Then the father
hushed his cries and stood for a moment before her.
"Give me the key, Clarisse, let me go."
She rose and laid her face on his shoulder.
"What is it, Clarisse?" asked he.
"Your son and I were ten years betrothed."
"Oh, my child!"
"Because, being disinherited, he would not be me husband."
"Alas! would to God I had known it! Oh! Mossy, my son."
"Oh! Monsieur," cried the lady, clasping her hands, "forgive me--mourn
no more--your son is unharmed! I wrote the article--I am your recanting
slanderer! Your son is hunting for me now. I told my aunt to misdirect
him. I slipped by him unseen in the carriage-way."
The wild old General, having already staggered back and rushed forward
again, would have seized her in his arms, had not the little Doctor
himself at that instant violently rattled the door and shook his finger
at them playfully as he peered through the glass.
"Behold!" said Madame, attempting a smile: "open to your son; here is
the key."
She sank into a chair.
Father and son leaped into each other's arms; then turned to Madame:
"Ah! thou lovely mischief-maker"--
She had fainted away.
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