There were nevertheless in the city many sad hearts, as upon all such occasions there are many who cannot participate. At the window of one of the largest but poorest lodging houses of the Kamerstraet, known by the sign of a large Red Lion, stood a young man whose desponding and sorrowful air contrasted strongly with the joyful bands that passed under his window. It was evident that he took no part in the general rejoicing. The room in which he was, although showing that scrupulous Flemish neatness, presented an appearance of extreme poverty. A miserable pine bedstead, curtains of blue linen, four old chairs, and an old oak table comprised the furniture of the room. The whitewashed walls were devoid of ornament, except the image of the Virgin, before which burned a small wax candle. Upon the bed reclined a woman whose pale, wan face, deep-sunk eyes, livid lips, and forehead covered with premature wrinkles (she being still young) wore the marks of serious physical and mental suffering. The silence which reigned in the room was broken by the invalid. "Yvon, my son," said she, "come to me; but what do I see, tears?" "Alas, Mother, how can I keep them back? I cannot help you; the fever has so weakened me that I am unable to work. Hardly can I lift a hammer. I could not bear the heat of the forge. I am as weak as a child." "My poor child, the fever has paralyzed your strength as well as mine, but the will of God be done." "Amen," responded the son. "It is hard nevertheless to struggle against sickness and poverty. If tomorrow we do not satisfy the demands of the landlord we shall be turned into the street. If I were the only one to suffer!" "My son, I have seen your father and your three brothers die with this merciless fever, and with them perished all my happiness. But in the midst of my suffering I have always said, God has given them to us and taken them from us. Blessed be his name. And in this submission to his will I have found my only consolation." The young man sighed but made no reply. At this moment a tumultuous noise of steps arose from the street. It was a procession. The corporations of tanners and joiners were passing. "Now come the painters with the image of St. Luc, and now, oh! I see the blacksmiths and lockmakers carrying the banner of St. Eloi." Poor Yvon looked sorrowfully upon his former companions, happy in their strength and health, when suddenly he drew back from the window and rapidly closed it as if he would shut out a fatal vision. "What is it?" exclaimed his mother, alarmed at his sudden pallor. "Marie has just passed with her father and Master Verachter, the rich jeweler of Ziereckstraet." The poor mother tenderly caressed him, without speaking. She seemed to fear to encourage by the least word this sorrow she knew to be without hope.