"Thank you, my boy, thank you!" said Floriot unsteadily, as he gripped his son's hand. "It was a noble speech!"
Then he dropped wearily into a chair. Raymond stared at him, startled.
"Why, is anything the matter, father?" he cried, stepping quickly over to his side.
Floriot raised his hand as if to motion him away.
"No! Nothing, nothing!" he replied.
"I think Mademoiselle Valmorin wants to speak to you, Raymond," interrupted Noel, hurriedly. The young man threw a quick look up toward the benches and saw that Helene had returned and was trying to telegraph him with her eyes. A father's claims must always yield to a lover's, and with a lingering glance at the figure in the chair, Raymond hurried off to his sweetheart's, side.
Noel put his hand under Floriot's arm and drew him off to a corner by the bench, where they were partially hidden, while Dr. Chennel did sentry duty in the background.
"You recognized her, of course?" said Floriot, in a low broken voice, without meeting his friend's eye.
Noel nodded, but did not speak.
"There's no doubt about it!" went on his friend. "It is Jacqueline, and this is what she has become! This is my work! Jacqueline! Jacqueline!" he groaned, piteously.