"I am much pleased to hear it; it proves that he was attached to us."

Roland had risen.

"And would you wish, my dear sir, that my son should at once sign his
acceptance?"

"No--no, M. Roland. To-morrow, at my office to-morrow, at two o'clock,
if that suits you."

"Yes, to be sure--yes, indeed. I should think so."

Then Mme. Roland, who had also risen and who was smiling after her
tears, went up to the lawyer, and laying her hand on the back of his
chair while she looked at him with the pathetic eyes of a grateful
mother, she said:

"And now for that cup of tea, Monsieur Lecanu?"

"Now I will accept it with pleasure, madame."

The maid, on being summoned, brought in first some dry biscuits in deep
tin boxes, those crisp, insipid English cakes which seem to have been
made for a parrot's beak, and soldered into metal cases for a voyage
round the world. Next she fetched some little gray linen doilies, folded
square, those tea-napkins which in thrifty families never get washed. A
third time she came in with the sugar-basin and cups; then she departed
to heat the water. They sat waiting.