings over the mountains; then of her father's illness and his death, and how she and her sick mother journeyed through France with the hope that they could reach Maraucourt in time before the sick woman died.
While they were talking they could hear vague sounds outside in the garden.