"But this gentleman—who was he, pray?" asked Bathilde, in a trembling voice.
"Do you not guess, Bathilde, do you not guess?"
"O mon Dieu! tell me!"
"He was the Comte de Marvejols—your husband."
"He! Is it possible?"
Bathilde turned pale; for a moment she was overcome; but joy rarely does any harm, and the young mother covered her daughter with kisses once more, crying:
"He kissed you, little darling, he kissed you! Why, that gentleman was your father—your father for whom I have taught you to pray to God every night, to preserve his life and bring him back to us. Ah! God has heard your prayers.—Now, Marie, Ambroisine, tell me all that happened, all, both yesterday and to-day. Do not forget anything, do not omit the most trivial detail; I shall be so happy listening to you."
The maid described minutely the meeting of the preceding day.
"And you told me nothing of this yesterday, Marie!"
"Bless me! I could not imagine that it would interest you so deeply! I was so far from suspecting that that handsome gentleman was monsieur le comte; and if I must mention everybody who admires mademoiselle when I take her out to walk, and everybody who exclaims at her beauty and caresses her, I should never stop!"