"
"You were born in America?" said the old man.
"I was," he replied.
"And you knew a girl named Clotelle," continued the old man.
"Yes, and I loved her as I can love none other."
"The lady whom you met so mysteriously last evening was she,"
said Mr. Devenant.
Jerome was silent, but the fountain of mingled grief and joy
stole out from beneath his eyelashes, and glistened like pearls
upon his ebony cheeks.
At this juncture, the lady again entered the room.
With an enthusiasm that can be better imagined than described,
Jerome sprang from the sofa, and they rushed into each other's arms,
to the great surprise of the old gentleman and little Antoine,
and to the amusement of the servants who had crept up, one by
one and were hid behind the doors or loitering in the hall.
When they had given vent to their feelings and sufficiently
recovered their presence of mind, they resumed their seats.
"How did you find out my name and address?" inquired Jerome.
"After you had left the grave-yard," replied Clotelle,
"our little boy said, 'Oh, mamma! if there ain't a book!'
I opened the book, and saw your name written in it, and also found
a card of the Hotel de Leon.
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