The stranger had stopped at a little distance and was looking at Denise; the last rays of daylight rested on his face, and the girl examined him with interest as she walked toward him. But she had not taken four steps when she gave a little cry and ran, flew toward the stranger.
“Auguste!—Monsieur—is it you?”
That was all she could say; and Auguste, for he it was, received her in his arms.
“Denise! dear Denise!” said Auguste, pressing to his heart the girl whom surprise and joy had almost deprived of consciousness.
At last she recovered the power of speech.
“Coco, it is your kind friend,” she cried, “your benefactor has come back! Come and kiss him.”
The child stared at Auguste in open-mouthed amazement; he had difficulty in reconciling himself to the idea that that shabbily dressed man with the long beard was his benefactor; but if his eyes did not recognize his kind friend, his heart was not silent: something drew him to the stranger, so that he ran joyfully to Auguste and kissed him, and the latter abandoned himself for some moments to the pleasure of holding the child and the girl in his arms.
“So you knew me, did you, Denise?” he said at last.
“Oh! always! I shall always recognize you! Even if your face were not the same, my heart would tell me that it was you.”
“Dear Denise!”