Nothing could persuade the young wife that her husband was their son.
They proved it to her by describing certain marks which he had on his body.
She sprang from her couch, called her page, and a repast was set before them.
Although they were very hungry, they could not eat much; and even at a distance she could perceive the trembling of their gnarled hands as they took the goblets.
They had a thousand questions to ask about Julian. She answered them all, but was careful to say nothing about his gloomy notion with regard to them.
When there was no sign of his return, they had left their castle; and they had travelled for several years, following vague indications, without losing hope. They had required so much money for the ferries and in the hostelries, for the rights of princes and the exactions of robbers, that they had come to the bottom of their purse and were now begging. What matter, now that they were soon to embrace their son? They extolled his happiness in having so gracious a wife, and never wearied admiring her and kissing her.
The richness of the apartment astonished them greatly, and the old man, having examined the walls, asked why they bore the blazon of the Emperor of Occitania.
She replied:
“He is my father!”
At that he trembled, recalling the prediction of the gipsy, and the old woman thought of the word of the hermit. Doubtless her son’s glory was but the dawn of the splendours of eternity; and the pair remained awestruck in the light of the candelabra which illumined the table.