and.

When I awoke again the rays of the setting sun, softened by my red
damask curtains, were falling on my beautifully fine sheets and lighting
up the golden pomegranates that adorned the corners of the bed. This bed
was so handsome and soft that I felt inclined to make it my apologies
for having slept in it. As I was about to get up I saw a kindly,
venerable face looking through the half-drawn curtains and smiling. It
was the Chevalier Hubert de Mauprat. He inquired anxiously about
the state of my health. I endeavoured to be polite and to express my
gratitude; but the language I used seemed so different from his that
I was disconcerted and pained at my awkwardness without being able to
realize why. To crown my misery, a movement that I made caused the
knife which I had taken as bedfellow to fall at M. de Mauprat's feet. He
picked it up, looked at it, and then at myself with extreme surprise. I
turned as red as fire and stammered out I know not what. I expected he
would reprove me for this insult to his hospitality. However, he was too
polite to insist upon a more complete explanation. He quietly placed the
knife on the mantel-piece and, returning to me, spoke as follows:

"Bernard, I now know that I owe to you the life that I hold dearest in
the world. All my own life shall be devoted to giving you proofs of my
gratitude and esteem. My daughter also is sacredly indebted to you. You
need, then, have no anxiety about your future. I know what persecution
and vengeance you exposed yourself to in coming to us; but I know, too,
from what a frightful existence my friendship and devotion will be able
to deliver you. You are an orphan, and I have no son. Will you have me
for your father?"

I stared at the chevalier with wild eyes. I could not believe my ears.
All feeling within me seemed paralyzed by astonishment and timidity. I
was unable to answer a word. The chevalier himself evidently felt
some astonishment; he had not expected to find a nature so brutishly
ill-conditioned.

"Come," he said; "I hope that you will grow accustomed to us. At all
events, shake hands, to show that you trust me. I will send up your
servant; give him your orders; he is at your disposal. I have only one
promise to exact from you, and that is that you will not go beyond the
walls of the park until I have taken steps to make you safe from the
pursuit of justice. At present it is possible that the charges which
have been hanging over your uncles