"_Eh bien_, I have come, as you see. The paternal passion will not down in the breast of a man domestically inclined." He laughed. "I have been going about, seeing my families," he smiled. "It has been interesting--drolly interesting. _Ma foi_!" Yet again he laughed, musically. "There have been pleadings, and revilings--tears, and curses-- bended knees, and unbended arms." He indicated with a graceful gesture a deep cut upon the back of his left hand. "It was a woman--a very pretty woman," he explained. "At least, she had been pretty; and she was again pretty; when she did that. Her eyes--it was like lighting a fire in a cave. Did you ever light a fire in a cave, madame?" he queried, gently, graciously; and then: "But, of course not! Women kindle their fires in stoves--or fireplaces. It is for men to light the fires of caves." Yet once more he laughed, softly. The old woman, with the white, wispy hair, still was silent, motionless; though her eyes spoke. And that which they spoke, his eyes heard; and once more he laughed. "I had a daughter here," he continued. "Did I not? Or was it a son? _Ma foi_! It were difficult--ah, yes! I remember now! A daughter. A little, red, hairless, dirty thing she was. I have a great curiosity-- the blood of three kings, you know; surely that would overcome the blood of the good God knows how many peasant swine. She is not red, and hairless, and dirty now, in faith! She is clean-limbed, and straight, and white. A thousand louis to a sou, that she is!" ... His brow was creased in the travail or retrospection. "I gave her a name, did I not?" he asked. "It seems to me--ah, yes. Rien, it was. A very pretty name--yes, an excellent name--meaning much and little--everything, and yet nothing." He laughed at his own conceit, softly. "Tell me, where is she now? It might be that she is dead, eh?" He eyed the old woman, closely; then he shook his head. "No," he went on, "she is not dead. She--" He had seen nothing, that is certain. Yet, suddenly he ceased in his speech; the smile left his lips; and slowly, very slowly, he turned. She was standing there, behind him, her eyes upon him.... She was straight, and slender, and perfectly formed. A single garment covered her, running across one shoulder, reaching to her knees. It left one breast exposed, and the white, slender legs and perfect feet. She stood in a posture of infinite grace--of infinite poise. She looked at him. Then it was that the shrivelled old woman spoke. She said to the girl: "_Votre pere_." And that was all. The child looked at the man; the man looked at the child; and so for a long, long time they stood eye upon eye.... At length she began to smile a little, with her lips. But he did not smile....