“My friend, it isn’t the children alone who forget quickly. I am sure your daughter will recognize you.”
We went down into the garden; my heart beat fast with pleasure. At the end of a path I saw Madame Firmin seated on a grassy bank; a little beyond was a patch of turf, on which four children were playing. My eyes sought my daughter only, and I recognized her at once. She had grown, but she had changed very little.
The children were engrossed by their play, and they did not hear us coming. Marguerite caught sight of us, and on recognizing me she started to meet us. I motioned to her to stay where she was and to say nothing. I walked softly to the patch of turf; I crept behind Madame Ernest, to where a lilac bush concealed me from the children. Then I called Henriette aloud.
She raised her head and looked about her in amazement, saying:
“Who called me? It wasn’t you, was it, my dear friend?”
“No,” said Marguerite, “but perhaps it was my husband, for here he is now.”
“Oh, no, it wasn’t his voice. It is funny, but it was a voice that I know.”
I called again without showing myself. Henriette seemed startled; her face flushed and she trembled; she looked about in all directions, crying:
“Why, I should think that it was papa’s voice!”
I could hold out no longer; I stepped from behind the bush; Henriette saw me, uttered a shriek, and rushed into my arms, saying again and again: