To be no more a father—to be condemned never to hear that word again from the lips of a child, that word which is so sweet, but which a man’s tongue cannot frame, “Papa.”
And yet to hear it once again from those lips, only once again, I would gladly have given the forty years of life that they were going to take away from me.
“Listen, Marie,” said I, joining her two little hands in mine. “Do you not know me?”
She looked at me with her beautiful eyes, and answered—“No.”
“Look at me well,” urged I. “Now who am I?”
“You are a gentleman,” replied she.
Alas! to love one creature so fondly in the world—to love her with all your passionate love, to have her with you to look into her eyes, and to hear her answer that she does not know you.
“Marie,” continued I, “have you a papa?”
“Yes, sir,” said the child.
“Well, where is he?”