your arms," said Croisilles, when he
had read the letter, "and you certainly are to-day the only being who
loves me at all; it is a very sweet thing to me, but a very sad one for
you; for, as sure as my father embarked there, I will throw myself into
the same sea which is bearing him away; not before you nor at once, but
some day I will do it, for I am lost."

"What can you do?" replied Jean, not seeming to have understood, but
holding fast to the skirt of Croisilles' coat; "What can you do, my dear
master? Your father was deceived; he was expecting money which did not
come, and it was no small amount either. Could he stay here? I have seen
him, sir, as he made his fortune, during the thirty years that I served
him. I have seen him working, attending to his business, the crown-pieces
coming in one by one. He was an honorable man, and skilful; they took a
cruel advantage of him. Within the last few days, I was still there, and
as fast as the crowns came in, I saw them go out of the shop again. Your
father paid all he could, for a whole day, and, when his desk was empty,
he could not help telling me, pointing to a drawer where but six francs
remained: 'There were a hundred thousand francs there this morning!' That
does not look like a rascally failure, sir? There is nothing in it that
can dishonor you."

"I have no more doubt of my father's integrity," answered Croisilles,
"than I have of his misfortune. Neither do I doubt his affection. But I
wish I could have kissed him, for what is to become of me? I am not
accustomed to poverty, I have not the necessary cleverness to build up my
fortune. And, if I had it, my father is gone. It took him thirty years,
how long would it take me to repair this disaster? Much longer. And will
he be living then? Certainly not; he will die over there, and I cannot
even go and find him; I can join him only by dying."

Utterly distressed as Croisilles was, he possessed much religious feeling.
Although his despondency made him wish for death, he hesitated to take his
life. At the first words of this interview, he had taken hold of old
Jean's arm, and thus both returned to the town. When they had entered the
streets and the sea was no longer so near:

"It seems to me, sir," said Jean, "that a good man has a right to live and
that a misfortune proves nothing. Since your father has not killed
himself, thank God, how can you think of dying? Since there is no dishonor
in his case, and all the to