I asked no more questions, but hastened up the first flight of stairs that I saw; I paid no attention to the maid, who called after me: “Monsieur is at work and doesn’t want to be disturbed.”--I was sure that Ernest would forgive me if I interrupted him in the middle of a scene or of a couplet. I reached the first floor and passed through several rooms; at last I found my author. He opened his mouth to complain of being disturbed; but on recognizing me, he threw down his pen, and rushed to embrace me. “So you have come back at last, my dear Henri! We have been expecting you every day.” “Yes, here I am, my friend, and in a terrible hurry to see my daughter.” “She is here. Your--your wi--Madame Blémont placed her in our charge.” “I know it.” “You know it? And I hoped to surprise you! Who told you?” “Eugénie herself.” “You have seen her?” “At Mont-d’Or. I will tell you all about it. But pray tell me where Henriette is.” “All the children are in the garden with my wife.” “Come, show me the way. But I beg you, say nothing to her; I want to see if she will recognize me; a child forgets so quickly at her age!” “My friend, it isn’t the children alone who forget quickly. I am sure your daughter will recognize you.” We went down into the garden; my heart beat fast with pleasure. At the end of a path I saw Madame Firmin seated on a grassy bank; a little beyond was a patch of turf, on which four children were playing. My eyes sought my daughter only, and I recognized her at once. She had grown, but she had changed very little. The children were engrossed by their play, and they did not hear us coming. Marguerite caught sight of us, and on recognizing me she started to meet us. I motioned to her to stay where she was and to say nothing. I walked softly to the patch of turf; I crept behind Madame Ernest, to where a lilac bush concealed me from the children. Then I called Henriette aloud. She raised her head and looked about her in amazement, saying: “Who called me? It wasn’t you, was it, my dear friend?” “No,” said Marguerite, “but perhaps it was my husband, for here he is now.” “Oh, no, it wasn’t his voice. It is funny, but it was a voice that I know.” I called again without showing myself. Henriette seemed startled; her face flushed and she trembled; she looked about in all directions, crying: “Why, I should think that it was papa’s voice!” I could hold out no longer; I stepped from behind the bush; Henriette saw me, uttered a shriek, and rushed into my arms, saying again and again: “Oh! it is my papa! it is my papa!” “Dear love! how happy it makes me to hold you in my arms again! how could I have delayed my return so long!” I sat down beside Madame Ernest and took my daughter on my knee. “So you recognized me, did you?” I asked her. “Oh, yes, papa; I recognized your voice too.” “Have you thought of me sometimes?” “Yes, papa, and I said that you were an awful long time away.”