When we were within hearing distance she hailed us:
“Come quick, come quick! The house is ours! The house is ours!”
We rushed wildly forward.
“The bill isn’t there,” cried Bernard, who was ahead.
Only the marks of nails remained upon the pillar.
“Aha!” continued Aunt Deen’s voice, bursting out in a triumphant cadence. “They thought they had it! But they won’t get it!”
They were no longer the doctors, but the gentleman from Paris and other purchasers, who had appeared while we were in school. With uplifted arm she sketched the flight of the dispersed troop.
With a step that was rapid in spite of her years she led us to the music room where the family was assembled, with the exception of grandfather, who no doubt had made no change in his hour of walking, and who was probably ignorant of our salvation. Mariette followed us at a respectful distance. Her long service gave her the right to a place in the procession.
Our mother, deeply moved, was caressing the hair of my two elder sisters, whom joy, like grief, had moved to tears. But I attached no importance to the tears of my sisters, which used to flow for nothing at all. My father standing, his hand upon the back of my mother’s chair, was smiling. I had never seen his face so radiant, and through the window, behind the group, the sun was coming in like a distinguished guest.
“The bill isn’t there,” repeated Bernard without the usual greeting.