ses him at
times, and that is the voice of an old woman, who says every morning,
before the noises of the street have begun, "How happy people ought to
be who can go to the country on a day like this!" To whom does the poor
woman utter these words, day after day? To the whole world, to herself,
or only to the canary, whose cage, covered with fresh leaves, she hangs
on the shutters? Perhaps she is talking to her flowers. Jack never knew,
but he is much of her opinion, and would gladly echo her words; for his
first waking thoughts turn toward a tranquil village street, toward a
little green door, Jack has just reached this point in his reverie when
a rustle of silk is heard, and the handle of his door rattles.

"Turn to the right," said Belisaire, who was making the coffee.

The handle is still aimlessly rattled. Belisaire, with the coffee-pot
in his hand, impatiently throws it open, and Charlotte rushes in.
Belisaire, stupefied at this inundation of flounces, feathers, and
laces, bows again and again, while Jack's mother, who does not recognize
him, excuses herself, and retreats toward the door.

"I beg your pardon, sir," she said; "I made a mistake."

At the sound of her voice Jack rises from his chair in astonishment

"Mother!" he cried.

She ran to him and took refuge in his arms.

"Save me, my child, save me! That man, for whom I have sacrificed
everything,--my life and that of my child,--has beaten me cruelly. This
morning, when he came in after two days' absence, I ventured to make
some observation; I thought I had a right to speak. He flew into a
frightful passion, and--"

The end of her sentence was lost in a torrent of tears and in convulsive
sobs. Belisaire had retired at her first words, and discreetly closed
the door after him. Jack looks at his mother, full of terror and pity.
How pale and how changed she is! In the clear light of the young day the
marks of time are clearly visible on her face, and the gray hairs,
that she has not taken the trouble to conceal, shine like silver on her
blue-veined temples. Without any attempt at controlling her emotion, she
speaks without restraint, pouring forth all her wrongs.

"How I have suffered, Jack! He passes his life now at the cafes and in
dissipation. Did you know that, when he went to Indret with that money,
I was there in the village, and crazy to see you? He reproaches me with
the bread you ate under his roof, and yet--yes, I will tell you what I
never