"Yet you used to be so fond of it." "I don't care for anything now," replied Frederick, almost involuntarily, in a tone of intense bitterness. Again the young mother felt the tears spring to her eyes, and Frederick, seeing his mother's distress, exclaimed: "I love you always, mother, you know that." "Oh, yes, I know that, but you have no idea how despondently you said, 'I don't care for anything now.'" Then trying to smile in order to cheer her son, Marie added: "Really, I can't imagine what is the matter with me to-day. I seem to be continually saying and doing the wrong thing, and here you are crying again, my dear child." "Never mind, mother, never mind. It is a long time since I have cried, and I really believe it will do me good." He spoke the truth. These tears did indeed seem to relieve his overburdened heart, and when he at last looked up in the face of the mother who was tenderly bending over him, and saw her beautiful features wearing such an expression of infinite tenderness, he thought for an instant of confessing the feelings that tortured him. "Yes, yes," he said to himself, "I was wrong to fear either scorn or anger from her. In her angelic goodness of heart I shall find only pity, compassion, consolation, and aid." The mere thought of confessing all to his mother comforted him, and seemed even to restore a little of his former courage, for after a moment he said to Madame Bastien: "You proposed a walk a few minutes ago, mother. I believe you are right in thinking that the open air would do me good." This admission on her son's part seemed to Madame Bastien a good omen, and hastily donning her hat and a silk mantle, she left the house in company with her son. But now the time for the confession had come, the youth shrank from it. He could think of no way to broach the subject, or to excuse himself to his mother for having concealed the truth from her so long. As they were walking along, the sky, which had been so lowering all the morning, suddenly cleared, and the sun shone out brightly. "What a delightful change!" exclaimed Madame Bastien, in the hope of cheering her son. "One might almost think that the radiant sun had emerged from the clouds to give you a friendly greeting. And how pretty that old juniper looks in this flood of sunlight. That old juniper over there at the end of the field, you remember it, of course?" Frederick shook his head. "What! you have forgotten those two long summer days when I sat in the shade of that old tree while you finished that poor labourer's work?" "Oh, yes, that is true," replied Frederick, quickly. The recollection of that generous act seemed to make the thought of the painful confession he must make to his mother less painful, and his growing cheerfulness showed itself so plainly in his face that Madame Bastien said to him: "I was right to insist upon your coming out, my child. You look so much brighter that I am sure you must be feeling better." "I am, mother."