"Have you the book still?"

"It is in my bedroom."

On hearing this, Armand Duval seemed to be relieved of a great
weight, and thanked me as if I had already rendered him a service
merely by keeping the book.

I got up and went into my room to fetch the book, which I handed
to him.

"That is it indeed," he said, looking at the inscription on the
first page and turning over the leaves; "that is it in deed," and
two big tears fell on the pages. "Well, sir," said he, lifting
his head, and no longer trying to hide from me that he had wept
and was even then on the point of weeping, "do you value this
book very greatly?"

"Why?"

"Because I have come to ask you to give it up to me."

"Pardon my curiosity, but was it you, then, who gave it to
Marguerite Gautier?"

"It was!"

"The book is yours, sir; take it back. I am happy to be able to
hand it over to you."