In his turn Maurice knelt, and remembering his mother, who had gone without farewell to him, and his brother, who had made the sacrifice of his life for him, he hid his face in his hands. But his father touched him on the shoulder, and spoke to him in a firm voice. “My boy,” he said, “I am an old man now. You will soon succeed me. You must listen to me now, this day, when I feel it is my duty to speak to you. Here are the symbols of all that is enduring. To care for the dead is in a sense the fulfilling of our immortal destiny. What is a man’s life, what is my life, if past and future don’t give it its true meaning? You had forgotten this when you went in search of your individual destiny. There is no set destiny for the individual, no greatness in life, except in servitude. We serve our family, we serve our country, God, art, science, an ideal. Shame on the man who only serves himself! You, Maurice, you have found your strongest support in us, but your dependence too. Man’s honour lies in accepting his due place in life.” Maurice, rising from his knees, saw the Calvary of Lemenc before him in the twilight, and the thought came to him sadly, “What of love?” His father guessed what he was thinking of. “Such a little thing, dear boy,” he said, “may divide the honest and the dishonest impulses in a man. Love breaks this barrier down. The family keeps it strong. And yet, even at this hour, Maurice, I won’t speak ill of love, if only you know how to understand it. Love is our heart’s sigh for all that lies beyond our grasp. Cherish this longing in your heart. It is yours to cherish. You will find it again in doing good deeds, in nature, in fulfilling your destiny without fear or frailty. Don’t misunderstand it. Don’t mistake it any more. Before you give your love to a woman, remember your mother, think of your sister; think of the happiness that may be in store for you some day of having a daughter of your own to bring up. I was glad when you were born, and at your brother’s birth and your sisters’ I rejoiced. With all my strength I have protected you. At my death, I tell you, you will feel as if a wall had crumbled down before you, and left you face to face with life. Then you will understand me better.” “Father,” murmured Maurice, breaking down. “I shall not be unworthy of you.” “My boy!” replied Mr. Roquevillard quite simply. And Margaret, seeing them at last in each other’s arms, remembered the vow she had made her mother. In the deepening sky, toward La Vigie, an early star began to shed its light. Mr. Roquevillard, holding to his heart this son whom he had won back, this last and only son, marked it as a sign of hope. And in the darkened graveyard, where he had come to return the dead their visit to him of the night before, even though he felt that he was menaced, too, by death, the head of the family made his confession of faith in life.