Des. All the luxuries that money could procure—a mansion in Paris, an ancestral chateau, and a stable that could boast the best blood in France.
Man. Two months after the death of my dear mother, I went to Italy, by my father's desire, and for several years I traveled through Europe, at my pleasure. During this time his letters to me were affectionate, but brief, and never expressed any desire for my return. Two months ago, on arriving at Marseilles, I found several letters from him awaiting me, each of them begging me to return home with all possible haste.
Des. I remember, it was some time previous to that, that I heard his name mentioned in connection with some unfortunate speculations in the stocks.
Man. I arrived at night. The ground was white with snow. As I passed up the avenue—made still darker by the old trees which overshadowed it—I could hear the frost shaken from the branches, seeming, as it fell around me, like a warning of bitter tears to come. Hardly had I crossed the threshold when my father's arms were around me. I could feel his heart beating against my own, with a force almost painful. He led me to a sofa, and placed himself directly in front of me, when, as if longing to reveal something which yet he dared not name, he fixed his eyes on mine with an expression of supplication, of agony, of shame, wondrous in a man so haughty and so proud. It was enough! The wrong he had committed, yet could not confess, I divined full well—God knows how fully, how freely I forgave it! Suddenly, that look, which never quitted me, became fixed, rigid. The pressure of his hand on mine became a grip of iron. He arose—the eyes wandered, the hand relaxed, and he fell dead at my feet!
Des. [After a pause.] Well, well, it is a sad history, for he left utter ruin for your portion. But come, you must not look back. "Forward" must be the watchword now. Mr. Faveau, your family lawyer, tells me that the little that remained to you, after paying your father's debts, you have appropriated to making a fine lady of your sister.
Man. To educate her, doctor.
Des. Well, well, same thing; so that you, yourself, have literally nothing to speak of—hardly enough to give you bread.
Man. Hardly.
Des. Under these circumstances you will perhaps be disposed to the favorable consideration of a proposal I have to make?
Man. Name it, sir, for at present, I confess I have formed no plans of my own. I was so little prepared to find myself quite a beggar. Were I alone in the world, I would become a soldier. But my sister, that would involve prolonged absence from her—perhaps an early death. My darling—I cannot endure the thought of knowing her compelled to suffer the privations, the labor, and the dangers of poverty. She is happy at her school, and young enough to remain there for some years to come. If I could but find some occupation by which, even were I obliged to impose the severest restraints upon myself, it would be possible to save enough for her marriage portion, I should be more than content.