"Well, well," whispered the doctor to Louise, "it is a good sign; when I say 'Come,' throw yourself into his arms, calling him father." The lapidary placed his hands on his chest, looking at himself (if we may so express it) from head to foot, as if to convince himself of his identity. His features expressed a sad uncertainty: instead of fixing his eyes on his daughter, he seemed as if he wished to hide himself from her sight. Then he said, in a low and broken voice, "No! no! a dream--where am I? impossible--a dream--it is not she." Then, seeing the gold scattered on the floor, "And this gold--I do not remember--am I awake? My head turns--I dare not look--I am ashamed: it is not Louise." "Come!" said the doctor, in a loud voice. "Father, recognize me! I am Louise, your daughter!" cried she, bursting into tears, and throwing herself into his arms; at the same moment, Madame Morel, Rigolette, Madame George, Germain, and the Pipelets entered the apartment. "Oh! heavens!" said Morel, whom Louise loaded with caresses, "where am I? what do they want with me? what has taken place? I cannot believe." Then, after a pause, he took suddenly the head of Louise between his two hands, looked at her fixedly, and cried, after some moments of increasing emotion, "Louise!" "He is saved," said the doctor. "My husband! my poor Morel!" cried the wife of the lapidary, running to join Louise. "My wife!" said Morel; "my wife and child!" "And I also, M. Morel," said Rigolette; "all your friends are collected around you." "All your friends! do you see, M. Morel?" added Germain. "Miss Rigolette! M. Germain!" said the lapidary, recognizing each personage with new astonishment. "And your old friends of the lodge, too!" said Anastasia, approaching in her turn, with Alfred; "here are the Pipelets--the old Pipelets--friends till death! Daddy Morel, here is a great day." "M. Pipelet and his wife! so many people around me! it seems to me so long since! And, but, it is Louise, is it not?" cried he with emotion, pressing his daughter to his heart. "It is you, Louise? very sure?" "My poor father, yes; it is I; it is my mother: here are all your friends--you shall leave us no more--we shall be happy now--very happy." "Very happy. But wait until I recollect--all happy; it seems to me, however, that they came to conduct you to prison, Louise." "Yes, my father; but I have been acquitted--you see it--I am here--near to you." "Wait still--wait--my memory returns." Then he said, with affright, "And the notary?" "Dead." "Dead--he! then I believe you; we can be happy; but where am I? how am I here? for how long a time, and why? I do not exactly recollect." "You have been so sick, sir," said the doctor, "that you have been brought here, into the country; you have had a fever--very violent--delirium."