"Well, what's the matter?" queried Albert; "why does my presence produce this effect on you?" "Oh! monsieur, is it really you? What joy!" "We were terribly afraid you were dead, monsieur----" "That you had been killed in a duel----" "Ah! how happy monsieur your father will be when he sees you--he was so anxious, so distressed, when he went away!" "How did my father know that I had a duel for this morning? Who could have told him?" "A messenger, who came with a letter; and we heard Monsieur Vermoncey say, when he was coming downstairs: 'If only I arrive in time to prevent this duel, and nothing has happened to my son!'" Albert was grieved that the affair should have come to his father's ears, for he was well aware of his great love for him, and he realized how anxious he must be at that moment; but he did not understand why the messenger had brought his letter, as Tobie should have found him in ample time to countermand the order. "Where did he go to look for me?" asked Albert. "I didn't mention in my letter where we were to fight, and the messenger couldn't have known that." The concierge and the servant had no idea; they could only tell what they knew: that Monsieur Vermoncey was very anxious, very much agitated; that he was talking to himself aloud when he came downstairs; that when he was in the street, he stopped, and, after talking a few seconds with the messenger, sent him to call a cab; and that, when it came, they both got in and drove away very fast. Albert did not know what steps to take to find his father, for he feared that, while he was looking for him in one direction, Monsieur Vermoncey would be prosecuting his search in a diametrically opposite direction. However, as he could not remain at rest when he thought of the suffering he had caused his father, he sent for a cab, and had determined to scour the neighborhood of Vincennes and Saint-Mandé, when the servant, who was standing at the door, cried out: "Here he is, monsieur! I know the cab, and I can see monsieur your father and the messenger inside. Here he is!" A moment later, a cab did, in fact, stop in front of the house. Albert was in the street, making signs by which his father might recognize him. Monsieur Vermoncey uttered a joyful cry, and, leaping from the carriage, threw himself into his son's arms and held him to his heart for a long, long time. If you have ever thought that you had lost the object of your affection, the being who, more than any other, makes life dear to you, you will realize to the full the bliss of recovering him and holding him in your arms. You fear lest that bliss is only a lie, and you feel that you must prolong it to the utmost in order to make sure that it is real.