V.

Well might they call him "the fool," poor Sylvestre Ker! Not that he had
less brains than another man,--on the contrary, he was now very
learned--but love crazes him who places his affections on an unworthy
object.

Sylvestre Ker's little finger was worth two dozen Pol Bihan's and fifty
Matheline's; in spite of which Matheline and Pol Bihan were perfectly
just in their contempt, for he who ascends the highest falls lowest.

When Sylvestre had re-entered the tower, Pol commenced to sigh heavily,
and said,--

"What a pity! What a great, great pity!"

"What is a pity?" asked Sylvestre Ker.

"It is a pity to miss such a rare opportunity."

Sylvestre Ker exclaimed, "What opportunity? So you were listening to my
conversation with Matheline?"

"Why, yes," replied Pol. "I always have an ear open to hear what
concerns you, my true friend. Seven years! Shall I tell you what I
think? You would only have twelve months to wait to go with your mother
to another Christmas Mass."

"I have promised," said Sylvestre.

"That is nothing: if your mother loves you truly, she will forgive
you."

"If she loves me!" cried Sylvestre Ker. "Oh, yes, she loves me with her
whole heart."

Some chestnuts still remained, and Bihan shelled one while he said,--

"Certainly, certainly, mothers always love their children; but Matheline
is not your mother. You are one-eyed, you are lame, and you have sold
your little patrimony to buy your furnaces. Nothing remains of it. Where
is the girl that can wait seven years? Nearly the half of her age!... If
I were in your place, I would not throw away my luck as you are about to
do, but at the hour of Matins I would work for my happiness."

Sylvestre Ker was standing before the fireplace. He listened, his eyes
bent down, with a frown upon his brow.

"You have spoken well," at last he said; "my dear mother will forgive
me. I shall remain, and will work at the hour of Matins."

"You have decided for the best!" cried Bihan. "Rest easy; I will be with
you in case of danger. Open the door of your laboratory. We will work
together; I will cling to you like your shadow!"

Sylvestre Ker did not move, but looked fixedly upon the floor, and then,
as if thinking aloud, murmured,--

"It will be the first time I have ever caused my dear mother sorrow!"

He opened a door, but not that of the laboratory, pushed Pol Bihan
outside, and said,--

"The danger is for myself alone; the gold will be for