t Belmont, although kept up with the same strict attention which the
Bourgeois paid to everything under his rule, was not occupied by him.
He preferred his city mansion, as more convenient for his affairs, and
resided therein. His partner of many years of happy wedded life had been
long dead; she left no void in his heart that another could fill, but he
kept up a large household for friendship's sake, and was lavish in his
hospitality. In secret he was a grave, solitary man, caring for the
present only for the sake of the thousands dependent on him--living much
with the memory of the dear dead, and much with the hope of the future
in his son Pierre.

The Bourgeois was a man worth looking at and, at a glance, one to
trust to, whether you sought the strong hand to help, the wise head to
counsel, or the feeling heart to sympathize with you. He was tall and
strongly knit, with features of a high patrician cast, a noble head,
covered thick with grizzly hair--one of those heads so tenacious of life
that they never grow bald, but carry to the grave the snows of a hundred
years. His quick gray eyes caught your meaning ere it was half spoken.
A nose and chin, moulded with beauty and precision, accentuated his
handsome face. His lips were grave even in their smile, for gaiety was
rarely a guest in the heart of the Bourgeois--a man keenly susceptible
to kindness, but strong in resentments and not to be placated without
the fullest atonement.

The Bourgeois sat by the table in his spacious, well-furnished
drawing-room, which overlooked the Rue Buade and gave him a glimpse of
the tall, new Cathedral and the trees and gardens of the Seminary. He
was engaged in reading letters and papers just arrived from France by
the frigate, rapidly extracting their contents and pencilling on their
margins memos, for further reference to his clerks.

The only other occupant of the room was a very elderly lady, in a black
gown of rigid Huguenot fashion. A close white cap, tied under her chin,
set off to the worst advantage her sharp, yet kindly, features. Not an
end of ribbon or edge of lace could be seen to point to one hair-breadth
of indulgence in the vanities of the world by this strict old Puritan,
who, under this unpromising exterior, possessed the kindliest heart in
Christendom. Her dress, if of rigid severity, was of saintly purity, and
almost pained the eye with its precision and neatness. So fond are we of
some freedom from over-much car