When Lucien reached the steps by the Palet Gate, he felt the influence of his native air, his misfortunes no longer weighed upon him. “I shall see them again!” he said to himself, with a thrill of delight. He reached the Place du Mûrier, and had not met a soul, a piece of luck that he scarcely hoped for, he who once had gone about his native place with a conqueror’s air. Marion and Kolb, on guard at the door, flew out upon the steps, crying out, “Here he is!” Lucien saw the familiar workshop and courtyard, and on the staircase met his mother and sister, and for a moment, while their arms were about him, all three almost forgot their troubles. In family life we almost always compound with our misfortunes; we make a sort of bed to rest upon; and, if it is hard, hope to make it tolerable. If Lucien looked the picture of despair, poetic charm was not wanting to the picture. His face had been tanned by the sunlight of the open road, and the deep sadness visible in his features overshadowed his poet’s brow. The change in him told so plainly of sufferings endured, his face was so worn by sharp misery, that no one could help pitying him. Imagination had fared forth into the world and found sad reality at the home-coming. Eve was smiling in the midst of her joy, as the saints smile upon martyrdom. The face of a young and very fair woman grows sublimely beautiful at the touch of grief; Lucien remembered the innocent girlish face that he saw last before he went to Paris, and the look of gravity that had come over it spoke so eloquently that he could not but feel a painful impression. The first quick, natural outpouring of affection was followed at once by a reaction on either side; they were afraid to speak; and when Lucien almost involuntarily looked round for another who should have been there, Eve burst into tears, and Lucien did the same, but Mme. Chardon’s haggard face showed no sign of emotion. Eve rose to her feet and went downstairs, partly to spare her brother a word of reproach, partly to speak to Marion. “Lucien is so fond of strawberries, child, we must find some strawberries for him.” “Oh, I was sure that you would want to welcome M. Lucien; you shall have a nice little breakfast and a good dinner, too.” “Lucien,” said Mme. Chardon when the mother and son were left alone, “you have a great deal to repair here. You went away that we all might be proud of you; you have plunged us into want. You have all but destroyed your brother’s opportunity of making a fortune that he only cared to win for the sake of his new family. Nor is this all that you have destroyed----” said the mother. There was a dreadful pause; Lucien took his mother’s reproaches in silence.