Mascarin put on a face of the most utter bewilderment, though he well knew the cause of Paul’s utter prostration; but it was with the air of a ready sympathizer that he drew his chair nearer to that of Paul, and said,—
“Come, tell me all about it; what can possibly have happened to affect you thus?”
In deeply tragic tones, Paul replied,—
“Rose has deserted me.”
Mascarin raised his hands to heaven.
“And is this the reason that you say you are dishonored? Do you not see that the future is full of promise?”
“I loved Rose,” returned Paul, and his voice was so full of pathos that Mascarin could hardly repress a smile. “But this is not all,” continued the unhappy boy, making a vain effort to restrain his tears; “I am accused of theft.”
“Impossible!” exclaimed Mascarin.
“Yes, sir; and you who know everything are the only person in the world who can save me. You were so kind to me yesterday that I ventured to come here before the time appointed, in order to entreat your help.”
“But what do you think I can do?”