"Tell me," cried M. Vulfran, turning his sightless eyes towards Perrine, who was trembling from head to foot, "why this little girl did not say who she was? You understand how deeply a little girl can feel, so can you explain this?" Perrine took a few steps towards him. "Tell me why she does not come into my arms ... her grandfather's arms." "Oh, grandpapa," cried Perrine, throwing her arms about his neck. CHAPTER XXXI THE GRATEFUL PEOPLE Fabry had left the room, leaving the grandfather and his granddaughter together. For a long time the old man and the girl sat with their arms about each other. They only spoke now and again, just to exchange a word of affection. "My little granddaughter ... my boy's little girl," murmured the blind man, stroking her curls. "My grandpapa," murmured Perrine, rubbing her soft cheek against his. "Why didn't you tell me who you were?" he asked at last. "But didn't I try several times?" replied Perrine. "Do you remember what you said to me the last time I spoke of dear mother and myself. You said: 'Understand, never speak to me again of those wretched creatures.'" "But could I guess that you were my granddaughter?" he said. "If I had come straight to you, don't you think you would have driven me away and not have listened to me?" asked Perrine. "Ah," said the blind man, sadly, "who knows what I would have done!" "I thought so," said Perrine, "and I thought it best not to let you know me until, like mama said, 'you would get to love me.'" "And you have waited so long, and you had so many proofs of my affection." "But was it the affection of a grandfather? I did not dare think so," said Perrine. "When I began to suspect that you were my son's child, I then quickly got positive proofs, and I gave you every chance to tell me that you were. Finally I employed Fabry, who, with his investigations, forced you to throw yourself into my arms. If you had spoken sooner, my little darling, you would have spared me many doubts." "Yes," said Perrine sweetly, "but we are so happy now, and doesn't that prove that what I did was all for the best?" "Well, all is well. We will leave it at that. Now tell me all about your father ... my boy." "I cannot speak to you of my father without speaking of my mother," said Perrine gravely. "They both loved me so much, and I loved them just the same." "My little girl," said the blind man, "what Fabry has just told me of her has touched me deeply. She refused to go to the hospital where she might have been cured because she would not leave you alone in Paris...." "Oh, yes; you would have loved her," cried Perrine; "my darling mother." "Talk to me about her," said the old man, "about them both." "Yes," said Perrine; "I will make you know her and then you will love her."