Griffen
prayed the Gascon to come with him to his room. The grave, almost
solemn, air of the priest appeared strange to Croustillac.

The door closed, Father Griffen, his eyes filled with tears, extended
his arms to the Gascon, and said: "Come, come, excellent and noble
creature; come, my good and dear son."

The chevalier, at once moved and astonished, cordially pressed the
priest in his arms and said to him: "What is it, then, my father?"

"What is it? what is it? How, you, a poor adventurer, you, whose past
life should have rendered less scrupulous than others, you save the life
of the son of a king, you devote yourself to his interests with as much
abnegation as intelligence; and then, that done and your friends in
safety, you return to your obscure and miserable life, not knowing even
at this hour, on the eve of reentering France, where you will lay your
head to-morrow! and that without one word, one single word of complaint,
of the ingratitude, or at least, of the forgetfulness of those who owe
you so much!"

"But, my Father----"

"Oh, I have observed you well during this voyage! Never a bitter word,
never even the shadow of a reproach; as in the past, you have become gay
and thoughtless again. And yet--no--no--I have well seen that your
gayety was assumed; you have lost in this voyage your one possession,
your only resource--the careless gayety which has aided you to bear
misfortune."

"My Father, I assure you, no."

"Oh, I do not deceive myself, I tell you. At night I have surprised you
alone, apart, on the deck, sadly dreaming. Of old, did you ever dream
thus?"

"Have I not, on the contrary, during the voyage, diverted Captain Daniel
by my pleasantries, good Father?"

"Oh, I have observed you well; if you have consented to amuse Master
Daniel, it was in order to recompense him as you could for the
hospitality he has given you. Listen, my son--I am old--I can say all to
you without offending you; well, conduct such as yours would be very
worthy, very fine on the part of a man whose antecedents, whose
principles rendered him naturally delicate; but on your part, whom an
idle, perhaps culpable youth, should seem to have robbed of all
elevation of thought, it is doubly noble and beautiful; it is at once
the expiation of the past and the glorification of the present. Thus,
such sentiments cannot remain without their recompense--the trial has
endured too long. Yes, I almost blame myself for having imposed