The old mulatto wended his way slowly toward the heights of Chaillot, until he reached the church of that poor, populous faubourg.

To his astonishment, he found the church in a blaze of lights. Through the wide open door could be seen the sanctuary and altar, brilliantly illuminated with tapers and decorated with flowers, as though in anticipation of some imposing ceremony, while grouped in the street and surrounding windows, a throng of curiosity seekers and belated wayfarers excitedly discussed the approaching event.

"They cannot delay much longer," observed one.

"No, for it is nearly midnight," rejoined another.

"Rather a strange hour for a marriage."

"Undoubtedly; but with such a dowry one can afford peculiar things."

"Who is to be married at this odd hour?" questioned the old man from the last speaker.

"You must be a stranger in this part of the city," replied the man addressed, "or you would know all about the six marriages, which for four years have taken place on the night of May 11 and 12."

"May 11 and 12," repeated the old man, with a start. "But why do you call it the six marriages?"

"Because each year six young girls, with a dowry of ten thousand francs each, are married here."

"A dowry of ten thousand francs! And from whom?"

"From a worthy man who died five years ago, whose name is as popular and as reverentially blessed in Chaillot as the Petit manteau bleu in Paris."

"And who is this worthy man, in whose name these young girls are so generously dowered?" pursued the old mulatto, with a slight tremor in his voice.

"He was called PÈre Richard," returned the man in a deferential tone.

"And why does this PÈre Richard do so much good after his death?" continued the old man, making an effort to conceal his emotion.

"Simply because this was his idea, and because his son religiously carries out his last wishes," explained the man. "And everybody can tell you what a noble man M. Louis Richard is. Himself, his wife and child live on three or four thousand francs a year, at the most, although he must have inherited a large fortune from his father to enable him to bestow annually a dowry of ten thousand francs each on six young girls, not counting the expenses of the 'school' and the 'House of Providence.'"

"Excuse the curiosity of a stranger; but you speak of a school and—"

"Yes; the school is directed by Madame Mariette, M. Louis Richard's wife. The school was founded for the benefit of twenty-five boys and as many girls, who remain there until they have attained the age of twelve, when they begin their apprenticeship. The children are fed, clothed and educated and receive ten sous a day. In this manner, parents are induced to send them to school instead of forcing them to work in shops."

"And the school is under the direction of M. Louis Richard's wife?'

"Yes; she claims to have suffered cruelly through her own want of education when she was only a poor shop girl, and she is particularly happy in the thought that she may save others the sufferings she endured."

"You also spoke of another institution?"

"That house was founded for the benefit of twelve poor, crippled women who cannot work. It is under the direction of Madame Lacombe."

"Who is Madame Lacombe?"

"Madame Richard's godmother, a good, worthy soul, who lost one hand years ago. She is the personification of gentleness and patience. She can truly sympathize with the crippled women under her charge, for she says that her goddaughter and herself often suffered the pangs of hunger before the former's marriage to M. Richard. But here is the wedding procession."

The old man turned to the street and saw a gay cortege approaching, led by Louis, with Madame Lacombe on his arm, closely followed by Mariette leading a pretty boy of four years by the hand.

Madame Lacombe was totally unrecognisable. Her face, formerly so haggard and worn, was the picture of health, while her countenance beamed with happiness and benevolence; her silver white hair was smoothly brushed back beneath a dainty lace cap, and her silk dress was half concealed by a beautiful cashmere shawl—a tasty toilet which gave her a most dignified and imposing appearance.

Louis Richard's features bore an expression of grave and reserved felicity, and he seemingly realized the full grandeur of the duties he had imposed upon himself; while Mariette, who had grown still prettier in this beneficial atmosphere, distinguished herself by that air of sweet gravity so becoming to young mothers. In her legitimate pride, she still retained the modest dress of her girlhood and wore the coquettish little cap of the shop-girl; and Providence, no doubt, rewarded her for her modesty, for she looked bewitchingly fresh and pretty beneath the lace head-gear, with its knots of pale blue ribbon, as she smiled sweetly on the blond rosy child at her side.

Next came six young girls, in white dresses and crowned with orange blossoms, accompanied by their fiancÉs and relatives, all belonging to the laboring class; then came the twenty-four couples united in the four previous years, followed by the school children and the crippled old women who had found refuge in the charitable institutions founded with the miser's money.

The old mulatto gazed in silent reflection at the procession, while his neighbors commented freely on the memorable event.

"They owe all this happiness to old Richard," he heard some one say.

"And to his son," added another voice.

"Undoubtedly; but the son would have been powerless without the father's money."

"Do you know that more than a hundred and fifty persons assembled here owe everything to the good old man?"

"Yes; and in the last four years, six or seven hundred persons must have shared the benefits of the inheritance."

"And if M. Louis lives thirty years longer, the number will reach five or six thousands—thousands saved from misery and crime, perhaps."

"You forget the children of these happily married couples, who will have the advantages of education and good breeding procured by this generous dowry."

"You are right; the good accomplished by old Richard is beyond calculation. What a pity so few know how to spend their money!"

"Yes; but there are few such men as Richard and his son. But why are you weeping?" concluded the speaker, turning suddenly toward the old mulatto.

"The praises I hear on all sides of—of this Richard and his son, and the sight of so much happiness causes me a strange emotion," explained the old man.

"If you are interested in the ceremony, you may follow the cortege to the House of Providence, my good man," returned his first informant, as he moved toward the entrance of the church.

The old man stood motionless for a few moments, then slowly followed the throng into the sacred edifice. Throughout the whole solemn ceremony, he seemed plunged into a sort of ecstasy, as if a sudden revelation had opened an immense, dazzling horizon, hitherto veiled to his eyes. Burying his face in his hands, he sank into a deep meditation from which he was aroused by the grave sonorous voice of the officiating priest addressing the newly-married couples.

"And now that your union is consecrated by God," he was saying, "continue the honest, laborious life which has been repaid by the happiness you now enjoy; never forget that you owe this just remuneration of your courage in adversity to a man gifted with the most tender and generous affection for his brothers; for, faithful to his duties as a Christian, he does not look upon himself as the master, but as the dispenser of his riches. In giving M. Richard a son so worthy of him, the Lord has recompensed that great man, and his memory shall live amongst men. Your gratitude will create his immortality; his name shall be blessed by you, by your children and your children's children; the venerated name of M. Richard shall be engraved on your hearts as a souvenir of rare virtue!"

A murmur of approbation greeted these words, drowning the stifled sobs of the old mulatto whose face was still buried in his hands.

The ceremony was now over, and the noise and bustle of the dispersing throng recalled him to himself. Rising from his knees, he hurried to the door, where he stood, trembling in every limb, waiting for the passage of the leading group in the procession.

As Louis Richard crossed the threshold, the old man's hand came in contact with his own, causing him to turn in that direction. Seeing the bowed head and shabby clothes of the stranger, the young man slipped a gold coin between his fingers, saying kindly: "Take it, and pray for PÈre Richard."

The old man eagerly grasped the coin, and raising it to his lips, burst into tears. Then leaning once more on his cane, he slowly followed the gay party.