er tears.
Francois, the eldest, then nine years of age, tried to console her. He
told her that he was almost a man, able to earn his food and to take
care of her and his little brother. She listened to his prattle with a
sad smile, kissed him and embraced him.

During all of the sleepless night which followed, Francois was revolving
his hidden projects of independence, and at gray dawn, confiding his
purpose only to his brother, and bidding him tell his mother, when she
awoke, that he would soon be back with money to buy bread for them, the
child stole forth to seek his fortune in the great dreary world of
Paris.

He wandered about all day, and at night, hungry and weary, entered a
jeweler's shop in the Palais Royal, kept by an old woman, to whom he
appealed for employment--vainly at first. Finally, however, she
consented to engage him as a drudge and errand boy, allowed him to sleep
in an _armoire_ over the door, and gave him four pounds of bread a week
in lieu of wages. Four pounds of bread a week! The allowance appeared
munificent, and he accepted the offer with gratitude. A brief experience
dispelled his illusions. He was always weary and always hungry. After a
few weeks' trial, he left his first benefactress and secured some kind
of employment at five sous a day, out of which he contrived to save two.
In two weeks he had saved nearly a franc and a half for his dear mother.
One day, while executing a commission for his employer, he found his
little brother alone in the street crying bitterly.

"How is dear mamma?" was his first question.

"Dead, and carried away by ugly men."

The winter of 1821 was unusually severe for Paris. One night Delsarte
and his brother fell asleep in each other's arms in the wretched loft
they occupied; but when the former opened his eyes to the morning's
light he was holding a corpse to his heart. The little boy had perished
of cold and starvation. Almost mad with terror and grief, the survivor
rushed into the streets to summon the neighbors.

The next day a little hatless boy, in rags and nearly barefooted,
followed two men bearing a small pine coffin which they deposited in the
_fosse commune_ of _Pere la Chaise_.

After seeing the grave covered, Delsarte left the cemetery and wandered
wearily through the snow, now utterly alone in the world, across the
plain of St. Denis. Overcome by cold, hunger, and grief, he sank to the
ground, and then, before he lost consciousness, a strain