Then she went quickly on her way. As soon as they were back on the Boulevard Raspail and home, Esperance and her mother moved towards the library. Marguerite, the maid, stopped them. "Monsieur has gone out. He was so restless. Is Mademoiselle satisfied?" "I was; but I am not any more, Marguerite, since papa is not here. Was he feeling badly?" "Well, he was not very cheerful, Mademoiselle, but I should not say that there was anything really the matter with him." Mother and daughter started. Someone was coming upstairs. Esperance ran to the door and fell into the arms of that dearly-loved parent. He kissed her tenderly. His eyes were damp. "Come, come, dear, that I may tell you...." "Your lunch is ready," announced Marguerite. "Thank you," replied Esperance; "papa, mama, and I, we are all dying of hunger." Madame Darbois gently removed her daughter's hat. "Please, dear papa, I want to tell you everything." "Too late, dear child, I know everything!" The two ladies seemed surprised. "But--? How?" "Through my friend, Victor Perliez, the chemist; who is, like me, a father who feels deeply about his child's choice of a career." Esperance made a little move. "No, little girl," went on François Darbois, "I do not want to cause you the least regret. Every now and then my innermost thoughts may escape me; but that will pass.... I know that you showed unusual simplicity as '_Henriette_,' and emotion as '_Iphygenia_.' Perliez's son, whom I used to know when he was no higher than that," he said, stretching out his hand, "was enthusiastic? He is, furthermore, a clever boy, who might have made something uncommon out of himself as a lawyer, perhaps. But--" "But, father dear, he will make a fine lawyer; he will have an influence in the theatre that will be more direct, more beneficial, more far-reaching, than at the Bar. Oh! but yes! You remember, don't you, mama, how disturbed you were by M. Dubare's plea on behalf of the assassin of Jeanne Verdier? Well, is it not noble to defend the poets, and introduce to the public all the new scientific and political ideas?" "Often wrong ideas," remarked Darbois. "That is perhaps true, but what of it? Have you not said a thousand times that discussion is the necessary soil for the development of new ideas?" The professor of philosophy looked at his daughter, realizing that every word he had spoken in her hearing, all the seed that he had cast to the wind, had taken root in her young mind. "But," inquired Madame Darbois, "where did you see M. Perliez?" The professor began to smile. "Outside the Conservatoire. Perliez and I ran into each other, both impelled by the same extreme anxiety towards the scene of our sacrifice. It is not really necessary to consult all the philosophical authorities on this subject of inanition of will," he added, wearily. "Oh! chocolate custard," cried out Esperance with rapture, "Marguerite is giving us a treat." "Yes, Mademoiselle, I knew very well...."