"I have forgotten to tell you that my father wishes me to marry your cousin."

"What cousin?"

"Mademoiselle Ramon."

"You don't mean it?"

"I have just returned from Dreux, where I met her; and I must admit that, even if I were not in love with Mariette, I could never marry such a woman--"

"My uncle must be still wealthy, then, though he announced his ruin many years ago," interrupted Saint-Herem. "It is evident that a marriage with my cousin would be advantageous to you, or your father would never propose it, believe me."

"My father explained our poverty in the same way; he pretended to have lost his money many years ago."

"Ah, my worthy uncle, I knew you to be disagreeable and unendurable!"

resumed Florestan; "but I did not believe you capable of such superiority of conception; from this day I esteem and venerate you. I am not your heir, it is true; but the thought of a millionaire uncle is a pleasant one, nevertheless. In moments of trouble we dream of him, we form all sorts of affectionate hypotheses, even revel in thoughts of apoplexy and long for cholera, that Providence of impecunious heirs, which appears like a good fairy, robed in rosy hues."

"My dear Florestan," laughed Louis, "though I wish no one harm, I admit that I would be glad to see your uncle's fortune fall into your hands instead of going to his detestable daughter. You would know how to enjoy the money at least; and, with such wealth, I am sure you would--"

"Contract debts, my dear fellow," interrupted his friend, majestically.

"What! with that immense fortune--"

"I would most a.s.suredly contract debts, I tell you."

"With two or three millions?"

"With ten, or twenty millions! My system is similar to that of the State: the higher the debt of a country, the higher stands her credit; therefore, what is credit?--wealth! This is elementary, not counting that it involves a high question of moral philosophy. But I shall explain my financial and philosophical ideas on a more favorable occasion. Go to Mariette, and report to me later. As for me, I have promised to take my little shop-girl out on a new saddle-horse which, by the way, cost me an outrageous price. Now don't fail to come or write to me; whatever happens, I want to share your joy or sorrow. But jump in and let me take you there."

"Thank you, I prefer to walk; it will give me time to think over all that has happened and what att.i.tude I should a.s.sume toward my father, in view of this singular revelation."

"Good-bye, then, my dear Louis; don't forget that I shall expect you before the day is over," said Saint-Herem, jumping into his brougham, while Louis turned toward Mariette's home.

CHAPTER X.

A sad picture met the young man's eyes, as he paused for a moment on the threshold of the room occupied by Mariette and her G.o.dmother.

Lying on a thin mattress in a corner of the room was the young girl, seemingly unconscious; her features were of a deathly pallor and painfully contracted, and traces of abundant tears stained her marble cheeks; one hand lay listlessly at her side, while in the other she convulsively clutched the envelope containing the debris of Louis'

letter. Kneeling by the bedside, her harsh, sarcastic features softened by an expression of touching grief and cruel anxiety, Mme.

Lacombe was supporting Mariette's head with her mutilated arm, while with the other hand she was endeavoring to force a few drops of water through the livid lips.

At the sight of a stranger standing in the doorway, however, her features resumed the habitual expression of harshness and moroseness.

"What do you want?" she asked roughly. "Why do you come in without rapping at the door?--I don't know you!--who are you?"

Taking no notice of these many questions, Louis rushed to the bedside and threw himself on his knees beside the unconscious girl, crying: "My G.o.d! what has happened?--Mariette, Mariette, speak to me!"

"So you are Louis Richard?" exclaimed the old woman, her eyes flashing angrily as she gazed at the young man.

"Yes; but in heaven's name, tell me what has happened to Mariette!"

"You have killed her!"

"I--great heavens!"

"And when she is dead, you will provide for me, I suppose?" sneered Mme. Lacombe.

"Dead!--Mariette dead!" gasped Louis. "It is impossible!--But we must summon a physician, do something--her hands are icy--Mariette!

Mariette!" he called wildly. "My G.o.d! my G.o.d! she does not hear me!"

"And this is all the fault of that letter of yours, you impudent scoundrel!" interposed the old woman fiercely.

"My letter?--what letter?" he asked in astonishment.

"Ah, yes; you will lie about it and deny the whole thing now, of course! But last night the poor child broke down in despair and confessed the whole thing to me."

"But what did she have to confess?"

"That she loved you and you had deserted her for another--"

"But on the contrary I wrote to Mariette that--"

"You lie!" cried the old woman vehemently. "I tell you she read your letter; there it is now, clutched in her fingers! Heavens! what a flood of tears she shed over that rag! Go out of my sight, you worthless rake! We were very stupid indeed to refuse the good offer made to us. Yet, I told Mariette virtue brought little reward in this world. And now she is dying, and I am out into the street, without fire or shelter, without bread or anything, for everything will go for back rent. Happily," she added, with a grim smile, "I have still a small measure of charcoal left--and charcoal is the deliverance of poor people from misery."

"My G.o.d! this is horrible!" moaned Louis, unable to restrain his tears.

"I swear that we are the victims of some terrible mistake, madame--Mariette! Mariette! speak to me!--It is I--Louis!"

"Do you want to kill her on the spot?" cried the exasperated woman, trying to push him away. "If she recovers consciousness, the sight of you will finish her."

"Heaven be praised!" murmured Louis, resisting the woman's efforts and bending over the girl. "See, her hands are relaxing and her eyes opening--Mariette! it is I, Louis! do you hear me?"

The girl's eyes roamed around the room for a moment, then slowly turned on the young man, who still leaned anxiously over her. Soon an expression of joyful surprise spread itself over her pale features and she attempted to raise her head, supporting herself on her elbow.

"Louis!" she murmured, feebly. "Ah! I thought I would never see you again--"

Then as the sad reality returned to her mind, she threw herself in Mme.

Lacombe's arms and burst into tears.

"Ah! G.o.dmother," she sobbed, "he comes to say farewell--it is all over!"

"There now, didn't I tell you this would finish her!" cried Mme.

Lacombe, fiercely. "Go, I say! and never let me see your face again!"

"Mariette! in mercy listen to me!" pleaded Louis. "I did not come to say farewell, but to tell you that I love you more than ever."

"Heavens! can it be true?" murmured the girl, starting up.

"We have been the victims of some error, Mariette," continued the young man. "I have never ceased to love you for a single moment; no, never.