mmm 
 
 archive. org/details/babioleprettymilOOduborich 
 
F. DU BOISGOBEY'S WORKS 
 
 Contained in The Seaside Library, Pocket Edition: 
 No. , Pajjea 
 
 82 Sealed Lips 240 
 
 104 The Coral Pin 245 
 
 2()4 Piedouche, a French Detective 
 
 328 Babiole, the Pretty Milliner 
 
 453 The Lottery Ticket 
 
 47o The Prima Donna's Husband 
 
 522 Zig-Zag, the Clown; or. The Steel Gauntlets 188 
 
 523 The Consequences of a Duel. A Parisian Romance 235 
 
 648 The Angel of the Bells 180 
 
 697 The Pretty Jailer 343 
 
 699 Tlie Sculptor's Daughter 286 
 
 782 The Closed Door 165 
 
 851 The Cry of Blood 375 
 
 918 The Red Band 258 
 
 942 Ca^h on Delivery 252 
 
 1076 The Mystery of an Omnibus 
 
 1080 Bertha's Secret 180 
 
 1082 The Severed Hand 369 
 
 1085 The IMntapnn Affair 347 
 
 1088 The Old Age of Monsieur Lecoq 232 
 
 1513 The Nabob of Bahour. Sequel to *'The Old Age of 
 
 Monsieur Lecoq " 250 
 
 1780 The Blue Veil 232 
 
 1762 The Detective's Eye 
 
 1765 llie Red Lottery Ticket 
 
 1777 A Fight for a Fortune 191 
 
 1940 The Temple of Death. Sequel to "The Coral Pin " 248 
 
 1941 The ]\[ysterv of the Oak. Sequel to " The Red Band". . .284 
 
 2032 The Victim' of Destiny. Sequel to "Babiole, the Pretty 
 
 Milliner" 
 
 2033 The Harvest of ( rime. Sequel to " The Closed Door ". . 
 2036 The Countess de Marcenac. Sequel to "Bertha's Secret 'M80 
 
 ALPHONSE DAUDET'S WORKS 
 
 Contained in The Seaside Library, Pocket Edition: 
 No. Pages 
 
 584 Jack 266 
 
 574 The Nabob. A Story of Parisian Life and Manners 384 
 
 1368 Lise Tavernier 
 
 1629 Tartarin of Tarasccn 
 
 1666 Sidonie 262 
 
 1670 The Little Good-for-Nothing. .-. 354 
 
 2081 Sappho 
 
BABIOLE, 
 
 THE PRETTY MILLINER 
 
 THANSLATED PROM THE FRENCH OP 
 
 fortune' du boisgobey. 
 
 OOPTBIOHT, 1884, BY GeOBGE MUNMb 
 
 NEW YORK; 
 
 GEORGE MUNRO'S SONS, PUBLISHERS, 
 
A SKIN OF BEAUTY IS A JOY FOREVER. 
 DR. T. FELIX GOURAUD'S 
 
 Oriental Cream, or Magical Beautifier, 
 
 Removes Tan. Pimples, Freckles, Moth-Patches, Rash 
 and Skin diseases, and every blemish on beauty, and 
 denes detection. On Its virtues it has st« od the test 
 of 54 years; no other has; and is so harmless we taste 
 it to be sure it is properly made. Accept no 
 counterfeit of similar name. The distin- 
 guished Dr. L. A. Sayre said to a lady of the 
 haut ton (a patient): ''As you ladies will use 
 them, I recommend ' Gouraud's Cream ' as 
 the least harmful of all the Skin prepara- 
 tions." One bottle will last six months, us- 
 ing it every day. Goiiraiuris Poudre 
 Subtile removes siiperfliioiis hair 
 without injury to the skin. 
 
 FERD. T. HOPKINS. Proprietor, 
 
 87 Great Jones St., New York. 
 For sale by all Druggists and Fancy Goods 
 Dealers throughout the U. S., Canadas, and 
 Europe. 
 Also found in N. Y. City at R. H. Macy's, 
 Wanamaker's, and other Fancy Goods Dealers. B^° Beware of Base Imitations. 
 $1,000 Reward for arrest and proof of any one selling the same. 
 
 Mary J. Holmes, 
 Mrs. Emma D. E. N. Southworth, 
 
 Harriet Beecher Stowe. 
 
 \ > The above au:l^!i(>rai ponstitiite a brilliant trio 
 of American writeri^ < of high-class fiction 
 ; jw:aGse yprks have entertained and edified 
 •thousands of readers in the past, and are as 
 popular to-day as ever. 
 
 Mrs. Mary J. Holmes' 
 Works contained in 
 The Seaside Library: 
 
 r]944 The English Orphans. 
 
 ' 1945 The Homestead on the Hillside. 
 
 1946 Tempest and Sunshine. 
 
 1998 Meadow Brook. 
 
 2192 'Lena Rivers. 
 
 2218 Dora Deane. 
 
 2219 Old Hagar's Secret. 
 
 Harriet Beecher Stowe's Works contained in 
 
 The Seaside Library; 
 
 2151 UNCLE TOM'S CABIN. I 1569 THE MINISTER'S WOOING. 
 
 Mrs. Emma D. E. N. 
 Southworth*s Works 
 contained in Seaside 
 Library: 
 
 269 The Lost Heiress. 
 
 287 Vivia; or, The Secret of Power. 
 
 288 The Curse of Clifton. 
 
 293 The Deserted Wife. 
 
 294 The Discarded Daughter. 
 2003 Ishrnael; or, In the Depths. 
 
 2003 Self-Raised: or, From the Depths. 
 
 The above books will be sent by mail, postage paid, on receipt of 
 25 cents per copy, or five copies for $1.00. Address 
 
 GEORGE MUNRO'S SONS, Publishkr8, 
 
 17 to 27 Vande water Street, New York. 
 
 liLfiJlfiJUilAJUliUJUlili^^ 
 
BABIOLE, THE PRETTY MILLINER. 
 
 CHAPTER 1. 
 
 It is on a winter's afternoon, just as tlie daylight begins to wane, 
 that one sliould see tne Faiiboug Montniartre, one gf tbe l»josX>cu- 
 rious and interesting localities of Parss-^at; iix)tie?n Paris,; be it 
 understood; for ibis "faubourg, wbicli is ndvv I'hc center of tbe liiain 
 boulevards, bad no existence a centnry, ago, .and urGM^oJojjJsts^ 
 would waste their time if they atte'npte4 t<,i d'S'iover fiif^rov'^iae^ot ' 
 the ancient dwellings that abound in and around ^he Marais. 
 
 It is tbe chosen babitalion of a population that lives from hand to 
 mouth, that is ever on the go, that retires at the most preposterous 
 hours, and that eats when it can, for the restaurants and eating- 
 houses always remam open until two o'clocli in the morning. 
 
 At night, it undergoes an entire change of aspect, becoming noisy 
 and crowded, just as the neighboring streets are beginning to grow 
 silent and deserted, and after midnight it becomes the rendezvous 
 of disreputable characters of both sexes. 
 
 Bat at the hour for lighting the street lamps, the faubourg is 
 still only a crowded and busy thoroughfare, a street which leads to 
 the Banli, and through which banl^ers' clerks and collectors eagerly 
 hasten, without feeling the slightest anxiety for the safety of their 
 bags of gold and their pocket-books— a street thronged with f acres 
 and drays; in short, a hard-working, honest and respectable fan- 
 bourg. 
 
 Such was its aspect about five o'clock one afternoon, late in the 
 month of February, when two young men, who had been walking 
 along side by side, found themselves obliged to piiuse at the corner 
 of the Rue Lafayette and wait tor a line of vehicles to pass. 
 
 They were both well dressed, and of about the same height, but 
 these were the only points of resemblance between them. 
 
 One was dark, the other was fair; one had broad shoulders, and 
 was inclined to stoutness; the other was slender and elegantly 
 formed; one wore a heavy and rather unkempt beard, the other only 
 a long, silky and carefully trimmed mustache— a perfect love of a 
 mustache, indeed. 
 
 In short, one was unattractive, even ordinary, in appearance; the 
 other, was a distinguished^looking and remarkably handsome young 
 man. 
 
 They seemed, moreover, to be of about the same age. At least, 
 
 966794 
 
6 BABTOLE, THE PRETTY MILLINER. 
 
 there could not have been a difterence of more than two year's in 
 their ages. 
 
 " My dear Louis," remarked the fair-haired young man, when 
 they had finally succeeded in crossing the street, ** 1 am very much 
 afraid that 1 shall not arrive in time. The office will be closed, and 
 Monsieur Vernelle may refuse to see me. 1 have a great mind to 
 del er my call until to-morrow." 
 
 ** You are from the country, my dear Andre," replied his compan- 
 ion, ** consequently it is not strange that you should be ignorant of 
 the customs that prevail among financiers. From three o'clock to 
 five, Monsieur Vernelle is engaged in receiving brokers and their 
 clerks, in looking over the transactions of the day, and affixing his 
 signature to his correspondence. By five o'clock these tasks are 
 completed, consequently that is the most favorable time to approach 
 him — especially when the market closes with an upward tendency, 
 as is the case* to-day. You will find him in a good humor, and 
 your letter of introduction will be favorably received, 1 feel sure." 
 
 'Vbhope so,- indeed, far \i 1 should be obliged to return as 1 came, 
 
 without any, podili'on- or any prospect of one, 1 don't know what 
 
 .will become of my mother and ire. My poor father left us nothing 
 
 ' 'jq ifve u^pbn. ^ The CQllapse of the Union Generale reduced iiiin to 
 
 ' poverty,' and -he d?*ed of gv.ief and chagrin, as you know." 
 
 ** Tlie blow is the more severe from the fact that he was very 
 wealthy, and that you ought to be the possessor of a handsome fort- 
 une to-day. As for me, my parents were always poor, and I knew 
 that 1 should be obliged to look out foi myself as soon as 1 left 
 school." 
 
 ** But see where you are now. You are the chief clerk in a 
 prominent mercantile house on the Kue Sentier, and in a fair way 
 1o speedily become a member of the firm, while I still have my ap- 
 prenticeship to serve, and am by no means sure that I am good for 
 anj^thing." 
 
 ** Bah I if one is endowed with a fair amount of intelligence, one 
 can succeed in anything; besides, with a face like yours, one has a 
 fair chance of winning the affections of his employer's daughter, 
 and marrying her some day or other. There is no such fialtering 
 prospect tor me, as 1 look more like a well-to-do mechanic than 
 anything else; and yet, I don't complain of my fate. Monsieur 
 Vernelle is a kind hearted man. He will not refuse to give you a 
 foothold, and wlien you once get a place in his banking-house, the 
 rest depends solely upon yourself. By the way, he has a marriage- 
 able daughter." 
 
 ** 1 am not so aspiring. On the contrary, 1 shall be quite content 
 with a clerkship. Heaven grant that he* gives me a position, and 
 that I am capable of fillmg it." 
 
 '* You do wrong to doubt your ability. Assurance is one of the 
 chief requisites of success in life after all. Say what you have to 
 say boldly, and don't dwell too much on your poverty. One lends 
 only to the rich, says the proverb, and poverty is never a very good 
 recommendation." 
 
 ** But here we are at the Rue Berg^re, where Vernelle lives. Do 
 you see that iron gateway down there? 1 will go with you as far as 
 the door, and then wait tor you at the cafe on the corner of the Rue 
 
BABIOLE, THE PRETTY MILLIN^ER. 7 
 
 Drouot and the Rue Lafayette. We will dine together, and it you 
 are successful we will celebrate the event with a modest little feast 
 ot oysters and wine." 
 
 *' Nothing would please me better; but 1 am very much afraid 
 that 1 shall have no good report to make." 
 
 The conversation ceased. Andre was preparing for the interview 
 which would decide his destin3% and Louis was silent, for fear ot 
 disturbing his fiiend's reflection. 
 
 Friends, indeed, they were, of long standing, having pursued 
 their studies at the same college, though they had lost sight of each 
 other for several years. 
 
 Though Louis Marbeuf and Andre Subligny had been fellow stu- 
 dents, they did not at that time seem destined to lead the same life,. 
 inr Marbeut's father was a hardware dealer who had strained 
 every nerve to send his boy to college, and Subligny was the son of 
 a wealthy ship-owner, who had retired from business with a hand- 
 some fortune. 
 
 Marbeuf, an orphan at the age oi eijihteen, had begun life as a 
 petty clerk; while Subligny had become one of the leaders of the 
 jennesse doree ot his native town, dividing his time between Havre 
 and Paris, and squandering right and left the money with whicU 
 his father kept him lavishly supplied. 
 
 He had learned to tie a cravat to perfection, to lead the german, 
 and to ride, but he had entirely forgotten how to work. 
 
 The complete and irreparable ruin of his father had fallen like a 
 thunderbolt upon this pleasant and indolent existence. The former 
 ship-owner, in order to pay his debts, had sold his estates, his villa at 
 Ingouville, and even his wife's jewels, and then retired with her to 
 a village where Andre had led a life of privation until his mother, 
 who had, in the meantime, become a widow, decided to send him 
 to Paris with a letter to M. Vernelle, in which she reminded this 
 millionaire of a service rendered him in former years by her hus- 
 band, and asked for a position for her son. 
 
 Andre began his journey with three hundred francs, which the 
 poor woman had gathered together with great difficulty, and in 
 order to make the meager amount last as long as possible, he had 
 accepted the hospitality of his old schoolmate, who, on hearing 
 of his misfortunes and his plans, had oftered to share with him the 
 little fourth story apartment which he occupied on the Rue Lamartine. 
 Andre had arrived in the city that morning b}'' the early train, 
 and had slept until noon. Marbeuf hastened back to his friend aa 
 soon as he could leave the ofldce, and alter accompanying him to M. 
 Vernelle's door, as had been agreed upon, retraced his steps. Andre, 
 a little cheered by his friend's encouragement, crossed the court- 
 yard, and after inquiring it the banker was visible, was ushered into 
 an imposing reception-room, where he handed his card to a footman 
 in quiet brown livery, who guarded the door ot the private office, 
 and who promptly delivered it to his master. 
 
 Several minutes passed that seemed interminable to Andr6, who 
 feared that the banker had entirely forgotten the name ot Subligny, 
 which graiitude should have engraved upon his memory, and wht n 
 the footman reappeared to announce that M. Vernelle would seQ 
 him, he turned pale with joy and emotiou. 
 
8 BABIOLE, THK PRETTY MTLLT:NrER. 
 
 He entered with a wildl}^ throbbmg heart, and found o?mself in 
 the presence of a man who was wiiling at a desk, lo;ded with 
 papers, and who motioned him to be sealed without pausing in his 
 worl^. 
 
 fie obeyed, bowing respectfully, and waited, letter in hand, until 
 his father's old friend should find time to address him. 
 
 M. Vernelle was still in the prime ot life, though his hair was 
 gray, and his face weary and care-worn. It makes one prematurely 
 old to conduct a large banking-bouse and extensive financial opera- 
 tions. 
 
 This money-king wore a cold and severe air, assumed, perhaps, to 
 intimidate petitioners, and Andre, who had scarcely been, honored 
 with a glance, felt more and more uncomfortable. 
 
 His card was lyina: upon the tabic, and he asked himselr why M. 
 Vernelle, who must have read the name, did not condescen^i to even 
 look at him. Did he take him for a speculator who had come to 
 propose some new scheme, or did he confound his name with that 
 of some tradesman? Had he been admitted by mistake, and would 
 he be dismissed at the first intimation of his pretensions? 
 
 The great financier continued to write steadily on, occasionally 
 pausing to wait for some word which did not promptly present it- 
 self, but without lifting his eyes from the paper. 
 
 The tick-tack of the pendulum marked the flight of the seconds in 
 the midst of this glacial silence. Andre's heart sunk lower and 
 lower, and he felt strongly tempted to turn and flee. 
 
 A dooi suddenly opened at the other end of the room, and a gen- 
 tleman entered with several packages of bank notes in his hand. 
 
 •' Here are the eight hundred thousand francs to square Monsieur 
 Bertand's account," he said, in the monotonous voice of a well- 
 trained cashier. 
 
 *' Very well. Lay the money down, Bertand will not be here 
 until six o'clock," replied M. Vernelle, without pausing in his 
 writing. 
 
 The cashier placed the valuable package on the desk, within An- 
 dre's reach, and quietl}'^ withdrew. 
 
 M. Vernelle appended liis signature to the letter he was writing, 
 he then reread it, folded it, inclosed it in an envelope, and addressed 
 it, then glancing up at Andre, 
 
 '* What can 1 do for you, sir?" he asked, coldly. 
 
 "1 am the son of Mr. Charles Subligny, of Havre," stammered 
 , the young man. 
 • ** 1 know it. What do you desire of me?" 
 
 Andre presented his mother's letter. As he handed it to the 
 banker, his fingers grazed the package of banknotes— a cruel con- 
 trast—for his present and prospective fortune consisted of barely 
 two hundred francs. 
 
 M. Vernelle took the letter, opened it, and began its perusal with- 
 out a word. 
 
 Andre endeavored to read in the banker's face the impression pro- 
 duced by this petition, composed with such infinite care and pains 
 by an anxious mother. He had the pleasure of seeing that the fur- 
 ther M. Vernelle progressed with his reading, the more his stern 
 Jtijiitures relaxed, and when he reached the concluding lines, Andre, 
 
BABtOLE, THE PRETTY MILLI^TEH. 9 
 
 to his very great siii prise, fancied he could detect a suspicious moist- 
 ure in his eyes. 
 
 '* So yoii^ father met all his obligations?" he said. 
 
 ** All, sir. He died owing no man a penny, and possessing none." 
 
 ** He preferred! honor to wealth. That is something unusual in 
 these days." 
 
 " Could you doubt that this would be his preference— you, who 
 knew him in years gone by?" asked Andre. 
 
 " Yes, 1 knew him, and 1 knew that he had paid all his creditors: 
 but 1 had heard none of the particulars. The terrible disaster of 
 last year created a frightful panic in the business world. 1 myself 
 felt the effects of it, and the shock was so severe that 1 had no op- 
 portunity to bestow much attention on such of my acquaintances as 
 it ruined. 1, consequently, was not aware that your father and his 
 family had been reduced to poverty through an excess of delicacy on 
 his part— for it certainty was an excciss c>f delicacy — no one would 
 have blamed him for making some provision for his wife and child. 
 1 will add, that if he had applied to me, 1 should certainly have 
 assisted him." 
 
 ** He thought of doing so, sir, but dared not." 
 
 '• He did very wrong. Years ago 1 found myself greatly embar- 
 rassed financially. Had I been as timid as he was, 1 should probab- 
 ly have gone under; but 1 explelned my situation to some friends, 
 and not one ot them refused to iissist me. lour father was one of 
 the most generous of all, and it was due chiefly to his aid that 1 
 passed safely through the crisis, and re-established my business, 
 which has prospered ever since. Your father loaned me then a sum of 
 money which he would have done well to have lelt in my business. 
 But it is useless now to deplore what has passed. Tell me how you 
 have lived since?" 
 
 " My mother relinquished her entire private fortune, but she has 
 an inalienable income of three thousand francs which was bequeath- 
 ed to her by a distant relative. This is all we have had to live upon." 
 
 *' Your mother, your father, and you?" exclaimed the banker, 
 with a gesture of astonishment. 
 
 " Yes, sir: we left Havre, and took up our abode in the country. 
 My poor father died there six months ago. He never rallied from 
 the blow he had received." 
 
 •• And your mother has biavely endured her unhappy lot! 1 thank 
 her for writing and recommending you to me. Hhe ought to have 
 done this before. When did you arrive in Paris?" 
 
 *' This morning, sir; and I should lia^e called upon you immedi- 
 ately, had not a friend, who kindly invited me to share his room, 
 told me that until live o'clock you w^ould receive only persons who 
 , wished to see you on business matters." 
 
 " Y'our friend was quite right. How old are you?" 
 
 " 1 was tw^enty-five last month." 
 
 *• You were educated here in Paris, I believe?" 
 
 ** Yes, sir." 
 
 " And what have you been doing since? what profession did you 
 choose?" 
 
 Andre's heart tailed him. M. Vernelle had placed his finger ou 
 the weak spot of this prepossssing young man's armor. 
 
10 BABIOLE, THE PRETTY MILLINER. 
 
 ** None, ] suppose," contiQiied the banker. 
 
 "1 was anxious to enter the diplomatic service," replied the 
 young man, with very evident embarrassment. " There seemed to 
 be nothing to prevent me from doing so. My father was still rich, 
 so 1 could do what I liked, and afterward time slipped by without 
 my taking any decisive step." 
 
 " Then you prol)ably have little or no taste for business?" 
 
 '* 1 did not think so at that time. My father retired from business 
 several years before 1 left collej2:e, so 1 could not take his place, and — " 
 
 *' Then you have done nothing whatever up to the present time?" 
 
 This time Andre felt that there was, indeed, no hope for him, for 
 all M. Vernelle's questions seemed intended to convince him of his 
 unfitness to hold any position in a large banking-house. 
 
 But the idea of parrying this thiust with a falsehood never once 
 occurred to him. 
 
 •• That is true, sir," he replied, after a short silence. ** 1 frankly 
 admit that 1 have lived in absolute idleness. My father allowed me 
 the greatest possible freedom. I abused it, and indulged freely in 
 the extravagant pleasures that ruin young men; but 1 now bitterly 
 regret the squandermg of money which would so greatly ameliorate 
 my mother's unfortunate condition. But," arided Andre, straight- 
 ening himself up proudly, *' 1 am positive that 1 have never commit- 
 ted a mean or dishonorable act. L have sinned through thoughtless- 
 ness and ignorance. 1 supposed myself destined to be the possessor 
 of a large fortune. This turned my head a little, but my heart is 
 not spoiled." 
 
 " 1 believe you," responded M. Yernelle. "Good blood will 
 show itself, and you belong to a family which has never been want- 
 ing in honor. 1 can readily excuse your faults, and 1 think all the 
 better of you tor not having concealed them from me. Hypocrisy 
 is the worst of all vices, in my opinion. You have been a spoiled 
 child. You muBt now make a man of yourself, and 1 am ready to 
 aid you in your at^tempt." 
 
 **0h, sir!" 
 
 *' Do not thank me. 1 am only repaying a debt of gratitude— an 
 old obligation. Besid s, I have taken a liking to you, so I deserve 
 no credit for doing something tor you. 1 have no intention of em- 
 ploying you in my offices. You have had none of the trainiuii which 
 is indispensable to a good cleik, nor would such a position suit you. 
 1 have a better one to offer yon. Will you be my private secretary?" 
 
