Balthazar, contrary to his custom, came down a few moments before dinner.

For the first time in two years his daughter noticed the signs of a human grief upon his face: he was again a father, reason and judgment had overcome Science; he looked into the court-yard, then into the garden, and when he was certain he was alone with his daughter, he came up to her with a look of melancholy kindness.
"My child," he said, taking her hand and pressing it with persuasive tenderness, "forgive your old father.

Yes, Marguerite, I have done wrong.

You spoke truly.

So long as I have not FOUND I am a miserable wretch.