avre the son of our worthy
friend Roland, skipper of the Pearl."

Every one cried bravo and clapped their hands, and the elder Roland rose
to reply. After clearing his throat, for it felt thick and his tongue
was heavy, he stammered out:

"Thank you, captain, thank you--for myself and my son. I shall never
forget your behaviour on this occasion. Here's good luck to you!"

His eyes and nose were full of tears, and he sat down, finding nothing
more to say.

Jean, who was laughing, spoke in his turn:

"It is I," said he, "who ought to thank my friends here, my excellent
friends," and he glanced at Mme. Rosemilly, "who have given me such a
touching evidence of their affection. But it is not by words that I can
prove my gratitude. I will prove it to-morrow, every hour of my life,
always, for our friendship is not one of those which fade away."

His mother, deeply moved, murmured: "Well said, my boy."

But Beausire cried out:

"Come, Mme. Rosemilly, speak on behalf of the fair sex."

She raised her glass, and in a pretty voice, slightly touched with
sadness, she said: "I will pledge you to the memory of M. Marechal."

There was a few moments' lull, a pause for decent meditation, as after
prayer. Beausire, who always had a flow of compliment, remarked:

"Only a woman ever thinks of these refinements." Then turning to Father
Roland: "And who was this Marechal, after all? You must have been very
intimate with him."

The old man, emotional with drink, began to whimper, and in a broken
voice he said:

"Like a brother, you know. Such a friend as one does not make twice--we
were always together--he dined with us every evening--and would treat us
to the play--I need say no more--no more--no more. A true friend--a real
true friend--wasn't he, Louise?"

His wife merely answered: "Yes; he was a faithful friend."

Pierre looked at his father and then at his mother, then, as the subject
changed he drank some more wine. He scarcely remembered the remainder of
the evening. They had coffee, then liqueurs, and they laughed and joked
a great deal. At about midnight he went to bed, his mind confused and
his head heavy; and he slept like a brute till nine next morning.

CHAPTER IV

These slumbers, lapped in Champagne and Chartreuse, had soothed and
calmed him, no doubt, for he awoke in a very benevolent frame of
mind. While he was dressing he appraised, weighed, and summed up the
agitations of the past day, trying to bri