 •' I!" exclaimed An lire. 
 
 " Yes, you," replied M. Vernelle, almost affectionately, *'ana 1 
 am sure you will till this confidential position to my entire satisfac- 
 tion. I have long been looking for an intelligent, well-l)orn and 
 well-bred young man, whom 1 could initiate into all lay affairs. Any 
 well-trained clerk can attend to Uiy business coi respondence ; but 1 
 need a man like yourself for my piivate correspondence. In per- 
 forming these functions, you will soon acquire the knowledge and 
 experience you now lacii. You will learn how to direct gigaatic 
 operations, and 1 feel sure that your course will be onward and up- 
 ward. 1 began in a much more humble position, and 1 am now the 
 bead of the house which you are about to entei." 
 
 Andre, deeply touched, was about to burst forth into vehement 
 
BABIOLE, THE PRETTY MILLIKER, 11 
 
 protestations ot pjratitude, when a valet entered on tiptoe, and said a 
 few words to M. Vernelle in a low tone. 
 
 '* Very well, 1 am coming," his master replied. 
 
 Andre rose lo go, but the banker motioned him to reseat himself, 
 remarking: 
 
 ** Remain, my young friend. I must explain to you more fully 
 what your duties will be. My daughter wishes to see me, so 1 must 
 lenve you for a moment, but 1 should like you to wait for me." 
 
 Andre bowed, and resumed his seat near the table, while M. Ver- 
 nelle disappeared through the door at the further end of the room. 
 
 He was overcome with joy, this brave Andre, and he certainly had 
 cause to be. He had entered the great financier's office, nervous 
 and tremblin.s:, and now he was the possessor of a situation he had 
 not even dared to dream of. To be M. Vernelle's private secretary 
 was opulence— heaven itself. 
 
 *• My mother's life will be henceforth one of ease," he thought, 
 ** and it is to me that she will owe it. When 1 think how she hesi- 
 tated to apply to this kind-hearted man because she feared she would 
 only expoj;e me to useless humiliation! But he has a heart of gold, 
 this apparently cold and haughty banker. Pie has treated me as it 1 
 were his son. Ah, my entire lite will be too short to repay him for 
 his kindnesa, no matter how great my zeal and devotion. It will 
 not be enough to serve him faithfully. 1 should like to be rich some 
 day, so 1 might prove my gratitude by doing for him what my fa- 
 ther did years ago. But this is a wish that will never be realized," 
 he said to himself. *' Monsieur Vernelle is the possessor of millions, 
 and 1 have absolutely nothinff. He will retire from business before 
 1 have made even a quarter of the amount that is lying here on the 
 table before me — eight hundred thousand francs!" 
 
 As he spoke, he glanced at the pile of bank-notes before him — 
 glanced at it, not covetously, but with genuine curiosity. 
 
 Andre had squandered a good deal of money, but he had never 
 before seen so large an amount together or in so small a compass, 
 tor the notes were all new, and had also been subjected to the action 
 of a press. 
 
 *' Eight hundred thousand francs!" he repeated, ** a handsome 
 fortune, and yet how small a space it occupies!" 
 
 Almost unconsciously, he picked up one of the eight packages to 
 see what process had been emploj'^ed to reduce the bank-notes to the 
 amount of one hundred thousand francs, to the dimensions ot a 
 folded linen cambric handkerchief. 
 
 On examining it, he perceived that the package was made up of 
 ten s nailer packages ot ten thousand francs each, carefully pinned, 
 and then tied together with a small bit of silken cord. The package 
 was still in his hand, and he was engaged in weighing it, when the 
 door by which M. Vernelle had lett the room suddenl}^ opened. 
 
 There are decisive moments when a man's honor and lite depend 
 upon the quickness of a movement. 
 
 Andre had only to extend his hand to replace the package on the 
 pile from which he had just taken it; but to do this, he would have 
 been obliged to make a movement which would hardly have escaped 
 M. Vernelle's sharp eyes. 
 
 XUe doorway in which the banker had just appeared was directly 
 
12 BABIOLE, THE rRETTY MILLINER. 
 
 opposite Ihe desk in front of which the joudc; man was sitting, and 
 the first glance of the employer must inevitably fall upon his future 
 secretary. 
 
 What would he think of the ill-timed curiosity to which the youn^ 
 man had yielded in picking up, for close examination, a portion of 
 this weallh which did not belong to him? 
 
 Andre, caught in the imprudent act, lost his head, and in his con- 
 fusion and bewilderment, hastily concealed the package of notes in 
 his trousers pocket, which was hidden from view by the desk. 
 
 The act was as involuntary as the instinctive recoil when one has 
 missed a thrust, and sees one's adversary's sword only a couple of 
 inches from one's naked breast. 
 
 After this impulsive act, whose consequences he had not had time 
 to calculate, Andre hastily rose. 
 
 He was very pale, and his limbs trembled under him, but M. 
 Vernelle had perceived nothing; besides, Andre's contusion might 
 reasonably be imputed to the unexpected entrance of the young girl i 
 the banker brought with him. 
 
 " Clemence insists upon seeing you," said M. Vernelle, smiling, I 
 *' and 1 can refuse her nothing. She is absolute mistress here; more- 
 over, as you are destined to meet frequently since you now belong to 
 the establishment, 1 thought it would be well for you to make each 
 other's acquaintance at once." 
 
 Andre bowed awkwardly. He scarcely dared to lift his eyes, and , 
 yet he had perceived that his employer's daughter w^as marvelously 
 lovely. 
 
 She was a blonde, with delicate features, and large blue eyes of 
 wonrterful sweetness of compression; and, like Andre, she was tall 
 and slender, without being thin. 
 
 The pair might readily have been mistaken for brother and sister; 
 but she did not appear to be more than nineteen, at the most. 
 
 ** Oh! how strongly you resemble your father, sirl" she exclaimed, 
 clapping her hands. 
 
 *' What, mademoiselle, did you know him?" said Andre, greatly 
 astonished. 
 
 ** He always called to see us when he came to Paris, and when 1 
 was a child, lie used to give me toys without number. Why did he 
 never bring you to see us?" i 
 
 Andre knew not what to reply. He managed, however, to stam- 
 mer out some excuse, and to express regrets which were certainly 
 sincere, tor he thought her charming, and said to himself that he 
 perhaps would not have been guilty of so many tollies had he met 
 her before. 
 
 " You have had the misfortune to lose him," she continued, " and- 
 without knowing you, I have sympathized with you in yoiir bereave- 
 ment, and 1 thank you for having thought of us." 
 
 Andre, surprised at this warm reception, looked timidly at M. , 
 Vernelle, who was smiling on his daughter. 
 
 It was very evident that he adored" her, and that in spite of his 
 greed for gold, he would neglect his business to gratify a desire of 
 this young girl who had no idea either of the value of money, or« 
 what sacrifices one must make in order to obtain it. j 
 
 She was his joy, his coasolation, his hope. It was evident, tooj 
 
 t, tooJ 
 
 (I 
 
BABIOLE, THE PRETTY MILLIKER. 13 
 
 that he wcAild never thwart the inclinations of his dear Clemenoe, 
 and that he would unhesitatingly accept the man of her choice. 
 
 What a brilliant prospect tor xVndre, to whom she seemed to have 
 taken a strong liking, and whose time was to be spent near her! 
 
 But the poor youth w^as in no condition to enjoy the unalloyed 
 satisfaction which such an avalanche of unexpected good fortune 
 should have caused. 
 
 He could think only of the senseless act which he had allowed 
 himself to commit, and he was anxiously asking himself what he 
 could do to avert the consequences of it. 
 
 The accursed package was in his pocket, and it seemed to him 
 that the light, silky papers weighed a hundred pounds. 
 . To draw out the notes, throwthem on the table, and falling on his 
 knees before M. Vernelle, implore his forgiveness for his momentary 
 lolly, would have been the heroic course, and he perhaps would 
 have had courage to adopt it had he been alone with the 'banker. 
 But before Mile. Veinelle he would have died of shame. 
 On the other hand, to take the money away with him would be 
 stealing. This thought horrified him. 
 A plan occurred to him that served to calm his anxiety a litile. 
 *' He broueht his daughter here," thought poor Andre, " and he 
 "will probabl}^ accompany her back to her own apartments when she 
 is ready to go. If 1 am left alone again, if only for an instant, 1 
 can put the money back where 1 took it from. It will be enough if 
 he merely turns his back on me to escort her to the dooi. If ihis 
 should happen, 1 am saved, and this is sure to happen." 
 
 ** You do not answer me," continued Clemence In a musical voice 
 that moved Andre to the depths of his inmost heart. " Speak, 
 father, since Monsieur Subligny seems to be afraid of me. 
 
 ** It is the first time in my life that 1 ever intimidated any one," 
 she added, laughing. " 1 did not know that I was so aweinspir- 
 iuir. ' ' 
 
 M. Vernelle stepped up to Andre and took his hand— the very 
 hand that had taken the hundred thousand francs, and said: 
 
 *' My dear boy, you see that every one here wishes you to be my 
 secretary, so accept the position 1 offer >ou. It is not a very brill- 
 iant one, I adniit, nor is it a sinecure, by any means. You will 
 have ph'nty to do; though at first you will write only from my dic- 
 tation; but by and-by, when you have become acquainted with my 
 correspondents, and my business, 1 shall intrust all my private cor- 
 respondence entirely to you." 
 
 *' The idea of declining your kind offer never occurred to me for 
 an instant," replied Andre, wi;h deep emotion, ** and 1 regret that 
 j^ou require no more of one who would gladly make any sacrifice to 
 serve you." 
 
 ** That opportunity may offer itself at some future da}^" said the 
 banker, with a pleasant smile. *' JS^ow let us come to an understand- 
 ing. Will you be ready to enter upon jour duties to-morrow?" 
 
 '* Quite ready," murmured poor Andre, shuddering as he thought, 
 *' 1 will kill myself before to morrow if 1 do not find an opportunity 
 to restore the riioney I have taken." 
 
 ** Then you will find me at my office to-morrow morning at nine 
 o'clock. I will install you at a detk here, and I will also introduce 
 
14 BABIOLE, THE PRETTY MILLINER. 
 
 you to my cashier and to my head book-keeper. They both know 
 vdiat an enviable reputation tor integrity your father left behind 
 him, and yon will find them very kindly disposed toward you." 
 
 ** How grateful — " 
 
 ** Wait— 1 have not yet enumerated all your duties. 1 breakfast 
 al twelve o'clock, and you will breakfast with me." 
 
 ** A.nd with me, if you please," said the young lady, aichly. 
 
 " jNot every day, mademoiselle," said the father, with pretended 
 sternness. " We shall often have to discuss business matters, Mon- 
 sieur Subligny and 1, and in that case you would be de trop,'* 
 
 " I confess that business matters possess very little interest for 
 me. " . 
 
 " That is very fortunate, as at such times you are to remain in 
 your own apartments," replied her father, laughing. 
 
 Then, turning to Andre he said: 
 
 ** At five o'clock you will be free, at least, unless you feel in- 
 clined to devote your evening to us, in which case you will dine 
 with us." 
 
 *' And 1 always honor the dinner-table with my presence," cried 
 Clemence. 
 
 Had Andre's mind been in its normal condition he would have 
 thanked his benefactor and Mile. Vernelie in a few simple but well 
 chosen words, but he was half demented, for he saw that the mo- 
 ment for his departure was fast approaching, and the young lady, 
 whose absence would have enabled him to get rid of those terrible 
 bank-notes, seemed determined to remain until the conclusion of his 
 visit. 
 
 ** There is still one point which we have not touched upon," re- ' 
 sumed the banker. " It is the salary you are to receive." 
 
 '* 1 shall be perfectly satisfied with whatever you are willing to 
 give me," said Andre, eagerly. 
 
 *' 1 do not doubt it; but 1 prefer to be explicit. 1 shall pay you 
 five hundred francs a month to begin with. You must be able to 
 render your mother some assistance from this time forth. You will 
 write to her this evening, will you not?" 
 
 '* It is too late for the mail now. 1 shall send a telegram, and she 
 will be happy one day sooner." 
 
 ** Ycr}^ well, my young friend. Y^'ou are staying with one of your 
 friends, 1 think you told me " 
 
 " Yes; with Louis Marbeuf, an old schoolmate." 
 
 '• You must have lodgings, and suitable lodgings. 1 will attend 
 to that. But now good-by until to-morrow, my dear Andre. 1 must 
 detain you no longer, for 1 am expecting one of my principal clients 
 who is coming for the money you see there." 
 
 Andre's legs trembled under him. This was the final blow. The 
 owner of the eight hundred thousand francs would come, count his 
 money, and discover that one package of bank-not«s was missing. 
 Andre felt that he must go at once in order to avoid the scene that 
 would inevitably ensue; for Andre alone could have taken the money 
 —and that he must go without rcgtoring the money, for the young 
 lady did not move, 
 
 m opened Uis lips to oQQlQsg )x\% im% l)\^t ^ irou \mA m^^^ 
 
BABIOLE, THE PRETTY MILLIKER. 15 
 
 to close around his throat, and the words would not come. Mile. 
 Vernelle was looking at him, and tlie look paralyzed him. 
 
 He wished that the floor would open to swallow him up and bury 
 forever the proot of his disgrace. 
 
 *' Au reioir, Monsieur Andre," said the young girl, pleasantly, 
 as the father pushed him gently toward the door, alter pressing his 
 hand cordially. 
 
 He opened it, this door by which he had entered, poor but proud, 
 and when he found himself in the reception-room, he heard a voice, 
 the voice of conscience, crying loudly: 
 
 ** You are a thief!" 
 
 He staggered like a drunken man, so perceptibly, in fact, that the 
 footman wno had risen to escort him to the outer door, inquired if 
 he was ill. 
 
 This miserable footman was still another obstacle in the way of 
 reparation, for Andre had thought of throwing the package on a 
 chair or table where some member of the household would see it and 
 return it to the banker. 
 
 ** 1 will drop it on the stairs," he said to himself, as he left the re- 
 ception room. 
 
 But this plan likewise proved futile, for he had not descended 
 three stairs when he heard footsteps behind him. The cashier, who 
 had left his office by a door that opened upon the same landing as 
 the door of the reception-room, was now going home, and out of 
 politeness, probably, he abstained from passing the visitor he hal 
 seen in his employer's cabinet. 
 
 Andre was consequently obliged to leave the house with the fatal 
 package still in his pocket, and with that same terrible voice repeat- 
 ing in his ears : 
 
 •* A man has offered you a helping hand in your adversity, and 
 that man you have robbed — tor it is robbery even to touch money 
 that does not belong to j^ou. And now, whether you live or whether 
 you die, his daughter, who welcomed you as a brother, will know 
 that you are a scoundrel, tor even if you have courage to kill your- 
 self, your body will be taken to the morgue, and the bank-notes you 
 have taken will be found upon you. Monsieur Vernelle will recog- 
 nize them as his property, without a doubt, for the}^ are alt new 
 notes fresh from the bank; and you will be the cause uf your moth- 
 er's death, for she will die('f grief and morlitication on learning that 
 her son was a thief." 
 
 At the gateway where he had paused, the cashier stepped by him, 
 bowing as he passed. 
 
 Andre, relieved of this dangerous witness, would have instantly 
 retraced his steps had not a gentleman to whom the cashier also 
 bowed, entered the court-yard; and this gentleman was in all proba- 
 bility the capitalist who had come to draw the enormous sum lying 
 upon M. Vernelle's desk. 
 
 ^ This crushed the unfortunate youth's last hope, and he rushed out 
 like a madman into the Rue Berg^re, which was greatly crowded as 
 usual, and his escape from hm^ run over by some passing vehicle 
 was certainly a miracle. 
 
 ^'or wp jj§ pftrtiPUl^r ^bout gUuiiala| mob % i9A% Sii lift y^m 
 
16 BABIOLE, THE PEETTY MILLINER. 
 
 vintiially ended ; and he Ihought strongly of rushing off to throw 
 himselt ioto the Seine. 
 
 It would have been folly to drop the package ot notes on the side- 
 walk, for though there are always plenty of persons to pick up valu- 
 ables, there are very few to take them to the proper authorities. 
 
 •' 1 should enrich some scoundrel," he thought, " and be none the 
 less dishonored myself. It wo\\\d be far belter lor me to reiurn the 
 notes in a letter, in which 1 will confess all to Monsieur Yernelle, 
 and tell him that he will never see me again. But to whom shall 1 
 in' rust the letter? i can not conflde it to a common messenger, for 
 he would mistrust what it contained, and it would never reach its 
 destination. No, nothing is left for me but to die But 1 am de- 
 lei mined not to be carried to the morgue. 1 will kill myself at 
 home." 
 
 He had scarcely made this desperate resolve when he recollected 
 that Marbeuf was waiting tor him. at the caje. 
 
 Had he any right to put an end to his life without seeing his 
 friend agaiu, without pressing his hand for the last time, and with- 
 out charging him to defend his memory and to explain, to those 
 who inquired wny he had died by his owia hand, that he had killed 
 himself to expiate a crime which he had committed unwittingl}- ? 
 No, on the contrary it was his duty to confess all to his friend, and 
 to commend his mother to his care. 
 
 His mother? Far away in the little hamlet where she had sought 
 a refuge, she was anxiously waiting tor the letter Andre had prom- 
 ised to write to her as soon as his interview with M. Vernelle was 
 over. She was counting the hours. And instead of good news, the 
 poor woman would receive the last farewell of hei" only son. It 
 was enough, and more than enouirh to kill her. 
 
 ** No," he murmured, as he made his way through the crowd in 
 the Faubourg Mont martre, which he had reached he knew not how, 
 ** no, it would be a crime. 1 must beg Louis to go to Havre. His 
 employers will not refuse him two days' leave. He can see her and 
 can try to console her, for though Louis is a little rough in manner 
 he has an excellent heart." 
 
 These reflections, and otliers of a similar nature, engrossed his 
 mind until he reached the corner of the Rue Drouot. There, he 
 paused for a moment before rejoining Marbeuf, wiiom he had just 
 perceived seated at a small table m front of the cafe cnosen as their 
 place of meeting. 
 
 Just then a gentleman brushed by him, and in him Andre fancied 
 he recognized the cashier he had seen on the staircase, as he was 
 leaving Monsieur Yernelle's cabinet. 
 
 11 mattered little to Andre whether it w^as the same person or not, 
 how^ever; he fell no curiosity in regard to him. 
 
 Crossing the street, Andre threw himself upon a chair beside 
 Louis Maibeuf, who eagerly inquired: 
 
 ** Well, did you succeed?" 
 
 Receiving no response, Marbeuf resumed gloomily: 
 
 " 1 see by 3'our face that the banker snubbed you. 1 expected it. 
 Rich men have no feeling. 1 don't believe this one even gianted 
 you a hearing. " 
 
BABIOLE, THE PRETTY MILLINER. 17 
 
 '* You are very much mistaken, " replied Andr6, bitterly. "I had 
 only to send in my card to obtain an interview.'* 
 
 *' And after reading your mother's letter, he assumed a heart- 
 broken air, and assured you, wrapping the bitter pill in plenty of 
 honeyed words, that he could do nothing whatever for you. That 
 is always the way." 
 
 " You do Monsieur Vernelle injustice. The letter seemed to touch 
 him deeply. There were tears in his eyes as he read It." 
 
 •'Then his tears probably lie very near the surface. It would 
 have been more to the purpose had he offered you a place in his 
 establishment." 
 
 *• He offered me something better." 
 
 •* What? pecuniary aid, or a recommendation to one of hia con- 
 freres T' 
 
 '* Neither. He asked me to act as his private secretary." 
 
 " And you. refused?" 
 
 ** No, 1 accepted. I can enter upon my duties at nine o'clock to- 
 morrow morning, if 1 choose." 
 
 *' And the salary?" 
 
 " 1 am to have five hundred francs a month, to begin with." 
 
 "Zounds! you are in luck! I have been clerking seven yeats, 
 and I don't get as much as that yet. And did Vernelle promise you 
 advancement, besides?" 
 
 '* He gave me to understand that he would take care of my 
 f utme, and that from this day forth 1 am to be treated as one of 
 his family. 1 am to breakfast witn him every day." 
 
 ** And still you are not satisfied! You certainly must be hard to 
 please." 
 
 •* His daughter, too, came in while 1 was there, and he introduced 
 me to her." 
 
 *' That caps the climax! See if you don't marry her some day. 
 You certainly could hope lor nothing better unless you expected 
 Vernelle to olitr you the charming young lad^^'s hand forthwith — 
 for she is charming, is she not?" 
 
 ** Adorable! and she greeted me as cordially as if we had been 
 frienfls from infancy. She spoke, too, very afiectionately of my 
 father, whom she seems to have met very often in former years." 
 
 " 'J'his is surely a most promising beginning. Mark my words: 
 in less than two years you will be Monsieur Vernelle's son-inlaw 
 and partner. 1 prophesied as much before your visit, you recollect. 
 This is one of the advantages of being handsome. But now will 
 >'0U tell me why you attempted to fool me in this style?" 
 
 ** 1 am sure 1 never once thought of doing such a thing." mur- 
 mured Subligny, shaking his head. 
 
 *' Do you want to try to make me believe you did it unintention- 
 ally? You come here with a most lugubrious countenance, and 
 uttering sighs that seem to rend your very soul, and I am obliged to 
 wring your report from you, woid by word. And what have you 
 to tell me? Simply that your fortune is made. What is the mean- 
 m^ of this farce? 1 assure you that 1 think it in very bad taste. 1 
 am your friend. 1 thought 1 had convinced you of that, and yet 
 you treat me like a stranger." 
 
 *' You will pardon my dejection when you learn the cause of it *' 
 
18 BABIOLE, THE PRETTY MILLINER. 
 
 *' Indeed! What is the matter with you?'* 
 
 '* Theie is nothing leit for me but to put a bullet through my 
 brain or drown myself. When I left Monsieur Vernelle s 1 was 
 strongly tempted to go straight to the ri^er instead of coming here." 
 
 " You want to kill yourself! Has your good fortune turned your 
 brain?" 
 
 ** No. 1 have not lost my reason, and it ig. on that very account 
 that I am resolved to put an end to my lite. Y'^ou think me very 
 lucliy, and you are rejoicing over my good fortune. Ah, well! 1 
 return to you dishonored. 1 am a thief!" 
 
 " A thief, you! What do you mean by this most unseemly jest- 
 ing?" 
 
 " 1 am a thief, 1 tell you. While 1 was in the banker s private 
 office, the cashier came in and laid a large package of bank-notes 
 on the table. A moment afterward Monsieur Vernelle went out, 
 leaving me alone in the room." 
 
