000 francs
by the next post. This made her son smile. 'Poor mother! She is perhaps
hard up. What a good thing I induced her to accept help! Without it she
would not have had enough for her nursing expenses. Thanks to me, we
shall be able to keep her alive for years. And there are fools who say
that money will not buy happiness!' Then, on the spot, he wrote out a
cheque for the sum he sent every year. At the very moment that he was
about to ring for a servant a telegram was handed to him.

The telegram announced the sudden death of Madame Proquet.

Henri's good mother had passed away peacefully and without pain; she
had fallen asleep thinking of her children and had never wakened again.

Henri and his family took the first train to Brittany. Fanchette was at
the door watching for the arrival of the carriage that should convey
them from the station. In dumb grief the good creature led Henri and
his wife and children to their dear dead one. They knelt and silently
all kissed one another with tender effusion beside the mortal remains
of that beloved and devoted mother, to whom they thus said a supreme
adieu while showing her the depth of their mutual love.

Deprived of the mournful privilege of closing the eyes of his mother,
Henri had at least the consolation of being present to piously render
her the last sad duty. The day after the funeral, he opened the drawers
which contained Madame Proquet's family documents and the property
which now belonged to him. In a corner of one of the drawers he found a
little packet, carefully tied, sealed, and addressed:

'To my son, only to be opened after my death.'

This packet contained eight rolls of 1,000 francs, each placed in a red
morocco sheath. By the side of this money lay a letter without any
date, but evidently written quite recently. It ran as follows:

'MY BELOVED HENRI,

'The life that you lead makes me very anxious. You speak of
returning once more to America, to Australia, even going round the
world again. Really, I ask myself sometimes whether you are in your
right senses, and whether those English people have not completely
demoralized you. You buy shares, you run after large dividends,
instead of placing your money in State securities at three per
cent. It is pure madness, my dear son. I hate speculations! If an
individual attempted to come and offer me ten per cent. for my
money I would order my faithful Fanchette to