He took Lise in his arms and began to sob. He said nothing more. What could he have said? It was a terrible catastrophe, but the consequences were still more terrible. I soon learned this from Etiennette. Ten years ago their father had bought the garden and had built the house himself. The man who had sold him the ground had also lent him the money to buy the necessary materials required by a florist. The amount was payable in yearly payments for fifteen years. The man was only waiting for an occasion when the florist would be late in payment to take back the ground, house, material; keeping, of course, the ten-year payments that he had already received. This was a speculation on the man's part, for he had hoped that before the fifteen years expired there would come a day when the florist would be unable to meet his notes. This day had come at last! Now what was going to happen? We were not left long in doubt. The day after the notes fell due--this sum which was to have been paid from the sale of his season's flowers--a gentleman dressed all in black came to the house and handed us a stamped paper. It was the process server. He came often; so many times that he soon began to know us by name. "How do you do, Mlle. Etiennette? Hello, Remi; hello, Alexix!" And he handed us his stamped paper smilingly, as though we were friends. The father did not stay in the house. He was always out. He never told us where he went. Probably he went to call on business men, or he might have been at court. What would the result be? A part of the winter passed. As we were unable to repair the conservatories and renew the glass frames, we cultivated vegetables and hardier flowers that did not demand shelter. They were not very productive, but at least it was something, and it was work for us. One evening the father returned home more depressed than usual. "Children," he said, "it is all over." I was about to leave the room, for I felt that he had something serious to say to his children. He signed to me to stop. "You are one of the family, Remi," he said sadly, "and although you are not very old, you know what trouble is. Children, I am going to leave you." There was a cry on all sides. Lise flung her arms round her father's neck. He held her very tight. "Ah, it's hard to leave you, dear children," he said, "but the courts have ordered me to pay, and as I have no money, everything here has to be sold, and as that is not enough, I have to go to prison for five years. As I am not able to pay with my money, I have to pay with my liberty." We all began to cry. "Yes, it's sad," he continued brokenly, "but a man can't do anything against the law. My attorney says that it used to be worse than it is." There was a tearful silence.