Lar. Pity—pity—and forgive me.
[Manuel all at once comprehending, advances to M. Laroque.
Man. Miserable man, I pity, and I forgive.
Mar. What does this mean?
Man. Oh, nothing, Mademoiselle, but I thought it better to humor his delirium.
[Laroque staggers. Manuel places him in chair.
Enter Alain, Desmarets, Madame Laroque and Mlle Helouin.
Mar. Grandfather, dearest, speak to me—it is Marguerite, your child, to whom you were always so good, who loves you so. You have some thought, some remembrance which torments you. Is it not so? Tell me, dearest, tell your own Marguerite.
[Music.
Laroque looks up, makes one or two endeavors to speak, when his head again falls on his breast.