In the pretty boudoir of a house in the Faubourg St. Germain, Camille's
father and uncle found Camille and Pierre. Upon the table lay books and
sketches. The husband was reading, the wife embroidering, the child
playing on the carpet. At sight of the welcome visitors the Marquis
rose, while Camille ran to her father, who, as he embraced her tenderly,
could not restrain his tears. Then the Chevalier's earnest look was bent
upon the child. In spite of himself, some shadow of the repugnance he
had formerly felt for the infirmity of Camille stirred afresh at sight
of this small being who had doubtless inherited that infirmity.
"Another mute!" cried he.
Camille raised her son to her arms; without hearing she had understood.
Gently holding out the child towards the Chevalier, she placed her
fingers upon the tiny lips, stroking them a little, as if coaxing them
to speak. In a few moments he pronounced distinctly the words which his
mother had caused him to be taught:--
"Good morning, papa!"
"Now you see clearly," said Uncle Giraud, "that God pardons everything
and for ever!"
[Illustration]
[Illustration]