 •* And you yielded to the temptation?" 
 
 *' No. The devil impelled me to do it probably, but 1 only picked 
 lip one of the packaijes of notes to see liow much a fortune would 
 weigh. Monsieur Vernelle leturned almost instantly, and 1 had not 
 time to put the money back where 1 found it, and in my bewilder- 
 ment and contusion i involuntarily slipped the package into my 
 trousers pocket. " 
 
 ** Did Vernelle see you do it?" 
 
 ** No; he had no suspicions of the fact, for he redoubled his kind 
 attentions and promises of assistance." 
 
 *' But why didn't you tell him the truth and return the money?" 
 
 *' His daughter was present— she had returned with him — and 1 
 could not summon up courage. 1 could not bear the thought of 
 being compelled to blush beiore her." 
 
 *' But it will be far worse to be arrested. Vernelle will count his 
 money, and as you were the only person in the office—" 
 
 " He will enter a complaint airainst me, and 1 shall go where 
 other thieves go. \ou see there is nothing left for me but to die." 
 
 The expression of. Marbeuf's face had undergone a decided 
 change. Its severity was truly ominous. 
 
 " Even death will not save you from dishonor,*' he said, after a 
 painful silence. ** Some other plan must be devised." 
 
 *' 1 have tried, but in vain," replied Andre, sadly. ** I am lost. 
 1 realize the fact, and 1 am resigned to my fate. I would rather 
 die than go to prison, but 1 would first like to restore the money 1 
 have stolen." 
 
 •*1 should hope so, indeed," replied Maibeuf, almost sulkily. 
 •* What is the amount?" 
 
 •* 1 do not know exactly. 1 have nor dared to touch it since 1 put 
 Jt in my pocket. It is a package made up of several smaller pack- 
 ages, secured by pins, and tied together with a bit of silk." 
 
 " It is one hundred thousand francs then," said Marbeuf, who* 
 sometimes went to the bank to draw money for his employer.. 
 ** And it was the cashier who brought this money into the room, 
 you say?" 
 
 " Yes, there were eight hundred thousand francs in all, and a 
 gentleman was to c*iU for it ^t su o'clock— a Monsieur Bertand— " 
 
BABIOLE, THE PRETTY MILLINER. 19 
 
 ** Bertand, 1 know him. He is very rich, but he \s not a man to 
 take money without counting it, and he will be pitiless. He once 
 dismissed a subordinate tor making a mistake ot six hundred francs 
 in the settlement ot au account." 
 
 ** And by this time he must have discovered that he has lost one 
 hundred thousand francs, tor 1 think 1 met him in the gateway, as 
 1 was coming out." 
 
 ** The deuce! then there is no time to lose. Still, 1 am sure that 
 Vernelle will not act hastily. He will question his cashier who re- 
 ceived the money, and the clerk who went to the bank lor it— tor it 
 must have come from the bank — Vernelle would not be likely to 
 keep so much money in his safe. Now neither the cashier nor the 
 clerk is at hand, for the office is closed, and the clerks have gone 
 home." 
 
 ** Yes, the cashier left just as 1 did." 
 
 ** And he will not return this evening, so we have until to- 
 morrow." 
 
 *' Then you hope to extricate me from this frightful position?" 
 
 Marbeuf seemed to be in no haste to reply. He was gazing search- 
 ing] y at his unfortunate friend, who hung his head like a criminal 
 iQ the presence of his judge. 
 
 "Listen, Andre," he said, at last. "1 swore to you that if I 
 thought you guilty, even in thought, 1 would abandon 3^ou to your 
 fate, and never speak to you agam while 1 live. Integrity is my 
 only wealth, for 1 have no protector, and have nothing to hope for 
 except fiom my industry and good conduct." 
 
 Andre was cut to the heait by this indirect reproof which he had 
 richly deserved, but he ventured no protest. 
 
 "1 do not doubt that 5^ou have told me the truth," continued 
 Marbeuf, ** for if you were a aishonest man, you would not have 
 confessed your fault. It is grave, very grave, and it may have 
 consequences that you have not foreseen. Innocent parties may be 
 accused of the iheft — " 
 
 " 1 know it, -and 1 would rather denounce myself than be the 
 cause of such a calamity." 
 
 '* Denounce yourself! That is what you had better do, perhaps. 
 1 must admit, however, that it would cost 5^ou the esteem of Mon- 
 sieur Vernelle and his daughter, for you would lose it — no business 
 man would ever believe that you had taken this money unintention- 
 ally. The money of others is sacred, and must not be touched under 
 any pretext whatsoever." 
 
 Andre was silent, and gf eat tears rolled down his cheeks. 
 
 ** 1 will not demand such a cruel sacrifice of you, oor do i despair 
 of saving >ou. i have a plan, though 1 am not yet sure that it is 
 feasible, so there are a few questions 1 should like to ask you. But 
 let us have dinner." 
 
 *• Dinner, you can think of dinner!" 
 
 ** Yes, certainly. 1 have no foitune in my pocket to worry me, 
 and I am hungry. If you don't care to eat, you can tell me what 1 
 wish to know while we are at the table." Andre dared not refuse. 
 He perceived a gleam of hope, aud he clutched at it as a drowning 
 jnan clutclies at a straw. 
 
 Marbeuf had already called the waiter aud paid for the appetizer he 
 
20 BABIOLE, THE PRETTY MILLIIS^ER. 
 
 had partaken of while waiting for his friend. He now rose, and 
 taking Andre by the arm led him toward a restaurant on the corner 
 of the Rue Lafayette and the Fauboarg Mont mart re. 
 
 Andre had never before set foot in one of these cheap restaurants. 
 When he visited Paris in the days of his prosperity, he had always 
 dined at the Cafe Anglais or at the Maison d'Or, and since his 
 father's ruin he had not left the village in which they nad taken up 
 their abode. 
 
 Marbeuf led his friend upstairs, and took his seat at a i\'hite mar- 
 ble table, where his order was promptly taken by a neat young girl, 
 wearing a white apron. 
 
 Most of the surrounding tables were already occupied; and it 
 seemed advisable tor the friends to profit by the few moments of 
 comparative isolation that remained. 
 
 •* You wish to restore the money, do you not?" inquired Marbeuf , 
 *' and restore it without letting Monsieur Vernelle know that it was 
 you who made restitution?" 
 
 ** Yes, certainly; but how can that be managed? To whom can 
 I intrust this money wiiich 1 cannot return myself under penalty of 
 discovery? 1 might send it by post—" 
 
 •* That would be the worst of methods. Y'ou could not register 
 the letter without giving your name and address; and if you only 
 throw the package into the main-box it is more than likely that it 
 will never leach its destination. The post-otfice clerks and letter- 
 carriers are honest, at least nearly all of them, but there are some 
 exceptions, and the amount is large enough to tempt almost any one. 
 Besides, Monsieur Vernelle would have no dilEculty in guessing where 
 the money came from. This plan, consequently, is not to be 
 thought i}f, and 1 have a better one to propose to you. 
 
 *' At what hour does the banker dine?" 
 
 *' How can you expect me to know?" responded Andre, wonder- 
 ingly. 
 
 *' That is true; he has not yet invited you to dinner. He must 
 dine at about seven o'clock, so 1 would be almost sure to find him 
 at home when 1 leave here." 
 
 ** What! you are willing to—?" 
 
 *' Yes, 1 have a plan which may prove practicable. 1 will go to 
 Vernelle, and tell him that 1 have found in the court-yard of his 
 house a package of bank-notes which is probably his property, and 
 which 1 therefore return to him. 1 shall take care to mention the 
 place where I picked the money up. It will be at the foot of the 
 staircase used by the clerks. 1 am familiar with the interior of the 
 establishment, having been sent there several times by ni}^ employer. 
 My story will sound very plausible, and Vernelle will not doubt it 
 for an instant. He will think that the messenger dropped one of 
 the packages, and that his cashier failed to notice the loss when he 
 counted it. ' ' 
 
 " But he will ask your namef 
 
 " That is more than probable, but I shall not be foolish enough 
 to tell it, any more than 1 shall accept the reward he will be sure to 
 offer me. If 1 disclose my name, he will be sure to find out that 1 
 am a friend of yours, and in that case, he would instantly suspect 
 that 1 was acting as an intermediary between yourself and him, 1 
 
BABIOLE, THE PEETTY MILLINER. 21 
 
 shall positively refuse to tell him who 1 am, and if he insists, why 
 I shall ^ive him some fictitious name. But he will believe me, for 
 1 assure you that I shall play ray role to perteclion. If you will 
 play your part equally well, there will be no trouble." 
 
 ** My part! I do not understand you," said Andre, wonderingly. 
 
 *' Yernelle must not j-uspect you, so j^ou must go to him to-mor- 
 row at the appointed hour." 
 
 ** 1 am by no means sure that 1 shall have the courage." 
 
 ** But you must. If you fail to keep your appointment, Vernelle 
 will speedily understand that my pretended finding of the money 
 was only invented to conceal your guilt, for at this very moment 
 he is probably saying to himself that you must be the person that 
 took the money." 
 
 " I know it, and the mere thought of it fills me with shame un- 
 utterable. ' ' 
 
 ** You must exerciise more self-control. Y'our employer will re- 
 ceive you cordially, as the money will have been restored before you 
 present yourself; but it is more than likely that he will relate the 
 singular circumstance to you. If he should speak of the lost and 
 miraculously found ban k- notes, try to repress all signs of emotion. 
 All my trouble will be lost if you do not keep your wits about 
 you." 
 
 *' I will do my best, but I cannot vouch for my success," mur- 
 mured the poor boy. ** But 1 must see you again before 1 risk a 
 visit to Yernelle' 3 office, for if you should fail, or if any unforeseen 
 circumstance should occur — " 
 
 ** Y^ou will be informed of the result this evening. Go directly to 
 my rooms after leaving here, and I will rejoin you there in an hour 
 —or perhaps two hours. That depends up(m whether Ifind Vernelle 
 at home, or am compelled to go after him, as I shall do, if necessary, 
 for this scheme is feasible only if it is carried into execution to-day. 
 1 shall not return until after I have restored this money to its owner, 
 but I will return, I promise you that. You have only to wait for 
 me." 
 
 ** In an agony of suspense, as you may imagine." 
 
 ** Yes, but if 1 succeed, as 1 am sure I shall, you will get off very 
 easily. 
 
 ** See, here is the key of my apartment. Hand me the notes, 
 
 while we are still alone at the table and while no one is looking ac 
 
 us." 
 Andre asked nothing better than to be relieved of a burden that 
 
 weighed much more heavily upon his conscience than on his person. 
 
 He took the key, and handed the package to Marbeuf, who hastily 
 
 put it out of sight. 
 But suddenly Andre turned pale, and said, in a low tone: 
 " I am lost! The cashier is here. He saw us." 
 *• The cashier!" repeated Marbeuf. *' What cashier?" 
 •'Monsieur Vernelle's cashier," replied Andre. "Don't speak 
 
 80 loud, I beg. He sees us, and he may overhear us." 
 " Are you sure that you are not mistaken in the person?" 
 *' Perfectly sure. He entered Monsieur Vernelle's office while I 
 
 was there, and 1 met him again on the staircase as 1 was leaving 
 
22 BABIOLE, THE PRETTY MTLLTKER. 
 
 the house. He must have taken the same route that 1 did, tor he 
 passed me again on the corner ot the Faubourg Montniartre." 
 
 '*' What it he has been foUowmg you?" 
 
 ** 1 think not. Besides, he can know nothing about the affair, as 
 he left Monsieur Vernelle's house at the same time 1 did.'* 
 
 '* That is true. Point him out to me, this cashier who appears at 
 such inopportune moments." 
 
 •' Don't turn around, or he will see that we are speaking of him. 
 It is the heavily-bearded man who is dining alone at a table on the 
 opposite side of the room, and directly across from us." 
 
 •* Oh, yes, 1 can . ee him out of the corner of my eye. He has a 
 prosperous air, and 1 am surprised to see him at a restaurant of this 
 class. He must be of an economical turn." 
 
 Andre listened, without saying a word, fearing lest he should at- 
 tract the attention ot this dangerous neighbor. 
 
 But the person referred to, seemed to be paying no attention to the 
 two friends. 
 
 He was a man at least forty years ot age, though he looked consid- 
 erably younger. He had jet-blacL^ hair, and a beard of the same 
 color, rather too long, but carefull}^ kept. He wore a neatly fitting 
 black frock coat, an irreproachable necktie, and a handsome paii of 
 light-gray trousers. 
 
 *' He seems to be more of a fop than an epicure," remarked Mar- 
 beuf, who was still watching him furtively, " and he is not gener- 
 ous, tor he has given nothing to the waiter. He is going now. Well, 
 1 can't say that 1 regret it very deeply." 
 
 •* But he saw me hand yuu the bank-notes." 
 
 *' Nonsense! you only iinagine that. In fact, 1 doubt very much 
 if he has even recognized you. Besides, he is too far off to be able to 
 see whether the packnge consisted of bank-notes or old newspapers. 
 Thousand-franc notes, or indeed, bank-notes of any denomination 
 are not very common here. So don't be uneasy. My plan will prove 
 successful, never fear." 
 
 And beckoning to the waitress, Marbeuf gave her a pourhoire, and 
 rose to go. 
 
 He had eaten but little, and Andre had scarcely touched either of 
 the three dishes his companion had ordered. 
 
 W hen they were once more on the pavement, Marbeuf turned to 
 Andre, and said: 
 
 " It is now halt past eight, and a ver.y good time it is. If if were 
 later, 1 should not have much chance of finding Yernelle, for be 
 goes out a great deal. I can go after him, ot course, if necessary, 
 but I should much prefer to see him at his own house. 1 must leave 
 you now, so good by. 1 hope to see you again before an hour has 
 elapsed." 
 
 A cordial pressure of the hand tempered the apparent coldness of 
 these concluding words, but Andre turned away with a bursting 
 heart and a wildly throbbing brain. 
 
 Marbeuf though less agitated than his friend, was by no means as 
 sure ot the success of his scheme as he pretended. 
 
 Moreover, the attempt was attended with some little personal risk, 
 for in jpite of his determination to maintain his incognito, tue 
 banker might have him followed after the interview, learn who he 
 
SABIOLE, THE PRETTY MILLIKER. 23 
 
 was, and inform his employers of the rather suspicious part he had 
 played in this affair. 
 
 But this consideration was not of a nature to deler him. Under 
 a decidedly commonplace exterior, Louis Marbeuf concealed a tender, 
 generous, and even enthusiastic soul. Though a child ol the peo- 
 ple, he had sentiments that would do honor to a nobleman. He 
 was absolutely without envy, that groveling passion that corrupts 
 the heart ot so many persons. It certainly would not have been 
 strange had he felt some slight jealousy of Andre, who had just se- 
 cured a position which ten years of hard work had not obtained for 
 him, and yet he thought onlyot extricating his triend from the peril 
 into which he had fallen, and he freely forgave him for a misde- 
 meanor which he would never have pardoned in himself, for he wa« 
 indulgent only toward othei-s. 
 
 The Rue Bergere was not far from the restaurant where they had 
 dined, and ten minutes after leaving Andre, he reached the entrance 
 of the house where Subligny had so foolishly imperiled his future. 
 
 His ring was answered by a footman who replied that his master 
 had gone with mademoiselle to see a new play at the Renaissance 
 Theater. 
 
 The banker's absence deranged all Marbeuf 's carefully laid plans. 
 How could he gain an entrance to the box occupied by Monsieur 
 Vemelle, and how could he restore the money in the daughter's 
 presence? The situation w^as so embarrassing that Andre's friend 
 wondered for a moment, if it would not be safer and easier to state 
 the case to the servant and intrust the money to him. 
 
 This man certainly did not know him, consequently Marbeuf could 
 feel comparatively sure that Monsieur Vemelle would never know 
 who had made this restitution. Still, the banker might suppose that 
 it had been made by Andre ; besides, footmen are not above temp- 
 tation, and this one might appropriate the money. 
 
 After a little reflection, Marbeuf decided to keep the money in his 
 pocket and try his luck at the Renaissance. 
 
 He hastened toward the theater, choosing the shortest route, that 
 is to say, not by the boulevards, but by the Rue de I'Echiquier, 
 which is always greatly crowded in the daytime, and almost deserted 
 at night, for the reason that it is lined with workshops which close 
 at eight o'clock. 
 
 Marbeuf walked on rapidly without looking behind him; but It 
 suddenly occurred to him that in order to make his story seem 
 plausible, the bank-notes must be a little soiled with mud, and as 
 there is plenty of mud and dirt in the Rue de I'Echiquier, he 
 stopped to rub them gently on the sidewalk. 
 
 When he raised his head again he was suri)rised to see, a few 
 steps from him, a man wearing a blouse and with a soft felt hat 
 pulled down over his eyes. The idea that this man w^as watching his 
 movements occurred to him, but nevertheless he walked quietly on. 
 
 After going a little further, heglanoed back and saw that the man 
 was certainly following him, and even quickening his pace to over- 
 take him. The fact excited no alarm, however. What had he to 
 tear at nine o'clock in the evening, in a thickly settled part of the 
 city? Besides, this person certainly could huve no suspicion that 
 
24 BABIOLE, THE PRETTY MILLIXER. 
 
 Marbeuf had a hundred thousand francs in his pocket. So he walked 
 briskly on, but alas! he soon encounteerd an obstacle. 
 
 It was one of those deep trenches, or openings, in the sidewalk, 
 which have occasioned so many accidents in Paris. 
 
 Marbeuf did not see it until it was under his very feet, tli^n, of 
 course, he hastily stepped back, but unfortunately the man in the 
 blouse had begun to run, and as he passed, he jostled Marbeuf with 
 such violence that the latter fell head foremost into the opening, 
 where he lay like one dead. 
 
 Jt was decreed that the hundred thousand francs should not be 
 returned to M. Vernelle's sate that night. 
 
 CHAPTER 11. 
 
 While Louis Marbeuf was incurring these risks to save his friend 
 from dishonor, tliis friend was slowly returning to the domicile which 
 they had shared since morning. 
 
 Andre was in no haste, for he foresaw that he would have to wait 
 a lonii; time for his friend's return, nor was he very sanguine of the 
 success of the al tempt. 
 
 All his gloomy foreboding had returned with redoubled force, 
 and he felt inclined to linger in the street end divert his thoughts, if 
 possible, by the noise and confusion around him. Besides, one does 
 not commit suicide in the street, and he dreaded the moment when 
 the demon of self destruction, which solitude would be sure to in^ 
 voke, would return to haunt him. 
 
 He had promised Marbeuf to go home and wait tor him, however, 
 so he dared not extend his promenade too far, but he chose the long- 
 est way. 
 
 Marbeuf resided at the end of the RUe Lamartine, close by the 
 church of Notre Dame de Lorette; and Andre walked up the Rue 
 Lafayette and crossed Montholon Square, instead of going straight 
 hoiiie. 
 
 He walked slowly, with his head bowed upon his breast, and his 
 soul oppressed by the remembrance of his fault. He reviewed each 
 incident of the scene in the cabinet. Again the stern face of the 
 banker rose beiore his mental vision, and, ever and anon, the grace- 
 ful form of Clemence Vernelle, who seemed to smile upon him re- 
 assuiingly. 
 
 She had only appeared and disappeared, this adorable young girl ; 
 they had exchanged only a few words, and yet she had made a deep 
 impression upon Andre's heart. He was not yet exactly in love with 
 her, but it seemed to him that they understood each other without 
 speaking— that there was between them the profound and spon- 
 taneous sympathy which is the prelude to a passion. 
 
 And of this newly awakened hope, this scarcely begun dream, 
 there remained only regret and remorse. Clemence was lost to him 
 forever. He felt that he was unworthy of her. 
 
 These gloomy reflections engrossed his mind until he reached the 
 square. There a woman, who was coming from the opposite direc- 
 tion, passed him, closely followed by a man who seemed to be trying 
 10 talk to her, but to whom she refused to listen, for she quickened 
 her pace in order to avoid him. 
 
BABIOLE, THE PRETTY MILLINER. 25 
 
 It was one of those Parisian episodes which attract little attention, 
 not only because they are of such frequent occurrence, but because, 
 nine times out of ten, the victim is not worthy of protection. 
 
 The person who had just passed Aniire was very young. She had 
 a larffe bandbox in her hand, and she was very plainly dressed. 
 
 She turned into the RueMontholon, which happened to be deserted 
 for the moment, and the man emboldened, probably, by that fact, 
 tried to put his arm aiound the girl's w^aist. Though violently re- 
 pulsed, he was about to return to the charge, when Andre decided 
 io interfere. 
 
 Overtaking the pair with a few hurried strides, he seized the inso- 
 lent wretch, hurled him aside, and offered his arm to the young girl, 
 who accepted it without a word. 
 
 The man was apparently afraid to engage in a quarrel, for he 
 slunk away with a muttered oath. 
 
 Andre had only caught a glimpse of his face, and yet it seemed to 
 him that this was not the tirst time he had seen him. This was his 
 first thought, his second was to extricate himself from his rather em- 
 barrassing position. He had undertaken the defense of a grisette, 
 but he wished the matter to end there, and he was about to withdraw 
 his arm when she said to him: 
 
 *' I thank you, monsieur, for having come to my assistance. Do 
 not leave me yet, 1 beg. 1 live only a short distance from here. 
 Will you not have the kindness to accompany me to my door?" 
 
 The invitation seemed rather bold^ but the voice was so sweet, and 
 the manner so fiank, that any doubt of the speaker's intentions was 
 impossible. 
 
 ** Certainly, mademoiselle," Andre replied, courteously. '* You 
 must have been much frightened?" 
 
 "Oh, 1 am accustomed to these disasreeable adventures. Men 
 imagine 1 will listen to them, but 1 know how to put tliem down; 
 at least, generally. But 1 must confess that 1 was afraid this time; 
 the man was such a coax so creature.*' 
 
 ** He will not trouble you while 1 am with you." 
 
 ** ]No, all such men are cowards. 1 am very glad that you hap- 
 pened to be here to free me from his clutches." 
 
 *' But why do you £ro out ah)ne in the evening?" 
 
 " Because there is no one to accompany me home from the shop. 
 My parents are dead, and the only relative 1 have living is an uncle, 
 who is busy all day, and who has not time to escort me home, for 
 he is often obliged to work until ten o'clock in the evening at the 
 banking-house where he is employed. I see him only on Sunday." 
 . *• And you have no lover?" 
 
 *' i haven't time,'' replied the girl, laughing. "Besides 1 don't 
 want any." 
 
