With that she left their house disappointed and weary, having spent hours under their roof pleading their son's cause, but they had never offered her so much as a cup of tea.
On her return to Paris, she called Baron X. His face fell when she began to speak. She bade him be brave, described to him her interview with his people, and ended by saying, "I will be a mother to you, and you shall never lack for anything."
He worked on with her in Paris for some months, and then he received a telegram, "Come quickly, father dying." The Maréchale rushed him off, and he afterwards gave her an account of his eventful journey.
When he got home, he found the house silent, every sound muffled without and within.
"Am I too late?" he asked.
"No, hush! He has been asking for you all the time. Come quickly."
Upstairs he went to his father's room. Entering, he saw two thin white hands on the coverlet, and heard a voice—
"Is it my son?"
"Yes, father!"
With one bound he was at the bed-side, and fell on his knees. With breath coming thick and fast, his father said faintly—