I led him to his daughter, but he scarcely dared to follow me, remembering my former jealousy.
“Father,” Raymonde said to him, “I want you to come and see how happy we are.”
His too long restraint before me broke down, and I saw him sobbing. I believe that at that moment he forgave me the wrong which I had done his daughter.
* * *
On the first of May, in accordance with their charming custom, the children of the neighbouring villages came to sing and dance in the court. They had scarcely begun when I wanted to send them away. In the city one has straw thrown on the street in front of houses where sick people are, to deaden the noise, and I feared their noise here. Raymonde stopped me:
“Let them stay, please.”
“They will tire you,” I remonstrated.
“No, no. Do you remember—?”
As she was speaking, I recalled that other first of May, ours, when she had run away from me in the forest.
The refrain of the old song had not changed. It was still: