The dear lad places all his hope in the Blessed Virgin, to whom we pray morning and evening on his behalf.

We are in a second-class compartment of the carriage just in front of yours." Then, turning round, he summoned his party with a wave of the hand.
"Come, come!" said he, "it is here.

The unfortunate man is indeed in the last throes." Madame Vigneron was a little woman with the correct bearing of a respectable _bourgeoise_, but her long, livid face denoted impoverished blood, terrible evidence of which was furnished by her son Gustave.

The latter, who was fifteen years of age, looked scarcely ten.

Twisted out of shape, he was a mere skeleton, with his right leg so wasted, so reduced, that he had to walk with a crutch.