It was Sunday evening—a soft delicious evening, and, from the happy, cheerful look of the house, none would have dreamed of the dismal tragedy so lately acted within its walls. ‘When one is penniless, one does not expect a life of ease. He will not help them—and I told Emile so—and thus he sends them to my other grandpére, even that he knows he is dead. Ha! ha! What have I left but despair and madness? Promise me one thing, Mr. Mrs. “Yes, I remember,” she said. ’ His features relaxed again and he grinned. Anyhow, that is how things are. “Okay. The destroying angel hurried by, shrouded in his gloomiest apparel. There was a long silence between them. "We may trust him," he added in a whisper; "he is a staunch friend of the good cause. 175 “Before you tell me the whole story,” she emphasized the penultimate word, “just let me do something for you.
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