ss that Perrine's eyes filled
with tears. The blind man continued: "You ought to know from village
talk and from the letter that you translated that I have a son. My son
and I disagreed. We parted; there were many reasons for us doing so. He
then married against my wishes and our separation was complete. But with
all this my affection for him has not changed. I love him after all
these years of absence as though he were still the little boy I brought
up, and when I think of him, which is day and night, it is the little
boy that I see with my sightless eyes. My son preferred that woman to
his own father. Instead of coming back to me he preferred to live with
her because I would not, or could not, receive her. I hoped that he
would give in, but he thought probably that I in time would give in. We
have both the same characters. I have had no news from him. After my
illness, of which I am sure he knew, for I have every reason to believe
that he has been kept informed of all that happens here, I thought that
he would come back to me, but he has not returned. That wretched woman
evidently holds him back. She is not content with having taken him from
me, she keeps him ... the wretch...."

The blind man stopped. Perrine, who had been hanging on his words, had
scarcely breathed, but at the last words she spoke.

"The letter from Father Fields said that she was a lady, honorable and
upright. He does not speak of her as a wretch."

"What the letter says cannot go against facts," said the blind man,
obstinately. "The main fact which has made me hate her is that she keeps
my son from me. A creature of her kind should efface herself and let him
return and take up again the life which is his. It is through her that
we are parted. I have tried to find him, but I cannot. He must come back
and take his place. You may not understand all I tell you, my child, but
when I die my whole fortune must go to my son. He is my heir. When I die
who will take my place if he is not here? Can you understand what I am
saying, little girl?" said the old man, almost entreatingly.

"I think so, sir," said Perrine gently.

"But there, I don't wish you to understand entirely. There are those
around me who ought to help me. There are certain ones who do not want
my boy to return; it is to their interest that he should not come back,
so they try to think that he is dead. My boy dead! Could he be? Could
God strike me such a terrible blow? They try to believ