patterns or
shreds of silk and cotton. The front door stood open every day from ten
till five, to give buyers access to the warehouse, in which Anton
Dormeur--old, withered, slightly bent, and with a set look upon his face
which even his rare smile failed to disturb--unrolled pieces of silk,
made bargains, examined with a critical eye and with the aid of a
magnifying glass the fabrics brought in by the weavers, and in fact
carried on his trade as though he had for ever been separated from the
tragedy which befel him in Languedoc nearly fourteen years before.

And yet that heavy affliction darkened his mind as he rolled and
unrolled his silks, or carefully matched the skeins that came from the
dyers. The sun was shining through the windows, the lower panes of which
were dulled in order to obtain a clear high light; but the cloud upon
his puckered brow was not lifted. Hour by hour the warehouse clock
ticked away the afternoon. Customers departed; the sound of the scale
and the clatter of reels and bobbins, in another warehouse beyond the
long passage, had ceased since midday.

Presently some passing thought too bitter for absolute self-control,
crossed the old man's mind, and he bowed down his gray head for a moment
upon his folded hands; but the next instant glanced round with the
half-startled look of a man who fears he has betrayed himself. He was
busy over his patterns again as he noted that a young man at the other
end of the room was regarding him with a wistful, pitying look.

"Come, Antoine," he said, "you have had a long day's work, and we dined
early; it is time you had finished your ledger for the day. Come and
help me put up these pieces, and then get you into the fresh air. Would
that I could make the old house more cheerful for thee, boy; but
remember it is all thine own one day, and do not add to the sorrows of
the past, anxiety for the future!"

The young man had come to his side--a slender, handsome fellow, with an
olive cheek, curling hair, and a dark eye both frank and fearless.

"And you, grandpere," he said, touching the old man's hand; "why will
not you go out and seek some change from your dull life? What sorrow is
it that seems to press so hard on you to-day, and why do you think it
necessary to give me words of warning? What shadow has come between us?"

"What shadow!" echoed the old man, peering at him from under his bent
brows. "None of my throwing, boy; but do you forget what day it is? A