e man myself, you can't get rid of me; I will wait for you, if I have to sit on that bench outside your door all night!"
"Go and spend the night in your bed, my dear fellow," said Clerambault, "and sleep soundly. Come with me in the morning if you like, but it will be time lost; nothing is going to happen;--but kiss me, all the same!" After an affectionate hug, they went towards the door, when Gillot paused a moment: "We must look after you a little, you know," said he, "we feel as if you were a sort of father to us."
"So I am," said Clerambault with his beaming smile; his own boy was in his mind. He closed the door, and stood for some minutes with the lamp in his hand in the vestibule before he realised where he was. It was nearly midnight and he was very tired, but, instead of going into the bedroom, he mechanically turned again towards his study;--the apartment, the house, the street were all asleep. Almost without seeing it, he stared vaguely at the light shining on the frame of an engraving of Rembrandt's, The Resurrection of Lazarus, which hung on the opposite wall.... A dear figure seemed to enter the room; ... it came in silently, and stood beside him.
"Are you satisfied now?" he thought. "Is this what you wished?" And Maxime answered: "Yes," then added with meaning:
"I have found it very hard to teach you, Papa."
"Yes," said Clerambault, "there is much that we can learn from our sons." And they smiled at each other in the silence.
