Part 26 (1/2)

”Yes; you love him as much and perhaps--perhaps more,” she cried, seeing Paul start.

”Why do you say things like that to me?” murmured Paul, much moved.

”Because--nothing.”

”Why do you think that I love Monsieur Roger in the manner that you have just said?”

”Because----”

”Because what?”

”Well, because I look at my papa just as I see you looking at Monsieur Roger.”

Paul tried to hide his embarra.s.sment, and replied,--

”You are foolish.”

Then he looked up at Miette, who shook her head and smiled, as if to say that she was not foolish. An idea came to him.

”Miette,” said he, softly, ”I am going to ask you something.”

”Ask it.”

”But you will tell it to no one?”

”To no one.”

”Well, do you know why Monsieur Roger, at the fire at the farm, called me--called me George?”

”Why, certainly, I know.”

”You know?” cried Paul.

”Yes: he called you George because he thought suddenly that his child, his little George, whom he lost in a fire,--in a fire on s.h.i.+pboard----”

Paul Solange listened, opening his eyes very wide.

”Ah, that is true. You don't know anything about it. You were not here when Monsieur Roger told us this terrible thing.”

”No, I was not here; but you were here, Miette. Well, speak--tell me all about it.”

Then Miette repeated to Paul Monsieur Roger's story; she told him about the departure of Monsieur Roger, his wife, and their little George for America, their voyage on the s.h.i.+p, then the fire at sea. She told about the grief, the almost insane grief, which Monsieur Roger had felt when he saw himself separated from his wife and his son, who had been taken off in a boat, while he remained upon the steamer. Then she told Paul of the despair of Monsieur Roger when he saw that boat disappear and bear down with it to a watery grave those whom he loved.

[Ill.u.s.tration]

”At that moment,” continued Miette, ”Monsieur Roger told us that he cried out 'George! George!' with a voice so loud, so terrified, that certainly his little boy must have heard.”

Miette stopped.