t them. The second check for forty thousand francs
herewith enclosed is for my wife and children.

Till we meet.--Your colonel and friend,

Charles Mignon.

"Your father is coming," said Madame Mignon to her daughter.

"What makes you think so, mamma?" asked Modeste.

"Nothing else could make Dumay hurry himself."

"Victory! victory!" cried the lieutenant as soon as he reached the
garden gate. "Madame, the colonel has not been ill a moment; he is
coming back--coming back on the 'Mignon,' a fine ship of his own, which
together with its cargo is worth, he tells me, eight or nine hundred
thousand francs. But he requires secrecy from all of us; his heart is
still wrung by the misfortunes of our dear departed girl."

"He has still to learn her death," said Madame Mignon.

"He attributes her disaster, and I think he is right, to the rapacity of
young men after great fortunes. My poor colonel expects to find the lost
sheep here. Let us be happy among ourselves but say nothing to any
one, not even to Latournelle, if that is possible. Mademoiselle," he
whispered in Modeste's ear, "write to your father and tell him of his
loss and also the terrible results on your mother's health and eyesight;
prepare him for the shock he has to meet. I will engage to get the
letter into his hands before he reaches Havre, for he will have to pass
through Paris on his way. Write him a long letter; you have plenty of
time. I will take the letter on Monday; Monday I shall probably go to
Paris."

Modeste was so afraid that Canalis and Dumay would meet that she started
hastily for the house to write to her poet and put off the rendezvous.

"Mademoiselle," said Dumay, in a very humble manner and barring
Modeste's way, "may your father find his daughter with no other feelings
in her heart than those she had for him and for her mother before he was
obliged to leave her."

"I have sworn to myself, to my sister, and to my mother to be the
joy, the consolation, and the glory of my father, and _I shall keep my
oath_!" replied Modeste with a haughty and disdainful glance at Dumay.
"Do not trouble my delight in the thought of my father's return
with insulting suspicions. You cannot prevent a girl's heart from
beating--you don't want me to be a mummy, do you?" she said. "My hand
belongs to my family, but my heart is my own. If I love any one, my
father and my mother will know it. Does that satisfy you, monsieur?"

"Thank you, mademoiselle;