Whenever it was necessary for him to speak, he showed so much self-command and composure that he was far above the idle _compassion_ of that careless crowd; yet if his countenance was calm and dignified, his heart was weighed down by absorbing grief.

All that had belonged to his ancestors--articles that were emblazoned with the arms of his family and had been religiously preserved as heirlooms for several centuries--were sold at contemptible rates and passed into the hands of brokers.

As each historical relic was placed on the table or held up by the auctioneer, the links of his illustrious race seemed to break off and depart.

When the sale was nearly over, the _portraits_ of the eminent men who had borne the name of De Vlierbeck were taken down from the walls and placed upon the stand.

The first--that of the hero of St.Quentin--was knocked off to a dealer for little more than three francs! In the sale of this portrait, and the laughable price it brought, there was so much bitter irony that, for the first time, the agony that had been so long torturing De Vlierbeck's heart began to exhibit its traces in his countenance.