e Bonhomme to his son, "Monsieur does not think it
probable that Cuiller will marry Josephte."

The young man's unconquerable cheerfulness faded for a moment. He was
silent.

"Why is it Mr. Benoit will not accept you?"--Chrysler asked, very
interested.

"Solely because I lost my money, air. I was coming to receive his
blessing on our wishes."

"How was the money lost? That was a singular circumstance."

"I had seven hundred and fifty dollars in my pocket. It was on the
steamboat down from Montreal, at night time, in the lower cabin. I got a
corner with Cuiller between two barrels and a bale of blankets and went
to sleep from time to time. The lamps did not burn well. There was a
crowd of people. A pedlar was next me whose features I have forgotten.
Cuiller says it was that pedlar who took my money. I will not blame a
man without knowing something about him; but the truth is that when I
got up and searched my pockets, my purse, my money, my pleasure, my
life's profit,--all were lost, and I had nothing for it but to sit down
and cry tears, after enquiring of all the people."

"In what pieces was your money?"

"Six bills of a hundred, ten tens and ten fives, sir!"

"Don't you recollect anything about the pedlar?"

"I was certain I recollected him getting off, but Cuiller saw him
later."

"If Cuiller knew he took your purse why didn't he wake you or stop him?"

"I don't know, sir."

"Cuiller is as much to blame as the pedlar."

"You think so?" said the simple Bonhomme.

CHAPTER XXXVI.

ZOTIQUE'S MISGIVING.

At sunset of the day before the Election, Chamilly came over very tired
from the Institution and ordered tea to be brought out on the lawn.
Little Breboeuf sat with them; the visiting politicians also; and last,
least, and highly delighted at the honor, Francois Vadeboncoeur _dit_ Le
Brun. To-morrow is the election day.

"How do we stand, Zotique?" Chamilly asked, with some air of fatigue.
Zotique's duty of directing the actual carrying out of the campaign made
him an authority on the "feel" of the constituency.

"Breboeuf will give you figures," replied he, reticently, for the
struggle had proved grave. The Cure had almost succeeded, so far, in
keeping his vow.

"Eh bien, ma brebis?"

"From the lists as Zotique has marked them I compute a majority of 28."

"Morbleu,--that's not comfortable!" exclaimed a young editor, fond of
old oaths.

"But these estimations of Mr. Genest's prove s