upon the face of one of the gentlemen who
were waiting. Adolphe thought that the
sneerer was an unhappy speculator, who,
having come to ask for time, did not believe
that the old gentleman was out, and was
waiting doggedly to waylay him. So he
went away, saying he would call to-morrow.

Dreaming of his plans, Adolphe wandered
off in the afternoon to the Bois de Boulogne.
At that time there was no Avenue de
l'Impératrice; there was no lake dotted with
gondolas; there was no green turf for grateful
feet in summer time. Pedestrians
wandered without plan along the straggling
walks, under dense foliage, or through
tangled underwood. Adolphe sauntered
into the loneliest part of the wood,
wondering what his old counsellor would say
to him, and how he should invest the
two thousand francs he had contrived to
save in Monsieur Perrin's hard service. He
was aroused by a horse galloping past him at
full speed, bearing a lady who was pale as
death, and who wildly gesticulated to him
that there was some horror behind her. He
hurried forward till he saw a group of men
and women surrounding something lying
upon the ground under a dark tree. They
beckoned him to approach. Peeping over the
shoulders of one of the group, he saw the
features — how ghastly in death! — of his old
counsellor. A long black kerchief, drawn by the
heavy weight it had sustained into a tight
thin rope, lay upon the grass at hand, and
told the close of the old man's story.

It was Adolphe's first view of death: he was
inexpressibly shocked: he was, for a time,
tongue-tied. The bystanders, seeing the pallid
horror in his face, shook him and questioned
him. Did he know the deceased? Presently
he was able to tell them. Some gens d'armes
came up, a cart was soon at hand, and the
speculator's body was carried home. Adolphe,
too, got to Monsieur Perrin's house, and
was the bearer of the sad news to his placid
employer, who merely remarked:

"I thought those Lyons at forty-six were
a bad speculation."

Julie Perrin alone wept when she heard
of the old man's death. Madame Perrin
blanched somewhat, but she was a woman
who prided herself upon her philosophy.
She shut herself up in the evening, however,
and told Adolphe that he would do well to
take a walk — he must be strong-minded and
meet the accidents of life with calmness.
As for Julie, she was a little bird that the
first frost would kill. Adolphe obeyed,
Julie buried her red eyelids in her pillows,
and Monsieur Perrin went to his café to
learn how the old man stood, and who
would be the principal sufferers by the
affair. Adolphe took counsel of himself as
he paced the Boulevards. He would remain
with his employer, and went to bed with this
resolution.

He was at his duties early on the morrow;
for, of late, he had somewhat neglected his
master's books. His dreams of sudden wealth
had disturbed him; but, now that these had
vanished, he had resolved to make up for
lost time. It was not more than seven o'clock
when he took his seat at his desk; the
quarter after this hour had not struck, when
a gentle tap against the screen behind which
he worked roused him from a very perplexing
sum. He called out pettishly:

"Come in."

Julie Perrin wished Adolphe good morning
very timidly; then, seating herself not
far from him, conjured up courage with a
great and evident effort to speak boldly to
him. Adolphe was astonished and dumb.
The blood stood in two patches upon her
young cheeks as she spoke rapidly to him in
a low whisper.

"You were about to leave us. I know it:
to lead the life of your father — of my father
—of the poor gentleman who destroyed
himself yesterday. It is very bold of a girl like
me to advise a man like you; but let me
pray of you — let me implore you — to be
content here; and if you can, after a year or
two, to give yourself some nobler ambition,
than that of becoming a successful gambler
on the Bourse. I have a father who hardly
remembers my existence, and a mother who
despises me when I pity the sorrows of poor
work-people, or envy the simple country-folk.
I believe that you, Adolphe, have a nature too
noble to succeed on the Bourse. Remain
where you are, to plan some honest course of
life. I have got up early to speak to you, and
to make you promise. I have not slept all
night for thinking of the poor old gentleman
who killed himself yesterday. Promise me."

Adolphe promised heartily; and when the
girl retreated hastily from him full of shame
at her own boldness, the figures over which
he had been poring, only got into a denser
tangle as he worked at them. First, he
counted his balance; then he went over
items; but no, it was no use; he must put
it off until another time. Julies are the
sworn enemies of arithmetic.

Monsieur Perrin was a trifle sterner than
usual, as he presently passed through the
office on his journey to the Petite Bourse,
before the Opera Arcade. He bade Adolphe
get his books in order as soon as possible.
Monsieur Perrin had hardly turned the
corner of the Boulevards, when his wife
darted also through the office, and turned
down the street in the direction of the
Bibliothèque Impériale. Still Adolphe could
not work. He had been in the habit of
seeing Julie daily for years past; and her
presence had never disturbed his calculations.
But to-day, that serious little face,
with tears beading the eyelids of the
tender eyes, thrust itself before every rule
of three he endeavoured to adjust. So he
went out to execute his morning commissions;
after having listened to his little