“Father, will you allow me a few minutes‘’ conversation with you afterwards? I have several things to tell you.” “Yes, my dear son, I will wait for you.” And the professor turned towards the library, where he always spent an hour after dinner. “Come, tell me everything now,” said Madame Dornthal, leading the way to a bench where they could not be seen from the house. “Yes, mother, dear mother, it is to you I will refer a decision which my honor and my conscience tell me is required. You shall decide whether we ought to evade or submit to it.” He began his account, and, while she was attentively listening without interrupting him once, laid before her the details, in all their reality, of the situation in which his uncle’s death and his cousin’s flight had left them. Madame Dornthal, more accustomed to the practical details of life than her husband, had not shared his illusions. She was much better prepared than he for the sad consequences of a reverse of fortune, but had been far from anticipating its extent. They would be much less wealthy than before, have some privations to endure, and for a time be obliged to practise considerable economy; such had been the extent of her fears. But all this did not appear to so excellent a manager a trial beyond her strength. During the past week she had declared, as often as her husband, that the loss of money was the smallest part of the misfortune that had befallen them. Now she realized that this loss was something real, something almost as appalling as death, for it involved the end of the life she had been accustomed to for twenty years--an end she must face and at once accept. And she was courageous enough not to hesitate. She embraced her son, and said: “God be blessed for giving me a son like you! Yes, dear Clement, yes, you are right--a thousand times right.” “Then you agree with me, mother, that the ruin of the Dornthals should not cause the ruin of any one else?” “Yes, my child.” “Our name must remain without reproach, and nobody in the world have a right to curse it?” “Certainly, Clement, whatever be the consequence.” “Whatever be the consequence!” repeated Clement firmly. “Thanks, dear mother. I must leave you. It is not my place, but yours, to inform my father.” “Yes, Clement, it is my place.” She put back her son’s thick hair, and gazed silently at him for a moment with profound attention and emotion. Never had Clement’s eyes expressed more clearly than now the firmness, integrity, and energy of his nature. “No!” thought she, “there is not among those who effect great things in the world, and leave behind them a glorious and illustrious name, a nobler or more courageous heart than yours, my son! God be praised! Your life will be blessed, even though your worth and all the faculties you possess remain hidden and for ever unknown but to him alone!”