"Then come and kiss your father, my boy."

When I had thought of this moment I had imagined that I should be
overwhelmed with happiness and spring into my father's arms, but I felt
nothing of the kind. I went up and kissed my father.

"Now," he said, "there's your grandfather, your mother, your brothers
and sisters."

I went up to my mother first and put my arms about her. She let me kiss
her but she did not return my caress; she only said two or three words
which I did not understand.

"Shake hands with your grandfather," said my father, "and go gently;
he's paralyzed."

I also shook hands with my brothers and my eldest sister. I wanted to
take the little one in my arms but she was too occupied with Capi and
pushed me away. As I went from one to the other I was angry with myself.
Why could I not feel any pleasure at having found my family at last. I
had a father, a mother, brothers, sisters and a grandfather. I had
longed for this moment, I had been mad with joy in thinking that I, like
other boys, would have a family that I could call my own to love me and
whom I could love.... And now I was staring at my family curiously,
finding nothing in my heart to say to them, not a word of affection. Was
I a monster? If I had found my parents in a palace instead of in a hovel
should I have had more affection for them? I felt ashamed at this
thought. Going over again to my mother I put my arms round her and
kissed her full on the lips. Evidently she did not understand what made
me do this, for instead of returning my kisses she looked at me in a
listless manner, then turning to her husband, my father, she shrugged
her shoulders and said something that I could not understand but which
made him laugh. Her indifference and my father's laugh went right to my
heart. It did not seem to me that my affection should have been received
in such a way.

"Who is he?" asked my father, pointing to Mattia. I told him that Mattia
was my dearest friend and how much I owed him.

"Good," said my father; "would he like to stay and see the country?" I
was about to answer for Mattia, but he spoke first.

"That's just what I want," he exclaimed.

My father then asked why Barberin had not come with me. I told him that
he was dead. He seemed pleased to hear this. He repeated it to my
mother, who also seemed pleased. Why were they both pleased that
Barberin was dead?

"You must be rather surprised that we have not searched for you for
thirte