“But see,” said Felix, offering Minard the “Constitutionnel,” “here’s the paper; not only does it announce that Monsieur Picot is the maker of the discovery, but it mentions the rewards which, without losing a moment, the government has bestowed upon him.”

“Felix is right,” said Phellion; “that journal is to be trusted.  On this occasion I think the government has acted very properly.”

“But, my dear commander, I repeat to you that the truth of the affair has got wind, and your son is shown to be a most admirable fellow.  To put his own discovery to the credit of his old professor so as to obtain for him the recognition and favor of the authorities—­upon my word, in all antiquity I don’t know a finer trait!”

“Felix!” said Phellion, beginning to show some emotion, “these immense labors to which you have devoted so much time of late, these continual visits to the Observatory—­”

“But, father,” interrupted Felix, “Monsieur Minard has been misinformed.”

“Misinformed!” cried Minard, “when I know the whole affair from Monsieur Picot himself!”

At this argument, stated in a way to leave no possible doubt, the truth began to dawn upon Phellion.

“Felix, my son!” he said, rising to embrace him.

But he was obliged to sit down again; his legs refused to bear his weight; he turned pale; and that nature, ordinarily so impassible, seemed about to give way under the shock of this happiness.

“My God!” said Felix, terrified, “he is ill; ring the bell, I entreat you, Monsieur Minard.”

And he ran to the old man, loosened his cravat and unfastened the collar of his shirt, striking him in the palms of his hands.  But the sudden faintness was but momentary; almost immediately himself again, Phellion gathered his son to his heart, and holding him long in his embrace, he said, in a voice broken by the tears that came to put an end to this shock of joy:—­

“Felix, my noble son! so great in heart, so great in mind!”

The bell had been rung by Minard with magisterial force, and with such an accent that the whole household was alarmed, and came running in.

“It is nothing, it is nothing,” said Phellion to the servants, sending them away.  But almost at the same moment, seeing his wife, who now entered the room, he resumed his habitual solemnity.

“Madame Phellion,” he said, pointing to Felix, “how many years is it since you brought that young man into the world?”

Madame Phellion, bewildered by the question, hesitated a moment, and then said:—­

“Twenty-five years next January.”

“Have you not thought, until now, that God had amply granted your maternal desires by making this child of your womb an honest man, a pious son, and by gifting him for mathematics, that Science of sciences, with an aptitude sufficiently remarkable?”

“I have,” said Madame Phellion, understanding less and less what her husband was coming to.