Giving another kiss to the half-asleep Lucie, he said to her, in a coaxing tone, "Now then, Lucie, my child, it is half-past eight.

Up, up with you, lazy little one!" How could he console himself for such lost happiness?
He had his son, yes--and he loved him very much--but the sight of Amedee increased M.
Violette's grief; for the child grew to look more like his mother every day..