 Andre thought it time to drop a conversation which threatened 
 to become too personal, and his protegee did not attempt to renew it. 
 
 They had passed the Rue Rochechouart, and were walking 
 up the Rue Lamartine, when the j^oung eirl paused in front ol a 
 house, and letting go her hold of the arm upon which she had been 
 leaning, said to him: 
 
 " Here 1 am at my own door, sir. Let me thank you once more, 
 and bid you good-night." 
 
2G BABIOLE, TTJE PRETTY MtLtT^NTlillL 
 
 "What! do you live bere?*' exclaimed Andre, recognizing the 
 house as that in'wliich his friend Marbeut had rooms. 
 
 *' Yes, sir; on the fourth floor." 
 
 "So do 1." 
 
 ** Impossible! I have never seen you before." 
 
 " 1 only arrived in Paris this morning, and am stopping for the 
 present with a friend." 
 
 ** With Monsieur Marbeuf, then. Oh, 1 know him very well, at 
 least, by si^ht— his windows overlook the court-j^nrd, as do mine 
 YVe live directly opposite each other, and our doors open upon the 
 same landing. But we do not visit. Your friend seems rather re- 
 served." 
 
 Andre made no reply. He took the remark for an invitation, and 
 aid not wish to commit himself. 
 
 '* However, 1 am seldom oi never at home," oonfinuod the girl, 
 who had perhaps read his thoughts. '* Now will you kindly allow 
 me 10 enter first? Our portress is a great gossip, and if she sees me 
 coming in with you, she will talk about it for a month." 
 
 " Y'ou are right, mademoiselle," replied Andre, stepping aside to 
 let her pass. 
 
 The door was open, and the girl, a little surprised by so much 
 coldness, bowed slightly to her defender, and disappeared in the 
 
 Andre entered in his turn, after waiting a few minutes on the 
 pavement. His former doubts and fears had assailed him; and he 
 had already ceased to think of the girl who had made him forget 
 for an instant that his fate was perhaps being decided while he talked 
 with her. 
 
 His friend's apartments consisted of four very modestly furnished 
 rooms. The one Andre occupied contained a few cane seat chairs, a 
 bureau, and a writing-table. Upon the wall hung a few photographs, 
 a cuckoo clock, a revolver, and two or three old engravings. 
 
 Andre, before lighting a candle, noticed, through the uncurtained 
 window, another lighted window on the other side of the narrow 
 court-yard — the w indow of the young lady he had just met, probably. 
 He did not stop to look at it, however; but seated himself at the 
 table to await his friend's return. He had left the key in tlie door 
 80 Ma>beuf could enter without ringing, for he felt overcome with 
 fatigue, and feared that he might drop asleep in spite of the anxiety 
 that tormented him. 
 
 It seemed to him that he must have walked a hundred miles during 
 the day, though he had really walked but very b'ttle. It was his 
 brain that was weary, and such wearmess is harder to bear than 
 physical fatigue. 
 
 He tried to struggle against his desire to sleep, but his ej^es closed, 
 his head sunk upon the arm ^hich was resting on the table, and 
 ihe was soon sound asleep. 
 
 When he awoke he was still alone, and his first thought was to 
 ascertain the time. 
 
 He rose to look at the cuckoo clock that hung on the wall. It was 
 a quarter of twelve o'clock, and Marbeuf had not yet returned. 
 
 *1 am lost I" exclaimed the wretched youth. ** Louis has not 
 succeeded in deceiving Monsieur Yernelle, and he does not bring m^ 
 
BABIOLE, TSIi PilETTT MlLLIKER. 2? 
 
 news of his failure. If he had not found the banker he would have 
 returned to reassure me. What can have happened to him?" 
 
 A most unworthy suspicion flashed through his mind. Could it 
 be that Marbeuf had offered his services in order to obtain possession 
 ot the hundred thousand francs? But we will do him the justice to 
 say that he harbored the thought only lor an instant. He knew that 
 Marbeuf 's honesty was above suspicion. 
 
 Could it be that some one had murdered him, in order to obtain 
 possession of the money? That was by no means impossible in 
 these days ot daring robberies. 
 
 ** However that may be, the only thing left for me is to die/' said 
 Andre, gloomily. 
 
 His eyes involuntarily turned to the revolver hanging on the wall. 
 He took it down, examined it, and found that it was loaded. 
 
 "That is fortunate," he murmured. ** When the clock strikes 
 twelve 1 will blow my brains out." 
 
 He was mad, for he did not even think of writing to his mother. 
 Revolver in hand, he stood watching the hands as they moved 
 slowly around the dial, and counting the moments that were left for 
 him to live. 
 
 The ticking of the pendulum resounded loudly in his ears. He 
 suffered as one suffers in the death agony. 
 
 I'hia suspense lasted until lie heard the creaking sound that an- 
 nounced the speedy striking of one of these cuckoo clocks; then he 
 put the pistol to one of his temples, and was about to pull the trig- 
 ger when he heard the door open. 
 
 ** It is he! it is Marbeuf!" he exclaimed, luwering his weapon. 
 
 It was not Marbeuf, and Andre uttered a cry of surprise. 
 
 The girl he had protected stood before him, pale, greatly agitated^ 
 and evidently very much embarrassed at her intrusion into a^neigh- 
 bor's apartments at such an unseasonable hour. Nor was her recep- 
 tion calculated to reassure her. 
 
 ** What do you want?" he inquired, angrily, advancing to bar 
 her passage. 
 
 But she entered in spite of him. 
 
 ** Will you answer me?" he said, rudely. ** 1 warn you that yoii 
 are wasting your time here." 
 
 " Oh, sir, do not misjudge me," she said, imploringly, with tears 
 in her eyes. 
 
 " Speak, then, and tell me what you want, " replied Andre, slightly 
 appeased by her entreating manner and words. 
 
 She still hesitated, but at last, in a voice that trembled with emo- 
 tion, she said: 
 
 *' Why do 3^ou wish to die?" 
 
 " You are mad," said Andre. 
 
 ** Tiiat pistol you hold in your hand—" 
 
 *' Well?" 
 
 ** From my window 1 saw you rise, go to the clock, see what time 
 it was, take the revolver — " 
 
 " How dare you play the spy on me?" 
 
 *• No, no. 1 assure you that it was only by chance 1 happened (o 
 Bee you. There are no curtains to your window," 
 
28 BABIOLE, THE PRETTY MILLlNEH. 
 
 " Why were you not in bed? It is now more than three hours 
 since you returned home." 
 
 " I had a bonnet to trim. We are very busy at the shop, now. 
 1 had just finished my work and was gomg to bed when I no- 
 ticed that there was a light in your room." 
 
 *' And because you saw me with a pistol in my hand, you fancied 
 1 was going to kill myself. You have a very vivid imagination, 
 mademoiselle." 
 
 ** 1 hope 1 was mistaken, 1 am sure, but why are you so pale? 
 Tell me the truth, 1 beg. Sorrie misfortune has befallen you." 
 
 *' What right have you to meddle with my affairs?" said Andre, 
 impatiently. 
 
 " Did you not meddle with mine?" replied the girl, gently. ** You 
 did not know me, and yet you protected me from a man who in- 
 sulted me. You are no longer a stranger in my eyes." 
 
 Andre threw the pistol on the table. He said to himself: 
 
 " 1 shall have plenty ot time between now and to-morrow to blow 
 my brains out, and if Marbeuf should return, this girl will have saved 
 my lite." 
 
 ** You were mistaken in regard to the object of my visit," the 
 girl continued.' " It you knew who 1 am — " 
 
 ** The fact is 1 know nothing at all about you," replied Andre, 
 ironically. 
 
 *' Allow me to tell you, then; but permit me first to take a seat. 
 My emotion has overpowered me. " 
 
 She took a chair. Andre remained standing, with his arms folded 
 upon his breast. 
 
 The visitor had seated herself near the table upon which Andre 
 had laid the pistol, and she had only to extend her hand to reach it. 
 
 ** In the first place, I am only sixteen," she began, almost gayly. 
 ** It would certainly be very unfortunate if I should bebave im- 
 properly at my age, and I assure you that 1 have no desire to do so. 
 1 was reared much better than many ot my employer's customers. 
 My parents expected to marry me to some respectable store-keeper. 
 They were in business themselves, and had they lived, I should not 
 now be working in a milliner's shop." 
 
 ** Ah!" thought Andre, ** 1 am about to listen again to the pleas- 
 ing fiction all grisettes relato to gentlemen to prevent them from be- 
 lieving that they were born in a porter's lodge." 
 
 •' But untorlunately my father was ruined by a man who betraj'^ed 
 his confidence," continued the girl, *' and if I should tell you how 
 he died — you would understand the horror 1 felt when 1 saw you 
 with this revolver in your hand." 
 
 " What, did he kill himself?" 
 
 ** Y'es, m a paroxysm of despair; forgetting that he might retrieve 
 his losses by patient industry, and that he would leave a wite in 
 poverty. My poor mother died, after gtiuggling along six months—" 
 
 The girl paused. Sobs choked her ulterance. 
 
 ** Calm yourself, mademoiselle," said Andre, at last touched by 
 this sincere grief, and stiuck by the analogy between this child's 
 fate and his own. 
 
 " Pardon me, sir," she said, dashing away tier tears. ** I should 
 not give way to my grief before you who must have sorrow enough 
 
BABIOLE, TPiE PllETTY MILLIXEB. 29 
 
 to bear— 1 should, on the contrary, endeavor make you forget your 
 troubles— but whenever I think of my mother, ray feelings over- 
 power me/* 
 
 ** Tell me about yourself." 
 
 '• So be it. J was slill at boarding-school when I lost my father. 
 My mother was, of course, obliged to take me away, and she ap- 
 prenticed me to a milliner. On my mother's death 1 'was left alone 
 in the world— no, 1 nad an uncle, as 1 have already told you, my 
 mother's brother— but he was poor, having only his salary to live 
 upon — so he could do nothing tor me. 1, too, was obliged to earn 
 my own living, which I have done ever smce by working as a milli- 
 ner. 1 do very well, tor 1 am a first-rate one; and if 1 were not so 
 young, 1 should be forewoman at Madame Divet's, for that is the 
 name of my employer, and her shop is on the Boulevard Magenta. 
 1 was returning from there when you met me this evening." 
 
 '* It must be very unpleasant to have to return home alone every 
 evening, and to incur the risk of being annoyed by the persecutions 
 of scoundrels like the one who insulted 3^ou to-night," said Andre, 
 interested in spite of himself by this simple tale. 
 
 '* Oh, yes. The first lime 1 was so frightened that I ran every 
 step of the way; but I gradually became accustomed to it. Now, 
 if any man attempts to enter mto conversation wUh me, 1 send him 
 about his business pretty tartly, 1 can tell you, and he seldom tries 
 it a second time. 1 expect to marry by and by, four or five years 
 hence, if 1 find anj^ kind-hearted, sensible young man who wants 
 me, but 1 have made up my mind to keep respectable, and 1 have 
 plenty of will of my own." 
 
 *' That is certainly a very sage resolution; but you will be exposed 
 to many temptations, 1 am afraid." 
 
 *' Temptatons! why, 1 have none. 1 have everything I want. My 
 poor mother left me a little furniture. I lease a small apartment here 
 lor three hundred francs, and as I receive very good wages, 1 have 
 no ditticulty about paying the rent. My quarters aie not as spacious 
 as those ot Monsieur Marbeuf, but if you ever see them you will 
 admit that they are very cozy, and even pretty. I see only a tiny bit 
 of sky, it is true, but 1 have my flowers and birds, nevertheless." 
 " That is something, of course; still — " 
 
 *' Oh, I have many other diversions. Pleasant Sundays, Madame 
 Divet takes me with her to the Champs-Elysees, and she occasion- 
 ally trikes me to the theater. One of her oldest customers is an 
 actress who often gives her tickets. 1 am very fond of the theater. 
 When a play pleases me, I buy it, and amuse myself by learning it 
 by heart." 
 
 '* And you feel no desire to eo on the stage?" 
 ** No more than I do to enter one of the tine carriages 1 see pass- 
 ing with beautiful ladies in them. 1 run about on toot, and I have 
 no handsome dresses, but 1 am very happy for all that." 
 
 Andre positively envied the contented mind of the young ffirl who 
 accommodated herself so uncomplainingly to her cheerless lot, and 
 who, though ruined like himself by her father's death, had never 
 once thought of puttin>>; an end to her life. 
 
 ** She is more courageous than 1 am," he thought bitterly. *' It 
 is true that she has not stolen, though." 
 
00 BABIOLE, THE PKETTY MILLINER. 
 
 And for the first time since their meeting in the street, he looked 
 at her attentively. 
 
 She was not pretty, in the ordinary acceptation of the term. Her 
 t'oreliead was a trifle too low; the nose was not of the Grecian type. 
 The lips were rather too full, and the chin too prominent. But 
 what a complexion, and what eyes! What teeth, too! A pink and 
 white complexion, lustrous brown eyes, sparkling with intelligence, 
 and small even white teeth of dazzling brilliancy. And this attract- 
 ive visage was framed in a mass of clieslnut hair that curled natu- 
 rally. 
 
 The smile that played upon the lips was gay and kind; the ex- 
 pression of the eyes fiankness itself*. It was a speaking face, and 
 gazing at it, one instinctively felt that no evil thought had ever 
 marred its natural expression, which was both genial and laughing, 
 without a shade of coquetry. 
 
 ** You know, sir, that wealth is not happiness," she resumed, 
 '* and that one must not despair. I might have killed myself like 
 many others, but 1 preferred to live; and I am succeeding wonder- 
 fully well. Is not my example worthy to be followed?" 
 
 *' Yes," murmured the young man, " when one is only in financial 
 troul>le, suicide is cowardice." 
 
 ** Then yours, 1 suppose, are troubles of the heart, " said his neigh- 
 bor, laughing. " Pshaw! they are not worth killing one's self for. 
 
 1 can epeak only from liearsay, however, for 1 have had no experi- 
 ence in such matters: but I nursed one of my acquaintances who 
 had taken laudanum because a young man had left her after promis- 
 ing to marry hei. She did not die, and she solemnlj* promised mo 
 not to repeat tlie attempt, for she found that the scamp had long 
 been playing her false with one of her friends." 
 
 " Do you thmk there are no other troubles but troubles of the 
 heart?" 
 
 *' Whv shouldn't you tell me yours? Because you do not know 
 me? That is true, you do not even know my name. 1 forgot to tell 
 it you. It is Elizabeth Babois— not a very pretty or euphonious name, 
 Beth — Ba. It is verv hard to pronounce, so every one calls me 
 Babiole, and 1 am so accustomed to it, that now 1 almost think it is 
 my name. 
 
 " Well, sir. Mademoiselle Babiole begs you to confide your sor- 
 rows to her. It is very audacious in her, perhaps; but she knows 
 that it is a comfort to tell one's difficulties to a friend. If 1 were in 
 trouble, I would tell you, and ask your advice before taking any 
 desperate step." 
 
 *' My mind is already made up," said Andre, gloomily. 
 
 ** Then you admit that you are meditating self-destruction," ex- 
 claimed Babiole. ** You certainly can have no mother, then?" 
 
 Andre turned pale. His mother! He had forgotten her, for he 
 had been on the point of blowing his brains out, without writing to 
 her, or asking her forgiveness for leaving her alone in the world. 
 
 " If you still have a mother, you surely cannot think of killing 
 yourself," continued Babiole. 
 
 ** I have a mother, but not in this city," was the reply, ** She re- 
 sides in the provinces." 
 
 " Then you are herein Paris only temporarily?" 
 
babiole; the pketty millixer. 31 
 
 *^ 1 have come to stay," replied Andre, evasively. 
 •* Will your mother come to live with you?" 
 •*1 think not." 
 
 *' Ah, it 1 had a mother 1 could never make up my mind to leave 
 her. But you, doubtless, have your reasons for residing at a dis- 
 tance trojQ her — you have, perhaps, found a situation in Paris, and 
 your mother prefers the country. 1 am like her. 1 w^ould much 
 prefer running about the fields to sitting cooped up in the work- 
 shop all day." 
 '* Tiiai is only natural at your age." - 
 
 ** Oh, it 1 were thirty, it w^ouUi be just the same. 1 like the open 
 air and exercise. Will you continue to share Monsieur Marbeuf 's 
 [ rooms? The aparlment is rather small for two persons." 
 
 *' Much too small," answered Andre, who was beginning to grow 
 impatient. 
 Babiole perceived it, and said : 
 
 *' 1 beg your pardon, sir. 1 forget that you are in no mood to dis- 
 cuss such trifles. It is all the fault of my temperament, 1 cannot 
 remain serious for any length of time. Madame Divet often scolds 
 me for chattering thoughtlessly w^hen 1 ought to weigh my words. 
 
 ** ;Now you pretend that you are not thinking of suicide, but 1 see 
 very plainly that you have told nie so only to get rid of me. You 
 will not succeed, however, unless you consent to let me take this 
 revolver away with me." 
 
 ** I cannot do that, mademoiselle. It does not belong to me." 
 "It belongs to Monsieur Marbeuf. 1 am aware of that. But 1 
 shal not keep it, for 1 have not the slightest desire to use it. 1 will 
 return it to its rightful owner to-morrow." 
 
 " Do you think I can find no other way of destroying myself, if 
 1 wish to do so?" 
 
 " No, and, unfortunately 1 shall not always be here to watch you; 
 but youi friend will soon- return, and when he is with you 1 shall 
 feel less anxious. It is solitude that puts such horrible ideas into 
 your head." 
 
 •' 1 am expecting Louis, it is true," said Andre, *' and it surprises 
 me that he has not return(d before this." 
 
 *' Is that why you were w^atching the clock?" 
 ** Yes, he promised me to be here before midnight." 
 " And because he is a few minutes late you want to shoot j^our- 
 sell! Did any one ever hear of such tolly? In ttie first place you 
 are not familiar with his habits, as you arrived only this morning. 
 1 know them, though we are not even on speaking terms, lie 
 scarcely bows to me, in fact, when we meet on the stairs. But my 
 window is directly opposite his, and 1 never see a liirht here before 
 one o'clocl^ in the morning. He spends all his evenings at some 
 cafe.*' 
 
 "But he is not spending this one there, I am sure," muttered 
 Andre, shaking his head despondently. 
 
 *' Then you know where he is. Yet another reason w^hy you 
 should feel no uneasiness. He promised to return, and he has^not 
 been punctual; but even if he does stay out all night, j^ou must 
 admit that tjiis is qo sugiciem reason for putting an end to your life. 
 
32 BABIOLE, THE PRETTY MILLINER. 
 
 Confess that there is something else. Has Monsieur Marbeuf gone 
 to do something upon which the success of jour future depends?" 
 
 Andre could not repress a start of surprise. This child had di- 
 vined the truth, and he was astonished at her sagacity. 
 
 *' 1 see by your face that 1 have discovered the cause of your 
 gloomy resolve," she continued. " You fancy that he dares not re- 
 turn, because he has failed. That is not a sensible conclusion, by 
 any means. Don't you know the proverb: * JNo news is good news '?" 
 
 Andre shook his head sadly. 
 
 *' In any case, j^ou would risk nothing by wailing. He will have 
 to return eventually; and it will be time enough for 3^ou to blow 
 your brains out when you learn that you have nothing more to hope 
 for. Recollect that you will, perhaps, hear that the matter about 
 which you feel so anxious is satisfactorily arranged." 
 
 This argument made an impression upon Andre. At the age of 
 twenty-five one does not take one's leave of life wi'hout regret, and 
 he felt that in the other world he might regret having been too anx- 
 ious to leave this. 
 
 " Ah! 1 have succeeded in convincing you, 1 see that. You have 
 a face that betrays your every thought. Now, tnere only remains 
 for you to solemnly promise me that you will postpone until to-mor- 
 row the execution of your frightful project. When you have 
 taken the required oath, 1 will go not to return again until after 
 daybreak." 
 
 " So be it. 1 give you my w^ord of — " 
 
 *' That is not enough. Swear by the life of your mother!" 
 
 Andre had decided to wait until the morrow, and yet he hesitated 
 to give an oath to that effect. He was annoyed, and even ashamed 
 that he had allowed himself to be thus influenced by Mile. Babi- 
 ole, a grwette, who had meddled in the most inexcusable manner 
 with his affairs. 
 
 Andre had not yet cast oft the prejudices of a provincial man of 
 fashion. He classified women according to their toilets, and was 
 greatly astonished to find that a poor girl of plebeian origin possessed 
 both heart and intelligence. 
 
 " 1 do not believe in taking rash oaths," he murmured. 
 
 '• But 1 do in the present instance," retorted Babiole, *' because I 
 know that you would not dare to break it. If you refuse to do woat 
 1 ask, 1 assure you that 1 shall not stir from here, and you will not 
 try to turn me out by force, I hope." 
 
 ** I swear, then," said Andre, his patience nearly exhausted. 
 
 ** That is well. My mind is easy now\ Good-night, neighbor, 
 and aurevoir. 1 must be at the shop at nine o'clock in the morning, 
 so I will drop in to see you about eight. I hope 1 shall find you 
 cured of the blues, and Monsieur Marbeuf returned with good news 
 for you. I'm going now, and 1 leave the revolver i;«ith you. 1 
 trust you, you see." 
 
 As she spoke, the girl rose, offered him her hand, after the En- 
 glish fashion, and then hastened from the room. 
 
 Andre, left alone, soon relapsed into a state of cruel perplexity. 
 He was obliged to admit that Babiole's advice was excellent, and 
 that he had done well to follow it: but his situation had not changed 
 for the better. It was growing even worse from moment to moment. 
 
BABIOLE, THE PKETTY MILLINER, 33 
 
 Again the cuckoo uttered his hoarse cry, and still Marbeuf did not 
 come. 
 
 His absence seemed inexplicable. 
 
 Andre racked his brain to devise excuses for it without finding a 
 single one that was satisfactory. The most plausible was the one 
 that had first occurred to him when he woke. 
 
 M. Yernelle might not have been at home, and Marbeuf was 
 waiting for his return. 
 
 But even if he had dined out, or escorted his daughter to the the- 
 ater, tlie banker would have returned home by one o'clock in the 
 morning. 
 
 " Unless he has taken her to some great ball," thought the young 
 man, unconsciously clinging to the last hope. " And yet one does 
 not go to a ball before ten o'clock, and Marbeuf left me at half-past 
 eight, and the Rue Bergere is not more than ten minutes' walk from 
 the restaurant where we dined, so he must have reached there before 
 that time, and had he tailed in his efforts he would have returned to 
 tell me and consult me. 
 
