e conveyance was soon out of view.

He did not even cast a glance behind him. His daughter watched him
disappear, then re-entered the house.

"Poor father," she sighed, "what a great change, what an emaciated
figure; he has already the appearance of a ghost."

Then, seating herself upon a sofa, she meditated a long time.
Finally, her face assumed a determined expression; "Come what may,"
she said to herself; "I will not leave him descend thus into the
grave. I will make at least one real effort at reconciliation. If I
do not succeed, I shall be free from remorse."

She talked the matter over with her husband when he came home.

"You look terribly in earnest," said he. "If only your father
possessed a heart, I should hope. I think that with the zeal which
you now show you would melt a heart of stone. However, the task is a
noble one, and if you succeed, I shall only be too glad to welcome
my father-in-law."

Next morning, Mrs. Mathers directed her steps towards "Les Marches."
She had undertaken what seemed to be a stupendous task, and she
resolved to pursue it energetically.

This was why she went to her father's house in person.

While she was nearing her birth-place her father was lying in his
bed, ill. Mrs. Dorant watched near him as he tossed about his couch.

At times he was calmer than at others; one could discern the traces
upon his face softening. For he was thinking of the time when a
little girl used to nestle upon his knee, a little child exactly
resembling the one with which he had talked on the previous day.

He could not help thinking: "I was happier then than I now am. I had
a loving wife, a child whose innocence softened my heart; but now, I
am abandoned by everyone."

He set his teeth, he again tossed about his couch and muttered: "It
is all through my daughter's fault; she might be respectably
married. Still, she looked happy and contented. I know these
fellows, they eat and drink everything which is not spent in
superfluities."

As Mrs. Mathers approached the front door of "Les Marches," she felt
a tremor pass through her whole frame. The once familiar
surroundings and the ennobling object of her visit inspired her with
strangely tender feelings.

Her soul was deeply moved as she entered the house. There was the
kitchen with its primitive and quaint furniture. It was deserted.
She seated herself on a chair and began to ponder.

Soft was to be her voice, tender were to be her appeals t