evening, to serve dinner. Madame Ferailleur attended to
everything, not blushing in the least when she was compelled to open the
door for some client. Besides, she could do this without the least risk
of encountering disrespect, so imposing and dignified were her manners
and her person.

M. de Coralth had shown excellent judgment when he compared her to a
family portrait. She was, in fact, exactly the person a painter would
select to represent some old burgher's wife--a chaste and loving spouse,
a devoted mother, an incomparable housewife--in one phrase, the faithful
guardian of her husband's domestic happiness. She had just passed her
fiftieth birthday, and looked fully her age. She had suffered. A close
observer would have detected traces of weeping about her wrinkled
eyelids; and the twinge of her lips was expressive of cruel anguish,
heroically endured. Still, she was not severe, nor even too sedate; and
the few friends who visited her were often really astonished at her wit.
Besides, she was one of those women who have no history, and who find
happiness in what others would call duty. Her life could be summed up in
a single sentence: she had loved; she had mourned.

The daughter of a petty clerk in one of the government departments, and
merely dowered with a modest portion of three thousand francs, she had
married a young man as poor as herself, but intelligent and industrious,
whom she loved, and who adored her. This young man on marrying had sworn
that he would make a fortune; not that he cared for money for himself,
but he wished to provide his idol with every luxury. His love, enhancing
his energy, no doubt hastened his success. Attached as a chemist to
a large manufacturing establishment, his services soon became so
invaluable to his employers that they gave him a considerable interest
in the business. His name even obtained an honorable place among modern
inventors; and we are indebted to him for the discovery of one of those
brilliant colors that are extracted from common coal. At the end of ten
years he had become a man of means. He loved his wife as fondly as on
the day of their marriage, and he had a son--Pascal.

Unfortunate fellow! One day, in the full sunshine of happiness and
success, while he was engaged in a series of experiments for the purpose
of obtaining a durable, and at the same time perfectly harmless, green,
the chemicals exploded, smashing the mortar which he held, and wounding
him horrib