s, a little village in the
department of Maine-et-Loire, and whose address I will give you, while I
will inform her beforehand of what may happen."

He paused, trying to remember if there was any thing else, and,
recalling nothing, he said,--

"This, my dear Maxime, is all I expect you to do for me."

With open brow, a clear eye, and grave face, M. de Brevan replied in
a solemn tone of voice, speaking like a man who feels that he deserves
such confidence,--

"Friend Daniel, you may sail without fear."

But Daniel had not done yet.

Pressing his friend's hand heartily, he thanked him, and then with
a careless air, under which he very imperfectly concealed his real
embarrassment, he said,--

"There remains only to provide the means for carrying out these
measures, and for possible contingencies. You are not rich, my dear
Maxime, I mean rich in comparison with the people who are your friends;
you have told me so more than once."

He touched a wound which was always open, and always bleeding.

"Certainly," replied M. de Brevan, "in comparison with a number of my
friends, with men like Gordon Chalusse, for instance, I am only a poor
devil."

Daniel did not notice the bitterness of this reply.

"Now," he said, "suppose, at a given moment, Miss Henrietta's safety
should make a certain sum of money necessary,--perhaps a very large
sum,--are you sure you will always have enough in your drawer, and be
able to dispose of it without inconvenience?"

"Ah! you expect too much of me; but I have friends."

"And you would ask them! you would expose yourself to the humiliation of
hearing those set excuses which serve to conceal refusals! I could never
permit that."

"I assure you"--

"Let me tell you that I have forgotten nothing. Although my means are
modest, I can, by selling out some bonds, realize enough to secure you
against any embarrassment on that score. I also own property in Anjou
which is valued at fifty or sixty thousand dollars, and I mean to sell
it."

The other man opened his eyes wide.

"You mean," he said slowly.

"To sell it, yes. You heard right. Except, however, my home, my father's
house, with the little garden in front, the orchard, and the meadow
adjoining the house. In that house my father and my mother have lived
and died. I find them there, so to _say_, whenever I go in; their
thoughts are still filling the rooms, after so many years. The garden
and the orchard are the first little bits