"Positively refuse?"

"Yes."

"Very well, I shall take back my gold," he rejoined, slowly picking up the louis and jingling them together. "I shall refill my pockets with the glittering yellow coins."

"The devil take you and your gold!" cried the exasperated woman. "Take it, and go! I have not sheltered Mariette all these years to sell her, body and soul. Rather than eat such bread, I would build a charcoal fire and make on end to us both."

At these words Mariette entered, pale and indignant, her cheeks bathed in tears and her eyes flashing with anger and scorn.

"Ah! G.o.d-mother," she cried, throwing her arms around the woman's neck, "I knew that you loved me as a daughter!" Then turning toward Commander de La Miraudiere, whom she recognized as the man whose persistent gaze had so frequently annoyed her at Madame Jourdan's establishment, she added with withering scorn: "Go, this moment, monsieur!"

"But, my dear little dove--" he began.

"I was there at the door, monsieur, and heard all," she interrupted quickly.

"So much the better then, my dear. You know my offer; you are still at liberty to accept it."

"Once more, monsieur, I beg you to go out."

"There, there, I am going my little Lucretia! But I give you a week for reflection," said the visitor, as he moved toward the door, Pausing on the threshold, however, he added:

"Don't forget my name, my dear--Commander de La Miraudiere. Madame Jourdan has my address," and he vanished with these words.

"Ah! G.o.dmother," cried the girl, kissing the sick woman with new effusion, "how warmly you defended me! how your heart spoke for me!"

"Yes, yes," muttered the invalid, roughly disengaging herself from the girl's embrace, "and with those fine principles we starve instead of rolling in luxury."

"But, my dear G.o.dmother--" Mariette tried to protest.

"There, there, it's all said and done now," cried the woman impatiently. "I have done my duty, and you have done yours--and it's small good it will do either of us, you may count on that!"

"But G.o.dmother, listen to me--"

"And if some fine morning we are both found dead with a charcoal fire between us, we shall only have done our duty once more. Ha! ha! ha!--"

and with this grim laugh, this unhappy creature, so pursued and exasperated by wretchedness and misfortune, cut short the conversation by turning her face to the wall.

Mariette silently brought in the basket containing her purchases, arranged the supper on the table near the bed, and quietly withdrew to the narrow window through which filtered the deepening twilight. Then drawing the torn fragments of Louis' letter from her bosom, she gazed at them sadly, and sank back into grim despair.

In the meantime, Commander de La Miraudiere had reached the street and was rolling away rapidly in his dashing cabriolet.

"Bah! this is only a first rebuff," he was saying complacently to himself; "the girl will reflect, and that old schemer will think better of it. Her round eyes fairly blinked at the sight of my gold; it dazzled her like the noonday sun. Besides, their abject misery will plead in my favor, and I have no reason to despair. Two months of fat living will suffice to make the girl the prettiest woman in Paris; and she will do me credit at very small cost. But I must think of business now; I have made a precious discovery."

Having reached the Rue Grenelle-Saint-Honore, he stopped his horse before a house of modest appearance and alighted.

"Does M. Richard reside here?" he inquired of the concierge.

"Yes, monsieur, both the father and son live here," replied the man.

"I want to speak to the son, M. Louis Richard; is he at home?"

"He has just arrived in Paris; you will find him with his father."

"I must see him alone."

"That's rather difficult, as they have but one room between them."

The commander drew a card from his pocket, and wrote the following words above his own name: "Will expect M. Louis Richard at my home, between nine and ten o'clock tomorrow morning, to communicate something of grave importance, which admits of no delay."

"My dear fellow," he said, addressing the concierge, when he had replaced his pencil, "here are forty sous for a _pourboire_."

"Thank you, monsieur," rejoined the man, pocketing the money; "but what do you expect me to do for it?"

"Remit this card to M. Louis Richard."

"Nothing difficult about that."

"It must be given him to-morrow morning as he goes out, and without his father's knowledge; do you understand?"

"Perfectly. It can be easily done, as M. Louis goes to his studies at seven o'clock, while old Richard leaves only at nine for his writing office."

"I may count on you then?" said the commander, leaping into the cabriolet.

"Consider it done, monsieur," was the rea.s.suring reply.

The carriage had scarcely vanished when the postman appeared with a letter addressed to M. Louis Richard. It was Mariette's missive, which the old scribe had addressed Rue de Grenelle, Paris, instead of Dreux, according to the girl's request.

CHAPTER V.

Old Richard and his son jointly occupied a dreary room on the fifth floor of a dilapidated house, which might have made a fit adjunct to the home of Mariette and her G.o.d-mother. The same wretchedness, the same dest.i.tution was visible everywhere. A thin mattress in one corner for the father, a straw bed in the other for the son, a mouldy table, a few chairs and an old wardrobe, composed the entire furniture of the dingy apartment.

On his way homeward, the public scribe had purchased his supper and was now laying the frugal meal on the table; an appetizing slice of ham, placed carefully on a piece of white paper that served as a plate, and a four-pound loaf of bread, the remains of which were to serve as breakfast the next morning. Add to this a bottle of fresh water, standing opposite a thin candle that scarcely dissipated the gloom of the room, and the picture of wretchedness was complete.

Louis Richard was a young man of about twenty-five years, with a frank, open countenance, expressive of gentleness and intelligence, and a natural grace which his shabby, worn-out clothes could not conceal. As he dropped his modest traveling bag to the floor and embraced his father, whom he fairly worshipped, the happiness of being near him once more and the certainty of seeing Mariette the next day, made his face perfectly radiant with joy.

"And so you made a good voyage, my son," observed the old man, his delight over the young man's return somewhat dampened by the uneasiness he felt concerning his cherished projects for the future and the remembrance of the events of the day.

"Excellent, father!" returned Louis.

"I am glad to hear it, my boy, and--but will you have some dinner? We can talk while eating."

"Will I have some dinner? Well, I should say so! I did not share the meals of the other travelers, and for the best of reasons," laughed the young man gaily, slapping his empty wallet.

"Upon my word, you lost but little, my son," rejoined the father, cutting the slice of ham into two unequal pieces and giving the largest to the young man, "those hotel dinners are expensive and not worth much!"