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fse ' .' HTHEIBOYS’ AND GIRLS’
sri-eeredatz as brittleness of.mind and the work
of annabject spirit. He had to’ submit to,a
thousand humiliations. Displeased at some
things he had witnessed, he had forbidden
Captain Kcpell his: house; the captain was re-
called, and the oldtrain of follies and extrava-
gancies was commenced anew. M. Bechart
strove to be as gay as before; but it was a vain
effort: beneath, the fiimsy exterior of mirth,
heaviness of heart was visible. It had been
‘remarked, that, ever since his interview with
M. Blane,‘ he had not belenthe same man.“ A
prey to devouring-cares, he passed nearly his
whole time in his private study; even, the care
of,-, his affairs brought‘ it no distraction. from
gloomy thought. If at the pressing instance of
friends, he made his appearancetamong them,
his stay was as short as possible; he‘ became
absent and taciturn, replied aszbriefly as pos-
sible to' their ' questions,’ and abstained from
takingpart in. any games or amusements.‘
"What was passing in the soul of this man?
iv Thesame that passes in the soul of one. ‘hose
eyes have long been blind-folded, but who s
them at‘ the moment he-is upon the brink
precipiee.u Bechart was an altered man: Va ,
mask of. hypocrisy nolonger covered a face,
whosetcxterior calm, concealed a -heart torn
with anguish andreniorsc. , : ' 7 -‘
'‘:.Tlievfeeble effortinatle by M. Bechart-to re-
deem his character with his former associates,
, , ‘did but serve to render him the more ridiculous.
A..thousand pleasantrieswere circulated at l1lS
expense. Kepell took a malignant satisfaction
in regalingAhim,,from time to time, with these‘
‘epigcaminatirjsallies; but the unhappy mer-
chant sanlifday iiftcrday, intola state of apathy
from which notlnng couldrrouse him.
f I ‘fA't length this indifference had reached such
’ point as to absorb all care for the most;seri-
'r-'ous concerns. Inrithe course of the year, one of
his friends,'c’ame"'to inform him of the failure of
a large; firni, in which he was involved to,the
amount‘:-‘of between sixty and seventy thousand
francs :, he, received the news ‘without’ the
slightest app.are'nt,em'otion, and was the first to
acquaint his partnenwith the loss. “ Captain
Kepell, said he, what wouldyou do to a per-
,‘son, if he gave you‘a smart box onnthe ear?
7 . .‘fI would return him a pair.” P" V
-‘,‘VVell, then, you will have to box the cars
of dame fortune; for shethas made us lose
between sixt and seventy thousand francs.
.“ Lose 1 . ow say you ?” A2
“ You have, a ready wit, said Bechart with
perfept sang-froid; why don’t you reply in one
ofvyourwell turned cpigramsl It is Well, 11?
added, after a moment’s silence; Itis all as It
should be, Captain Kepell; IVhave always
. heard it said that, sooner or later ‘justice Will
be done; Fit must be so, as.we1l in our regard
as in that of the frost of the world. Let me
tell you, that there is a Providence! I As for
u
myself, he added in a kind of reckless tone, it
matters little whether I am‘ ruined or not, but
those children of mine-alas! for those poor
children! Indeed, indeed, said he feelingly,
as he quitted the room, I have wanted the
chastisement of heaven !”
This idea of merited chastisement became
inherent in’ his ‘mind, and hence no loss, no
accident surprised him. I VVhatever .evil or
misadventure befel, he grew to consider it as a
necessary consequence of his actual existence.
‘There seemedno possible joy or happiness.
for -him in the world. The same cannot, be
saidkof sorrow, man has always room for that. t
‘ Do‘but"look'at Bechart, the rich ship-broker;
of Marseilles. His soul is a prey to bitterness.
;How changed .is he in person, premature
wrinkles deepen day by day “upon his fore-
head; his hair has grown gray before its time;
‘his looks. are as white as those of an old man, ,-
and yet they do not inspire the same respect;
his eye has lost.‘ its 'lustre,'the news of the
crowded mart, and the money change ,can no
.longcr light it up; his very footstep’ is un-
steady: what a strange altered man!
I The only moment of repose that Bechart
seemed to, enjoy, was when his little Charles
would come and seat himself upon his knee.
Of his three children, this was the only one
who manifested'a real affection for him; and
among the reasons for this, one seemed to be,
that he‘ was repulsed from the arms of his
mother. Fortunate child, whose .deformity
provedya means of preserving his heart from ,
the taint of many‘ a vice;-whose touching des-
tiny it was tousuffer much in his own person,
and to be sensible to the sufferings of others.
Such was thewchild who consoled M. Bechart
in’ his prese It unhappy situation.‘
“Charle ,” said he to him'one evening, “if
you had 11 t'.me with.you,to whom could you
fly for com t? who would love you ?’T - ‘
“I shall’ have you always with me,” said
Charles; “ but if you were-. to quit me. for a .
time, I should find a friend in God,‘ who is so-,
good a God. , Ihave been readingilin the pretty .
book with pictures, which you gave me, that
He takes care even of the little birds, that he
provides them a home, and feeds them; and
as.I am something more than a bird, he will
love me more.” ,
“ My poor dear boy, I shall leave you for a
long, long time, but you will have a mother
doh’t‘you love her, then?”
“ Oh yes-but-”
“ ‘Veil, what?” '
“She does not love me. If brother and
sister disobey her, she ‘forgives and embraces
them; but though ’I,j;try and‘ obey her, she
never embraces ‘me, never. And yet she will
sometimes gine: me a smile, and say to me’;
“Go, Charles, go and playwith your father.
1eft.""=. You never talk to me of your mother;
