him up to say Mrs. Ravenel
was seriously ill and wanted him to come to her at once. He started at
midnight, to find his mother in a high fever, unconscious of his
arrival, and facing an operation, as the only chance to save her life.

He had been to her always, as she herself put it, "a perfect son," and
for the next three months, which made the time well into December, he
proved the words true, living by her bedside, and allowing himself scant
sleep from the watching and service. It was when she was far toward the
recovery of her health and her old-time beauty that he spoke to her of
his newly formed intentions with characteristic unwordiness.

"I am going into business, mother," he said, "with Philip de Peyster."

She was knitting at the time, counting stitches on large needles, and
she went placidly on with the counting until the set was finished, when
she looked up pleasantly. "You think it will amuse you?" she asked, with
the kind interest which she might have shown concerning a polo game in
which he was to play.

"I am beginning to think a man should have some fixed duties in life,"
Frank explained.

"Yes, certainly," Mrs. Ravenel answered. "The Bible says something like
that, I believe. What are you thinking of doing?"

"Buying and selling things, like railroads and mines," he answered,
smiling at her indifference.

"I'm glad it's Phil de Peyster you are going to buy and sell things
with," Mrs. Ravenel said. "His mother was maid of honor at my wedding,
and a charming girl, Patty Beauregarde, of Charleston. And I am
delighted at anything you do to make you happy, Frank. I have thought
you have not been very gay of late. There is, perhaps, a trouble--"

"What an idea!" he answered.

"Will you have offices and things?" Mrs. Ravenel inquired, vaguely. "I
have always had ideas for office furnishings, you know."

"If you could see Phil's office, mother, I think you would weep. It's
very dirty, and he likes it. It's the dust of his great-grandfathers."

"Well, dearest," Mrs. Ravenel said, "if it amuses you, I'm glad you
thought of doing it," and she folded up her work and put it into her
bag. "Life's a rather dreary affair at best," she concluded, "and
anything that interests one is a positive boon."

XV

JOSEF

There is in the Faubourg St. Honore, not far from the Hotel of the
Silver Scissors, an old house set far back in a court-yard of its own. A
gray stone wall, the height of the first two