"Dear me! There isn't the slightest doubt that business has detained him. Do you suppose that a man who acts as the business agent of a number of big factories can tell the exact hour at which he will be able to return home? An opportunity to make a large sale sometimes presents itself just as he is about to start, and he is obliged to remain. Only a couple of months ago, just before he went away, he said to me: 'I am determined my daughter shall be rich. A couple more trips like the last, and I will never leave the dear child again.'" "Heaven grant that time may soon come," sighed the girl. "I should be tranquil and happy if my kind and loving father were always with me. You are tormented by so many fears when one you love is absent from you." "Fears! fears about what, I should like to know! What risk can a quiet merchant like monsieur run? A merchant who doesn't meddle with other people's affairs, but travels about from town to town in a post-chaise, to sell his goods. What risk does a man like that run? Besides, he travels only in the daytime, and always has his clerk with him, and you know he would go through fire and water for your father, though he really does seem to be the most unfortunate of mortals." "That is true. Poor man! some accident seems to befall him every time he travels with my father." "Yes, and why? Simply because he is the most meddlesome old creature that ever lived, and the awkwardest. Still, that doesn't prevent him from being a great protection to monsieur if any one should attempt to molest him. So what have you to fear, my child?" "Nothing." "Think how you would feel if you had a father in the army as so many girls have." "I could never stand such a terrible strain as that. Why, to be always thinking that my father was exposed to danger, to death,--why, the mere idea of such a thing is appalling." "Yes, my poor child, the mere idea of such a thing makes you as pale as a ghost, and sets you to trembling like a leaf. It does not surprise me, though, for I know how devoted you are to your father. But drive these dreadful thoughts from your mind, and, by the way, suppose Onésime finishes reading the paper to us." "Certainly, if M. Onésime is not too tired." "No, mademoiselle," replied the young man, making almost superhuman efforts to conceal his suffering, which was becoming more and more intolerable. And getting the paper as close to his eyes as possible, he was preparing to resume the reading, when he remarked: "I think this is an article which is likely to interest mademoiselle." "What is it about?" "It describes the exploits of that famous Dieppe privateer, of whom everybody is talking." "I fear the article will be too exciting for you to-day, my dear, you seem to be so nervous," remarked the housekeeper. "Is it such a very blood-curdling story, M. Onésime?" inquired the girl, smiling.