drama. With regard to
remuneration for my trouble, I might make my own terms in reason. The
second letter, a very brief one, ran thus: 'Monsieur, the wife and
daughter of your brother are dying of want. Some hundreds of francs
would save them, and I doubt not that you will hasten to visit
connexions so near to you, and make arrangements for their present and
future comfort.' This letter bore the signature of Dr. Lambert, of
Marseilles.

"As I have already told you, I was a miser in the worst sense of the
word. The physician's letter, far from moving me to pity, merely
renewed certain angry feelings which had formerly existed in my mind
towards my sister-in-law. When, some years back, my brave sailor
brother, who had since been drowned, had written to tell me of his
approaching marriage with a fisherman's daughter, I, in my miserable
pride and miserliness, had replied that in marrying a penniless girl, I
considered that he was doing a most foolish and degrading action. I was
even wretch enough to advise him to break off the match, if that were
still possible. My brother, like the honourable man he was, wedded the
girl he loved. My sister-in-law, who was a high-spirited Breton, never
forgot my letter, and despised its writer. When she lost her husband,
and found herself in need, it was long ere she could bring herself to
apply to me. But the sight of her only child wasting away from sheer
want, had at last broken down her pride.

[Illustration: "NEAR THE INVALID'S BED STOOD HER LITTLE GIRL."]

"As the engagement at the Marseilles theatre seemed likely to prove a
highly profitable one, I, as you might expect, lost no time in accepting
the offer. I wrote off to the manager at once, and followed my letter in
person with as little delay as possible. When I arrived at the principal
hotel of Marseilles, I encountered there, in the act of inquiring for
me, the doctor who had written on my sister-in-law's behalf. As I had
not replied to his letter, the good man had said in his simplicity: 'He
will be here in person,' and had looked for me every day. 'You have lost
no time, sir,' said he. 'Doubtless you thought, and rightly, that did
you delay, death might forestall you. Ah! I am indeed glad to see you!'

"I was completely nonplussed. My sole object in visiting Marseilles had
been the professional one; but how could I avow such a fact to such a
man? For very shame I could not do so. Accordingly, instead of going
straight to th