himself persecuted; and the effect of that idea is to make persons who

are unintelligent persecutors and bigots themselves. To Philippe's
conception of life, the universe began at his head and ended at his

feet, and the sun shone for him alone. The things he had seen in New
York, interpreted by his practical nature, carried away his last

scruples on the score of morality. For such beings, there are but two
ways of existence. Either they believe, or they do not believe; they

have the virtues of honest men, or they give themselves up to the
demands of necessity; in which case they proceed to turn their

slightest interests and each passing impulse of their passions into
necessities.

Such a system of life carries a man a long way. It was only in
appearance that Colonel Philippe retained the frankness, plain-

dealing, and easy-going freedom of a soldier. This made him, in
reality, very dangerous; he seemed as guileless as a child, but,

thinking only of himself, he never did anything without reflecting
what he had better do,--like a wily lawyer planning some trick "a la

Maitre Gonin"; words cost him nothing, and he said as many as he could
to get people to believe. If, unfortunately, some one refused to

accept the explanations with which he justified the contradictions
between his conduct and his professions, the colonel, who was a good

shot and could defy the most adroit fencing-master, and possessed the
coolness of one to whom life is indifferent, was quite ready to demand

satisfaction for the first sharp word; and when a man shows himself
prepared for violence there is little more to be said. His imposing

stature had taken on a certain rotundity, his face was bronzed from
exposure in Texas, he was still succinct in speech, and had acquired

the decisive tone of a man obliged to make himself feared among the
populations of a new world. Thus developed, plainly dressed, his body

trained to endurance by his recent hardships, Philippe in the eyes of
his mother was a hero; in point of fact, he had simply become what

people (not to mince matters) call a blackguard.
Shocked at the destitution of her cherished son, Madame Bridau bought

him a complete outfit of clothes at Havre. After listening to the tale
of his woes, she had not the heart to stop his drinking and eating and

amusing himself as a man just returned from the Champ d'Asile was
likely to eat and drink and divert himself. It was certainly a fine

conception,--that of conquering Texas with the remains of the imperial
army. The failure was less in the idea than in the men who conceived

it; for Texas is to-day a republic, with a future full of promise.
This scheme of Liberalism under the Restoration distinctly proves that

the interests of the party were purelyselfish and not national,
seeking power and nothing else. Neither men, nor occasion, nor cause,

nor devotion were lacking; only the money and the support of the
hypocritical party at home who dispensed enormous sums, but gave

nothing when it came to recovering empire. Household managers like
Agathe have a plain common-sense which enables them to perceive such

political chicane: the poor woman saw the truth through the lines of
her son's tale; for she had read, in the exile's interests, all the

pompous editorials of the constitutional journals, and watched the
management of the famous subscription, which produced barely one

hundred and fifty thousand francs when it ought to have yielded five
or six millions. The Liberal leaders soon found out that they were

playing into the hands of Louis XVIII. by exporting the glorious
remnants of our grand army, and they promptlyabandoned to their fate

the most devoted, the most ardent, the most enthusiastic of its
heroes,--those, in short, who had gone in the advance. Agathe was

never able, however, to make her son see that he was more duped than
persecuted. With blind belief in her idol, she supposed herself

ignorant, and deplored, as Philippe did, the evil times which had done
him such wrong. Up to this time he was, to her mind, throughout his

misfortunes, less faulty than victimized by his noble nature, his
energy, the fall of the Emperor, the duplicity of the Liberals, and

the rancor of the Bourbons against the Bonapartists. During the week
at Havre, a week which was horriblycostly, she dared not ask him to

make terms with the royal government and apply to the minister of war.
She had hard work to get him away from Havre, where living is very

expensive, and to bring him back to Paris before her money gave out.
Madame Descoings and Joseph, who were awaiting their arrival in the

courtyard of the coach-office of the Messageries Royales, were struck
with the change in Agathe's face.

"Your mother has aged ten years in two months," whispered the
Descoings to Joseph, as they all embraced, and the two trunks were

being handed down.
"How do you do, mere Descoings?" was the cool greeting the colonel

bestowed on the old woman whom Joseph was in the habit of calling
"maman Descoings."

"I have no money to pay for a hackney-coach," said Agathe, in a sad
voice.

"I have," replied the young painter. "What a splendid color Philippe
has turned!" he cried, looking at his brother.

"Yes, I've browned like a pipe," said Philippe. "But as for you,
you're not a bit changed, little man."

Joseph, who was now twenty-one, and much thought of by the friends who
had stood by him in his days of trial, felt his own strength and was

aware of his talent; he represented the art of painting in a circle of
young men whose lives were devoted to science, letters, politics, and

philosophy. Consequently, he was wounded by his brother's contempt,
which Philippe still further emphasized with a gesture, pulling his

ears as if he were still a child. Agathe noticed the coolness which
succeeded the first glow of tenderness on the part of Joseph and

Madame Descoings; but she hastened to tell them of Philippe's
sufferings in exile, and so lessened it. Madame Descoings, wishing to

make a festival of the return of the prodigal, as she called him under
her breath, had prepared one of her good dinners, to which old

Claparon and the elder Desroches were invited. All the family friends
were to come, and did come, in the evening. Joseph had invited Leon

Giraud, d'Arthez, Michel Chrestien, Fulgence Ridal, and Horace
Bianchon, his friends of the fraternity. Madame Descoings had promised

Bixiou, her so-called step-son, that the young people should play at
ecarte. Desroches the younger, who had now taken, under his father's

stern rule, his degree at law, was also of the party. Du Bruel,
Claparon, Desroches, and the Abbe Loraux carefully observed the

returned exile, whose manners and coarse features, and voice roughened
by the abuse of liquors, together with his vulgar glance and

phraseology, alarmed them not a little. While Joseph was placing the
card-tables, the more intimate of the family friends surrounded Agathe

and asked,--
"What do you intend to make of Philippe?"

"I don't know," she answered, "but he is determined not to serve the
Bourbons."

"Then it will be very difficult for you to find him a place in France.
If he won't re-enter the army, he can't be readily got into government

employ," said old Du Bruel. "And you have only to listen to him to see
he could never, like my son, make his fortune by writing plays."

The motion of Agathe's eyes, with which alone she replied to this
speech, showed how anxious Philippe's future made her; they all kept

silence. The exile himself, Bixiou, and the younger Desroches were
playing at ecarte, a game which was then the rage.

"Maman Descoings, my brother has no money to play with," whispered
Joseph in the good woman's ear.

The devotee of the Royal Lottery fetched twenty francs and gave them
to the artist, who slipped them secretly into his brother's hand. All

the company were now assembled. There were two tables of boston; and
the party grew lively. Philippe proved a bad player: after winning for

awhile, he began to lose; and by eleven o'clock he owed fifty francs
to young Desroches and to Bixiou. The racket and the disputes at the

ecarte table resounded more than once in the ears of the more peaceful
boston players, who were watching Philippe surreptitiously. The exile

showed such signs of bad temper that in his final dispute with the
younger Desroches, who was none too amiable himself, the elder

Desroches joined in, and though his son was decidedly in the right, he
declared he was in the wrong, and forbade him to play any more. Madame

Descoings did the same with her grandson, who was beginning to let fly
certain witticisms; and although Philippe, so far, had not understood

him, there was always a chance that one of the barbed arrows might