And now Farmer Trélaz came to tell them that the carriage was at the door. The luggage was stowed away in it—a lunch basket not being forgotten for the long journey to Marseilles.
It was quite dark before the ancient vehicle started.
At Chambéry Paule noticed Madame Dulaurens and her daughter under an arcade. She saw Alice grow deadly pale; but turning to her brother, she was surprised to see him quite unmoved. He seemed indifferent. She felt intuitively, however, that he, too, had seen her.
At the station the three had a long wait. They had the little waiting-room to themselves. Madame Guibert never tired of looking at the son who was about to leave her. Suddenly she said:
“You are more like your father than any of the others.”
“I have not his faith in life,” said Marcel. “I never saw him discouraged. Whenever he failed in anything, he used to lift his head and laugh and say, ‘As long as there’s life there’s hope.’”
“Since his death,” said the old lady, “I have lost all my courage.”
“He lives again in you, Mother. He still lives for us.”
“Through you too. And he is waiting for me.”
Marcel kissed her.