"I love Helene Valmorin!" he blurted out, desperately.
M. the President fell back a step, his face expressing the utmost astonishment, but his eyes were laughing.
"Do you!" he exclaimed. Raymond gazed at him doubtfully a moment and then saw it all.
"Did—did you know it?" he asked, sheepishly. His father burst into a hearty laugh.
"What an old fool you must think I am!"
The lover's instinct told Raymond to strike quickly.
"And I want to marry her," he went on. M. the President nodded.
"I can quite understand that," he smiled. "Well, God bless you both and make you happy! Is that all you want to say?"
"Yes, that's all!" breathed his son, with a deep sigh of relief. M. Floriot gazed into the eyes that were so like the lost woman's, and all the love and yearning that he had ever felt for mother and son shone in his own. He stepped up to the boy and laid a hand affectionately on his shoulder. Raymond felt the grip of the fingers as his father began to speak.
"My boy," he said, in grave, gentle tones, "you're a good fellow, and you've been the one joy of my life. I think Helene is worthy of you. Love her, my lad! And love her always—whatever happens! Be her friend, her guide, her mainstay—as well as her husband.