irs and downstairs. I think it
must be your imagination. I thank my stars I have none.'

'Pardon me,' replied Desprez, still humbly, but with a return of spirit
at sight of a distinction to be drawn; 'pardon me, Casimir. You possess,
even to an eminent degree, the commercial imagination. It was the lack
of that in me--it appears it is my weak point--that has led to these
repeated shocks. By the commercial imagination the financier forecasts
the destiny of his investments, marks the falling house--'

'Egad,' interrupted Casimir: 'our friend the stable-boy appears to have
his share of it.'

The Doctor was silenced; and the meal was continued and finished
principally to the tune of the brother-in-law's not very consolatory
conversation. He entirely ignored the two young English painters,
turning a blind eyeglass to their salutations, and continuing his remarks
as if he were alone in the bosom of his family; and with every second
word he ripped another stitch out of the air balloon of Desprez's vanity.
By the time coffee was over the poor Doctor was as limp as a napkin.

'Let us go and see the ruins,' said Casimir.

They strolled forth into the street. The fall of the house, like the
loss of a front tooth, had quite transformed the village. Through the
gap the eye commanded a great stretch of open snowy country, and the
place shrank in comparison. It was like a room with an open door. The
sentinel stood by the green gate, looking very red and cold, but he had a
pleasant word for the Doctor and his wealthy kinsman.

Casimir looked at the mound of ruins, he tried the quality of the
tarpaulin. 'H'm,' he said, 'I hope the cellar arch has stood. If it
has, my good brother, I will give you a good price for the wines.'

'We shall start digging to-morrow,' said the sentry. 'There is no more
fear of snow.'

'My friend,' returned Casimir sententiously, 'you had better wait till
you get paid.'

The Doctor winced, and began dragging his offensive brother-in-law
towards Tentaillon's. In the house there would be fewer auditors, and
these already in the secret of his fall.

'Hullo!' cried Casimir, 'there goes the stable-boy with his luggage; no,
egad, he is taking it into the inn.'

And sure enough, Jean-Marie was seen to cross the snowy street and enter
Tentaillon's, staggering under a large hamper.

The Doctor stopped with a sudden, wild hope.

'What can he have?' he said. 'Let us go and see.' And he hurri