"You have a good son, M. Letourneur. I have just been talking to
him. He is a most intelligent young man."

"Yes, Mr. Kazallon," replied M. Letourneur, brightening up into a
smile, "his afflicted frame contains a noble mind. He is like
his mother, who died at his birth."

"He is full of reverence and love for you, sir," I remarked.

"Dear boy!" muttered the father half to himself. "Ah, Mr.
Kazallon," he continued, "you do not know what it is to a father
to have a son a cripple, beyond hope of cure."

"M. Letourneur," I answered, "you take more than your share of
the affliction which has fallen upon you and your son. That M.
Andre is entitled to the very greatest commiseration no one can
deny; but you should remember, that after all a physical
infirmity is not so hard to bear as mental grief. Now, I have
watched your son pretty closely, and unless I am much mistaken
there is nothing, that troubles him so much as the sight of your
own sorrow."

"But I never let him see it," he broke in hastily. "My sole
thought is how to divert him. I have discovered, that in spite
of his physical weakness, he delights in travelling; so for the
last few years we have been constantly on the move. We first
went all over Europe, and are now returning from visiting the
principal places in the United States. I never allowed my son to
go to college, but instructed him entirely myself, and these
travels, I hope, will serve to complete his education. He is