LITMIR.BIZ

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shall pay. This very day I shall see my creditors, and make arrangements with them.”

      “Very well, Maxence,” exclaimed Mme. Favoral, delighted.

      But there was no pacifying the cashier of the Mutual Credit.

      “Those are fine-sounding words,” he said with a sneer; “but I doubt if the tailors and the shirt-makers will take them in payment. That’s why I want that list.”

      “Still—”

      “It’s I who shall pay. I do not mean to have another such scene as that of yesterday in my office. It must not be said that my son is a sharper and a cheat at the very moment when I find for my daughter a most unhoped-for match.”

      And, turning to Mlle. Gilberte:

      “For I suppose you have got over your foolish ideas,” he uttered.

      The young girl shook her head.

      “My ideas are the same as they were last night.”

      “Ah, ah!”

      “And so, father, I beg of you, do not insist. Why wrangle and quarrel? You must know me well enough to know, that, whatever may happen, I shall never yield.”

      Indeed, M. Favoral was well aware of his daughter’s firmness; for he had already been compelled on several occasions, as he expressed it himself, “to strike his flag” before her. But he could not believe that she would resist when he took certain means of enforcing his will.

      “I have pledged my word,” he said.

      “But I have not pledged mine, father.”

      He was becoming excited: his cheeks were flushed; and his little eyes sparkled.

      “And suppose I were to tell you,” he resumed, doing at least to his daughter the honor of controlling his anger: “suppose I were to tell you that I would derive from this marriage immense, positive, and immediate advantages?”

      “Oh!” she interrupted with a look of disgust, “oh, for mercy’s sake!”

      “Suppose I were to tell you that I have a powerful interest in it; that it is indispensable to the success of vast combinations?”

      Mlle. Gilberte looked straight at him.

      “I would answer you,” she exclaimed, “that it does not suit me to be made use of as an earnest to your combinations. Ah! it’s an operation, is it? an enterprise, a big speculation? and you throw in your daughter in the bargain as a bonus. Well, no! You can tell your partner that the thing has fallen through.”

      M. Favoral’s anger was growing with each word.

      “I’ll see if I can’t make you yield,” he said.

      “You may crush me, perhaps. Make me yield, never!”

      “Well, we shall see. You will see—Maxence and you—whether there are no means by which a father can compel his rebellious children to submit to his authority.”

      And, feeling that he was no longer master of himself, he left, swearing loud enough to shake the plaster from the stair-walls.

      Maxence shook with indignation.

      “Never,” he uttered, “never until now, had I understood the infamy of my conduct. With a father such as ours, Gilberte, I should be your protector. And now I am debarred even of the right to interfere. But never mind, I have the will; and all will soon be repaired.”

      Left alone, a few moments after, Mlle. Gilberte was congratulating herself upon her firmness.

      “I am sure,” she thought, “Marius would approve, if he knew.”

      She had not long to wait for her reward. The bell rang: it was her old professor, the Signor Gismondo Pulei, who came to give her his daily lesson.

      The liveliest joy beamed upon his face, more shriveled than an apple at Easter; and the most magnificent anticipations sparkled in his eyes.

      “I knew it, signora!” he exclaimed from the threshold: “I knew that angels bring good luck. As every thing succeeds to you, so must every thing succeed to those who come near you.”

      She could not help smiling at the appropriateness of the compliment.

      “Something fortunate has happened to you, dear master?” she asked.

      “That is to say, I am on the high-road to fortune and glory,” he replied. “My fame is extending; pupils dispute the privilege of my lesson.”

      Mlle. Gilberte knew too well the thoroughly Italian exaggeration of the worthy maestro to be surprised.

      “This morning,” he went on, “visited by inspiration, I had risen early, and I was working with marvelous facility, when there was a knock at my door. I do not remember such an occurrence since the blessed day when your worthy father called for me. Surprised, I nevertheless said, ‘Come in;’ when there appeared a tall and robust young man, proud and intelligent-looking.”

      The young girl started.

      “Marius!” cried a voice within her.

      “This young man,” continued the old Italian, “had heard me spoken of, and came to apply for lessons. I questioned him; and from the first words I discovered that his education had been frightfully neglected, that he was ignorant of the most vulgar notions of the divine art, and that he scarcely knew the difference between a sharp and a quaver. It was really the A, B, C, which he wished me to teach him. Laborious task, ungrateful labor! But he manifested so much shame at his ignorance, and so much desire to be instructed, that I felt moved in his favor. Then his countenance was most winning, his voice of a superior tone; and finally he offered me sixty francs a month. In short, he is now my pupil.”

      As well as she could, Mlle. Gilberte was hiding her blushes behind a music-book.

      “We remained over two hours talking,” said the good and simple maestro, “and I believe that he has excellent dispositions. Unfortunately, he can only take two lessons a week. Although a nobleman, he works; and, when he took off his glove to hand me a month in advance, I noticed that one of his hands was blackened, as if burnt by some acid. But never mind, signora, sixty francs, together with what your father gives me, it’s a fortune. The end of my career will be spared the privations of its beginning. This young man will help making me known. The morning has been dark; but the sunset will be glorious.”

      The young girl could no longer have any doubts: M. de Tregars had found the means of hearing from her, and letting her hear from him.

      The impression she felt contributed no little to give her the patience to endure the obstinate persecution of her father, who, twice a day, never failed to repeat to her:

      “Get ready to properly receive my protege on Saturday. I have not invited him to dinner: he will only spend the evening with us.”

      And he mistook for a disposition to yield the cold tone in which she answered:

      “I beg you to believe that this introduction is wholly unnecessary.”

      Thus, the famous day having come, he told his usual Saturday guests, M. and Mme. Desclavettes, M. Chapelain, and old man Desormeaux:

      “Eh, eh! I guess you are going to see a future son-in-law!”

      At nine o’clock, just as they had passed into the parlor, the sound of carriage-wheels startled the Rue St. Gilles.

      “There he is!” exclaimed the cashier of the Mutual Credit.

      And, throwing open a window:

      “Come, Gilberte,” he added, “come and see his carriage and horses.”

      She never stirred; but M. Desclavettes and M. Chapelain ran. It was night, unfortunately; and of the whole equipage nothing was visible but the two lanterns that

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