"Do not say anything. Wait till I have finished. You love a young girl. Is it not so? I was sure of it, Paul. Love, with you, is not merely a violent caprice, as it is with some. Your heart belongs to her, once and for all; and, that frightens you, for you say to yourself: 'I can not marry. I am poor.' Have I not guessed aright?" "Ah, sir," replied Paul, sadly, "every one of your words is truth. I love a young girl, but I can not describe her--you would think me a fool; and, then, there are no words strong enough to do her justice. It is absurd, I know, but you understand. I met her in Paris last Winter, at a party. And, to think that at first I did not notice her! She went to the piano, and played some sonata or nocturne, with her soul shining bright in her glorious eyes. I felt at once that I belonged no longer to myself, but to that young girl, so calm, so unconscious." Paul was completely carried away by the remembrance of that evening. He was again under its magic spell. He continued: "After that first interview, I was introduced to her, and seized every opportunity to be with her. Now you know the reason of my burying myself at Canet for the Winter. It is because she is staying hardly a mile away. You have been talking to me in a way that has opened my heart, and I have replied with frankness and truth." "Thank you. That is what I expected. But, now, why are you not happy in your love? There are two reasons; either the young lady is poor, and you dread to offer her your small fortune, knowing that a life of straightened circumstances is often worse than absolute poverty; or else she is rich, and you are too proud to have her think you can be actuated by interested motives. "Ah! that is it? You see that our affection for you has caused us to guess right once more. Now, what is the use of a father and mother, except to smoothe away difficulties? What is mine is your mother's. Do not deny it. That is law, you know. Mme. Frager was poor when she gave me her hand, and I had the happiness of presenting her with the wealth she was so fitted to adorn. Let me add that every year a small sum has been set aside from our abundance, for your marriage-portion. It now amounts to a little more than three hundred thousand francs. You know that I can make all the money I need with my brush; so it is a mere trifle for me. You can, you must, accept it as it is offered. Now, you can go to your loved one, and say: 'I am no longer poor. I love you. Will you accept my love?'" Paul was deeply moved. This man, who had been showing him such thoughtful tenderness, he had bitterly hated for four years, for Claude was right; he had never forgiven him for coming between his mother and himself. He could not speak. Tears of gratitude and joy stood in his eyes. Claude understood his emotion, and gently pressed his hand.