“Silence! never let this horrible secret be known to any but ourselves,” said Jacques in a low voice; “the miserable wretch has escaped; let him drag out his shameful existence in other lands; it is too late for him to repent, and his presence would be to me, yes, to yourself, the height of misery. Forget forever a man who did not deserve your love. Everything combines to make it your bounden duty. The affection which one retains for a creature so vile, so wretched, is a weakness, a cowardice, unworthy of a noble and generous heart; live for your daughter, for me, for all those who love you, and days of peace and happiness will dawn again for us.” Adeline threw herself into Jacques’s arms and wiped away the tears that flowed from her eyes. “My friend,” she said to him, “I will follow your advice, and you will be content with me.” The peasants of the neighborhood, who had learned of the melancholy events that had happened in the house of their benefactor, hastened to see him; and the stone over Dupré’s grave indicated the deplorable way in which the faithful servant had met his end. Monsieur Gerval at last inquired the name of his preserver. “My name is Jacques, monsieur,” said he, “formerly a soldier, now a farm hand.” “Jacques,” said the old man, “I bear the same name as you. I gave it also to my godson, a little rascal who would be about your age now, and whom I have sought in vain in Paris.” Jacques looked with more attention at him whose life he had saved; he seemed to recognize in his venerable face the features of a person who had always manifested the most affectionate interest in him in his youth. A thousand memories thronged his mind; he could hardly find strength to ask the good man his name, to which he had paid no attention in the excitement of the events of the night. “My name is Gerval,” said the old man, scrutinizing him in his turn with evident emotion; “I used to be in business, and I had a large factory in Paris.” “Is it possible? You are Jacques Gerval, my godfather, whom I used to love so dearly?” Jacques leaped on the neck of the old man, who embraced him affectionately and shed tears of pleasure at finding his dear godson; while all the witnesses of the scene wept in sympathy. “Ten thousand squadrons! how people keep finding each other!” said Sans-Souci; “this is a recognition that I didn’t expect, by a long way, nor you either, comrade.”