Then seeing that Jack was about to lock the outer door as usual, she stopped him, saying,--

"I have done it myself. Let us go up stairs."

But Zenade had not finished talking of M. Maugin. "Do you like his moustache, Jack?" she asked.

"Will you go to bed?" asked Madame Rondic, pretending to laugh, but trembling nervously.

At last the three are on the narrow staircase.

"Good night," said Clarisse; "I am dying with sleep."

But her eyes were very bright. Jack put his foot on his ladder, but Zenade's room was so crowded with her gifts and purchases, that it seemed to him a most auspicious occasion to pa.s.s them in review. Friends had had them under examination, and they were still displayed on the commode: some silver spoons, a prayer-book, gloves, and all about tumbled bits of paper and the colored ribbon that had fastened these gifts from the chateau; then came the more humble presents from the wives of the employes. Zenade showed them all with pride. The boy uttered exclamations of wonder. "But what shall I give her?" he said to himself over and over again.

"And my trousseau, Jack, you have not seen it! Wait, and I will show it to you."

With a quaint old key she opened the carved wardrobe that had been in the family for a hundred years; the two doors swung open, a delicious violet perfume filled the room, and Jack could see and admire the piles of sheets spun by the first Madame Rondic, and the ruffled and fluted linen piled in snowy ma.s.ses.

In fact, Jack had never seen such a display. His mother's wardrobe held laces and fine embroideries, not household articles. Then, lifting a heavy pile, she showed Jack a casket. "Guess what is in this," Zenade said, with a laugh; "it contains my dowry, my dear little dowry, that in a fortnight will belong to M. Maugin. Ah, when I think of it, I could sing and dance with joy!"

And the girl held out her skirts with each hand, and executed an elephantine gambol, shaking the casket she still held in her hand.

Suddenly she stopped; some one had rapped on the wall.

"Let the boy go to bed," said her stepmother in an irritated tone; "you know he must be up early."

A little ashamed, the future Madame Maugin shut her wardrobe, and said good night to Jack, who ascended his ladder; and five minutes later the little house, wrapped in snow and rocked by the wind, slept like its neighbors in the silence of the night.

There is no light in the parlor of the Rondic mansion save that which comes from the fitful gleam of the dying fire in the chimney. A woman sat there, and at her feet knelt a man in vehement supplication.

"I entreat you," he whispered, "if you love me--"

If she loved him! Had she not at his command left the door open that he might enter? Had she not adorned herself in the dress and ornaments that he liked, to make herself beautiful in his eyes? What could it be that he was asking her now to grant to him? How was it that she, usually so weak, was now so strong in her denials? Let us listen for a moment.

"No, no," she answered, indignantly, "it is impossible."

"But I only ask it for two days, Clarisse. With these six thousand francs I will pay the five thousand I have lost, and with the other thousand I will conquer fortune."

She looked at him with an expression of absolute terror.

"No, no," she repeated, "it cannot be. You must find some other way."

"But there is none."

"Listen. I have a rich friend; I will write to her and ask her to lend me the money."

"But I must have it to-morrow."

"Well, then, find the Director; tell him the truth."

"And he will dismiss me instantly. No; my plan is much the best. In two days I will restore the money."

"You only say that."

"I swear it." And, seeing that his words did not convince her, he added, "I had better have said nothing to you, but have gone at once to the wardrobe and taken what I needed."

But she answered, trembling, for she feared that he would yet do this, "Do you not know that Zenade counts her money every day? This very night she showed the casket to the apprentice."

Chariot started. "Is that so?" he asked.

"Yes; the poor girl is very happy. It would kill her to lose it.

Besides, the key is not in the wardrobe."

Suddenly perceiving that she was weakening her own position, she was silent. The young man was no longer the supplicating lover, he was the spoiled child of the house, imploring his aunt to save him from dishonor.

Through her tears she mechanically repeated the words, "It is impossible."

Suddenly he rose to his feet.

"You will not? Very good. Only one thing remains then. Farewell! I will not survive disgrace."

He expected a cry. No; she came toward him.

"You wish to die! Ah, well, so do I! I have had enough of life, of shame, of falsehood, and of love--love that must be concealed with such care that I am never sure of finding it. I am ready."

He drew back. "What folly!" he said, sullenly. "This is too much," he added, vehemently, after a moment's silence, and hurried to the stairs.

She followed him. "Where are you going?" she asked.

"Leave me!" he said, roughly. She s.n.a.t.c.hed his arm.

"Take care!" she whispered with quivering lips. "If you take one more step in that direction, I will call for a.s.sistance!"

"Call, then! Let the world know that your nephew is your lover, and your lover a thief."

He hissed these words, in her ear, for they both spoke very low, impressed, in spite of themselves, by the silence and repose of the house. By the red light of the dying fire he appeared to her suddenly in his true colors, just what he really was, unmasked by one of those violent emotions which show the inner workings of the soul.

She saw him with his keen eyes reddened by constant examination of the cards; she thought of all she had sacrificed for this man; she remembered the care with which she had adorned herself for this interview. Suddenly she was overwhelmed by profound disgust for herself and for him, and sank, half-fainting, on the couch; and while the thief crept up the familiar staircase, she buried her face in the pillows to stifle her cries and sobs, and to prevent herself from seeing and hearing anything.

The streets of Indret were as dark as at midnight, for it was not yet six o'clock. Here and there a light from a baker's window or a wine-shop shone dimly through the thick fog. In one of these wineshops sat Chariot and Jack.

"Another gla.s.s, my boy!"

"No more, thank you. I fear it would make me very ill."

Chariot laughed. "And you a Parisian! Waiter, bring more wine!"

The boy dared make no farther objection. The attentions of which he was the object flattered him immensely. That this man, who for eighteen months had never vouchsafed him any notice, should, meeting him by chance that morning in the streets, have invited him to the cabaret and treated him, was a matter of surprise and congratulation to himself. At first Jack was somewhat distrustful of such courtesy, for the other had such a singular way of repeating his question, "Is there nothing new at the Rondics? Really, nothing new?"

"I wonder," thought the apprentice, "if he wishes me to carry his letters, instead of Belisaire!"