“Monsieur, I am late in expressing my gratitude. Pardon this delay. It has not been without good reasons. I was expecting my father every moment, and was greatly preoccupied with all I had to communicate, as well as about the reply he would make.” ... “Mademoiselle,” replied Victor gently, “there is no need of excusing yourself. I am happy, very happy, to see you, but had no right to expect your visit.” “No right, monsieur?... What! did you not save my brother’s life?... And was it not you the unhappy fellow had before” ... “O mademoiselle! do me the favor never to mention that circumstance!” “You are generous, monsieur! But that is no reason why we should show ourselves ungrateful—rather the contrary. Louis and I can never forget that, before you saved his life, he had injured you to such a degree that he can never be sufficiently repentant. As to my father, I have not dared inform him of these details too painful to be acknowledged. My father, alas! is not religious. Louis’ fault would seem so enormous to him that he would never forgive him.” “It is, however, of but little account. If harm has resulted from it, Louis was only the involuntary cause. Let us adore the divine decrees, and forgive our poor friend. He had not, after all, any very criminal intentions.” Aline looked at Victor with a sadness she could not wholly conceal. His wasted features, his eyes hollowed by suffering, his air of languor, nothing escaped her observation. “I wish I could think so,” murmured she, as if speaking to herself. “Ah! poor Louis, what remorse he must feel!” This allusion to Victor’s sad condition brought tears to my eyes. Victor suspected my emotion, and at once changed the subject. “M. Louis has become my friend,” said he to Aline; “therefore pardon my curiosity, mademoiselle, if it is indiscreet. May we hope to see him again soon? Is M. Beauvais greatly offended with him?” Everything is arranged for the best, though not without difficulty. My father was not originally wealthy. It has only been by dint of order, economy, and industry, that he has attained the position he now occupies. When he learned that Louis had lost, or rather squandered, his maternal inheritance, his anger was fearful. But by degrees I made him comprehend that Louis, though ruined, had shown new resolution—that he was willing to work; he wished to become useful, and regain all he had lost. My father then grew calm. And yet all my fears were not allayed. I had to tell him of Louis’ sad attempt at suicide, of which he was still ignorant, but which he could not fail to learn. I told him of it, dwelling on your devotedness, which struck him most of all. “Has Louis shown himself duly grateful to M. Barnier for the service?” he asked. I replied that he had.