The next day he received the reply:
“Monsieur,
“I shall expect
you to-morrow, Tuesday, at five o’clock.”
As he went up the staircase, Francois Tessier’s
heart beat so violently that he had to stop several
times. There was a dull and violent noise in
his breast, the noise as of some animal galloping,
and he could only breathe with difficulty, and had
to hold on to the banisters in order not to fall.
He rang the bell on the third floor, and when a maidservant
had opened the door, he asked “Does Monsieur
Flamel live here?” “Yes. Monsieur.
Kindly come in.”
He was shown into the drawing-room; he was alone and
waited, feeling bewildered, as in the midst of a catastrophe,
until a door opened and a man came in. He was
tall, serious, and rather stout, and wore a black
frock-coat, and pointed to a chair with his hand.
Francois Tessier sat down, and then said, panting:
“Monsieur ... Monsieur ... I do not
know whether you know my name ... whether you know
...”
Monsieur Flamel interrupted him. “You need
not tell it me, Monsieur, I know it. My wife
has spoken to me about you.” He spoke in
the dignified tone of voice of a good man who wishes
to be severe, and with the common-place stateliness
of an honorable man, and Francois Tessier continued:
“Well, Monsieur, I want to say this: I am
dying of grief, of remorse, of shame, and I would
like once, only once to kiss ... the child ...”
Monsieur Flamel got up and rang the bell, and when
the servant came in, he said: “Will you
bring Louis here.” When she had gone out,
they remained face to face, without speaking, as they
had nothing more to say to one another, and waited.
Then, suddenly, a little boy of ten rushed into the
room, and ran up to the man whom he believed to be
his father, but he stopped when he saw a stranger,
and Monsieur Flamel kissed him and said: “Now
go and kiss that gentleman, my dear.” And
the child went up to him nicely, and looked at the
stranger.
Francois Tessier had risen, he let his hat fall, and
was ready to fall himself as he looked at his son,
while Monsieur Flamel had turned away, from a feeling
of delicacy, and was looking out of the window.
The child waited in surprise, but he picked up the
hat and gave it to the stranger. Then Francois,
taking the child up in his arms, began to kiss him
wildly all over his face, on his eyes, his cheeks,
on his mouth, on his hair, and the youngster, frightened
at the shower of kisses tried to avoid them, turned
away his head and pushed away the man’s face
with his little hands. But suddenly, Francois
Tessier put him down, and cried: “Good-bye!
Good-bye!” And he rushed out of the room as
if he had been a thief.