 •' He is incapable of appropriating the money, hence he must be 
 dead. He has been killed and robbed, or else run over by a car- 
 riage, and in either case the money has not been restored, conse- 
 quently 1 am lost. 
 
 ** 1 will wait until eight o'clock, as 1 promised; then, or as soon 
 as this worthy youns: girl, who has interested herself in my welfare, 
 takes herself off, I will put an end .to my life." 
 
 Andre spent the rest of this terrible night in wandering about his 
 friend's rooms, listening attentively to the sounds in the street 
 without— sounds which gradually grew fainter and fainter, and soon 
 ceased entirely. 
 
 Each time the house-door opened to admit some belated inmate, 
 he went out upon the landing to see if be could recognize Marbeuf 's 
 heavy step, and each time he met with a fresh disappointment. 
 
 After about six hours of this suspense, dawn appeared — the dawn 
 of a gloomy, cloudy winter's day. Drays began to move briskly to 
 and fro, doors to open and shut, and porters to put the halls in or- 
 der tor the day. 
 
 A cold fog crept into the room through the windows, and chilled 
 Andre to the very marrow of his bones; nevertheless, his resolution 
 remained unshaken. 
 
 There was now barely time to write to his mother before the ar- 
 rival ot Babiole, and to pen a few words of farewell for his friend, 
 in case he should return. 
 
 lie accordingly seated himself at the table where the revolver was 
 still lying, and began the letter to Marbeuf, feeling that it would be 
 the shorter, as well as the least difticult to write. 
 
 So he took a sheet of paper, and wrote with a firm hand : 
 
 •• My dear Louis,-— 1 do not blame you. You tried to save me, 
 but could not. 1 gave myself a respite; it has just expired. I have 
 condemned myself, and 1 am about to carry the sentence into exe- 
 cution. 1 will not live dishonored, I must die, since 1 have stolen— 
 yes, stolen, whatever you may say to the contrary." 
 
 Engrossed in his writing, he saw and heard nothing that was pa§3* 
 
34 BABIOLE, THE PRETTY MILLINER. 
 
 ing around him, but suddenly a hand was laid on his shoulder, and 
 springing up, he tound himself tace to face with a gentleman whom 
 he did not at first recognize. j 
 
 *' Who are you?" he exclaimed, I 
 
 The stranger, before replying, took possession ot the revolver an( 
 the unfinished letter, put them bolh in his pocket, with an assui 
 ance that was truly wonderful; then took a seat as coolly as it h 
 were in his own house, and said: 
 
 " 1 am tired out. Your stairs are terribly steep, and I mountec 
 them three at a time. It seems that 1 had not a moment to lose, as 
 thought." 
 
 Andre did not repeat his question, for a moment's scrutiny ha 
 enabled him to recognize in the unexpected visitor the man who ha 
 dined near him and Marbeuf at the restaurant, the evening before 
 and whom Andre had previously seen in the banker's office. It wa 
 M. Vernelle's cashier. 
 
 ** He has come to have me arrested," thought Andre, ** and it i 
 to prevent me from killing myself that he has taken possession c 
 the oistol. But the window remains, and I will not be capture( 
 alive." 
 
 ** 1 have had no end of trouble in discovering your abode," con 
 tinued this singular visitor. '* 1 have been looking lor you twelv 
 hours or more, but it was not until this morning that 1 obtained th 
 necessary directions tor finding you." 
 
 '* Pardon me, sir, I cannot imagine what you have to iSay to me 
 and 1 — " 
 
 ** Y'ou must suspect, however, for this is not the first time yo 
 have seen me." 
 
 ** 1 recollect to have seen you yesti^jrday in Monsieur Vernelle' 
 private office. " 
 
 *' And somewhere else, as well. "We were near neighbors in a 
 staurant where 1 occasionally take my meals. But you were nc 
 alone at the time, unfortunately, so 1 could not speak to you. 
 
 " 1 intended to follow j^ou, in order to ascertain where you livec 
 and 1 waited for you on the Hue Lafayette. Your friend left yc 
 at the door of the restaurant, and I fully intended to take advantaj 
 of the opportunity to accost you, but just as you started off in oi 
 direction, and he in another, 1 was stopped by a crowd of carria, 
 and lost sight of you. 
 
 *' Still I was not discouraged. 1 knew your friend's name, an 
 1 felt sure that you had gone straight to his house on your arriv 
 from Havre. 1 also knew that he was in the employ of Messr 
 Pivot and Garnier, on the Rue Sentier, so 1 hastened there to i 
 quire his address, but found only an errand-boy who could not gil 
 me the desired information. | 
 
 ** This morning, at six o'clock, I rang at the door of these gent] 
 men, who must have taken me for a madman, but who finally t 
 me that their clerk, Marbeuf, lived on the Rue Lamartine. 1 tool 
 carriage; the portress told me that Marbeuf 's rooms were on tl 
 fourth tloor; the key was in the lock, so I opened the door softl; 
 and here I am!" 
 
 Andre had listened with wonder to this strange explanation whii 
 certainly made him none the wiser. 
 
BABIOLE, THE PllETTY MILLINER. 35 
 
 '* It was well that 1 made baste," continued the cashier. " Had I 
 
 delayed even ten minutes longer, I should have been too late, 1 fear." 
 
 •* I don't understand j^ou," stammered poor Andre. 
 
 ** Oh, you need not hope to make me belie 7e that it was only hy 
 
 chance that revolver came to be on tne table, and that what you 
 
 were writing was not a tarewell letter to your mother." 
 
 And, as xCndre hung his head, in silent consternation, the visitor 
 continued: 
 
 ** This contemplated suicide was a most senseless and absurd thing. 
 Death repairs nothing, and when one has committed a fault, a great 
 fault, one must repair it, especially when one hundred thousand 
 francs are involved. That is a large amount, even to Monsieur Ver- 
 nelle, and when one has taken it, one must begin by making restitu- 
 tion. After that one has a right to blow one's brains out, but not 
 betore. Oh, attempt no denial. I saw yor take the money." 
 *' You saw me!" exclaimed xAndie, wiIdl3^ 
 
 ** Yes. There is a small sliding window between my office and 
 that of my employer, and this window was partially open at the time. 
 When Monsieur Vernelle left you alone in the room, 1 had curios- 
 ity enough to glance in to see what you were doing — " 
 
 ** And you did not at once denounce me to to your employer?" 
 *' No, indeed; 1 wish to avoid that unpleasant task, if possible." 
 *' Why?" 
 
 '* 1 am not obliged to give my reasons; still, 1 have no objections 
 to telling you that 1 feel a sincere compassion for you, not only on 
 account of the recent misfortunes that have befallen j^ou, but on 
 account of my respect and reverence for the memory of your father 
 whom I knew well." 
 *' You, sir?" 
 
 ** Yes. I -have been in Monsieur Vernellc's employ a long time, 
 and am, consequently, aware of the service Monsieur Subligny ren- 
 dered him in j^ears gone; and in aiding my employer, your father 
 killed two birds with one stone, tor I should have been thrown out 
 of employment, and reduced to penury, had Monsitur Vernelle 
 failed, as he certainly would have done but for your lamented fa- 
 ther's assistance." 
 
 This unexpected announcement gave Andre a gleam of hope, 
 though but a feeble gleam, for, by reason of Marbeuf 's strange dis- 
 appearance, he could no longer restore the muney. 
 
 **But, now 1 think of it, 1 have not yet told you my name," 
 continued the cashier. "It is Chautepie. Jules Chautepie, and we 
 may call ourselves compatriots, tor Havre was your birthplace, and 
 Kouen mine. Between Normans there is necessarily a strong syra- ' 
 pathy, and I should never cease to reproach myself if 1 ruined a 
 promising young man's future, because he was guilty of a moment's 
 weakness. 1 legret even less acting as I have, now that 1 find you 
 in the midst of your preparations for self-destruction; for if you 
 were not honest at heart, you would have crossed the Channel be- 
 fore this." 
 
 ** I thank you for having judged me aright. If you but knew! ]t 
 was the merest accident that caused my luin. I had not the slight- 
 ^est intention oi keeping the bank-notes. I did very wrong to touch 
 
d6 BABIOLE, THE PEETTY MILLIJSTBR. 
 
 them. Monsieur Vernelle came in suddenly, and I had not time to 
 replace the package on the table." 
 
 ** So you involuntarily slipped it into your pocKet. This is an ex- 
 planation 1 should not recummend you to give to a magistrate, if 
 questioned. But the matter will not go so tar: it will remain be- 
 tween you and me. You have repented of the act, and that is 
 enough for me. Still, that is not a sufficient reparation, and 1 am 
 surprised that you have not sent the money back." 
 
 " That was the first idea that occurred to me after leaving Mon- 
 sieur Vernelle's office." 
 
 " You did not carry it into execution, however." 
 
 "1 beg your pardon. X did not have the courage to take the 
 money back mj^self— 1 should have died of shame— but Marbeuf de- 
 vised a way to save me. His plan was tor him to go to Monsieur 
 Vernelle and tell him that having found a package of bank-notes in 
 the court-yard of the house, he had come to the conclusion that one 
 of the clerks must have dropped it there." 
 
 *• Not a bad scheme that, for you; but not equally good for me. 
 It would have cost me my place. One does not keep a cashier who 
 makes a mistake of one hundred thousand francs in counting eight 
 hundred thousand. 
 
 *' But when and where, if you please, was this act of restitution 
 to be performed?" 
 
 ** Last evening, I gave the money to Marbeuf while we were at 
 dinner, and he was to go straight to Monsieur Vernelle's on leaving 
 me." 
 
 ** He would not have found him. Monsieur Vernelle engaged a 
 box for last evening, at the Renaissance, where a new play was to 
 be performed for the first time, and as his daughter is always anx- 
 ious to see the beginning of the piece, he must have left home very 
 early." 
 
 *' But he must have returned home after the performance." 
 
 ** Of course; he is not in the habit of staying out all night. Your 
 friend had only to wait for him." 
 
 *• Perhaps he did so; 1 do not know." 
 
 " You have not seen him since then?" 
 
 " No, sir. 1 waited for him in vain all night, and as he has not 
 returned, 1 can but think that some misfortune has befallen him. 
 He has been robbed, or even murdered, perhaps." 
 
 ** You believe that!" sneered M. Chautepie, '* you certainly are 
 an artless youth. Y'ou have proved it conclusively by intrusting 
 such an amount to a penniless youth. Your Marbeuf probably took 
 the first train for the north, and is in England or Belgium by this ^ 
 time. He has no reason to fear the extradition treaty either, as he ' 
 stole nothing from Monsieur Vernelle, and you will not be likely to 
 enter a complaint against him." 
 
 *' Marbeuf has not left the country. Marbeuf is an honest man." 
 
 *' flow do you know?" 
 
 *' He has been my friend from childhood. He was my chum at 
 college-^" 
 
 *' A great reason, that. Do you know what he has been doing 
 pinceT' 
 
 <' He has been acting as clerk in a business house." 
 
BABIOLE, THE PRETTY MILLINEK. 3? 
 
 *' Where he doea not bear a very enviable reputation. 1 have made 
 inquiries concerning him, and find that he is held in only moderate 
 esteem by his employers. 
 
 *• It matters little, however, whether he has or has not fled to 
 some foreign land, tor no one will believe the story you have just 
 related to me. You alone are responsible for Monsieur Vernelle's 
 loss." 
 
 " 1 know it," replied Andre, ** and it is for that very reason 1 wish 
 to put an end to my life. Why do you interfere? What is your 
 motive in coming here? To denounce me? Very well, go for the 
 commissioner of police if you like. FJe will not find me alive — but 
 spare me useless reproaches, and relieve me of your presence." 
 
 ]VI, Chautepie was silent for a moment, then he said, gently: 
 
 *' Do you not understand that 1 am come to save you?" 
 
 ** To save me? You!" exclaimed Subligny. 
 
 *' Yes," replied Chautepie, tranquilly. ""Does this surprise you?" 
 
 " Greatly, 1 must confess." 
 
 ** Why? 1 am under obligations to your father, for if he had not 
 come to my employer's assistance, the house would have been 
 obliged to suspend, and J. should have lost my situation. The serv- 
 ice he indirectly rendered me is not of a recent date, it is true, but 
 1 have not forgotten it, and it is only natural that 1 should desire to 
 repay the debt of gratitude." 
 
 *' Excuse me, sir, but 1 thought — " 
 
 *' You thought tnat 1 was sent by Monsieur Vernelle, and that I 
 came to seize you by th(i collar and drag you to the nearest station- 
 house. You do not know me. 1 am not lenient to unfaithful or 
 even careless clerks, but 1 claim to be a just man, and 1 do not con- 
 found a slight delinquency with a. theft, nor an honest man with a 
 scoundrel. There are crimes for which 1 have no mercy, and faults 
 which i readily pardon." 
 
 " Then you think that 1 told you the truth and that 1 had no 
 intention of taking the money?" 
 
 ** Yes. 1 witnessed the whole aftair, as I told you once before, 
 and 1 noticed the movement of surprise which proved so unfortunate 
 in its consequences. You showed a want of presence of mind, that 
 is all." 
 
 ••But Monsieur Vernelle can never be made to believe that, and 
 as Monsieur Vernelle must have discovered that one hundred thou- 
 sand francs were missiug immediately after my depart uie, he must 
 know that 1 took it. 1 am none the less grateful to you for your 
 kind intentions, however, and it will be some consolation to me in 
 my dying moments to know that 1 have not lost your esteem." 
 ^ •' Don't talk any more about dying, my dear Andre. You will 
 live to be an old man, and 1 would gladly exchange my prospects 
 lor yours." 
 
 *• 1 will not live dishonored!" 
 
 ** There you are again! How absurdly you talk! You are not In 
 the least dishonored. My employer thinks you a most deserving 
 and honorable young man, for he has not the slightest suspicion 
 that the money was ever in your pocket, or that it is even missing." 
 
 '* What! Why the money was to he drawn at six o'clock." 
 
 *' Y'es, by a man named Bertand. Well, while you were in the 
 
3S BABIOLE, THE PRETTY MTLLIXEn. 
 
 ollice, that gentleman called to say that he would not draw the 
 iiioney until the following day. It was to see him that Monsieur 
 Vernelle left you a moment, and it was arranged between them that 
 the money should be kept all nfffht in my safe. You had no sooner 
 fj:one out than Monsieur Vernelle, alter casting a hasty glance at 
 his watch, called to me through the wmdow, and handed me the 
 package of money which 1 immediately locked up in my safe. The 
 whole operation took barely a minute, as I overtook j^ou on the stair- 
 case. It is true that 1 did not go through the form of counting the 
 money, as 1 knew very well how much was missing and where it 
 was." 
 
 "And instead of arresting me, j^ou allowed me to go my M^ay 
 unmolested?" 
 
 " Yes, and 1 will now tell you why. In the first place, 1 had just 
 learned that you were the son of Monsieur Subligny, and nothing in 
 the world could have induced me to denounce you, knowing that. 
 Then, too, I pride myself upon being somethinjc of a physiognomist; 
 and after seeing you, 1 was satisfied that you would return the 
 money. 1 wanted to test you, to leave you free to act. 1 said to my- 
 self: * The night brings counsel;' besides, 1 intended to have a talk 
 with you on the first opportunity. 
 
 " But, unfortunately, 1 lost track of you at the restaurant door, 
 and i came very near not finding you again; but even if 1 had not 
 succeeded, my mind was made up. I should have saved you even 
 then." 
 
 ** But how?" 
 
 ** 1 should have paid over the eight hundred thousand francs to 
 Bertand this morning. The c;ontents of the safe are not examined 
 and veiitied every day, and 1 felt sure that I should succeed in find- 
 ing you, and that you would restore the money eventually. 
 
 ** Tlie idea of your committing suicide never once occurred to 
 me, nor did 1 foresee that you would think of such a thing as con- 
 fiding the money to an untrustworthy intermediary." 
 
 '* Marbeuf has not stolen the money. Marbeuf is dead or else he 
 has been robbed," 
 
 *' Which amounts to about the same thing, for the money is irre- 
 trievably lost." 
 
 ** And you will be compelled to divulge the fact." 
 
 ** Never." 
 
 " But, sir, if you are silent, the loss will be discovered the first 
 time the safe is examined, and you will be accused of appropriating 
 the money. 1 would rather die than allow an innocent man to be 
 suspected." 
 
 ** 1 don't doubt that in the least, but no one will be suspected. I 
 have taken my precautions." 
 
 ** ] — 1 don't understand you." 
 
 ** The explanation is very simple. 1 shall make up the deficiency 
 out of my own pocket." 
 
 ** You, sir?" 
 
 " Yes, and to prove the truth of my words, 1 will show you that 
 1 have the package all ready," said the cashier, pulling half way out 
 of his pocket a package of notes exactly like that which Andre had 
 taken. 
 
BABIOLE, THE PRETTY MILLIKER. 39 
 
 '* This is really too kind!" exclaimed the young man, moved to 
 tears. ** 1 will not allow you to make such a sacrifice for me." 
 
 •* The sacrifice will not ruin me. It would be hard it 1 had not 
 succeeded in laying by a little money during the twenty years I 
 have been at work. I am not rich, but 1 am in very comfortable cir- 
 cumstances. Besides, 1 have no intention ot maRing you a present 
 of the amount. You would refuse to accept such a gitt, nor would 
 my means permit it. 1 only loan it to you." 
 
 "*' 1 shall never be able to repay the loan." 
 
 *' Nonsense! you will repay it in less than a year." 
 
 And noting the young man's air of astonishment, Chautepie added: 
 
 '* My dear fellow, you seem to be ignorant of your real value. 
 The physical and intellectual endowments you possess constitute a 
 very handsome capital. You will only have to learn to make good 
 use of them, and that knowledge will be speedily acquired." 
 
 Andre blushed. Marbeuf, only the evening before, had uttered 
 similar words of encouragement, but these sounded strangely out of 
 place in the mouth of M. Vernelle's cashier. 
 
 I ' * Oh, you need not take offense, ' ' continued his benefactor. * * You 
 will have to resort to no unscrupulous means to make your way in 
 the world. You will only have to follow the promptings of your 
 own heart, for 1 suppose Mademoiselle Clemence does not appear 
 unattractive to you." 
 
 ** Mademoiselle Yernelle is very charming, but I do not see—" 
 
 " You do not see that she loves you already. Well, 1 do. After 
 your departure, she spoke of you in terms which 1 will not repeat 
 for fear of offending your modesty. 1 know her, and 1 am sure of 
 what 1 tell you. Vernelle, who sees only through his daughter's 
 eyes, has a very high opinion ot you, ana when he comes to know 
 you better, he will be even more kindly disposed toward you. 
 
 ** For this reason, 1 do not hesitate to predict that you will be my 
 employer's partner and son -in- law by next year, ^f you choose, and 
 consequently my employer, for 1 hope you will not dismiss me 
 when you become the head of the house," concluded M. Chautepie, 
 smiling. 
 
 '* Should this dream ever be realized, ] could not do enough to 
 show my gratitude," replied Andre, promptly. 
 
 •' 1 am sure of that; and the service 1 render you is consequently 
 not as meritorious as it seems to be. It will prove a very profitable 
 investment for me, 1 do not doubt." 
 
 '* But a very risky one." 
 
 ** On the contrary, a very safe one. I run no risk whatever, for I 
 shall request you to give me a note for the amount 1 am to pay out, 
 with interest at six per cent, per annum." 
 
 ** On these conditions 1 might perhaps accept your offer, and 
 yet—" 
 
 ** You hesitate! What can 1 do to persuade you? Must 1 tell 
 you that 1 can not do otherwise than extricate you from your embar- 
 rassing position, for if the truth should become known 1 should be 
 held responsible for the deficiency, and be compelled to make it 
 good? Have you pen, ink and paper handy? Well, sit down and 
 write what I dictate." 
 
 Andre seated himself at the table, though not without reluctance. 
 
40 BABTOLE, TITE PRETTY MILLTKER. 
 
 '* 1 hereby certify that Monsieur Chautepie has paid into the safe j 
 of Monsieur Vernelle, banker, in my stead, th(? sum of one hundred l 
 thousand francs, due from me to said safe, and 1 hereby promise to| 
 refund to him that amount five years from date,'* dictated M. Chau-] 
 tepie. \ 
 
 ** It seems to me that you can sign this without compromising 
 yourself," he added, *' and it is sufficient security for me." 
 
 Andre did not hesitate an instant, but sis:n(3d the paper without | 
 stopping to ask himself if he v^as not committiag a most imprudent 
 act, and it this document did not place his honor at the mercy of a 
 man who was befriending him, it is true, but who was an'entire 
 stranger. 
 
 M. Chautepie watched the young man as he affixed his signature, 
 then remarked: ; 
 
 " That is all right now. But 1 must call your attention to the facti 
 tliat you ought not to give me this receipt until after 1 have deposit-^ 
 ed in the safe the money now in my pocket. " ; 
 
 If Andre had felt any doubts of his new friend's integrity, this 
 warning would have instantly dispelled Ihem. His only answer was 
 to hand the receipt to M. Cnautepie, who folded it and placed it in 
 his pocket-book, saying as he did so. 
 
 ** You are now my debtor. Will you also be my friend? That is 
 my most earnest desire." 
 
 As lie spoRc, he extended his hand. Andre took it and shook it 
 cordially ; but he was too much overcome with emotion to express j 
 his gratitude in words. 
 
 A hurried rapping at the door interrupted this scene. On hearing '. 
 the sound M. Chautepie's countenance changed, and he rose abrupt- 
 }y. One would have said that he was afraid of being found in con- 
 versation with his new friend. 
 
 Andre was less surprised. He felt almost sure that the new-comer 
 was Babiole, for she had told him that she would return at eight 
 o'clock, and the shrill-voiced cuckoo had just repeated its name 
 eight times in quick succession. 
 
 " Why did you not tell me you were expecting some one?" asked 
 the cashier, a trifle impatiently. *' Can it be that Monsieur Marbeuf 
 has returned?" 
 
 *' No, unfortunately," repued Andre. '* Marbenf would nOb have 
 rapped The ke}^ is on the outside of the door, and he would have 
 come straight in." 
 
 " Open it, then; but not a word on the subject we have just been 
 discussing; and above all, do not mention m}^ name." 
 
 Andre was spared the trouble of opening the door, however, for 
 befori' he could reach it, Babiole entered, but paused, abashed, on 
 perceiving a stranger. 
 
 " Ex( u^e me," she murmured, ** 1 knetv that you were not alone, 
 for I heard voices, but 1 supposed you were talking with your friend, 
 Monsieur Marbeuf, so 1 ventured — " 
 
 " You did quite right, mademoiselle. This gentleman is also one 
 of my friends, and his presence need not disturb you." 
 
