Well, at any rate you may take your oath that that man was a good and faithful friend to the last.

Even on his death-bed he did not forget us." Jean, in his turn, held out his hand for the picture.

He gazed at it for a few minutes and then said regretfully: "I do not recognise it at all.

I only remember him with white hair." He returned the miniature to his mother.

She cast a hasty glance at it, looking away as if she were frightened; then in her usual voice she said: "It belongs to you now, my little Jean, as you are his heir.