e as he drew to an end, "and
nobody hereabouts has that trifling amount to lend a neighbor, my dear
sir. We are not rich in Angoumois. When you spoke to me of your bills, I
thought that a much smaller amount was involved."

Lucien thanked the old man for his good offices. "The promise of
forgiveness which you have brought is for me a priceless gift."

Very early the next morning Lucien set out from Marsac, and
reached Angouleme towards nine o'clock. He carried nothing but his
walking-stick; the short jacket that he wore was considerably the worst
for his journey, his black trousers were whitened with dust, and a pair
of worn boots told sufficiently plainly that their owner belonged to the
hapless tribe of tramps. He knew well enough that the contrast between
his departure and return was bound to strike his fellow-townsmen; he
did not try to hide the fact from himself. But just then, with his heart
swelling beneath the oppression of remorse awakened in him by the old
cure's story, he accepted his punishment for the moment, and made up his
mind to brave the eyes of his acquaintances. Within himself he said, "I
am behaving heroically."

Poetic temperaments of this stamp begin as their own dupes. He walked up
through L'Houmeau, shame at the manner of his return struggling with
the charm of old associations as he went. His heart beat quickly as he
passed Postel's shop; but, very luckily for him, the only persons inside
it were Leonie and her child. And yet, vanity was still so strong in
him, that he could feel glad that his father's name had been painted out
on the shop-front; for Postel, since his marriage, had redecorated his
abode, and the word "Pharmacy" now alone appeared there, in the Paris
fashion, in big letters.

When Lucien reached the steps by the Palet Gate, he felt the influence
of his native air, his misfortunes no longer weighed upon him. "I shall
see them again!" he said to himself, with a thrill of delight.

He reached the Place du Murier, and had not met a soul, a piece of luck
that he scarcely hoped for, he who once had gone about his native place
with a conqueror's air. Marion and Kolb, on guard at the door, flew out
upon the steps, crying out, "Here he is!"

Lucien saw the familiar workshop and courtyard, and on the staircase
met his mother and sister, and for a moment, while their arms were about
him, all three almost forgot their troubles. In family life we almost
always compound with our misfort