 *' Then Monsieur Marbeuf li-is not returned?" inquired the young 
 girl, all the while endeavoring to distinguish the features of this 
 stranger who kept his face sr? ?-od ulously averted. 
 
BABIOLE, THE PRETTY MILLIKER. 41 
 
 " No, mademoiselle, but 1 no longer feel any anxiety on his ac- 
 count." 
 
 " Is that really so?" she asked, joyfully. ** How glad 1 am to 
 hear it! This gentleman has probably brought you good news, then." 
 
 '* Yes, mademoiselle, very good news." 
 
 ** Then 1 am truly grateful to the gentleman, for I felt very anx- 
 ious. You did not*^go to bed, nor did 1. 1 watched you pacing to 
 and fro until morning came and you extinguished your light. Tlien 
 I could not wait any Jonger, so 1 dressed myself, and here 1 am! 
 But 1 can not remain any longer, 1 must go to the shop; besides, 1 
 don't want to disturb you." 
 
 *Nor would 1 detain you, mademoiselle; but we shall see each 
 other again." 
 
 *' 1 hope so— and If you — " 
 
 Just then M. Cliautepie, who seemed to be annoyed, rather than 
 amused by this interchange of civilities, made an impatient move- 
 ment that brought his face distinctlj^ in view, and Babiole did not 
 complete the sentence, but stood with parted lips and eyes riveted 
 upon the cashier, who hastily turned his back upon her. 
 
 Andie felt that his benefactor was anxious for the visit to termin- 
 ate, so taking the hand of the young girl, he led her gently toward 
 the door, saying in low tones: 
 
 *' Thanks! You saved me. But for you, the good news would 
 have come too late. This evening 1 will explain all." 
 
 To his great astonishment, Babiole allowed herself to be led from 
 the room without a word, she who usually chattered like a magpie. 
 But as soon as they reached the landing, she hastily turned to him 
 and whispered: 
 
 *' Beware of that man. He is a bad man." 
 
 And without waiting to hear the reply of Andre, who was still 
 holding the door partially open, she ran swiftly down -stairs. 
 
 *' Who is that girl?" inquired M. Chautepie dryly. ** And how 
 did 5^ou become acquainted with her?" 
 
 " She is a milliner who has rooms on the same floor, and last 
 night, when 1 was on the point oi blowing my brains out, she saw 
 me with a revolver m my hand, and ran over to prevent the tragedy. 
 Had she been a single moment later, you would not have found me 
 alive this morning." 
 
 '* She is certainly a very well meaning person; and in your grati- 
 tude you probably made certain disclosures to her." 
 
 " None whatever, sir," replied Andre, a little annoyed by M. 
 Chautepie's tone and manner. 
 
 ** You can't make me beHeve that she did not ask you why you 
 wanted to kill yourself." 
 
 " She did ask me; but 1 gave her only a very vague explanation. 
 1 merely told her I had troubles, without telling her what they 
 were." 
 
 **Even that was saying too much. 1 hope, however, that you 
 have no idea nf carrying the intimacy any further." 
 
 This time Andre's anger was really aroused, and he said curtly: 
 
 *' 1 am your debtor, sir, and 1 shall never forget it; but that is no 
 reason why 1 should allow you to treat me like a school- boy." 
 
42 BABIOLE, TJlK I'iMJli 311LLTK"ER. 
 
 The visitor saw that he had [;one too far, and with a sudden 
 change of manner, said : 
 
 ** You are right, and 1 am wrong. You must not be offended 
 with me, however. It was only my interest in you that prompted 
 the warning. Recollect that if this affair should become known, all 
 would be lost. It must be kept a secret between us, if we would 
 not compromise ourselves irretrievably, and 1 have not much confi- 
 dence in a woman's discretion. 
 
 "Besides," added M. Chautepie, smihng, ** Mademoiselle Cle- 
 mence might not like the idea ot your running after pretty grisettes. 
 You will have to be very exemplary in such matters if you want to 
 please her." 
 
 iVndre was strongly tempted to reply that he had formed no defi- 
 nite plans on this subjecl. His gratitude toward his benefactor alone 
 Kept him silent. He thought Mile. Vernelle charming, but the idea 
 of paying court to her from mercenary motives had not once entered 
 his mind. 
 
 '• But 1 am alarming myself unnecessarily," continued the cashier 
 gayly, " for I am sure you will return to this apartment only to take 
 away your trunk. The private secretary of one of the richest bank- 
 ers in Paris can not live in a dingy house like this." 
 
 " Monsieur Vernelle advised me to seek other lodgings, and 1 shall 
 follow his advice. Still, if my friend Marbeuf should return 1 shall 
 continue to visit him." 
 
 "What! you still entertain hopes of his return? You have too 
 good an opinion ot him. Rest assured you will never see him 
 again, it is useless for us to tarry here any longer. You will go 
 with me, will you not?" 
 
 " Where?" 
 
 *' To our emplo3^er*s, of course. He expects to see you at nine 
 o'clock; audit is now a quarter of nine. We can reach the Rue 
 Berg^re in ten minutes; but it is better to be ahead of time than late. 
 Monsieur Vernelle is a monomaniac on the subject ot punctuality, 
 and he will be delighted to find you in his oflice." 
 
 Andre forgot tor an instant the mysterious disappearance ot Mar- 
 beuf, and the singular warning Babiole had given him. He even 
 forgot to write to his mother and Inform her of his good fortune. 
 
 " But 1 can not go there as 1 am," he murmured. 
 
 " Oh, 1 will give you time lo wash your face and hands. As for 
 your clothing, it is the same you had on yesterday, and it will do 
 very well, 1 think." 
 
 While Andre made the hasty toilet recommended by the cashier, 
 the latter strode restlessly up and down the room. He was evidently 
 in a hurry to get away. 
 
 "You are superb, my dear fellow," he exclaimed, when the 
 operation was concluded. " Mademoiselle Clemence will go mad 
 over you. 1 certainly made a mistake in the date of the marriage. 
 1 said in a year. You will be married in six months," 
 
 Andre said nothing, though the remark annoyed him not a little. 
 
 ** Let us start," said the cashier, eagerly, turning toward the door. 
 
 Andre locked it and left the key with the concierge in passing 
 out. He still cherished a hope that Marbeuf would call for it; and 
 on reaching the street he paused to see if his friend was not in sight. 
 
BABIOLE, THE PRETTY MILLINER. 43 
 
 Chautepie gave a slight shrug ot the shoulders; and they walked 
 lown the Faubourg Montmartre without speaking. 
 But at the corner of the Rue Berg^re Chautepie paused to say to 
 
 "'^ I think you would do well to take some precautions No one 
 must know that I have been to your house. Vernelle thinks I have 
 not seen you since last evening; and it any of the employes ot the 
 establishment should see us together it might occasion remark, bo 
 I will go around by the Boulevard Poissonniere and the Hue Kouge- 
 mont while you follow this street. 1 will take the clerk's staircase; 
 vou had better use that of our employer. Try to appear perfectly 
 at ease in his presence, and when he introduces you to me, you must 
 pretend not to know me. Au revoii\ my dear friend. 
 Then as if suddenly recollecting the fact, he exclaimed: 
 " Why, look here, 1 took Marbeuf 's pistol away with me by mis- 
 
 ^ ''^You can keep it. 1 have no further use for it," replied Andre 
 with a smile. 
 
 CHAI*TER 111. 
 
 A MONTH has elapsed. 
 
 Andre has entered upon his duties as private secretary, and mis 
 the position in such a manner as to deserve the praise M. Ver- 
 nelle lavishes upon him. , ., ., *• i 
 
 Andre has pioved himself eminently worthy of the exceptional 
 favor shown him. The former idler now works ten hours a day. 
 From the very first he seemed to know as if by instinct all the in. 
 tricacies of the business. Book-keeping has no longer any secrets 
 from him; he is equallv at home, loo, with the business cor- 
 respondence, for he is familiar with English, German, and Italian, 
 and he writes French much better than his employer. He is aii 
 excellent accountant, and as he wiitesi a' capital hand, he would 
 make an excellent book-keeper, if necessary. , 
 
 The discovery of these business talents was a great surprise to 
 Andre They had remained in a dormant state because he had 
 never had occasion to make use of them, but he possessed them. 
 His father was a merchant. It was in the blood. 
 
 In character, too, Andre is no less changed. The thoughtless and 
 extravagant man of fashion has become the serious and industrious 
 man of business, beginning work before the appointed hour, and 
 dining frugally in order to save as much of his salary as possible. 
 
 He has already returned to his mother two hundred francs of the 
 money she had advanced for his traveling expenses, and he has so 
 planned his expenditures that he can send one half ot his salary to 
 Mme. Subligny every month. 
 
 It is true, however, that M. Vernelle paid all the expenses attend- 
 ant upon his installation in his new quarters. 
 
 One week alter his arrival in Paris, Andre became the possessor 
 of a cheerful and prettily furnished suite of apartments on the Rue 
 Rouo-emont, only a few steps from his employer's house; and on 
 the mantel he found a receipt for the first quarter's rent and the 
 upholsterer's receipted bill. 
 
44 babiol:e:, the pretty millikeh. i 
 
 Thus the predictions of M. Chautepie began to be verified, for 
 the banker certainly treated his secretary in such a manner as to 
 give him reason to hope that the rest of the prophecy would come 
 to pass in due time. 
 
 M. Vernelle had Introduced Andre not only to the heads of 
 the various departments, but to the principal patrons of the house, 
 and to his business friends, very much as he would have presented 
 a future partner. 
 
 Every one understood this, and no one had been very much sur 
 prised at the new corner';^ good fortune. Some were rather jealous, 
 perliaps; but all were compelled to do justice to his merits; besides, 
 Andre had a way of making himself as popular with petty clerks 
 as with great capitalists. 
 
 IJe had even succeeded in winning the heart of the formidable 
 Bertand, though he never could speak to him without emotion, toi 
 the sight of this man recalled the most painful recollections of his 
 life. 
 
 On the morning followinsf the terrible night on which he had 
 been so near death, everything occurred exactly as the amiabk 
 Chautepie had predicted. 
 
 M. Vernelle received him with open arms, and said not a word in 
 relation to the events of the previous evening. M. Bertand called foi 
 his money and took it away after carefully counting it. The de- 
 ficiency having been made up by the cashier, the only trace that re- 
 mained of the unfortunate aftair was the remorse in Andre Sub 
 liguy's heart. 
 
 He had not forgotten his fault, though it seemed to him some 
 times that it was all a dream; and his gratitude toward his bene 
 factor was as profound as ever. 
 
 They met very seldom except during office hours, but they were 
 on the best of terms; and whenever Andre attempted to refer to th€ 
 services rendered, his benefactor interrupted him by saying gayly: 
 
 " Not another word, or you will offend me. We will resume thii 
 conversation next year, when you become my employer." 
 
 Nevertheless, m this cloudless horizon that opened before Andre 
 there was one black speck— the mysterious disappearance of Louis 
 Marbeuf. 
 
 No one had seen him since that eventful night, nor had any news 
 been received of him. 
 
 His concierge on the Rue Lamartine, after waiting a week, in 
 formed the nearest commissioner of police of the prolonged absenc( 
 ot ooe of the inmates of the house, and the commissioner began an 
 investigation, which proved futile, however. 
 
 Andre was questioned on the subject, but he took good care not 
 to tell all he knew. In Paris, such mysterious disappearances arc 
 by no means rare; nocturnal attacks are still less so, but the night 
 that Andre had spent in waiting for his friend had been signalized 
 only by such insignificant accidents as the arrest of several drunken 
 men, and a few street brawls; but there had been no murders, noi 
 even any sudden death, nor a discovery of any lifeless body in th( 
 streets. 
 
 Andre went to the morgue, but saw there only a few persons who 
 
BABIOLE, THE PRETTY MILLINEB, 45 
 
 had perished by drowning, and who did not resemble his uniortu- 
 nate friend in the least. ^ ,. i . * 
 
 MM. Pivot and Gainer were unable to give him the slightest 
 information in regard to their derli, and did not conceal the fact 
 that they intended to fill his place at once. Maibeut. having uo re- 
 latives in Paris, at least, not to their knowledge,— Andre lelt him- 
 self obliged to push the investigation further, though he did so in 
 defiance of the counsels of M. Cliautepie, who had maintained trom 
 the very first that Marbeuf had crossed the frontier, and who per- 
 sisted in this opinion, as he did not fail to tell the young secretary 
 from time to time, as opportunity ottered. 
 
 " Your Marbeuf has crossed the Atlantic and become a naturalized 
 citizen of the United States by this time. He will discover a gold 
 mine in California, perhaps, and repay you some day or other.' 
 
 These jests annoyed Andre greatly, but he was unable to make 
 any retort, for the conduct of the missing man leally seemed un- 
 pardonable; and Andre finally came to the conclusion that Louis 
 had allowed himself to be tempted by the large amount ot money 
 intrusted to him, and that he would never return. 
 
 In his researches, he Had neglected but one person, and it was not 
 at all likely that she would be able to furnish liim with any informa- 
 tion, as she scarcely knew Marbeuf. Andre had not seen Babioie 
 since that eventful morning, and he regretted every day not having 
 thanked hei as she deserved, for he owed his life to her even more 
 than to the cashier, w^ho would have come too late but lor her. 
 
 On taking leave of her that morning, he had promised to see her 
 again the following evening, but though he had failed to keep his 
 word, it was not his fault. Later in the same day he had returned 
 to the Rue Lamartine for his trunk, M. Vernelle having advised 
 him to take up his abode temporarily in furnished rooms on the 
 Rue Berg^re. 
 
 He left a letter for Marbeuf, in case he should return, but he was 
 obliged to go away without seeing Babioie who was not at home ; 
 nor had he been any more fortunate afterward, when he called to 
 inquire of the concierge if Marbeuf had returned. 
 
 He had not forgotten Babiole*s warnina:. '* Beware of that man. 
 He is a scoundrel," the voung girl had said in speaking of Monsieur 
 Chautepie; but Andre was one of those persons who close their 
 hearts against suspicion. When he liked a person, he liked hiin 
 thoroughly; his gratitude to his benefactor was boundless, and his 
 friendship unalterable. He believed in him implicitly, and he did 
 not wish to be undeceived in regard to a man who had so generously 
 piofl:ered him a helping hand. Moreover, he attached very little 
 importance to the girl's opinion, ana firmly resolved to check her if 
 she evtir ventured to speak disparagingly of the cashier in his 
 presence, for he had by no means renounced the idea of seeing her 
 again under conditions that would enable him to talk with her. 
 
 Such was the state ot afiaiis, and Andre was giadually recover 
 ing fiom the effect of so many shocks, when one morning M. Ver- 
 nelle, who had gone out before breakfast, something very unusual 
 lor him, sent his valet to summon- his secretary to the table. 
 
 Aadr6 eagerly obeyed the summons, for he knew that Mme. 
 
46 BABIOLE^ THE PKETTY MILLINER. 
 
 Vernelle would be at the breaktasl -table, but just as he was leaving 
 the room, he met Chautepie, who whispered: 
 
 " Our employer has received bad news, and he is not in gooc 
 spirits. 1 thought it best to warn you." 
 
 This confidential disclosure astonished Andre. 
 
 He wondered what the tidings could be, for it had never occurrec 
 to him that the rich banker's peace of mind could be disturbed bj 
 any loss whatever, and a suspicion that M. Yernelle had in some 
 way heard of the theft of the bank notes flashed across his mind. 
 
 " There has been a heavy failure in Marseilles," continued Chau 
 tcpie, shrugging his shoulders, '* and we shall probably lose a coupl 
 of millions. Vernelle will never listen to me. I warned him tha 
 the firm was not sound, but he only laughed at me." 
 
 ** How unfortunate!" exclaimed Andre, sincerely grieved. 
 
 " Oh, Vernelle can stand such a loss as this without feeling i 
 seriously, but he has been investing heavily in high-priced securi 
 ties — still against my advice— and yesterday there was a terribl 
 tumble in stociis, and the whole tendency of the market is down 
 ward. 1 should not be surprised if Bertand went under— to tell th( 
 truth, 1 should not be very soriy for his downfall — but he owes th< 
 house a large amount of money, and if he should fail, he will dra^ 
 our employer down with him." 
 
 " It is no wonder, then, that he is depressed in spirits," remarkei 
 Andre. 
 
 " To say nothing of the fact that his health seems to be failini 
 fast," continued Chautepie, tranquilly. "His nervous attacks ar 
 becoming more and more frequent, and he takes so much bromid 
 that he is positively insane at times. His physician told me so." 
 
 " Good heavens! you really terrify me!" 
 
 " The moral of all this, my dear fellow, is that you must mak 
 haste and marry Mademoiselle Clemence before her father's financin 
 blunders reduce her to comparative poverty. So press your suit 
 1 hear that it is prospering finely. Rose, the young lady's maid 
 tells me her mistress talks of no one but you. Matters would pro 
 gross even more rapidly, if you chose. 1 fear that j^ou have been 
 little timid up to the present time. Young girls do not like faini 
 hearted lovers. Pluck up courage, my boy, pluck up courage, an 
 mark my w^ords, you will see the efiect." 
 
 " The effect would be disastrous," answered Subligny, quickly 
 ** and I do not feel inclined to make the venture." 
 
 *' So much the worse for you. The first thing you know, yot 
 will be left out in the cold. If I advise you to go ahead it is fo 
 your own sake, and a little for ray own, for though 1 was delighte 
 to be able to do you a service, 1 don't want to lose my money c 
 course. 
 
 '* I know perfectly well that you have taken out a life insurauc 
 policy of one hundred thousand francs for my benefit, but 1 don' 
 want you to die, besides, there is every probability that you wi 
 outlive me. 
 
 " Excuse me for detaining you. I only wished to make you a( 
 quaintcd with the situation. Au rewir, my dear friend, don't kee 
 Mademoiselle Clenicnce waiting any longer." 
 
BABIOLE, THE PRETTY MILLIKER. 47 
 
 As be uttered these concluding words, Monsieur Chautepie re- 
 entered his office, leaving the young secretary to his reflections. 
 
 The poor fellow was completely bewildered. JVl. Vernelle's mis- 
 fortunes touched him as deeply as M. Chautepie's language shocked 
 him. The tone of indifference, and the Ipvity with which the cashier 
 announced these misfortunes, and, above all, his advice, surprised 
 and irritated Andre, coming from a'inan whom he regarded as his 
 benetactor, and whom he had heretofore loved and admired. 
 
 " He seems to think that 1 have placed myself completely in his 
 power by accepting an important service from him," thought 
 Andre. " 1 will let him see that he is mistaken. I owe him a debt 
 of gratitude, it is true, but 1 am still master of my heart and of my 
 actions. 1 love Mademoiselle Clemence, but 1 certainly have a right 
 to keep my love a secret, rf 1 choose; and 1 shall not expose myself 
 to the dangers of a refusal. Monsieur Chautepie may think what 
 he likes about it, it makes no difference to me. He has just shown 
 himself to me in a new light, for the sentiments he expresses cer- 
 tainly do him no honor. 1 wonder if little Babiole was not right 
 when she advised me not to trust himV" 
 
 This soliloquy was interrupied by the valet who returned to in- 
 form him that breakfast was on the table, and to ask him to come 
 at once. 
 
 Andre hastened toward the small dining room where the banker 
 breakfasted every morning with his daughter and his secretary. 
 There was a much larger one for ceremonious dinners. 
 
 It was the first time that Andre had ever been late to a repast 
 which was the pleasantest episode of the day to him, and the in- 
 formation so complacently imparted by the cashier had agitated him 
 so much that he entered the room rather awkwardly. 
 
 M. Yernelle ana his daughter were already in their accustomed 
 seats. These breakfasts were usually very delightful. They 
 were served at twelve o'clock precisely. The banker usually came 
 in first, bringing Subligny; then Clemence entered, fresh and cheer- 
 ful, and threw her arms around her father's neck and kissed him 
 and hugged him as vehemently as in the days wlien she was still 
 playing with her doll and hoop. 
 
 The different dishes were all placed on the table beforehand, and 
 each person helped himself. The presence of a servant w^ould have 
 been a constraint, for this was the hour of familiar conversation. 
 
 M. Yernelle, who was weighed down with business cares and 
 anxiety, really had no other lime to himself during the day. At 
 the breakfast-table, he could enjoy the pleasure of being a father. He 
 became young again, laughed heartily at all their little jests, and 
 even condescended to play all sorts of mischievous, nonsensical 
 pranks on his daughter who, in turn, often amused herself by tying 
 his napkin arouna his neck. 
 
 He was, however, as a general thing, the most serious of men. 
 
 From the very beginning, the father and dau^^hter had treated 
 Andre as if he had been a member of the family for years, and his 
 behavior had justified this cordiality ou their part. He had plenty 
 ot wit and tact, and, what is far better, sound common sense. He 
 talked well, and he was a good lislener. Attentive and grave, when 
 the father happened to refer to some business matter which had been 
 
48 BABIOLE, THE PRETTY MILLIl^ER. 
 
 previously discussed in the office, he was never at a loss when the 
 daughter engaged him in conversation upon the theater, painting, 
 or even dress. 
 
 He had completely won the hearts of both of them by appearing 
 exactly what he was. 
 
 That day, he perceived, at a glance, that the banker was greatly 
 preoccupied. His naturally stern face was unusually grave; his eyes 
 were sunken, and his lips colorless, while his drawn features indi- 
 cated both mental and physical suffering. 
 
 Clemence, on the contrary, had never been in more exub< rant 
 spirits. The rise and fall of stocks and financial panics di(i not 
 affect her in the least. Her lite was as calm and transparent as the 
 waters ot a fountain, her sky always cloudless, and melancholy 
 was a thing unknown to hei. 
 
 "You have come at last, sir," she exclaimed, as soon as she 
 caught sight of Andre. '* It is very naughty of you to keep us 
 waiting, especially to-day, for j)apa is terribly out of spirits, and 1 
 need your assistance in amusing him." 
 
 ** You must pardon me this time, mademoiselle," stammered 
 Subligny. " Monsieur Chautepie detained me—" 
 
 "He was talking business, I'll warrant. He has no right to do 
 it after the clock strikes twelve, and I am going to complain ot him 
 to papa if he ever does it again." 
 
 ""What are you talking about, child?" interposed M. Vernellc. 
 *'Take a seat, my dear Andre. You must not be surprised if 1 
 am not in the best of humor, this morning. 1 had one ot my ner- 
 vous attacks last night, and an attack of indigestion as well." 
 
