ch enough to cease gambling, a guest at
the fetes of _Madame_, the brilliant colonel who at all reviews and in
all processions appeared before her eyes in splendid uniforms, with his
two crosses on his breast, realized all her maternal dreams. One such
day of public ceremony effaced from Agathe's mind the horrible sight
of Philippe's misery on the Quai de l'Ecole; on that day he passed his
mother at the self-same spot, in attendance on the Dauphin, with plumes
in his shako, and his pelisse gorgeous with gold and fur. Agathe, who to
her artist son was now a sort of devoted gray sister, felt herself the
mother of none but the dashing aide-de-camp to his Royal Highness, the
Dauphin of France. Proud of Philippe, she felt he made the ease and
happiness of her life,--forgetting that the lottery-office, by which she
was enabled to live at all, came through Joseph.

One day Agathe noticed that her poor artist was more worried than usual
by the bill of his color-man, and she determined, though cursing his
profession in her heart, to free him from his debts. The poor woman kept
the house with the proceeds of her office, and took care never to ask
Joseph for a farthing. Consequently she had no money of her own; but she
relied on Philippe's good heart and well-filled purse. For three years
she had waited in expectation of his coming to see her; she now imagined
that if she made an appeal to him he would bring some enormous sum;
and her thoughts dwelt on the happiness she should feel in giving it to
Joseph, whose judgment of his brother, like that of Madame Descoings,
was so unfair.

Saying nothing to Joseph, she wrote the following letter to Philippe:--

To Monsieur le comte de Brambourg:

My dear Philippe,--You have not given the least little word of
remembrance to your mother for five years. That is not right. You
should remember the past, if only for the sake of your excellent
brother. Joseph is now in need of money, and you are floating in
wealth; he works, while you are flying from fete to fete. You now
possess, all to yourself, the property of my brother. Little
Borniche tells me you cannot have less than two hundred thousand
francs a year. Well, then, come and see Joseph. During your visit,
slip into the skull a few thousand-franc notes. Philippe, you owe
them to us; nevertheless, your brother will feel grateful to you,
not to speak of the happiness you will give

Your mother,

Agathe Brida