At the top of the flight of steps Valentine stepped back to allow Henri to pass before her; then, changing her mind, she advanced again.
“No, you are at home,” she said. “It is I that must enter first!”
He followed her docilely, caring no longer to yield to any other will than hers.
Within the chateau, thanks to the complicity of the Duchess, the furnishings resembled as closely as possible those of former days. The good fairy had completed successfully two great works: the restoration of the chateau and the building of the asylum. The inhabitants of the one would be so much the better able to foresee the needs of the other.
Having explored one of the wings, they returned to the central hall. Mademoiselle de Vermont made a sign to the steward to remain there, and beckoned to Henri to accompany her to the historic gallery. After they had entered it, she closed the door. The family portraits had been rehung in their former places, in chronological order, and, in its proper place, figured that of the General of Division the Marquis de Prerolles, in full uniform, mounted on Aida, the portrait being the work of Edmond Delorme.
At this sight, touched to the depths of his heart, Henri knelt before Valentine, and carried her hand to his lips.
“I adore you!” he said, without attempting to hide the tears of gratitude that fell upon those generous hands.
“Do you, indeed?” Zibeline murmured.
“You shall see!” he replied, rising. “Come, in your turn.”
He led her before the portrait of the ancestral marshal of France, and said: