s M. Lenient, too, the ship-owner, who is
intimate with one of the vice-chairmen."

Jean asked his brother:

"Would you like me to feel my way with M. Marchand at once?"

"Yes, I should be very glad."

After thinking a few minutes Pierre added:

"The best thing I can do, perhaps, will be to write to my professors at
the college of Medicine, who had a great regard for me. Very inferior
men are sometimes shipped on board those vessels. Letters of strong
recommendation from such professors as Mas-Roussel, Remusot, Flanche,
and Borriquel would do more for me in an hour than all the doubtful
introductions in the world. It would be enough if your friend M.
Marchand would lay them before the board."

Jean approved heartily.

"Your idea is really capital." And he smiled, quite reassured, almost
happy, sure of success and incapable of allowing himself to be unhappy
for long.

"You will write to-day?" he said.

"Directly. Now; at once. I will go and do so. I do not care for any
coffee this morning; I am too nervous."

He rose and left the room.

Then Jean turned to his mother:

"And you, mother, what are you going to do?"

"Nothing. I do not know."

"Will you come with me to call on Mme. Rosemilly?"

"Why, yes--yes."

"You know I must positively go to see her to-day."

"Yes, yes. To be sure."

"Why must you positively?" asked Roland, whose habit it was never to
understand what was said in his presence.

"Because I promised her I would."

"Oh, very well. That alters the case." And he began to fill his pipe,
while the mother and son went upstairs to make ready.

When they were in the street Jean said:

"Will you take my arm, mother?"

He was never accustomed to offer it, for they were in the habit of
walking side by side. She accepted and leaned on him.

For some time they did not speak; then he said:

"You see that Pierre is quite ready and willing to go away."

She murmured:

"Poor boy!"

"But why 'poor boy'? He will not be in the least unhappy on board the
Lorraine."

"No--I know. But I was thinking of so many things."

And she thought for a long time, her head bent, accommodating her step
to her son's; then, in the peculiar voice in which we sometimes
give utterance to the conclusion of long and secret meditations, she
exclaimed:

"How horrible life is! If by any chance we come across any sweetness
in it, we sin in letting ourselves be happy, and pay dearly for it
afterward."

He sa