d himself with
the selfish remark:

"She never was very strong."

That remark and the tone in which it was made angered Desiree and
strengthened her determination. She continued, without pity for the
actor's illusions:

"What will become of you two when I am no longer here? Oh! I know
that you have great hopes, but it takes them a long while to come to
anything. The results you have waited for so long may not arrive for
a long time to come; and until then what will you do? Listen! my dear
father, I would not willingly hurt you; but it seems to me that at your
age, as intelligent as you are, it would be easy for you--I am sure
Monsieur Risler Aine would ask nothing better."

She spoke slowly, with an effort, carefully choosing her words, leaving
long pauses between every two sentences, hoping always that they might
be filled by a movement, an exclamation from her father. But the actor
did not understand.

"I think that you would do well," pursued Desiree, timidly, "I think
that you would do well to give up--"

"Eh?--what?--what's that?"

She paused when she saw the effect of her words. The old actor's mobile
features were suddenly contracted under the lash of violent despair; and
tears, genuine tears which he did not even think of concealing behind
his hand as they do on the stage, filled his eyes but did not flow, so
tightly did his agony clutch him by the throat. The poor devil began to
understand.

She murmured twice or thrice:

"To give up--to give up--"

Then her little head fell back upon the pillow, and she died without
having dared to tell him what he would do well to give up.

CHAPTER XIX. APPROACHING CLOUDS

One night, near the end of January, old Sigismond Planus, cashier of the
house of Fromont Jeune and Risler Aine, was awakened with a start in his
little house at Montrouge by the same teasing voice, the same rattling
of chains, followed by that fatal cry:

"The notes!"

"That is true," thought the worthy man, sitting up in bed; "day after
to-morrow will be the last day of the month. And I have the courage to
sleep!"

In truth, a considerable sum of money must be raised: a hundred thousand
francs to be paid on two obligations, and at a moment when, for the
first time in thirty years, the strong-box of the house of Fromont was
absolutely empty. What was to be done? Sigismond had tried several
times to speak to Fromont Jeune, but he seemed to shun the burdensome
responsibility of bu