The most tender father never loved more warmly the dearest of his children.

When the old Cure looked at the young officer, he often said to himself: "Heaven has been too kind; I am a priest, and I have a son!" The Abbe sank into a very agreeable reverie; he felt himself at home, he felt himself too much at home; by degrees his ideas became hazy and confused, reverie became drowsiness, drowsiness became slumber, the disaster was soon complete, irreparable; the Cure slept, and slept profoundly.

This marvellous dinner, and the two or three glasses of champagne may have had something to do with the catastrophe.
Jean perceived nothing; he had forgotten the promise made to his godfather.

And why had he forgotten it?
Because Mrs.Scott and Miss Percival had thought proper to put their feet on the footstools, placed in front of their great wicker garden-chairs filled with cushions; then they had thrown themselves lazily back in their chairs, and their muslin skirts had become raised a little, a very little, but yet enough to display four little feet, the lines of which showed very distinctly and clearly beneath two pretty clouds of white lace.

Jean looked at these little feet, and asked himself this question: "Which are the smaller ?" While he was trying to solve this problem, Bettina, all at once, said to him in a low voice: "Monsieur Jean! Monsieur Jean!" "Miss Percival ?" "Look at the Cure, he is asleep." "Oh! it is my fault." "How your fault ?" asked Mrs.Scott, also in a low voice.
"Yes; my godfather rises at daybreak, and goes to bed very early; he told me to be sure and prevent his falling asleep; when Madame de Longueval was here he very often had a nap after dinner.