At last we reached the door of the house. Before opening it father turned to me, covering me from head to foot with a look, under which I hung my head in spite of myself, like one guilty. “Poor child!” he said--it was Martinod’s very expression--“what are they trying to make of you?” In my tense condition this sudden pity conquered my rebellion, and I was on the point of throwing myself into his arms with tears. But he had already regained his self-control, and in his tone of command he went on: “You simply must obey. You simply must.” I at once hardened my heart again. He was affirming his authority: and though he had certainly not abused it, there was for me only the sacred war for independence. Mother, whose anxious shadow I had distinguished behind the window, was watching for our return, and came to the top of the steps to meet us. “He was there,” said my father simply. “I was not mistaken.” “Oh, my God!” she murmured, as if she could not have imagined so tragic a misfortune. Aunt Deen, who was close behind her, lifted up her hands to heaven: “It’s not possible! It’s not possible!” Beyond this I was not scolded. With his will or against his will the prodigal son had been brought back. But, far from being grateful for this indulgence, which now I better understand as being due to the uncertainty of my parents as to the influences to which I had been subject, and the best way of winning me back, I tried to revive with all my recovered strength the love-pain which had been dulled by all these incidents, saying over and over to myself, “Nazzarena is going to-morrow. Nazzarena is going to-morrow.” V THE DOUBLE LIFE I HARDLY slept that night, and in my half slumber I confused the holy war for independence with my loss of Nazzarena. My love was a part of that liberty which grandfather vaunted, and for which he had carried a gun. When morning came it found me firmly resolved not to go to school, but to take my last chance of being present when the circus troop departed. The farewell of the evening before had been disappointing. Not being prepared, I had found nothing to say. Surely, things couldn’t end that way. I complained of a headache, and found ready credence. I understood that I was supposed to be upset by the scene in the Café of the Navigators. Aunt Deen even brought me secretly a frothing and tasty mulled egg, good for headaches, and so delicious that I enjoyed it in spite of my grief--at which I was inwardly humiliated. “You’ll stay in bed till noon,” she said, as she carried away the cup, adding--she, too!-- “Poor child!” At which my gratitude to her immediately vanished, for I had no idea of being considered a child any longer, since I was in love. As soon as she was gone I dressed hastily, but not without a certain care, and ran up to the tower chamber, where grandfather received me with surprise, and some signs of pleasure.