I had guessed that it was he. I examined him closely: he had pretty chestnut hair, lovely eyes, a pink and white complexion, and a gentle expression; he looked very much like Eugénie; that was all that I could discover in his features.
Doubtless my face had grown stern, for the child seemed to be afraid to come forward. I could not help smiling, however, when he said to me with a comical gravity:
“Good-morning, papa.”
I kissed him on the cheek, but sighed as I did so, with a heavy weight at my heart. Then I put him down and he returned at once to the grass. It seemed that the poor little fellow noticed that I had kissed him against my will.
I took my daughter on my knee again; she jumped about and clapped her hands for joy, saying:
“Now, when mamma comes back, I shall be happy; she will come soon, won’t she, papa? Why didn’t you bring her back? She told me that she was going to get you.”
I turned my eyes away and made no reply. Ernest said to me in an undertone:
“My friend, you forbade us to mention your wife to you; but you must expect now that Henriette will mention her very often. You certainly would not want your daughter to cease to think of her mother?”
“No, of course not; besides, I am more reasonable now than I used to be. I am now curious to learn—Henriette, go and play with your little friends.”
My daughter went back to her brother and Ernest’s children. I sat between Marguerite and Ernest and said to them: