e a good son, M. Letourneur. I have just been talking to him. He
is a most intelligent young man."

"Yes, Mr. Kazallon," replied M. Letourneur, brightening up into a smile,
"his afflicted frame contains a noble mind. He is like his mother, who
died at his birth."

"He is full of reverence and love for you, sir," I remarked.

"Dear boy!" muttered the father half to himself. "Ah, Mr. Kazallon,"
he continued, "you do not know what it is to a father to have a son a
cripple, beyond hope of cure."

"M. Letourneur," I answered, "you take more than your share of the
affliction which has fallen upon you and your son. That M. Andre is
entitled to the very greatest commiseration no one can deny; but you
should remember, that after all a physical infirmity is not so hard to
bear as mental grief. Now, I have watched your son pretty closely, and
unless I am much mistaken there is nothing, that troubles him so much as
the sight of your own sorrow."

"But I never let him see it," he broke in hastily. "My sole thought
is how to divert him. I have discovered, that in spite of his physical
weakness, he delights in travelling; so for the last few years we have
been constantly on the move. We first went all over Europe, and are now
returning from visiting the principal places in the United States.
I never allowed my son to go to college, but instructed him entirely
myself, and these travels, I hope, will serve to complete his education.
He is very intelligent, and has a lively imagination, and I am sometimes
tempted to hope that in contemplating the wonders of nature he forgets
his own infirmity."

"Yes, sir, of course he does," I assented.

"But," continued M. Letourneur, taking my hand, "although, perhaps, HE
may forget, I can never forget. Ah, sir, do you suppose that Andre can
ever forgive his parents for bringing him into the world a cripple?"

The remorse of the unhappy father was very distressing, and I was
about to say a few kind words of sympathy when Andre himself made his
appearance. M. Letourneur hastened toward him and assisted him up the
few steep steps that led to the poop.

As soon as Andre was comfortably seated on one of the benches, and his
father had taken his place by his side, I joined them, and we fell into
conversation upon ordinary topics, discussing the various points of
the "Chancellor," the probable length of the passage, and the different
details of our life on board. I find that M. Letourneur's estima