 Andre saw that his employ^er did not wish any allusion made to 
 his business troubles, and he was about to inquire more particu- 
 larly about his health when Clemence prevented him from doing so 
 by exclaiming: 
 
 ** And you said nothins: to me about it, and here 1 nearly forgot 
 to give you your medicine. Fortunately, I have it in my pocket. 
 Quick, hand me j^our glass so I can put the prescribed dose into it. 
 Now do me the favor to take it before you begin your breakfast." 
 
 M. Yernelle swallowed, though not without a grimace, the bitter 
 potion his daughter had just prepared fo him. 
 
 '* It is very unpalatable," he remarked, *' and it seems to me that 
 1 have been growing ivorse e^er since I began this treatment; Ihave 
 sent for the doctor, and am expecting him here this morning. 1 
 want to consult him." 
 
 *' He will tell you not to work so hard." 
 
 ** It is impossible tor me to do otherwise just now. Business 
 matters require my closest attention, and they must have it — at 
 whatever cost to myself," the banker added, sjloomily. 
 
 *' But let us talk of something else. Have you heard from your 
 mother, lately, my dear Andre? She is well, I hope." 
 
 *• Perfectly well, sir. My mother is very happy, and it is to you 
 that she owes her happiness. She blesses you every day." 
 
 *' Why will she not come and pay us a visit?" inquired Clemence. 
 ** I am so anxious to know her." 
 
 ** If yoa did know her, mademoiselle, 1 am sure you would lov§ 
 her almost as much as you would your own mother." 
 
BABIOLE, THE PRETTY MILLIlsTEE. 49 
 
 This remark produced an effect that Andre had not foreseen. 
 
 il. Vernelle turned pale, and dropped his knife and fork; Cle- 
 mence blushed, hung her head, and gave her undivided attention to 
 the very simple task of removing an egg from its shell. 
 
 Andre perceived, when it was too late, that he had been guilty of 
 a terrible blunder. It had never before occurred to his mmd that 
 M. Vernelle was not a widower. 
 
 Neither his father nor mother had ever referred to M me. Vernelle, 
 and yet, they had often spoken of the banker and had sometimes 
 mentioned (he daughter, but of the wife— never a word. 
 
 When Andre presented his letter of recommendation to M. Ver- 
 nelle, on his arrival in Paris, that gentleman, who had lost no time 
 in introducing him to his daughter, had not added: '* 1 will present 
 you to my wife." During the past months, too, Andre had had 
 abundant opportunity to satisfy himself that his employer was liv- 
 |ing alone with Mile. Clemence, and the thought of making any in- 
 iiiry into the particulars of his marriage had never once occurred 
 ,0 our friend. 
 
 M. Chautepie, who certainly could have enlightened him, had 
 ever made any allusion to the subject. 
 
 "Why, then, did the father seem agitated and the daughter blush, 
 and a painful silence succeed the animated conversation of a mo- 
 ment before? 
 
 Coald it be that the father had never been married, or had Mme. 
 Vernelle conducted herself improperly, and the family been broken 
 up in consequence of one of those scandals which make an honest 
 man the laughing-stock of all the fops and gossips of Paris? 
 
 Whichever may have been the case, Andre had certainly put his 
 foot in it, as the saying is. He realized this, and dared not open 
 his lips for fear of committing some fresh blunder. 
 
 With his eyes riveted upon his plate, he sat for some moments, 
 pretending to eat; then, glancing up, he saw that Mile. Vernelle 
 was regarding him with a compassionate air as one looks at a guest 
 who has just broken a glass or upset a decanter. 
 
 She evidently pitied him, and Andre might reasonably hope that 
 she would come to his relief, which she finally did with much grace 
 and sweetness. 
 
 My father has promised to take me to some watering-place this 
 summer," she said, forcing a smile, ** and he leaves the choice of 
 the place to me. 1 have selected Havre, and 1 hope my father will 
 not refuse j^ou leave of absence at the same time. In that case, you 
 can introduce me to Madame Subligny. At her age, a journey is 
 very fatiguing, and we shall ihus avoid giving her the trouble of 
 coming to us." 
 
 M. Vernelle nodded his approval, but said nothing. He seemed 
 to be suffering terribly. 
 
 Andre stammered a few words of thanks, and the conversation 
 again ceased. 
 
 '* I have certainly committed a terrible blunder," thought the poor 
 fellow, "and Heaven only knows if Monsieur Vernelle will ever 
 forgive me. 1 have certainly wounded him deeply, though unia- 
 ^entionaUy ar^d innocently. " 
 
60 BABIOLE, THE PKETTY MILLIKER. 
 
 Clemence had not abandoned all hope of reviving the conversation, 
 however, for she said suddenly: 
 
 " How do you pass your evenings, Monsieur Andre? We seldom 
 see you after the office closes. Do you attend the theater often?" 
 
 *• No, mademoiselle, I have not been theie since 1 came to Paris.'* 
 
 " You must go with us some evening. By the way, father has 
 a box for the Opera Comique this very evening. Are you lond of 
 music?" 
 
 *' Very fond of it.' 
 
 *• Then you will enjoy hearing the ' Pre-aux-Clercs;' 1 know it by 
 heart, but 1 never tire of listening to it. You will accompany us, 
 will you not?" 
 
 Andre glanced at M. Vernelle. 
 
 ** 1 am not sure that 1 shall be able to take you there," said the 
 banker. ** 1 have an appalling amount of work on hand; besides, 1 
 don't ieel well." 
 
 *• All the more reason why you should not remain at home. You 
 have not gone out in the evening for a month; in fact, you haven't 
 taken me to the play since the day you first introduced Monsieur 
 JSubligny to me, in your office. That evening, we went to the Re- 
 naissance. 1 remember it as if it were but yesterday, though 1 must 
 confess that 1 scarcely heard a w^ord of the play." 
 
 It would have been difficult to tell Andre more plainly that theii 
 first interview had made a profound impression upon her, and thai 
 the happy day was still fresh in her memory. 
 
 The poor fellow blushed with pleasure, and also with shame, foi 
 this allusion to the past reminded him of his fault, and of Louis 
 Marbeuf, who had so mysteriously disappeared while M. Vernelle 
 and his daughter were at the theater. 
 
 ** But Ishall listen religiously to the ' Pre-aux-Clercs,' " continued 
 Clemence, ** and if you should go to sleep as you usually do, 1 shaljj 
 have some one to talk wMth, as Monsieur Subligny will be there. It 
 is decided, is it not?" j 
 
 ** 1 cannot promise," said the banker. *' It I feel better, and my 
 evening is not taken up, as 1 fear it will be, by a very important mat 
 ter, we will see." 
 
 *' * We will see ' is too vague. Insist with me. Monsieur Andre 
 My father will not refuse you ; and you certainly richly deserve th 
 pleasure of hearing my faviirite opera, tor you have been hard a 
 work ever since your arrival." 
 
 ** 1 am at Monsieur Vernelle's orders," stammered Subligny. 
 
 ** Clemence forgets that I release you at six o'clock every day," 
 said the banker, smiling, '* but she does quite right to offer you 2 
 seat in our box. When one works as steadily as j^ou do, a little 
 diversion is a good thing, and 1 expect you lead a regular her- 
 mit's life. 
 
 *' Recollect, my friend, that this house is always open to you. It is 
 not a very gay one, unfortunately, but you will always find a cordja 
 welcome, a cup of tea, and a seat by the fireside. Not this evening, 
 however, as Clemence seems determined to drag me to the theater 
 but there is nothing. 1 hope, to prevent you from joining us there.' 
 
 " He consents at lastl" exclaimed the young girl, clapping he 
 
BABIOLE, THE PSETTY MILLIiq"ER. 51 
 
 hands. " I trust now that you are not 2;oing to refuse,*' she aaded, 
 turning to Andre. 
 
 •* 1 should be only too happy, mademoiselle, if—" 
 
 *• If you refuse, I shall think you prefer youi other friends to us." 
 
 " I have no other friends, mademoiselle.'* 
 
 *• Indeed! Why, 1 was under the impression that you stopped 
 with an old school friend when you first arrived in Paris?'* 
 
 •' Yes, mademoiselle, but 1 have not seen him recently.** 
 
 " What! have you quarreled with him?" 
 
 "N"o, he has gone away— he bas left Paris," replied Andre, in 
 very evident embarrassment. 
 
 " But he will return, 1 suppose?" ! 
 
 '* 1 think not." 
 
 " What has become of the young man?" inquired M. Vernelle. 
 ** He was a clerk in a mercantile house, was he not?'* 
 
 '* Y'es, sir; but he has found a better position, in some foreign 
 country, I believe." 
 
 Andre did not care to tell the truth in regard to Louis Maibeuf 's 
 disappearance, and with good reason. M. Chautepie, who was ac- 
 quainted with the tacts, had kept the secret, and Andre could hardly 
 have told M. Vernelle without confessing his own fault. 
 
 ** So, when your day's work is over, you are left alone?'* remarked 
 the banker. 
 
 " Yes, but 1 am not idle,*' said Subligny, quickly. ** 1 have so. 
 many things to learn that I do not lack occupation. ' ' 
 
 " Do you frequent the society of none of the other clerks?" 
 
 ** 1 see Monsieur Chautepie occasionally." 
 
 *' Then you certainly go to the cajes,*' replied M. Vernelle, lauffh- 
 ng. ** Chautepie is a model cashier, but when his accounts are ad- 
 justed, and his safe locked up, he thinks only of his pleasure, and 
 spends his time in playing billiards or dominoes." 
 
 ' 1 have accompanied him to the cafe several times out of polite- 
 Qess, but we have not the same tastes." 
 
 * I congratulate you on the fact, and advise you not to become 
 too intimate with him; not that he is a disreputable man, b}' any 
 means, but he was very differently reared, and he is destined to re- 
 main in a subordinate position. You have a right to look higher." 
 
 ** You are very kind, sir. Your good opinion is my only capital 
 h life, however, and I am' not ambitious." 
 
 * But you ought to be. i was no better off than you are when 1 
 ^egan life, and you see that — " 
 
 The door opened, and a servant appeared to announce the arrival 
 [)f the physician. y^ 
 
 *' Show him in," said M. Vernelle. Then turning to Andie, who 
 was rising to leave the room, he added : 
 
 * ' Remain, my friend. The doctor will decide whether I can safely 
 %o to the theater this evening. You had better stay and hear his 
 ilecision. 
 
 Dr. Valbregue was still a young man, though he had won a 
 very enviable reputation in the medical world. In addition to his 
 Incontestable talent, he had the good fortune to be endowed with a 
 most prepossessing face, and a bright, genial manner tinged with 
 tJiat kiadly brusquerie which has such a charm tor all rich persons, 
 
52 BABIOLE, THE PEETTY MILLIITER. 
 
 The mere sipjlit of him always made his patients feel better, and 
 his clear eye seemed to discern what was troubling their inmost 
 souls. 
 
 He smiled at Clemence, bowed to Andre, and said to the banker, 
 as he shook him by the hand; 
 
 •• Well, how does the bromide suit you? Are you feeling any bet- 
 ter?" 
 
 *' 1 must say that your compound is the most nauseous stu^f imagi- 
 nable, my dear doctor," M. Yernelle replied. 
 
 ** Unfortunately we have not yet devised a way to cure nervous dis- 
 eases with sweetened water,"- was the doctor's laughing response. 
 *' The question is whether the medicine is doing you any good or 
 not?" 
 
 " Not much, 1 am afraid." 
 
 '• When did you begin taking it?" 
 
 '* Last week." 
 
 *• Well, what seems to be the difficulty now?" 
 
 *' 1 am much troubled with dizziness. In fact, 1 am often obliged 
 to cling to something to keep myself from falling when I am walk- 
 ing." 
 
 " That is the natural effect of the medicine. Is that your princi- 
 pal trouble?" 
 
 '*No: I have had several quite severe and painful spasms. 1 
 cannot sleep, and 1 have less and less appetite every day." 
 
 " That certainly is not due to the use of the bromide. Where do 
 you purchase the compound?" 
 
 " Of a druggist my cashier recommended to me." 
 
 '* Have you any of the preparation here?" 
 
 ** Here is some, doctor," said Mile. Vernelle, drawing a small 
 powder from her pocket. 
 
 ** Very well, 1 will take it away with me and have it analyzed. 
 Experience has made me distrust tul in such m.atters." 
 
 " Do you suppose any one is tr3ing to poison me?" asked the 
 banker, laughing. " 1 warn you that you will get into trouble with 
 my daughter if you du, for it is she who administers the dose just 
 before each meal." 
 
 '* I suppose nothing ol the kind. 1 do not even accuse the drug- 
 gist of carelessness, but 1 like to know something about the quality 
 of the medicines that are compounded from my prescriptions. The 
 sligiitest error may be fatal m its consequences. Only a few weetjs 
 ago 1 lost a patient who had taken thirty milligrammes of 
 strychnine, instead of the three milligrammes 1 ordered." 
 
 *' You frighten me, doctor. 1 sha'n't dare to take anything after 
 this. Drugs very seldom agree with me. Why, at this very mo- 
 ment every muscle in my body seems to be twitching convulsively, 
 and 1 feel as if some one was trying to strangle me. 1 experience the 
 same feeling whenever I take the bromide." 
 
 " Well, take no more of it until I see you again, and in the mean- 
 time, work less. 1 am almost sure that you devote not less than ten 
 hours a day to your business. That is too much, entirely too much. 
 You must have rest and diversion." 
 
 *' And go to the theater often, must he not, doctor?*' ioterposed 
 Clemence, quickly. 
 
BABIOLE, THE PRETTY MILLIKER. 53 
 
 " Yes, on condition that he sees only Dright and cheerful plays. 
 To forget his cares and amuse himself, that is what your father 
 needs. ' ' 
 
 ** And that is just what is impossible for him to do," murmured 
 the banker. 
 
 *' Why? Are you fond of music?'* 
 
 "Very, but — 
 
 " Weil, neglect no good opportunity to hear some, then.** 
 
 ** We think of going to heai the ' Pre-aux-Clercs ' this evening,** 
 exclaimed Clemence. 
 
 '* 1 cordially approve this new remedy. It will be a pleasant 
 change from this bromide that has such a singular effect upon you." 
 
 " Now, father, you no longer have any excuse for refusing." 
 
 " ISo 1 will noi refuse. We will go to the Opera Comique. 
 Andre, you will, I hope, accompany us?" 
 
 The young man bowed, coloring with pleasure, and as the doctor, 
 who had never met him before, seemed to be looking at him at- 
 tentively, M. Yernelle turned to him, and said: 
 
 ** Monsieur Subligny, my secretary." 
 
 Andre exchanged bows with M. Yalbregue, who next proceeded 
 to subject his patient's daughter to a furtive scrutiny. 
 
 The clever physician had evidently taken in the situation at a 
 glance, and to judge from his manner, he did not disapprove of it. 
 
 *' Now, my dear financier, 1 must leave you,'* he said, rising. *' 1 
 have an appointment to meet four of my brother physicians at three 
 o'clock. We are to hold a consultation over a very singular case— a 
 man who has lost his memory entirely in consequence of a severe 
 fall.** 
 
 ** That is very extraordinary, certainly,** murmured M. Vernelle, 
 abstractedly. 
 
 *' Not so unusual as you suppose. Concussion of the brain often 
 produces this effect, though 1 have never seen it so complete. 
 Would you believe it, the person in question has not only entirely 
 forgotten the accident that reduced him to this condition, but has 
 even forgotten his name. W e have not yet been able either to dis- 
 cover K^ho he is, or what happened to him. As the skull sustained 
 no fracture, he recovered very rapidly from his injuries. He talks, 
 and very sensibly, too, about matters and things in general, but he 
 can recall nothing whatever of the past.*' 
 
 *• Are you sure that he is not deceiving j'ou, doctor?** 
 
 ** Perfectly sure. 1 have subiected him to various tests, and 
 always with the same result. The idea that he, perhaps, had some 
 reason for wishing to conceal his identity, occurred to me, as it did to 
 you, so the police were informed of the facts, and the man has been 
 examined by several detectives and the chief of Iftie service. No one 
 recognized him. He does not resemble a malefactor in the least. 
 He has an honest face, and he was very well dressed when he was 
 picked up in an unconscious state.*' 
 
 **ln the street?" 
 
 ** Yes, and the strangest thing about it all is, that he did not meet 
 with this fall in the -place where was found. The wound caused 
 by his fall must have bled very freely, and yet there was no blood oe 
 
54 BABIOLI!, THE PRETTY MILLIKER. 
 
 the pavement of the Bonier ard des Invalides, where some laborers 
 ^ound him one morning as they were going to work." 
 
 "Then it is not imhkely that he was placed there after having 
 l)een nearly killed in some drin king-saloon?" 
 
 " No; an examination of the wound satisfied me that he was not 
 injured by a weapon, but that, in falling from a considerable height, 
 his head came in Violent contact with some hard body. ] cannot 
 swear that such was the case, of course, but I am inclined to believe 
 that after a more or less prolonged syncope he recovered sufficiently 
 to get upon his feet and walk a short distance; then his strength 
 failing him, he sunk fainting upon the sidewalk, where he must have 
 spent nearly all night, for he was half frozen when he was brought 
 to the hospital." 
 
 *' That is very strange. But had he no papers on his person?" j 
 
 '* Not a letter, nor even a visiting card; nothing but about sixty 
 francs in his pocket, which proves that he was not the victim of a i 
 midnight assault. Thieves would not have failed to search and rob I 
 him." 
 
 ** It is not strange that this mystery has a fascination for you." 
 
 ** 1 am interested in it only from a medical point of view." 
 
 ** But what are you going to do with the poor fellow? He cannot 
 remain at the hospital indefinitely." 
 
 '• 1 think of sending him to the Saint Ann Asylum, w^here he 
 will be received as a demented person, though he really is not one. 
 But I have not lost all hope of curing him, and I shall keep him as 
 long as I can, for his case is worthy of careful study. 
 
 ** Besides, the police are naturally inquisitive, and though they 
 have ceased to investigate the affair, they would not be sorry, 1 
 think, to be enlightened in regard to the identity of this unknown 
 patient, and when he becomes an inmate of the insane asylum no 
 one will see or know him; but where he is now, visitors are admitted 
 twice a week — Thursday and Sunday— and there will perhaps be 
 some one who can tell us the name of the man we call Number Nine- 
 teen." 
 
 " Thursdays and Sundays?" repeated Andre, who had listened 
 with much interest to the doctor's story. 
 
 *' Yes, sir, from one to three. But if you wish to see my patient 
 you had better come in the morning about nine o'clock, while I am 
 making my tour of inspection. If I am not there, ask them to ad- 
 mit you to the Saint Ferdinand ward. 
 
 ' I will call to see you again, day after to-morrow, my dear Mon- 
 sieur Vernelle," he added, turning again to the banker, '* and in the 
 meantime, remember my prescription : rest, and plenty of amuse- 
 ment. Mademoiselle, 1 leave it to you to see that my orders are , 
 faithfully carried out." 
 
 Having jsaid this, the doctor took leave of them all with a pleasant 
 bow, and Monsieur V^ernelle, who had risen to accompany him to the 
 door, returned, shaking his head sadly: 
 
 " Rest, and plent^y of amusement," he said softly. " One cannot 
 purchase these remedies at the drug-store, unfortunately." 
 
 " No, but one can find them elsewhere," replied Clemence, gently, 
 ** and we will see that you have them this evening, will we not, 
 Monsieur Andre?" 
 
BABIOLE, THE PRETTY MTLLHSTER. 55 
 
 ** I should be only too happy if 1 were capable, and if your father 
 would permit me, to contribute to his amusement," stammered 
 Subligny. 
 
 *' Then it is settled, my friend. You must join us at the theater 
 this evening. Cleraence will tell you the number of our box. 1 do 
 not invite you to dine with us becRuse you will be detained at the 
 office a little later than usual to-day, if yon attend to the matters 1 
 spoke to you about, and you will have barely time to dress. Besides, 
 1 have to go out now, and 1 do not exactly know when 1 shall get 
 back." 
 
 When they rose from the table, Andre returned to the office, greatly 
 preoccupied by what he had just seen ana heard. During this repast 
 which had lasted only three quarters of an hour, he had learned more 
 new things about the establishment than during the whole of the 
 preceding month. 
 
 In the first place, he had unwittingly satisfied himself of the exist- 
 ence oi a skeleton in the household. The father and daughter evi- 
 dently had some secret which they were concealing from the woild. 
 The emotion they had been unable to hide, proved this fact conclu- 
 sively; and that this secret was in some way connected with 
 Clemence's mother was equally evident. 
 
 The remarks of Dr. Valbr6gue had been equally surprising to 
 Andre. That physician had admitted the possibility of intended 
 poisoning by the substitution of one drug for another, and spoken 
 with strange indifference of the mistake which had cost a patient 
 his life. 
 
 He accused and could accuse no one of intentionally administer- 
 ing a poisonous compound to the banker, but the precaution he had 
 taken indicated olainly enough the suspicion which had occurred 
 to him, but which Andre considered too absurd for belief. 
 
 The strange story of the man who had forgotten everything, even 
 his name, had made a much deeper impression on Andre's mind, 
 and he asked himself more than once, if there could be any connec- 
 tion between it and Louis Marbeuf 's mysterious disappearance, for 
 this strange accident would explain why the poor fellow had givea 
 no signs of life. 
 
 But there was little probability that Marbeuf was the person who 
 had been picked up on the Boulevard des Invalides. 
 
 After dining at a restaurant on the corner of the Faubourg Mont- 
 martre and the Rue Lafayette, he had started at half -past eight in the 
 evening, to go to the Rue Bergere, and even supposing that he had 
 not found Monsieur Vernelle there, he certainly would not have gone 
 to a lonely part of the town, on the other side of the liver, to look 
 for him. 
 
 Besides, what could have become of the bank-notes he had in- 
 trusted to his friend? Had they been taken from him, or had he 
 lost them?" Andre asked himself these and many other questions 
 without being able to answer them in a satisfactory, or even plausi- 
 ble fashion, so he finally resolved to take advantage of Dr. Val- 
 bregue's invitation to pay a visit to the IN'ecker Hospital, and see the 
 individual in question with his own eyes. 
 
 But he had very little hope that this visit would result in the dis- 
 covery of Marbeuf; besides, every day, except Sunday, he was busy 
 
56 BABIOLE, THE PRETTY .MlLLTKER. ' 
 
 at the office from nine o'clock to six, and nolliing in the world could 
 have induced him to neglect any of liis duties as secretary. So, hav- 
 ing once entered the ollice, and begun his daily work, he gradually 
 iorgot the incidents of the breakfast, or rather he recollected, of 
 them, only the encouraging welcome of the banker and the equally 
 encouraging glances of Mademoiselle Clemence, for Andre had read 
 in the girl's eyes that he was not iDdifterent to her. 
 
