said she, "he
does not wish any of us to go to him; for if we should be watched and
followed we should betray the secret of his retreat. Isn't that so,
Monsieur l'Abbe?"

"It would indeed be prudent of you to deprive yourselves of the pleasure
of embracing him until he himself can come back here. It will be a matter
of some two or three weeks," answered Pierre.

Mere-Grand at once expressed approval of this. "No doubt," said she.
"Nothing could be more sensible."

So the three sons did not insist, but bravely accepted the secret anxiety
in which they must for a time live, renouncing the visit which would have
caused them so much delight, because their father bade them do so and
because his safety depended perhaps on their obedience.

However, Thomas resumed: "Then, Monsieur l'Abbe, will you please tell him
that as work will be interrupted here, I shall return to the factory
during his absence. I shall be more at ease there for the researches on
which we are engaged."

"And please tell him from me," put in Francois, "that he mustn't worry
about my examination. Things are going very well. I feel almost certain
of success."

Pierre promised that he would forget nothing. However, Marie raised her
head, smiling and glancing at Antoine, who had remained silent with a
faraway look in his eyes. "And you, little one," said she, "don't you
send him any message?"

Emerging from a dream, the young fellow also began to smile. "Yes, yes, a
message that you love him dearly, and that he's to make haste back for
you to make him happy."

At this they all became merry, even Marie, who in lieu of embarrassment
showed a tranquil gaiety born of confidence in the future. Between her
and the young men there was naught but happy affection. And a grave smile
appeared even on the pale lips of Mere-Grand, who likewise approved of
the happiness which life seemed to be promising.

Pierre wished to stay a few minutes longer. They all began to chat, and
his astonishment increased. He had gone from surprise to surprise in this
house where he had expected to find that equivocal, disorderly life, that
rebellion against social laws, which destroy morality. But instead of
this he had found loving serenity, and such strong discipline that life
there partook of the gravity, almost the austerity, of convent life,
tempered by youth and gaiety. The vast room was redolent of industry and
quietude, warm with bright sunshine. However, what most particul