“What would have been the use? You know how we felt just then for me to
have given such an emphatic and stupid reply. Your father—Oh! I believe
he would have preferred to see you in your grave rather than married to a
Lichtenbach. Just think of it! The General had just been killed—the works
were still in flames! No, no! It was impossible.”
“But now, Uncle Graff?”
“What! Can you think of such a thing?” asked the sentimental old fellow,
in trembling accents.
“I think of it so much,” said Marcel, firmly, “that if Mademoiselle
Lichtenbach does not consent to become my wife I will never marry
another.”
At that moment a slight sound was heard, and the door closed.
“Who is there?” asked Graff, eagerly.
“Do not excite yourself,” said the voice of Baradier.
“Were you listening?”
“No; I have just come. But I heard your last words. How long are you
going to remain in this darkness?”
At the same moment he turned on the electric light. The three men looked
at one another for a moment; they were very grave and serious, but a look
of contentment was visible on their countenances. Baradier did not bow
his head with that obstinate mien his son and brother-in-law knew so
well. He was perfectly self-possessed. Sitting down at his desk, he said—
“What difference would there be between us and mere nobodies or
good-for-nothings if we were incapable of showing gratitude? It is not
sufficient to appear honest and delicate in the eyes of the world—one
must be without the slightest reproach before one’s own conscience.”
He fixed on his son a look of perfect satisfaction, though his face paled
with the emotion which had taken possession of him.
“Marcel has spoken like a real Baradier or Graff. We must do as he has
said.”
At these simple words the three men quivered, consecrating as they did
their successor with the worthy renown of his predecessors. Tears of joy
and pride shone in his uncle’s eyes. Marcel, without a word, flung
himself into his father’s arms.
* * * * *
THE END
PRINTED BY WILLIAM CLOWES AND SONS, LIMITED, LONDON AND BECCLES.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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