ered him, though innocent of all
participation in it, unworthy to fulfill his engagement with his
affianced wife. Among the simple inhabitants of Gabriel's province,
however, such acuteness of conscientious sensibility as this was no
extraordinary exception to all general rules. Ignorant and superstitious
as they might be, the people of Brittany practiced the duties of
hospitality as devoutly as they practiced the duties of the national
religion. The presence of the stranger-guest, rich or poor, was a sacred
presence at their hearths. His safety was their especial charge, his
property their especial responsibility. They might be half starved, but
they were ready to share the last crust with him, nevertheless, as they
would share it with their own children.

Any outrage on the virtue of hospitality, thus born and bred in the
people, was viewed by them with universal disgust, and punished with
universal execration. This ignominy was uppermost in Gabriel's thoughts
by the side of his grandfather's bed; the dread of this worst dishonor,
which there was no wiping out, held him speechless before Perrine,
shamed and horrified him so that he felt unworthy to look her in the
face; and when the result of his search at the Merchant's Table proved
the absence there of all evidence of the crime spoken of by the old
man, the blessed relief, the absorbing triumph of that discovery, was
expressed entirely in the one thought which had prompted his first
joyful words: He could marry Perrine with a clear conscience, for he was
the son of an honest man!

When he returned to the cottage, Francois had not come back. Perrine
was astonished at the change in Gabriel's manner; even Pierre and the
children remarked it. Rest and warmth had by this time so far recovered
the younger brother, that he was able to give some account of the
perilous adventures of the night at sea. They were still listening to
the boy's narrative when Francois at last returned. It was now
Gabriel who held out his hand, and made the first advances toward
reconciliation.

To his utter amazement, his father recoiled from him. The variable
temper of Francois had evidently changed completely during his absence
at the village. A settled scowl of distrust darkened his face as he
looked at his son.

"I never shake hands with people who have once doubted me," he
exclaimed, loudly and irritably; "for I always doubt them forever after.
You are a bad son! You have suspected your