It was true. Fully ten years had elapsed since the baron last saw Lacheneur’s son. How time flies! He had known Jean as a boy and he now found him a man. Young Lacheneur was just in his twenty-first year, but with his haggard features and precocious beard he looked somewhat older. He was tall and well built, and his face indicated more than average intelligence. Still he did not convey a favorable impression. His restless eyes betokened a prying curiosity of mind, and his smile betrayed an unusual degree of shrewdness, amounting almost to cunning. He made a deep bow when his father introduced him; but he was evidently out of temper. “Having no longer the means to keep Jean in Paris,” resumed M. Lacheneur, “I have made him return as you see. My ruin will, perhaps, prove a blessing to him. The air of great cities is not good for a peasant’s son. Fools that we are, we send our children to Paris that they may learn to rise above their fathers. But they do nothing of the kind. They think only of degrading themselves.” “Father,” interrupted the young man; “father, wait at least until we are alone!” “M. d’Escorval is not a stranger,” retorted M. Lacheneur, and then turning again to the baron, he continued; “I must have wearied you by telling you again and again; ‘I am very pleased with my son. He has a commendable ambition; he is working faithfully and is bound to succeed.’ Ah! I was a poor foolish father! The friend whom I commissioned to call on Jean and tell him to return here has enlightened me as to the truth. The model young man you see here only left the gaming-house to run to some public ball. He was in love with a wretched little ballet girl at some low theatre; and to please this creature, he also went on the stage with his face painted red and white.” “It’s not a crime to appear on the stage,” interrupted Jean with a flushed face. “No; but it is a crime to deceive one’s father and to affect virtues one doesn’t possess! Have I ever refused you money? No; and yet you have got into debt on all sides. You owe at least twenty thousand francs!” Jean hung his head; he was evidently angry, but he feared his father. “Twenty thousand francs!” repeated M. Lacheneur. “I had them a fortnight ago; now I haven’t a halfpenny. I can only hope to obtain this sum through the generosity of the Duke or the Marquis de Sairmeuse.” The baron uttered an exclamation of surprise. He only knew of the scene at the parsonage and believed that there would be no further connection between Lacheneur and the duke’s family. Lacheneur perceived M. d’Escorval’s amazement, and it was with every token of sincerity and good faith that he resumed: “What I say astonishes you. Ah! I understand why. My anger at first led me to indulge in all sorts of absurd threats. But I am calm now, and realize my injustice. What could I expect the duke to do? To make me a present of Sairmeuse? He was a trifle brusque, I confess, but that is his way; at heart he is the best of men.”