When Paul at last fell into an uneasy sleep, the sun had been up for some hours. Monsieur Dalize and his friend Roger went out from the chÂteau.

"Has the postman not been here yet?" said Monsieur Dalize to his servant.

"No sir; he will not be here for an hour."

"Very well; we will go to meet him."

And in fact, in his haste, Monsieur Roger carried his friend off to meet the postman.

But days had elapsed since Monsieur Dalize had, according to promise, written to the registrar of births, to ask him to forward a copy of the register of birth of Paul Solange, and no answer had yet arrived. This silence had astonished Monsieur Dalize and given a hope to Monsieur Roger.

"There must be some reason, don't you see," he said, walking beside his friend. "Some important reason why the registrar has not yet answered your pressing letter."

"A reason, an important reason," replied Monsieur Dalize; "the explanation may be that the registrar is away."

"No; there is some other reason," answered Monsieur Roger with conviction.

Half-way to the station they met the letter-carrier, who said,—

"Monsieur Dalize, there are two letters for you."

The first letter which Monsieur Dalize opened bore the address of the registrar of births. He rapidly read the few lines, then turned towards Roger.

"You are right," said he; "there is a reason. Read."

"I pray you read it; I am too much excited," replied Roger.

Monsieur Dalize read as follows:

"Sir:

"The researches which I have made in my docket to find the register of birth of Paul Solange must be my excuse for the delay. We have not the register of birth which you ask for, but in its place is a paper so important that I have not the right to part with it; still, I shall be ready to place this paper under your eyes when you come to Paris.

"Yours respectfully," etc.

"I go," said Monsieur Dalize, consulting his watch; "I have just time to catch the train, and I shall return in time for dinner. Go back to the chÂteau and tell them that an important letter calls me to Paris."

Monsieur Roger took the hand of his friend with a joy which he could not conceal, and said,—

"Thank you."

"I go to please you," answered Monsieur Dalize, not wishing that his friend should have hopes excited, for failure might leave him more unhappy than ever. "I am going to see this important paper, but I see no reason why it should show that Paul was not the son of Monsieur Solange. So keep calm; you will need all your calmness on my return."

Before leaving, Monsieur Dalize opened the envelope of the second letter; as the first lines caught his eyes, an expression of sorrow and surprise came over his face.

"That is very strange and very sad," said he.

"What is it?" asked Roger.

"It is strange that this letter speaks of Monsieur Solange, the father of Paul, and it is sad that it also brings me bad news."

"Speak," said Roger, quickly.

"This letter is from my successor in the banking house, and it says that Monsieur Solange, of Martinique, has suspended payment."

"Has Monsieur Solange failed?" asked Roger.

"The letter adds that they are awaiting fuller information from the mail that should arrive to-day. You see that my presence in Paris is doubly necessary. Come down to the station to meet me in the coupÉ at five o'clock, and come alone."

The sudden departure of Monsieur Dalize did not very much astonish the people at the ChÂteau, but what did astonish them, and become a subject of remark for all, was the new expression on the face of Monsieur Roger. He seemed extremely moved, but his features showed hope and joy, which had chased away his usual sadness. Madame Dalize inquired what had happened, and Monsieur Roger told her the whole story.

Monsieur Roger hoped, and he was even happier that day than ever to find himself near Paul, because the latter showed himself more affectionate than ever. Long before the appointed hour, Monsieur Roger was at the station, awaiting with impatience the return of Monsieur Dalize. At last the train came in sight, and soon Monsieur Dalize got out of the car.

"Well?" said Roger, with a trembling voice, awaiting the yes or the no on which his happiness or his despair depended. Monsieur Dalize, without answering, led Roger away from the station; then, when they were in the coupÉ, which started at a brisk pace, Monsieur Dalize threw his arms around his friend, with these words:

"Be happy, it is your son!"

Roger's eyes filled with tears, great big tears, which he could not restrain, tears of joy succeeding to the many tears of sorrow which he had shed. At last he murmured,—

"You have the proofs?"

"I have two proofs, one of which comes in a very sad way."

"What is it?"

"The confession of Monsieur Solange, who wrote to me on his death-bed."

"Unhappy man!"

"Unhappy, yes; but also guilty."

"What do you mean?"

"Well, read first a copy of the paper which took the place of the birth-register of Paul Solange."

Through his tears, Monsieur Roger read as follows:

"This 24th day of December, 1877, before me, Jean-Jacques Solange, French Consul of the Island of Saint-Christopher, in the English Antilles, appeared Jan Carit, captain of the Danish fishing vessel, 'Jutland,' and Steffenz and Kield, who declared to him that on the 15th of December, 1877, finding themselves near the Island of Eleuthera, in the archipelago of the Bahamas, they perceived a raft, from which they took a child of the masculine sex, who seemed to be between two and three years old. We have given him the name of Pierre Paul. In witness whereof, the above-named parties have hereunto set their hands and seals."

When he had finished, Roger cried,—

"There is no doubt,—the date, the place, everything is proof."

"Which would not be sufficient, if I had not this."

And Monsieur Dalize gave to his friend Solange's letter. In this letter Monsieur Solange announced his ruin, and his approaching death from heart-disease; the doctors had given him up, and he begged Monsieur Dalize to tell Paul that he was not his son. Monsieur Solange declared that he was the French Consul at the Island of Saint Christopher when some Danish fishermen, from the Island of Saint Thomas, brought him the child, which they had found in the sea. He and his wife had no children. They determined to adopt the child which had been found. Monsieur Solange confessed that he had been wanting in his duty in not making the necessary search. He excused himself sadly by saying that he was convinced of the death of the parents of the child, and he begged for pardon, as he had wished to bring this child up and make him happy. In finishing, he said that the linen of the child was marked "G. L. M.," and that the boy could pronounce the French words "maman" and "papa."

"I pardon him," said, gravely and solemnly, Monsieur Roger.

The coupÉ had entered the park, and the two gentlemen alighted before the chÂteau, where the family awaited them. Monsieur Dalize advanced towards him who had hitherto been called Paul Solange, and who really was George La MorliÈre.

"My dear child," said he, "I have news for you,—some very sad news and some very happy news."

Anxious, excited, George came forward. Monsieur Dalize continued:

"You have lost him who was your adopted father,—Monsieur Solange."

"Monsieur Solange is dead!" cried George, bowing his head, overwhelmed at the news.

"But," Monsieur Dalize hastened to add, "you have found your real father."

At these words George raised his head again; his eyes went straight towards those of Monsieur Roger. He ran forward and threw himself in the arms which were opened to him, repeating, between his tears,—

"My father! my father!"

And Miss Miette, who wept, as all the rest did, at this moving spectacle, said, in the midst of her sobs,—

"I knew it; I knew it; I knew it was his papa!"