He waits and marvels. He finally sends a last letter
through the clergy at Mission Dolores. To this he receives a response
that they are told the young lady has returned to America and is
being educated in the Eastern States.
With a sigh Francois Ribaut abandons all hopes of seeing once more
the child he had baptized, the orphaned daughter of his friend.
She is now far from him. He feels assured he will never cross the
wild Atlantic again.
Worn and weary, waiting the approach of old age, he yet participates,
with a true Frenchman's patriotism, in the sorrows of "l'annee
terrible." Nothing brightens the future! Human nature itself seems
giving way.
All is disaster. Jacques Bonhomme's blood waters in vain his native
fields. Oh, for the great Napoleon! Alas, for the days of 1805!
As he wanders among the pictures he makes friendly acquaintance
with rising artist and humble imitator. The old padre is everywhere
welcome. His very smile is a benediction.
He pauses one day at the easel of a young man who is copying a
Murillo Madonna. Intent upon his work, the artist politely answers,
and resumes his task. Spirited and artistic in execution, the copy
betokens a rare talent.
Day after day, on his visits, the padre sees the glowing canvas
nearing completion.
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