ave but just come, my dear friend."

M. Lacheneur looked suspiciously, first at his daughter, then at the
baron.

"What did they say to each other while they were alone?" he was
evidently wondering.

But, however great may have been his disquietude, he seemed to master
it; and it was with his old-time affability of manner that he invited M.
d'Escorval to follow him into the adjoining room.

"It is my reception-room and my cabinet combined," he said, smiling.

This room, which was much larger than the first, was as scantily
furnished; but it contained several piles of small books and an infinite
number of tiny packages.

Two men were engaged in arranging and sorting these articles.

One was Chanlouineau.

M. d'Escorval did not remember that he had ever seen the other, who was
a young man.

"This is my son, Jean, Monsieur," said Lacheneur. "He has changed since
you last saw him ten years ago."

It was true. It had been, at least, ten years since the baron had seen
Lacheneur's son.

How time flies! He had left him a boy; he found him a man.

Jean was just twenty; but his haggard features and his precocious beard
made him appear much older.

He was tall and well formed, and his face indicated more than average
intelligence.

Still he did not impress one favorably. His restless eyes were always
invading yours; and his smile betrayed an unusual degree of shrewdness,
amounting almost to cunning.

As his father presented him, he bowed profoundly; but he was very
evidently out of temper.

M. Lacheneur resumed:

"Having no longer the means to maintain Jean in Paris, I have made him
return. My ruin will, perhaps, be a blessing to him. The air of great
cities is not good for the son of a peasant. Fools that we are, we
send them there to teach them to rise above their fathers. But they do
nothing of the kind. They think only of degrading themselves."

"Father," interrupted the young man; "father, wait, at least, until we
are alone!"

"Monsieur d'Escorval is not a stranger." Chanlouineau evidently sided
with the son, since he made repeated signs to M. Lacheneur to be silent.

Either he did not see them, or he pretended not to see them, for he
continued:

"I must have wearied you, Monsieur, by telling you again and again: 'I
am pleased with my son. He has a commendable ambition; he is working
faithfully; he will succeed.' Ah! I was a poor, foolish father! The
friend who carried Jean the order to return has