“Take this; you have earned it by doing a good deed; I hope that it will bring you luck, and that you will try to become an honest man.”
The cab drove off. Chérubin held both of Louise’s hands in his; and for some time those two, who had not met for three years, were so pleased and happy to be together again, their hearts were so full, their emotion so intense, that they could exchange only incoherent words and broken sentences.
“It is really you, Chérubin, who saved me,” said Louise. “So you did still think of me?”
“Why, Louise, I have been searching Paris for three days, looking everywhere for you, ever since I learned that you had disappeared from Madame de Noirmont’s. I have not lived, I have not had a moment’s peace of mind!”
“Can it be true? Then you still love me, Chérubin?”
“Love you, my Louise! Ah! more than I ever did—I realize it now! I let a long while go by without going to see you, it is true; you must have thought me indifferent or ungrateful; but I always intended to go to see you, if Monsieur Gérondif had not told me that you were in Bretagne, where you were so happy that you did not mean to return to Gagny.”
“Oh! the liar! And it was he who drove me to despair by telling me that you never gave a thought to your old playmate, that you had no desire to see her again.”
“The miserable villain! why, that was perfectly horrible!”
“And it was not true, and you do still love your poor Louise? Oh! how happy I am!”
This time the drive from the barrier to his house seemed very short to Chérubin. He alighted, led Louise into the house, and took her up to his own apartment. She followed him trustfully; she was with the man she loved—that was the only thought in her mind.