This occurrence, which ought, perhaps, to have furnished the captain with abundant food for thought, closely following as it did the bold abduction of which he had been the victim, was speedily forgotten in the grave reflections that his conversation with Onésime had awakened. CHAPTER XIV. ARGUMENTS FOR AND AGAINST. When Cloarek rapped at the door of his daughter's room the next morning, she promptly responded to the summons, smiling and happy. "Well, my child, did you rest well?" he inquired. "Splendidly, father. I had the most delightful dreams, for you bring me happiness even in my sleep." "Tell me about these delightful dreams. I am always anxious to hear about everything that makes you happy, whether it be an illusion or reality," he responded, anxious to bring the conversation around naturally to the subject of Onésime. "Come, I am listening. What brilliant castles in Spain did you behold in your slumbers?" "Oh, I am not ambitious, father, even in my dreams." "Is that really so, my child?" "It is indeed, father. My desires are very modest. Luxury and display have no charms for me. I dreamed last night that I was spending my life with you,--with you and dear Suzanne, and with Segoffin, who is so warmly attached to you." "And who else?" "Oh, yes, I forgot." "Thérèse, I suppose?" "No, not Thérèse." "Who was it, then?" "M. Onésime." "M. Onésime? I do not understand that. How did M. Onésime happen to be living with us?" "We were married." The words were uttered in such a frank and ingenuous manner that Cloarek could not doubt the perfect truthfulness of his daughter's account; and rather in doubt as to whether he ought to congratulate himself on this singular dream or not, he asked, a little anxiously: "So you and M. Onésime were married, you say?" "Yes, father." "And I had consented to the marriage?" "You must have done so, as we were married. I don't mean that we were just married,--we seemed to have been married a long time. We were all in the parlour. Three of us, you and Onésime and I, were sitting on the big sofa. Suzanne was crocheting by the window, and Segoffin was on his knees fixing the fire. You had been silent for several minutes, father, when, suddenly taking M. Onésime's hand and mine,--you were sitting between us,--you said: 'Do you know what I have been thinking?' 'No, father,' M. Onésime and I answered (for naturally he, too, called you father). 'Well,' you continued, 'I have been thinking that there is not a happier man in the world than I am. To have two children who adore each other, and two faithful old servants, or rather two tried friends, and spend one's life in peace and plenty with them, surely this is enough and more than enough to thank the good God for now and always, my children.' And as you spoke, father, your eyes filled with tears."