appened; instead of replying, the neighbor turned away, as though not
wishing to recognize him. Croisilles repeated his questions; he learned
that his father, his affairs having long been in an embarrassed condition,
had just become bankrupt, and had fled to America, abandoning to his
creditors all that he possessed.

Not realizing as yet the extent of his misfortune, Croisilles felt
overwhelmed by the thought that he might never again see his father. It
seemed to him incredible that he should be thus suddenly abandoned; he
tried to force an entrance into the store; but was given to understand
that the official seals had been affixed; so he sat down on a stone, and
giving way to his grief, began to weep piteously, deaf to the consolations
of those around him, never ceasing to call his father's name, though he
knew him to be already far away. At last he rose, ashamed at seeing a
crowd about him, and, in the most profound despair, turned his steps
towards the harbor.

On reaching the pier, he walked straight before him like a man in a
trance, who knows neither where he is going nor what is to become of him.
He saw himself irretrievably lost, possessing no longer a shelter, no
means of rescue and, of course, no longer any friends. Alone, wandering on
the sea-shore, he felt tempted to drown himself, then and there. Just at
the moment when, yielding to this thought, he was advancing to the edge of
a high cliff, an old servant named Jean, who had served his family for a
number of years, arrived on the scene.

"Ah! my poor Jean!" he exclaimed, "you know all that has happened since I
went away. Is it possible that my father could leave us without warning,
without farewell?"

"He is gone," answered Jean, "but indeed not without saying good-bye to
you."

At the same time he drew from his pocket a letter, which he gave to his
young master. Croisilles recognized the handwriting of his father, and,
before opening the letter, kissed it rapturously; but it contained only a
few words. Instead of feeling his trouble softened, it seemed to the young
man still harder to bear. Honorable until then, and known as such, the old
gentleman, ruined by an unforeseen disaster (the bankruptcy of a partner),
had left for his son nothing but a few commonplace words of consolation,
and no hope, except, perhaps, that vague hope without aim or reason which
constitutes, it is said, the last possession one loses.

"Jean, my friend, you carried me in