id not dare think so,"
said Perrine.

"When I began to suspect that you were my son's child, I then quickly
got positive proofs, and I gave you every chance to tell me that you
were. Finally I employed Fabry, who, with his investigations, forced you
to throw yourself into my arms. If you had spoken sooner, my little
darling, you would have spared me many doubts."

"Yes," said Perrine sweetly, "but we are so happy now, and doesn't that
prove that what I did was all for the best?"

"Well, all is well. We will leave it at that. Now tell me all about your
father ... my boy."

"I cannot speak to you of my father without speaking of my mother," said
Perrine gravely. "They both loved me so much, and I loved them just the
same."

"My little girl," said the blind man, "what Fabry has just told me of
her has touched me deeply. She refused to go to the hospital where she
might have been cured because she would not leave you alone in
Paris...."

"Oh, yes; you would have loved her," cried Perrine; "my darling mother."

"Talk to me about her," said the old man, "about them both."

"Yes," said Perrine; "I will make you know her and then you will love
her."

Perrine told about their life before they lost all their money; then
about their travels through the various countries and the wanderings
over the mountains; then of her father's illness and his death, and how
she and her sick mother journeyed through France with the hope that they
could reach Maraucourt in time before the sick woman died.

While they were talking they could hear vague sounds outside in the
garden.

"What is the matter out there?" asked M. Vulfran. Perrine went to the
window. The lawns and drive were black with a crowd of men, women and
children. They were dressed in their Sunday clothes; many of them
carried banners and flags. This crowd, between six and seven thousand
people, reached outside the grounds to the public park, and the murmur
of their voices had reached the ears of the blind man and had turned his
attention from Perrine's story, great though it was.

"What is it?" he asked.

"It is your birthday today," said Perrine, smiling, "and all your men
are here to celebrate it and to thank you for all you have done for them
and their families."

"Oh!..."

The blind man walked to the window as though he could see them. He was
recognized and a murmur ran through the crowd.

"_Mon Dieu_," he murmured, "how terrible they would be if they were