er the old man to keep him from completing the work
of ruin, at an age when no fruitful toil could be expected from his
enfeebled faculties. But she was also anxious to control him without
wounding his susceptibilities,--not wishing to imitate the children of
Sophocles, in case her father neared the scientific result for which he
had sacrificed so much.

Monsieur and Madame de Solis reached Flanders in the last days of
September, 1831, and arrived at Douai during the morning. Marguerite
ordered the coachman to drive to the house in the rue de Paris, which
they found closed. The bell was loudly rung, but no one answered. A
shopkeeper left his door-step, to which he had been attracted by the
noise of the carriages; others were at their windows to enjoy a sight
of the return of the de Solis family to whom all were attached, enticed
also by a vague curiosity as to what would happen in that house on
Marguerite's return to it. The shopkeeper told Monsieur de Solis's
valet that old Claes had gone out an hour before, and that Monsieur
Lemulquinier was no doubt taking him to walk on the ramparts.

Marguerite sent for a locksmith to force the door,--glad to escape a
scene in case her father, as Felicie had written, should refuse to
admit her into the house. Meantime Emmanuel went to meet the old man and
prepare him for the arrival of his daughter, despatching a servant to
notify Monsieur and Madame Pierquin.

When the door was opened, Marguerite went directly to the parlor. Horror
overcame her and she trembled when she saw the walls as bare as if a
fire had swept over them. The glorious carved panellings of Van Huysum
and the portrait of the great Claes had been sold. The dining-room was
empty: there was nothing in it but two straw chairs and a common deal
table, on which Marguerite, terrified, saw two plates, two bowls, two
forks and spoons, and the remains of a salt herring which Claes and his
servant had evidently just eaten. In a moment she had flown through her
father's portion of the house, every room of which exhibited the same
desolation as the parlor and dining-room. The idea of the Alkahest had
swept like a conflagration through the building. Her father's bedroom
had a bed, one chair, and one table, on which stood a miserable pewter
candlestick with a tallow candle burned almost to the socket. The house
was so completely stripped that not so much as a curtain remained at
the windows. Every object of the smallest value