“'If you were not blind, would any one provide for your children?'
“'That is true, Mr. Desgranges.'
“'If you were not blind, would every one love you, as we love you?'
“'It is true, Mr. Desgranges, it is true.'
“'You see, James, there are misfortunes in all families. Misfortune is like rain; it must fall a little on everybody. If you were not blind, your wife would, perhaps, be sick; one of your children might have died. Instead of that, you have all the misfortune, my poor man; but they—they have none.'
“'True, true.' And I began to feel less sad. I was even happy to suffer for them. And then he added,
“'Dear James, misfortune is either the greatest enemy or the greatest friend of men. There are people whom it makes wicked; there are others made better by it. For you, it must make you beloved by everybody; you must become so grateful, so affectionate, that when they wish to speak of any one who is good, they will say, good as the blind man of the Noiesemont. That will serve for a dowry to your daughter.' This is the way he talked to me, sir: and it gave me heart to be unfortunate.”
“Yes; but when he was not here?”
“Ah, when he was not here, I had, to be sure, some heavy moments. I thought of my eyes—the light is so beautiful! Oh, God! cried I, in anguish, if ever I should see clearly again, I would get up at three o'clock in the morning, and I would, not go to bed till ten at night, that I might gather up more light.”
“James, James!” said his wife.