uch a towering rage. Only just listen!"

It was easy to hear the noise alluded to, mingled with the breaking of
glass and the smashing of furniture.

"The master has been at this game for over an hour," remarked the
servant, "ever since his lawyer, M. Catenac, has left him."

Andre, however, decided not to postpone his visit. "I must see him in
spite of everything; show me up," said he.

With evident reluctance the domestic obeyed, and threw open the door of
a room superbly furnished and decorated, in the centre of which stood M.
Gandelu waving the leg of a chair frantically in his hand. He was a man
of sixty years of age, but did not look fifty, built like a Hercules,
with huge hands and muscular limbs which seemed to fret under the
restraint of his fashionable garments. He had made his enormous fortune,
of which he was considerably proud, by honest labor, and no one could
say that he had not acted fairly throughout his whole career. He was
coarse and violent in his manner, but he had a generous heart and never
refused aid to the deserving and needy. He swore like a trooper, and his
grammar was faulty; but for all that, his heart was in the right place,
and he was a better man than many who boast of high birth and expensive
education.

"What idiot is coming here to annoy me?" roared he, as soon as the door
was opened.

"I have come by appointment," answered Andre, and the contractor's brow
cleared as he saw who his visitor was.

"Ah, it is you, is it? Take a seat; that is, if there is a sound chair
left in the room. I like you, for you have an honest face and don't
shirk hard work. You needn't color up, though; modesty is no fault. Yes,
there is something in you, and when you want a hundred thousand
francs to go into business with, here it is ready for you; and had I a
daughter, you should marry her, and I would build your house for you."

"I thank you much," said Andre; "but I have learned to depend entirely
on myself."

"True," returned Gandelu, "you never knew your parents; you never knew
what a kind father would do for his child. Do you know my son?" asked
he, suddenly turning upon Andre.

This question at once gave Andre the solution of the scene before him.
M. Gandelu was irritated at some folly that his son had committed. For
a moment Andre hesitated; he did not care to say anything that might
revive the old man's feeling of anger, and therefore merely replied that
he had only met his son Gaston two