"Speak, speak!"
"In the first place, they gave me the name of Evelina de Paulausky; and then they kept this handkerchief for me, which belonged to my mother—see."
"Enough! enough!" murmured Roncherolle, holding out his arms to Violette. "Dear child, if you can forgive me for deserting you, come to your father's arms!"
"You, my father! my heart had divined it!" cried Violette, throwing herself into Roncherolle's arms, where he held her for a long time, against his heart.
But such violent emotion brought on a fresh attack, and the invalid, who longed to say a thousand things to his daughter, had not the strength to do it; she was obliged to entreat him to be calm and to rest.
After some time, Roncherolle, feeling more at ease, motioned to Violette to approach his bed, and bade her tell him all that he whom she still called Monsieur Malberg had done for her. The girl concealed nothing from her father, neither the bouquets which she had carried to Madame de Grangeville, nor the last interview she had had with that lady. And Roncherolle raised his eyes to heaven, murmuring:
"She told her that she did not know her mother!"
Then Violette informed her father that Georget's patron had come to see him during his last illness, when he was destitute; and she added:
"It was the very next day that you received that letter with money; I am very sure myself that it was he who sent it."
"Ah! this is too much! this is too much!" muttered Roncherolle, putting his hand to his eyes. "He has avenged himself more thoroughly than if he had killed me, for he has made me realize what a friend I have lost, and how often serious is a fault which men are accustomed to treat so slightingly!"