"
He remained on his knees in deep humility with clasped hands, praying.
Finding that his son, the hope of his name, still did not come to him,
great tears rose in his eyes, dry so long, and rolled down his
withered cheeks. At this moment, Etienne, hearing no further sounds,
glided to the opening of his grotto like a young adder craving the
sun. He saw the tears of the stricken old man, he recognized the signs
of a true grief, and, seizing his father's hand, he kissed him, saying
in the voice of an angel:--
"Oh, mother! forgive me!"
In the fever of his happiness the old duke lifted his feeble offspring
in his arms and carried him, trembling like an abducted girl, toward
the castle. As he felt the palpitation of his son's body he strove to
reassure him, kissing him with all the caution he might have shown in
touching a delicate flower; and speaking in the gentlest tones he had
ever in his life used, in order to soothe him.
"God's truth! you are like my poor Jeanne, dear child!" he said.
"Teach me what would give you pleasure, and I will give you all you
can desire.
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