For once, Marsac was staggered. The paragraph was already in print, and the afternoon papers containing it were being cried on the street. He read the letter carefully, then laid it down, saying, “It is impossible that he should return. Living on fifteen cents a day for twenty years must have impaired his constitution to that degree that he cannot stand the voyage.” Fontaine, already in the depths of woe, seemed to sink deeper and deeper. Not so Marsac, whose cheerfulness never left him. All day the two friends sat in their garret, unable on account of Fontaine’s dilapidated clothes and Marsac’s want of shoes to go out and get anything to eat,--for they could still go to a restaurant near the newspaper office and get a dinner on credit. They both shrank from admitting their necessities by asking for an advance from the business office of their newspaper. Marsac spent the day in patching and cleaning, with awkward industry, Fontaine’s torn coat and trousers. Never had Fontaine loved and admired him more. He sang and whistled all day long, made jokes, and pretended that doing without food and fire was rather an amusing experience. At nightfall he held up the torn and soiled coat and trousers for inspection. The poor fellow had done his best, but they were clearly not presentable. Not even then did his courage and spirits desert him. He laughed at his own failure, and said gaily,-- “Well, my boy, what a tale this will make to tell when we get rich! For half the pleasure of rich people consists in telling how happy they were when they had not a second shirt to their backs.” [Illustration] At that moment a servant in the establishment opened the door without ceremony, and thrust in a huge box, with the name of “Charlevois, Tailor,” on it. Scarcely was the door shut, when the two young men tore open the box. There lay several suits of the handsomest mourning clothes imaginable, with hats and gloves to match; and on top of everything was pinned a letter. It was from Charlevois, one of the best tailors in Paris, saying that he had taken the liberty of sending Monsieur Auguste Fontaine several suits of clothes, asking his inspection of them. He had read in the papers that evening of Monsieur Maurice Fontaine’s death, and would be glad to supply Monsieur Auguste Fontaine’s mourning. Also that his son was in the stationery business, and had enclosed some samples of stationery.