made away with himself by this time, he will not kill
himself. As he himself says, 'his courage cannot last longer than a
morning----'"

"But the suspense!" cried Eve, forgiving almost everything at the
thought of death. Then she told her husband of the proposals which
Petit-Claud professed to have received from the Cointets. David accepted
them at once with manifest pleasure.

"We shall have enough to live upon in a village near L'Houmeau, where
the Cointets' paper-mill stands. I want nothing now but a quiet life,"
said David. "If Lucien has punished himself by death, we can wait so
long as father lives; and if Lucien is still living, poor fellow, he
will learn to adapt himself to our narrow ways. The Cointets certainly
will make money by my discovery; but, after all, what am I compared with
our country? One man in it, that is all; and if the whole country is
benefited, I shall be content. There! dear Eve, neither you nor I were
meant to be successful in business. We do not care enough about making a
profit; we have not the dogged objection to parting with our money,
even when it is legally owing, which is a kind of virtue of the
counting-house, for these two sorts of avarice are called prudence and a
faculty of business."

Eve felt overjoyed; she and her husband held the same views, and this is
one of the sweetest flowers of love; for two human beings who love
each other may not be of the same mind, nor take the same view of their
interests. She wrote to Petit-Claud telling him that they both consented
to the general scheme, and asked him to release David. Then she begged
the jailer to deliver the message.

Ten minutes later Petit-Claud entered the dismal place. "Go home,
madame," he said, addressing Eve, "we will follow you.--Well, my dear
friend" (turning to David), "so you allowed them to catch you! Why did
you come out? How came you to make such a mistake?"

"Eh! how could I do otherwise? Look at this letter that Lucien wrote."

David held out a sheet of paper. It was Cerizet's forged letter.

Petit-Claud read it, looked at it, fingered the paper as he talked, and
still taking, presently, as if through absence of mind, folded it up and
put it in his pocket. Then he linked his arm in David's, and they went
out together, the order for release having come during the conversation.

It was like heaven to David to be at home again. He cried like a child
when he took little Lucien in his arms and looked round his