perform an act of splendid generosity, that would compel his admiration, and possibly, his tenderness. So, yesterday, when you, Madame, were out, I dressed myself up in Angéline's Sunday clothes, took her small fruit basket, and putting all my fortune in the basket, went to the bank, and handed it all over, in notes of the Bank of France, to the fund for soldiers' orphans."
There was not a sound, except Madame Bourcet's gasping for breath. Louis Bourcet had turned of a sickly pallor, his mouth remaining wide open, and his cup still suspended. This lasted for a full minute, when the door suddenly opened, and Angéline appeared from the kitchen.
"Madame," she cried excitedly, "there have been thieves here as well as at the bank. My fruit basket is gone—I can swear I saw it yesterday morning. It is marked with my initials, A. D., and I trust, by the blessing of God, the thief will be found and sent to the galleys for life."
At this apparently trivial catastrophe, Madame Bourcet uttered a loud shriek; Louis Bourcet dropped his cup, which crashed upon the table, smashing the water carafe; Angéline, amazed at the result of her simple remark, ran wildly about
