"It is useless, father," said Frederick, resolutely, seeing the anguish of his mother and wishing to turn his father's anger toward himself. "The large silver ladle is not in the house; neither is the rest of the silver." "What?" asked Jacques, stupidly. But, not believing his ears, he seized the plate at his side, looked at it, and convinced of the truth of his son's words, he remained a moment, besotted with amazement. Frederick and his mother exchanged glances at this critical moment. The young man, determined to bring his father's anger on himself alone, replied, resolutely: "It was I, father; without telling my mother, I sold the silver for--" "Monsieur," cried Marie, addressing Jacques, "do not believe Frederick; it was I, and I alone, who--ah, well, yes, it was I who sold the silver." Notwithstanding his wife's confession, Jacques Bastien could not believe what he had heard, so preposterous, so impossible did the whole thing appear. Bridou himself, this time, sincerely shared the bewilderment of his friend, and the bailiff broke the silence by saying to Jacques: "Humph, humph, old fellow, this is another affair to selling your fir-trees, I think." Marie expected an explosion of wrath from her passionate husband. There was no such thing. Jacques remained silent, immovable, and absorbed for a long time. His broad face was more florid than usual. He drank, one after another, two great glasses of wine, leaned his elbows on the table, with his chin in the palm of his hand, drumming convulsively on his fat cheek with his contracted fingers. Fixing on his wife's face his two little gray eyes, which glittered under his frowning eyebrows with a sinister light, he said, with apparent calmness: "You say then, madame, that all the silver--" "Monsieur--" "Come, speak out, you see that I am calm." Frederick rose instinctively and stood by his mother as if to protect her, so much did his father's composure frighten him. "My child, sit down," said Marie, in a sweet, gentle voice. Frederick returned to his place at the table and sat down. This unexpected movement on the part of Frederick had been observed by M. Bastien, who contented himself with questioning his wife, without changing his attitude, and continuing to drum with the ends of his fat fingers upon his left cheek. "You say, then, madame, that the silver, that my silver--" "Ah, well, monsieur," replied Marie, in a firm voice, "your silver, I have sold it." "You have sold it?" "Yes, monsieur." "And to whom?" "To a silversmith in Pont Brillant." "What is his name?" "I do not know, monsieur." "Truly?" "It was not I who went to town to sell the silver, monsieur." "Then who did?" "No matter, monsieur, it is sold." "That is true," replied Bastien, emptying his glass again; "and why did you sell it, if you please,--sell this silver which belonged to me and to me alone?"