"The sacrifice is, after all, but that of an idol of the fancy," she said. "I think him happy that he has done with such things."

"But having done with them - having made the sacrifice of what is dearest to him, I feel, Claire," Mr. Du Chastel went on, and the man of unswerving justice spoke to this idol of his soul with something of that severity, or, at least, seriousness of voice, which proved that he thought her wrong "I feel, Claire, that your son has a right to be heard. He has proved himself, at least, as ready to help his fellow-creatures as any of us. Speak, Armand; tell us what is on your mind."

"I have not much to say," said Armand, gently, and looking down. "I don't feel as if I had a right even to offer an opinion upon this subject. You looked at me, sir, and asked me what I was thinking of. My face, I believe, told more than I intended."

"It seemed to me to say that you did not share in your mother's anticipations. You have a right to be consulted. I will not risk the whole of what would eventually be yours, without, at least, giving you a voice upon the matter."

"I was not thinking of myself, but of you," Armand might have most truly said. But he was of a nature to shrink most sensitively from the slightest self-assertion of this nature. A slightly impatient motion of the head when his father alluded to his own prospects, was, however, sufficient to make Du Chastel understand him.

"I am doing you injustice myself at this moment," he said. "Your own interest was the last thing you were thinking of."

"Indeed it was."

"Then you were anxious upon my account?"

"I could not help it.

spirit I am cowardly.

My mother has a braver
I do not wonder she de-

spises me," he said, with a slight tinge of bitterness in his tone.

"Never mind it, mother dear," recovering his temper at once; "I cannot wonder that you are disappointed in me. The son of my father ought to have been different, I feel; but such as I am, I am. The prospect of my father, a broken-hearted bankrupt, struggling with poverty and shame, is a picture, I own, that appals me."

"Who talks of any such thing?" said Claire. "Your father assures me this speculation is as safe as it is opportune."

"I did not quite say that; but I believe it to be reasonably safe," said Du Chastel. "Why do not you, Armand, regard it in the same way? Have you any reason, of which I am ignorant, for doubting the stability of Bonnivetta's house?"

"No, sir; but the credit to be granted is unusually long,

is it not?"

"Certainly; but there will be a difficulty, not to say risk, in disposing of the goods. They look a good deal to the great eastern fairs, that of Nishni Novogorod, more especially. Long credits are, I understand, granted there. I think I comprehend the absolute necessity of the condition, so it creates no distrust in mind."

"That is not exactly the difficulty I think I see. How are the weavers to be paid whilst executing the fresh orders? We have no funds will Bonnivetta's house make advances?"

"Child," said the mother, with some disgust, "how you talk! One would think you were a mere scheming tradesman. I thought you were an artist, not a dealer."

"Let him be, Claire he speaks sense. But how all these things came into your head, Armand, I am at a loss to divine. This calculating talent of yours has started up, no one knows how, or why."

But Armand knew how and why.

It was intense love for his father, intense anxiety for the interests of one who never thought of his own, that had suddenly called to life in the son thoughts and powers which the poetic dreams of art had, till then, concealed.

He thought he saw his father, from a generous benevolence which he could have fallen down prostrate and adored, running the risk of overwhelming ruin. It seemed to be revealed to him, by a species of intuition, that the plan was not a safe one, and that through it Du Chastel would, sooner or later, be shipwrecked. And yet what could he say? Did he feel less acutely for the horrible distress that surrounded him than his father or mother did? Oh, no! perhaps he felt it still more. The exquisite sensibility of his temperament, the almost morbid acuteness of his perceptions, either for pain or pleasure, made him, with a heart at least as kind and generous as theirs, still more alive than even they were, to the horrors that surrounded them.

Should he interfere to divert the warm current of his father and mother's sympathy from these pitiable objects, and throw obstructions in the way of any plan which held out the hope of relief?

Better they should all perish together.

But his heart kept yearning to his father - he would and he would not. The idea of the scheme which would effect this great rescue from misery being abandoned, was insupportable; yet his heart melted to his father. Oh! that he could have incurred this risk alone, and left that toil and pain-worn hero to rest in the harbour where he was at peace! That he should venture forth again - again be exposed to all the buffets of outrageous fortune, he who had already suffered so much! Oh! that he could bear this cross for him! How gladly, thankfully, would he have taken it up but that was impossible. One more glance he cast at Du Chastel, sighed, and was silent.

"Well, my boy, have you nothing more to say?" Mr. Du Chastel went on, playfully.

"Nothing. What ought I to have to say? A child,

a mere raw boy, as I am. Only this, sir! father! do what you will, what you think right and best, but promise me that I shall be allowed to stand by you. Where you go, I will go; where you risk all, I will risk all. My uncle left me a trifle of my own, as you have told me. You will take that, and everything I have besides; every hour of my day, every thought of my heart. You will not refuse me this copartnership, father?"

"No, Armand, I will not; and God bless you in yours, as he has blessed me in you. You see, mother, you have yet to learn to understand your son."

"He is a good boy," said Claire.
And so the matter was settled.

No more was said upon the subject. It seemed to be understood among them that the proposal should be accepted; the small fortune settled upon Armand being employed to furnish capital for the production of the new articles that were called for. Once more the pleasant sound of the clicking loom was heard through the longlined windows. Health and plenty, cheerfulness, cleanliness, the voice of joy were in their dwellings once more. The advantage was more generally diffused than even Du Chastel had ventured to hope. It seemed as if a general stimulus had been given to trade by his courageous venture. Everything appeared to be going on well.

The change, as I went down those identical streets which I had visited with so much pain but a few months before, was scarcely to be believed.