“François! my son! my best-loved!” And the old man held out his arms, and the two clasped each other.
“Ah! my son!” exclaimed the curé, when his emotion left him power to speak, “this is an hour worth suffering for; it pays me for many
days of anguish. Little did I dream to have such a joy before we met in heaven. My son! my boy! Blessed be God and Our Lady of Mercy, who have watched over you and brought you back to me! I never thought to see your face before I died!”
“And why not, mon père!” said François, laughing, and embracing him again; “you know the prodigals are sure to return sooner or later; besides, you promised to pray me safe home, and not to go to heaven till I came back to get your blessing. Did you forget your promise?”
“Forget it! Does a father forget his son? But you have travelled a long way; you will tell me all presently; but first you must have need of food and warmth. Victoire!”
The grim old gouvernante appeared, and on recognizing François her features expanded into a smile of genuine delight, and she embraced the young man with motherly affection, and overpowered him with questions that she never waited to hear answered, while she bustled about the table, running backward and forward to her kitchen, and making ready with all speed the very best her store could supply. The frugal meal was soon spread, and the curé, to whom, after the first outburst of joy had subsided, her presence was an unguessed relief, said with a sudden change in his voice and look that struck cold on François’s heart:
“Ah! François, François, it was not well to leave me all these years without a sign or a word. Gaston held out for a long time that either you had escaped from the country, or that you were still fighting, and that it was in either case only the fear of getting us into trouble that prevented you writing, or the want of a trusty messenger, and I believed him while I could; but when two
whole years went by, and still we had no news, what could I think but that you had fallen? Victoire, put on your hood, and go—but stay—no, I had better go myself. We must run no risks: there is a price on your head, you say? I will go myself. These are times when we need the cunning of the serpent more than the innocence of the dove. Alas! what does innocence avail my little ones? But shame upon me for an ungrateful wretch! Does it not avail them the palm-branch and the crown, and are not the purest of the flock chosen for a sacrifice to plead for the guilty?”
Thus discoursing, he wrapped himself in his heavy serge cloak, and clutched his stick, and went in search of Gaston, but not without first speaking a word in Victoire’s ear.
And who was Gaston? Gaston was cousin-german and adopted brother of François. They had been brought up from infancy together by Gaston’s mother. When they were both sixteen, she died, leaving the lads to the care of the good God and Monsieur le Curé, and bidding them love each other like true brothers, and live together in the comfortable cottage, which, being her own, she bequeathed them as a joint legacy till either should marry, and then, if they chose to separate, the one who left was to have compensation in a sum of money to be kept by M. le Curé till the event entitled either of the youths to claim it. Besides the cottage, their mother, for both the lads looked on her as such, left two thousand francs, to be equally divided between them when they came to be twenty-one. This was the wedding portion she had brought to Gaston’s father, and as she had adopted François, and given him a true mother’s love, she wished to divide her all, share and share, between him and her own son.