Lacour trembled for him. The enemy might descry him; he was
simply making a target of himself by cutting across that open space in
order to reach them the sooner. . . . And he trembled still more as he
came nearer. . . . It was Rene!
His hands returned with some astonishment the strong, muscular grasp.
He noticed that the outlines of his son's face were more pronounced, and
darkened with the tan of camp life. An air of resolution, of confidence
in his own powers, appeared to emanate from his person. Six months of
intense life had transformed him. He was the same but broader-chested
and more stalwart. The gentle and sweet features of his mother were lost
under the virile mask. . . . Lacour recognized with pride that he now
resembled himself.
After greetings had been exchanged, Rene paid more attention to Don
Marcelo than to his father, because he reminded him of Chichi. He
inquired after her, wishing to know all the details of her life, in
spite of their ardent and constant correspondence.
The senator, meanwhile, still under the influence of his recent emotion,
had adopted a somewhat oratorical air toward his son. He forthwith
improvised a fragment of discourse in honor of that soldier of the
Republic bearing the glorious name of Lacour, deeming this an opportune
time to make known to these professional soldiers the lofty lineage of
his family.
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