their reaction. Her statement had its desired effect.
“No! He cannot. He must prove that he is who you say,” Claude exploded.
“One look at his face and you will see that he is a Lemaire. He is René’s son. There is no doubt,” Hélène said quietly.
“I do not believe it. A stranger says he is René’s son and you welcome him in on his word? It’s ridiculous!” Claude expostulated. “Where is he? I want to see him for myself.”
“He is speaking with his grand-père. You will have to wait. When they are finished you may speak with him,” Hélène said. “But I expect you to treat him respectfully.”
“Of course, Hélène,” Manette said.
Hélène left the room.
“Can you believe this nonsense?” Claude snapped.
Manette looked at Claude contemptuously.
“But of course,” she smiled. Then she, too, walked out of the room, leaving Claude to smolder with rage.
*****
Marceau sat in an armchair by the balcony doors and looked out at the falling rain. He loved the rain but that wasn’t what had put a smile on his face. He was about to meet his grandson and he was overjoyed. After all of those years of searching they had finally found him.
He heard the bedroom door open and turned eagerly to see who had entered. He caught his breath as the young man entered the room. He was tall, broad and powerful; the build of a Lemaire.
But it was Greyson’s face that took Marceau’s breath away. He felt as though he was looking at his dear, departed son. Tears flowed down his face as he pushed himself from his chair. He wanted to be standing to greet his fils.
Grey moved into the room and toward the man that was supposed to be his grandfather. The man struggled to stand and tilted forward. Grey ran to grasp his shoulders and steady him.
Marceau clutched Greyson’s strong arms and smiled. Grey looked into Marceau’s grey eyes and knew that Hélène spoke the truth. It was like he was looking at an older version of his father. He could even see his own resemblance to the old man.
Grey slowly smiled. Marceau cupped Grey’s cheek and patted it several times. His heart was bursting with love for his grandson.
Grey helped Marceau to sit then pulled up a nearby footstool and sat at his grandfather’s feet.
“How I have longed to see you,” Marceau said quietly. “I have so much to tell you.”
“I want to hear everything,” Grey responded.
And so it began. A conversation that would last well into the night.
*****
The next day was one of joy for Marceau and Hélène. Marceau had left his bedroom and was sitting on the veranda off the small breakfast room. Hélène sat with him along with Grey and his friends. They had enjoyed a wonderful breakfast of excellent food and good conversation.
“It feels so good to be out of that bedroom! The warm rays of the sun feel wonderful on my face,” Marceau smiled. “ Almost as good as having my grandson sitting right next to me.”
He reached over and gently squeezed Grey’s hand.
“I feel the same, grand-père,” Grey smiled.
Beth smiled at Grey’s use of the French word. It was an acknowledgment of his acceptance of Marceau as his grandfather.
“I hate to put a damper on the festivities but I have a question,” Beth said.
“Of course,” Hélène said.
“Hélène, why did you tell us that Grey could die if he did not come to France? You made it sound so ominous,” Beth questioned.
“I wanted to impress upon you the urgency of the situation,” Hélène said. “Greyson must sign the documents of estate transfer as soon as possible.”
“She means before I die,” Marceau smiled wanly.
“Marceau!” Hélène exclaimed. “You mustn’t say such things.”
“It is the truth. And I am not afraid to stand before Saint Peter and his judgment book,” Marceau said. “Though, considering the way I feel right now, I believe that time is
“No! He cannot. He must prove that he is who you say,” Claude exploded.
“One look at his face and you will see that he is a Lemaire. He is René’s son. There is no doubt,” Hélène said quietly.
“I do not believe it. A stranger says he is René’s son and you welcome him in on his word? It’s ridiculous!” Claude expostulated. “Where is he? I want to see him for myself.”
“He is speaking with his grand-père. You will have to wait. When they are finished you may speak with him,” Hélène said. “But I expect you to treat him respectfully.”
“Of course, Hélène,” Manette said.
Hélène left the room.
“Can you believe this nonsense?” Claude snapped.
Manette looked at Claude contemptuously.
“But of course,” she smiled. Then she, too, walked out of the room, leaving Claude to smolder with rage.
*****
Marceau sat in an armchair by the balcony doors and looked out at the falling rain. He loved the rain but that wasn’t what had put a smile on his face. He was about to meet his grandson and he was overjoyed. After all of those years of searching they had finally found him.
He heard the bedroom door open and turned eagerly to see who had entered. He caught his breath as the young man entered the room. He was tall, broad and powerful; the build of a Lemaire.
But it was Greyson’s face that took Marceau’s breath away. He felt as though he was looking at his dear, departed son. Tears flowed down his face as he pushed himself from his chair. He wanted to be standing to greet his fils.
Grey moved into the room and toward the man that was supposed to be his grandfather. The man struggled to stand and tilted forward. Grey ran to grasp his shoulders and steady him.
Marceau clutched Greyson’s strong arms and smiled. Grey looked into Marceau’s grey eyes and knew that Hélène spoke the truth. It was like he was looking at an older version of his father. He could even see his own resemblance to the old man.
Grey slowly smiled. Marceau cupped Grey’s cheek and patted it several times. His heart was bursting with love for his grandson.
Grey helped Marceau to sit then pulled up a nearby footstool and sat at his grandfather’s feet.
“How I have longed to see you,” Marceau said quietly. “I have so much to tell you.”
“I want to hear everything,” Grey responded.
And so it began. A conversation that would last well into the night.
*****
The next day was one of joy for Marceau and Hélène. Marceau had left his bedroom and was sitting on the veranda off the small breakfast room. Hélène sat with him along with Grey and his friends. They had enjoyed a wonderful breakfast of excellent food and good conversation.
“It feels so good to be out of that bedroom! The warm rays of the sun feel wonderful on my face,” Marceau smiled. “ Almost as good as having my grandson sitting right next to me.”
He reached over and gently squeezed Grey’s hand.
“I feel the same, grand-père,” Grey smiled.
Beth smiled at Grey’s use of the French word. It was an acknowledgment of his acceptance of Marceau as his grandfather.
“I hate to put a damper on the festivities but I have a question,” Beth said.
“Of course,” Hélène said.
“Hélène, why did you tell us that Grey could die if he did not come to France? You made it sound so ominous,” Beth questioned.
“I wanted to impress upon you the urgency of the situation,” Hélène said. “Greyson must sign the documents of estate transfer as soon as possible.”
“She means before I die,” Marceau smiled wanly.
“Marceau!” Hélène exclaimed. “You mustn’t say such things.”
“It is the truth. And I am not afraid to stand before Saint Peter and his judgment book,” Marceau said. “Though, considering the way I feel right now, I believe that time is
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