“Yes, yes,” cried Paul, also bursting into tears; “yes, and you then fulfilled your holy mission. Good old man, let me kiss those hands which deposited my father in his last home. And you have remained faithful to his tomb as you had been to him during life. Poor guardian of the sepulchre; you have remained near him that your tears might water the grass which grew about the unknown grave. Oh! how little are those who think themselves great because their name resounds amid the tempest, and the cry of war, louder than the storm or the din of battle, in comparison with you, old man, whose devotedness has been mute and noiseless. Oh! give me your blessings lay those hallowed hands upon my head, since my father is not here to bless me,” continued Paul, throwing himself on his knees before him. “Rise to my arms--let me clasp you to my heart, my child, for you exaggerate these actions, in themselves so simple and so natural. And then, believe me, that which you term my piety has not been a useless lesson to me. I have seen how little space a man occupies beneath the ground, and how soon he is lost amid the world, should God turn his face from him. Your father was young, full of courage, with a brilliant career opening before him. Your father was the last descendant of an ancient line; he bore a noble name. His path seemed marked with honors and distinction; he had a family and powerful friends. Well, he suddenly disappeared, as if the earth had opened beneath his feet. I know not if some tearful eyes sought for him till they lost all trace of him; but this I know, that for one-and-twenty years no one has sought out his tomb--no one knows that he lies beneath that spot, where the grass is greener and grows more luxuriantly than elsewhere--and yet, vain, glorious, and miserable as he is, man considers himself of some value.” “Oh! and my mother, has she not visited his grave?” The old man did not answer. “Well, then! there will be two of us who henceforward will know the spot, where he reposes. Come, and show it to me; for I will return to it, I promise solemnly, every time my ship returns to the coast of France.” Saying this, he drew Achard into the outer room, but as they opened the door they heard a slight noise in the park. It was a servant from the castle, who had accompanied Marguerite. Paul hurriedly returned into the bedroom. “It is my sister,” said he to Achard; “leave me alone with her a moment. It is necessary that I should speak to her. I have something to communicate which will make her pass a happy night. We must have compassion for those who watch and weep.” “Reflect,” said Achard, “that the secret I have revealed to you is your mother’s.” “Fear not--I will speak to her but of that which concerns herself.” At that moment Marguerite entered the room. CHAPTER X.--CONFIDENCE. This ring I gave him when he parted from me To bind him to remember my good will; The more shame for him that he sends it to me.