Ah, my good friend, I am so happy. I am--"
"Vallemont? But Madame Rousseau--you seem to forget that she is the
mother of Napoleon. You--"
"Nevertheless," said Rouquin, with a gay sweep of his hand before
laying it tenderly upon his heart, "I have married the mother of
Napoleon. Alas, my good friend, Madame Rousseau is no more. She died
when she was but one day old. And her excellent husband, the splendid
Jean, he also is a thing of the past. Now there is no one left but
Madame Rouquin and me and that adorable Napoleon. Vive l'Emperor!
Come, M'sieur, congratulate me. See! This cablegram provides Napoleon
with a father. But for what this little bit of paper says, the poor
enfant might have gone fatherless to his grave. See! It says here that
my wife has died. Read for yourself, M'sieur. It is in French, but
what matter? I shall translate. 'Raoul Rouquin: Blanche died to-day.
Good luck.' See, it is signed 'Pierre.' Pierre he is my brother. He
lives in Paris. Ah, so long have I waited! You may never know my
despair--never, M'sieur.
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