n common-sense which enables them to perceive such
political chicane: the poor woman saw the truth through the lines of
her son's tale; for she had read, in the exile's interests, all the
pompous editorials of the constitutional journals, and watched the
management of the famous subscription, which produced barely one
hundred and fifty thousand francs when it ought to have yielded five
or six millions. The Liberal leaders soon found out that they were
playing into the hands of Louis XVIII. by exporting the glorious
remnants of our grand army, and they promptly abandoned to their fate
the most devoted, the most ardent, the most enthusiastic of its
heroes,--those, in short, who had gone in the advance. Agathe was
never able, however, to make her son see that he was more duped than
persecuted. With blind belief in her idol, she supposed herself
ignorant, and deplored, as Philippe did, the evil times which had done
him such wrong. Up to this time he was, to her mind, throughout his
misfortunes, less faulty than victimized by his noble nature, his
energy, the fall of the Emperor, the duplicity of the Liberals, and
the rancor of the Bourbons against the Bonapartists. During the week
at Havre, a week which was horribly costly, she dared not ask him to
make terms with the royal government and apply to the minister of war.
She had hard work to get him away from Havre, where living is very
expensive, and to bring him back to Paris before her money gave out.
Madame Descoings and Joseph, who were awaiting their arrival in the
courtyard of the coach-office of the Messageries Royales, were struck
with the change in Agathe's face.

"Your mother has aged ten years in two months," whispered the
Descoings to Joseph, as they all embraced, and the two trunks were
being handed down.

"How do you do, mere Descoings?" was the cool greeting the colonel
bestowed on the old woman whom Joseph was in the habit of calling
"maman Descoings."

"I have no money to pay for a hackney-coach," said Agathe, in a sad
voice.

"I have," replied the young painter. "What a splendid color Philippe
has turned!" he cried, looking at his brother.

"Yes, I've browned like a pipe," said Philippe. "But as for you,
you're not a bit changed, little man."

Joseph, who was now twenty-one, and much thought of by the friends who
had stood by him in his days of trial, felt his own strength and was
aware of his talent; he represented the art of painting in a circle of