artment with hurried steps;
and, spite of the deformed and attenuated appearance of poor Morel, his
attitude and action bespoke the noblest, purest indignation.

"I am not ill-disposed towards any man," cried he, at length, pausing of
a sudden; "and never, to my knowledge, harmed a human being. But, I tell
you, when I think of this notary, I wish him--ah! I wish him--as much
wretchedness as he has caused me." Then pressing both hands to his
forehead, he murmured, in a mournful tone: "Just God! what crime have I
committed that a hard fate should deliver me and mine, tied hand and
foot, into the power of such a hypocrite? Have his riches been given him
only to worry, harass, and destroy those his bad passions lead him to
persecute, injure, and corrupt?"

"That's right! that's right!" said Madeleine; "go on abusing him. You
will have done yourself a great deal of good, shall you not, when he
puts you in prison, as he can do any day, for that promissory note of
1,300 francs on which he obtained judgment against you? He holds you
fast as a bird at the end of a string. I hate this notary as badly as
you do; but since we are so completely in his power, why you should--"

"Let him ruin and dishonour my child, I suppose?" burst from the pale
lips of the lapidary, with violent and impatient energy.

"For heaven's sake, Morel, don't speak so loud; the children are awake,
and will hear you."

"Pooh, pooh!" returned Morel, with bitter irony; "it will serve as a
fine example for our two little girls. It will instruct them to expect
that, one of these days, some villain or other like the notary may take
a fancy to them,--perhaps the same man; and then, I suppose, you would
tell me, as now, to be careful how I offended him, since he had me in
his power. You say, if I displease him, he can put me in prison. Now,
tell the truth: you advise me, then, to leave my daughter at his mercy,
do you not?"

And then, passing from the extreme of rage at the idea of all the
wickedness practised by the notary to tender recollections of his child,
the unhappy man burst into a sort of convulsive weeping, mingled with
deep and heavy sobs, for his kindly nature could not long sustain the
tone of sarcastic indignation he had assumed.

"Oh, my children!" cried he, with bitter grief; "my poor children! My
good, my beautiful, too--too beautiful Louise! 'Tis from those rich
gifts of nature all our troubles proceeded. Had you been less lovely,
that man