"Ah! father," she replied, "I would give worlds to know. About thirty years ago, when our home was comfortable, he suddenly disappeared from us; no one could tell what became of him; we knew he was called by God to a holier life, and it was our impression at the time he fled to join some strict religious order. Poor dear Aloysia and myself used to pain him by turning his pious intentions to ridicule. His disappearance broke my poor mother's heart, for she died very soon afterwards." A long, deep silence ensued. Pere Augustin--for that was his name in religion--held his hands clasped up at his lips whilst Alvira was speaking. He remained motionless; his eyes were fixed on a spot on the floor. It was evident a struggle was going on within him. There could be no longer any doubt, and he was puzzled whether he should declare himself at once to be the lost Louis Marie, or bide his time and break it gently to her. As if seeking more time for deliberation, he asked her another question "And, my child, what became of your father?" Ah! how little did he dream of the wound he was tearing open. His enquiry was the signal for a new burst of grief from the broken-hearted Alvira. She buried her face in the pillow and wept violently. She remained so for several minutes. This made Pere Augustin determine his course of action. As he had caused her so much pain, he must now console her by letting her know who he is. Drawing nearer to her, he bade her be consoled, for he had some good news to give her; and Alvira, after a great effort, raised her head and said: "It is kind of you father, very kind of you indeed, to take interest in my affairs; but perhaps, as you are acquainted with Paris and belong to the Society of Jesus, you many know something of my brother. Poor Louis Marie! I should like to know if he is well, and happy, and good. Do tell me, father, if you know anything of him." "Yes, I do," answered the father quickly. "Is he alive?" "Yes!" "And happy?" "Yes." "Where is he?" "Here!" cried Louis Marie, bursting into tears--"here, within the grasp of your hand." Could joy be greater? Those two holy souls blended into one. Like Benedict and Scholastica, they wept and smiled together in alternate raptures of joy and grief. Chapter XXX. Conclusion.