The course of true love, for once, ran smooth. The Chevalier's consent
to this highly desirable match for his daughter was easily obtained.
Much more difficult was it to convince him that it was possible to teach
deaf mutes to read and write. Seeing, however, is believing. One day,
two or three years after the marriage, the Chevalier received a letter
from Camille, which began thus:--"Oh, father! I can speak, not with my
mouth, but with my hand."
She told him how she had learned to do this, and to whom she owed her
new-born speech--the good Abbé de l'Epée. She described to him the
beauty of her baby, and affectionately besought him to pay a visit to
his daughter and grandchild.
After receiving this letter, the Chevalier hesitated for a long time.
"Go, by all means," advised Uncle Giraud, when he was consulted. "Do you
not reproach yourself continually for having deserted your wife at the
ball? Will you also forsake your child, who longs to see you? Let us go
together. I consider it most ungrateful of her not to have included me
in the invitation."
"He is right," reflected the Chevalier. "I brought cruel and needless
suffering upon the best of women. I left her to die a frightful death,
when I ought to have been her preserver. If this visit to Camille
involves some pain to myself, that is but a merited chastisement. I will
taste this bitter pleasure; I will go and see my child."