 She had almost made advances to him, and his father, who had 
 certainly perceived the fact, did not disapprove, as he had offered 
 Subligny a seat in his box at the theater. 
 
 And yet, his joy was not unalloyed. He would have preferred] 
 his progress toward the goal to be less rapid. It seemed to him that 
 the lather and daughter did not know him well enough to give him 
 so ruuch encouragement. He could not suspect them of being actu- 
 ated by mercenary motives, but he felt that there must be some rea- 
 son for the marked preference they showed him. 
 
 Instead of flattering himself that he owed it solely to his personal 
 attractions and worth, he concluded that there must be some stain 
 on the family honor, and that it was perhaps to this stain that he 
 was indebted for having been chosen in spite of, or rather on ac- 
 count of, his poverty, because it was supposed that he would be less 
 exacting. 
 
 These suppositions, though purely chimerical, were by no means 
 agreeable; nevertheless, he realized that nis heart was given beyond 
 any possibditv of recall to his employer's charming daughter. After 
 all, what did Monsieur Chautepie's comments matter to him? He 
 was not in the least inclined to follow his counsels, but it would be 
 the grossest folly to refuse the happiness which seemed likely to be 
 offered for his acceptance. 
 
 So he continued to dream of joys that the coming evening had ic 
 store for him, and he made more than one mistake in the writing 
 intrusted to him. 
 
 And yet, no one was there to disturb him, for M. Vernelle had 
 gone out immediately after bieakfast, and had announced that he 
 probably would not return until late. 
 
 This absence was highly significant Nothing save matters of the 
 greatest importance could"^ have induced the banker to abandon the 
 superintendence of his business, even momentarily; hence, it seemed 
 not improbable that he was making some desperate effort to main- 
 tain his credit, or negotiating a loan to repair the breach made by a 
 delinquent debtor and unfortunate speculations. 
 
 Andre could do nothing, but he said to himself that misfortune 
 seemed to have fallen upon this formerly prosperous house, almost 
 simultaneously with his entrance into it; and he wondered if h€ 
 might not have what is familiarly known as the evil eye. 
 
 These reflections, and otheis of a similar character, marred not a 
 little his anticipations of a pleasant evening with Mile. Vernelle, whr 
 seemed not to have the slightest suspicion of her father's flnancia] 
 embarrassment. 
 
 Immediately after breakfast, she had sent Andre the number of 
 the loge, with a message to the effect that she should certainly exped 
 to see him. It was evident that she looked forward with great pleas- 
 ure to listening to her favorite opera in such good company. 
 
BABIOLE, THE PRETTY MILLINER. -5? 
 
 Andre, in spite of his anxiet3% resolved to keep the appointment, 
 and made all possible haste to finish his correspondence in order ta 
 return home, dress himself, and dine early, so as nut to keep hci 
 waitino:. 
 
 He finally completed the last letter he had to write, and he was 
 about to place them all upon M. YerneDe's desk so they could be 
 si.2;ned before his employer's departure for the theater, when he heard 
 the bell of the telephone rin.2:. 
 
 The banker often made use of this ingenious invention in com- 
 municating with his prmcipal clients, andlt was usually his secretary 
 who applied his ear to the tube, and transmitted the questions to hii 
 employer, who gave his answers without rising trom his chair. 
 
 Andre thought it his duty to act exactly as if M. Yernelle were 
 there, and then, if the question proved puzzling, to reply that his 
 employer was absent. 
 
 He therefore approached the instrument, inquired who the speaker 
 was, and waited. 
 
 '*ltis Jean Bertand," replied the telephone. **Are you there? 
 There is a reaction in the market.** 
 
 The name of Bertand made Andre start. 
 
 Bertand was the owner of the famous eight hundred thousand 
 francs— the speculator whose speedy ruin had been predicted by M. 
 Chautepie, and with whom M. Vernelle had entered into a sort of 
 partnership in stock speculations. 
 
 Andre had met this bold speculator often, and was. indeed, quite a 
 favorite with him, though he had never made any attempt to win his 
 good opinion, for he disliked him thoroughly. 
 
 Bertand had all the failings common io parvenus. He was arrogant, 
 ill-bred and vain. He boasted of his wealth on every occasion, and 
 snubbed every one who was not rich; and yet, he honored Subligny 
 with friendly hand shakes which the latter would certainly have re- 
 fused had he been in a situation to do it. 
 
 But Subligny was well aware that Bertand*s interests were closely 
 allied with those of his employer, and he felt sure that the coming 
 communication had reference solely to the crisis which threatened 
 to involve both men in ruin. 
 
 *' There is a reaction," Bertand had said, through the telephone, 
 and this was evidently the preface to news from the Bourse — per- 
 haps good, perhaps bad, but important, in either case. 
 
 Haa a secretary a right to receive it m his employer's stead? An- 
 dre thought not, and hastily replied: 
 
 *' Monsieur Vernelle has gone out, and did not say when he would 
 return." 
 
 Then he listened, expecting to hear something like: ** Tell him 
 that I will call to see him at such an hour," or, " Who are you? Are 
 you authorized to take his place?" 
 
 But, to his intense surprise, the response was: 
 
 *' So much the better. We can talR freely. 1 am glad to tell you 
 that we are both sate. 1 have hedged." 
 
 And, as Andre was silent, the telephone continued: 
 
 " Come and take supper at the Holder at midnight. 1 will ex- 
 plain the trick to you, and we will laugh over it together. There will 
 be some ladies there. The guilty mother has unearthed a girl who 
 
68 BABIOLE, THE PRETTY MILLINER. 
 
 is a morsel for a king. It you will come, I'll see that there is an- 
 other." 
 
 This was going entirel}' too far. This communicatioa c^'ild not 
 be addressed to Slonsieui Veruelle, the grave and irreproachable; 
 family man. . 
 
 Andre dropped the tube that had brought him this strange mes- 
 sage. He did not wish to hear any more, still less to be obliged to 
 reply to it, and he was about to resume his seat, when the sudden 
 opening of the little window that connected the cashier's office with; 
 that ot his employer, made him turn his head. 
 
 " With whom are you talking?'* inquired M. Chautepie, with his; 
 elbow on the sill. 
 
 ** With Monsieur Bertand," replied Andre, ** but I can make ] 
 sense out of what he is saying. I began by informing him that 
 Monsieur Yernelle was not here, and he replied by telling me some- 
 thing about a trick he has played upon some one, and about a sup 
 per." 
 
 *' Oh, there must be some mistake. That communication was not 
 addressed to our employer, of course. Some one has made a mis- 
 take. 1 would pay no further attention to it." 
 
 Andre knew that the telephone had two tubes, one ot which was 
 in the cashier's office, so it was not difficult tor him to explain the 
 mistake. 
 
 Bertand supposed he w^s talking to Chautepie, and Chautepie, 
 warned a little too late, made haste to divert the conversation t(i 
 himself, through his own tube. But he brought it to a hasty termi* 
 nation, for about two minutes afterward, he returned to the window, 
 and said with a slightly embarrassed air: 
 
 " Bertand is certainly losing his senses. He is engaged in specu- 
 lations which may ruin him, and yet he thinks only of gadding 
 about. It was me he was inviting to go on a lark with him to-night, 
 but you had better believe that 1 sent him about his business." 
 
 ** 1 did not know that you were so intimate with him," remaiked 
 Subligny. 
 
 ** Oh, intimate is not the word„ Bertand is a hon mvant. He 
 denies himself nothing, and occasionally gives very fine dinners, to 
 w^hich he invites me. I accept because 1 am fond of good eating; 
 but that does not prevent me from keepinc: him at a distance, and it 
 he loses everything, why, so much the worse for him." 
 
 " It does not seem very probable that he will. He just remarked 
 ' 'irough the telephone that he had hedged, and that you had noth^ 
 dig to fear. ' ' 
 
 " Oh, 1 understand. I asked him about a week ago to buy me i 
 8W shares ot Northern Railway stv>ck — a little speculation quite 
 within my means. But it is five o clock," he added, turning ic 
 glance at tlip. clock upon his desk. " I am going to shut up shop 
 now, and 1 advise you to do the same. Monsieur Yernelle will not 
 be back until dinner-time. Come and take a glass of absinthe with 
 me at the Cafe Frontin " 
 
 " Thanks, but 1 never cUink cabsinthe. Besides, 1 have some mat- 
 ters at home to attend to. ^^ 
 
 " Then we will give it up. and I will accompany you as far as 
 your door. It is on my way, you know." 
 
BABIOLE^ THE PRETTY MILLIKER^ 69 
 
 Andre felt a strong inclination to refuse, for M. Cliautepie's soci- 
 ety was becoming more and more distfistetul to him; but he remem- 
 bered that M. Chautepic must know what had become of Mme. 
 Vernelle, and this was a good opportunity to question him in an 
 indirect manner, and without appearing to attach any importance 
 to the matter. 
 
 "Very well,'* he replied, after a moment's reflection. " 1 am 
 going down now. Meet me in the courtyard." 
 
 Chautepie closed the window. The telephone had become mute. 
 Subtiguy slathered up the letters, placed them on the banker's desk, 
 took I'lis hat, and left the room. 
 
 The cfishier was awaiting him at the foot of the stairs, and slip- 
 ping his arm through that of Subligny, he asked, ga3iy: 
 
 " Well, how did the breakfast pass off, and how is your affair with 
 Mademoiselle Clemence progressing?" 
 
 *' What affair?" asked Subligny, coldly. 
 
 *' Your love-affair, ot course. The father was present, 1 know, 
 but he cannot see beyond the end of his nose, and you might easily 
 have scored a pointer two; but unfortunately, I can see by your 
 face, that you have not yet abjured the role ot a silent lover." 
 
 ** 1 never told you that 1 was in love." 
 
 ** True, but it is eas}^ enough to see that you are; and 1 repeat that 
 your success depends entirely upon yourself. "You cannot expect 
 Mademoiselle Clemence to drop into your arms without the askmg, 
 of course. Vernelle and his daughter are going to the Opera 
 Comique this evening. If 1 were in your place, 1 would drop in 
 there, and then go and pay your respects to our employer, who could 
 hardly fail to offer you a seat in his box. It would be strange, in- 
 deed, if some time during the performance, he did not leave you 
 alone with his daughter. In that case, make the most of your op- 
 portunity, and, above all, do not fail to extort from her a promise to 
 marry you. The father will perhaps growl a little when his daugh- 
 ter confesses that she has engaged herself without his permission, 
 but 1 know him — he would give his consent eventually." 
 
 Andie' might have replied that he had already received an invita- 
 tion to join the father and daughter at the theater; but he was un- 
 willing to confide his good foitune to a nian whose intentions he 
 could not consider above suspicion. 
 
 He even felt that the moment had come to put an end to these 
 troublesome importunities. 
 
 * Pardon me," he said, impatiently, ** but 1 really would like to 
 know why you evince so much interest on this subject. You re- 
 minded me this morning that I was under obligations to you. I 
 have nut forgotten the fact, and, though it is my warmest desire 
 to repay the m.oney you advanced to me, 1 am not disposed to submit 
 to unreasonable exactions on your part. 1 would rather confess my 
 fault to Monsieur Vernelle than relinquish to you my right to manage 
 my own affairs according to my liking." 
 
 The shot told. M. Chautepie suddenly changed his tone. 
 
 " You do wrong to take offense, my dear fellow,** he said, with a 
 contrite air. " 1 never once thought of trying to exert any author- 
 ity over you, and Heaven forbid that 1 skould taunt you with the 
 service rendeied you. You are at perfect liberty to many or not, as 
 
60 BABIOLE, THE PRETTY MILLINER. 
 
 you please, of course, only where there is a will, there is a way, and 
 it you are so anxious to tree yourselt trom your debt to me — " 
 
 *" 1 am very anxious to do so, of course, but if Monsieur Vernelle 
 is on the brink of ruin, as you pretend, it is not; by marrying his 
 daughter that 1 shall be able to pa}^ you." 
 
 ** He is in great clanger, but he may escape ruin, for all that. 1 
 hope, indeed, that Bertand will save him; and in any case. Made- 
 moiselle Vernelle will have the fortune of her mother, who married 
 under the dotal regime." 
 
 '* iler mother!" exclaimed Subligny, remembering the scene at 
 the breakfast-table. 
 
 " Yes; she had six hundred thousand francs, which were of grewt 
 assistance to Vernelle in starting his banking-house, and which still 
 remain intact." ] 
 
 " The lady is dead, is she not?" 
 
 ** No, indeed. On the contrary, 1 imagine she is in an excellent 
 state of preservation." 
 
 " What! is not Monsieur Vernelle a widower?" 
 . ** No; unfortunately for him. It is ten years, however, since his 
 wife left him. She ran away one fine morning with a gentleman — 
 who was not her first lover, by any means. Nothing has been 
 heard of her since her flight, and many persons suppose that she u 
 in America. 1 thought you were aware of this, for your father knew 
 it, and 1 am surprised that he never spoke to you about our employ- 
 er's domestic troubles." 
 
 " He never did." 
 
 ** That explains youv ignorance, then. He probably had his rea- 
 sons for being silent. But you seem to be overcome with consterna- 
 tion. How absurd ! Mademoiselle Clemence is not to blame for her 
 mother's delinquencies. I will vouch for her virtue, and j^ou can 
 marry her in all confidence, if your heart prompts you to do so. But 
 here you are at your own door, and as you don't like absinthe, I 
 will leave you. bon't forget my counsels. Strike while the iron is 
 hot, and good luck to you!" 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 Makch had scarcely begun, and yet, strange to say, the weather 
 was delightful — one of those warm springlike evenings which so 
 often presage a coming storm, but vvhich draw even the most quiet 
 Parisians out of doors. 
 
 The boulevards were crowded; and there was a great competitiou 
 for seats in front of the cafea. 
 
 Andre, taking advantage of the pleasant weather, walked to the 
 tlieater, where he was to meet M. Vernelle and his daughter. 
 
 He had dined alone at a little restaurant on the Boulevard Bonne- 
 Nouvelle, and, though he had dressed before dinner, it was still 
 eatly, so he was not obliged to hurry. 
 
 The performance did not begin until nine o'clock, and he did not 
 care to be the first to reach a box in which he now almost regretted 
 having accepted a seat. 
 
 Never had he telt less inclined to en joy the p leasure of listening to 
 really good music. 
 
BABIOLE, THE PRETTY MILLIKER. 61 
 
 M. Chautepie's revelations had indeed filled Andre with profound 
 consternation. Nothing could be more distasteful to hioi ihan the 
 idea of entering into the plans ot this man who was urging him into 
 this marriage with such strange persistence, but who seemed, at the 
 same time, to take pleasure in showing him the skeletons in the 
 Vernelle houseliold; the disgrace that had clouded the past, and the 
 probabilit.y of future ruin. 
 
 Andre understood now why Clemeuce had hung her head, when 
 he spoke of her mother; and he wondered more and more why he 
 had nevei before heard a word in relation to this most unfortunate 
 affair. 
 
 His parents could not have been ignorant of it. Why, then, had 
 they neglected to mention it to him, it only to prevent him from 
 committing a painful blunder, like that of the mornin<T;? They 
 might have foreseen what would happen. 
 
 It was necessary, too, for him to look the situation, as described 
 to him by the cashier, calmly in the face. 
 
 ■ What was Chautepie's object in urging him to marry the banker's 
 daughter? Was it really because he hoped, in this way, to secure 
 the speedy payment of the money advanced to Andre? Subligny 
 was beginning to doubt it, and to wonder if Chautepie was not se- 
 cretly conspirino; against his employer; and if M. Bertand was not 
 in league with him. This speculator, who sent such singular mes- 
 sages through the telephone, did not seem to be very anxious to ex- 
 tricate his partner, Vernelle, from his financial embarrassment. On 
 the contrary, he seemed to think only of saving himself; and judg- 
 ing from what he said, he had succeeded. Hence it seemed very 
 natural to suppose that Chautepie was in league with him, and tliat 
 the two men were betraying the banker to whom they both owed so 
 much. 
 
 Should he denounce them? Andre thought of doing so; but he 
 could furnish no convincing proofs of the justice of his suspicions; 
 besides, he could not forirei that Cfiautepie had saved him by loan- 
 ing him a hundred thousand trancs to replace the money which had 
 disappeared with Louis Marbeuf. Whatever his secret motive might 
 liave been, the act was none the less meritorious, and Andre remained 
 his debtor. 
 
 Andre could not repay this kindness with ingratitude, but he was 
 resolved not to submit to his authority. There was one way to es- 
 cape from it, and but one. 
 
 That was to throw himself at M. Vernelle's feet, tell him all, and 
 leave his late in the hands ot his father's old friend. 
 
 But if he did this, he would be obliged to renounce Clemence. 
 M. Vernelle niight forgive a misdemeanor on the part of his secre- 
 tary, but he would not give his daughter to a man whom his cashier 
 must hold in only mediocre esteem from the fact that he had com- 
 mitted a fault that must appear inexcusable in his eyes. 
 
 Andre lacked the necessaiy courage to do this. While he could 
 not bear the idea of obeying the scarcely disguised orders of h*s 
 benefactor, it cost him still more to sacrifice his dearest hopes. 
 
 And what a moment this would be to retire trom the field I Just 
 as financial ruin seemed about to overtake M. Vernelle, and the 
 
62 BABIOLE, THE PKETTY MILLIKER. 
 
 torraer millionaire's only child was in danger of finding herself witl 
 out a dowry, and without a luture! 
 
 "It would be cowardly," Anare said to himself, as he walked i 
 thoughtfully along the broad sidewalk that borders the Boulevard ; 
 des Italiens. '* Before coming to a decision, ] will await further 
 developments. 1 will display a prudent reserve in my intercourse 
 with the lather and daughter, i will also keep a sharp watch on ' 
 Monsieur Chautepie, and if he ventures to give me advice which is 
 too much like orders, 1 will tell him very plainly that 1 must be 
 allowed to manage my own atlairs, let the result be what it may. 
 
 " Should he declare war against me, 1 shall try to find some weap- 
 ons that will enable me to hold my own. 1 will question the young 
 girl who told me to beware of him. She knows his pas^ and she 
 will tell me what he has done. 
 
 '* Poor Babiole! I have deterred thanking her too long. 1 really 
 owe my lile to her. If she had not come in just as I picked up 
 Marbeuf's revolver, 1 should have been lying under the sod a month. 
 To-morrow is Sunday; I shall be at liberty, and I will take ad- 
 vantage ot the opportunity to go and see her. She will not be at 
 work that day, and 1 hope I shall find her at home. She told me 
 that hei employer sometimes took her to the Champs-Ely sees; but 1 
 will call very early." 
 
 Absorbed in these reflections, Andre reached the intersection of 
 the boulevard and the Rue Marivaux almost before he knew it. 
 
 The performance began at eight o'clock, for a short piece preced- 
 ed the principal one. It w^as now the first intermission, and many 
 of the audience had come out, and were standing on the steps, while 
 many new-comers were just going in, arjd there was a long line of 
 carriages in the street in front of the theater. 
 
 Andre paused a moment, near a new^spaper-stand, to wait until the 
 crush that is always produced when some are going in and others 
 are coming out, should be over. 
 
 He did not think it probable that M. Vernelle had yet arrived, and; 
 he hoped to recognize the banker's carriage as it passed. 
 
 While watching tor it, he suddenly caught sight ot a man whom 
 he fancied he recognized, standing 'on the outer edge of the side-, 
 w^alk. This person, who was of medium height, but very stout, had 
 in his hand an enormous bouquet which was enveloped in paper, 
 and which he seemed to be trying to hide under his overcoat, which 
 was unbuttoned. 
 
 Andre soon saw that he was not mistaken, for a sudden change of 
 attitude disclosed to his view the coarse red face of Bertand, the 
 speculator who had put the telephone to such a good use. 
 
 *' What can he be waiting for?" Andre said to hiriiseU, stepping 
 back in the shadow of the little newspaper pavilion. "Probably 
 , for the creatures he has invited to supper. It is not time yet; but 
 perhaps he sent them to the theater while he attended to some busi- 
 ness at the petite Bourse. Possibly he has learned through his 
 friend, Chautepie, that Monsieur Vernelle will be at the theater this 
 evening, and he does not want to run any risk of meeting him. In 
 either case, 1 did well not to tell Chautepie that 1 was coming, and 
 1 had rather Bertand did not see me." 
 
 Having come to this very sensible conclusion, Audre turned ud 
 
BABIOLE, THE PliETTY MILLINER. 63 
 
 the collar of his overcoat, pulled his hat down over his eyes and 
 kept quiet. 
 
 A tew seconds after he saw a hackney coach draw up beside the 
 curbstone. 
 
 *' Here are the poor creatures this boor has picked up," murmured 
 Subligny, shrugging his shoulders. "1 piiy them with all my 
 heart."' 
 
 M. Bertand sprung forward to open the door, andofterc d his hand 
 to a lady of an uncertain, or rather a certain age, and an imposing 
 embonpoint. 
 
 She almost fell into the arms of the speculator; but it was not for 
 her the bouquet was intended, for he lost no time in getting rid of 
 her, and in turning again to the carriage m which another lady was 
 seated. 
 
 This occupant, however, seemed to be in no haste to alight, and 
 the stout woman, in tact, was obliged to resort to earnest entreaties 
 to induce her to do so. 
 
 She finally stepped out; and while Bertand was paying the coach- 
 man, she took the arm of the matron who accompanied her. 
 
 It was with the utmost difficulty ihat Andre repressed a cry of 
 surprise. 
 
 He had recognized Babiole, and it seemed to him that a dagger 
 had suddenly pierced his heart. 
 
 Still, he was not an unsophisticated j^outh by any means. lie had 
 seen a good deal of life, and under any ordinary circumstances it 
 would not have sui prised him in the least to see a pretty ndlliner 
 accept the attentions of a rich libertine. 
 
 But Babiole was no ordinary person in his eyes; they w^ere bound 
 together b;' a mutual svmpathy, and she had rendered him a service 
 that he could not forget. 
 
 And now all his illusions were rudely dispelled. Instead of the 
 modest and industrious young girl he had supposed her to be, she 
 now appeared to him in thelight of a frivolous and unprincipled 
 creature ready to sell herself to the first comer. 
 
 lie saw Bertand present his bouquet, Babiole refuse it, and the 
 matron accept it, after a series of protestations that seemed inter- 
 minable. 
 
 Grisettes do not usually show such a w^ant of appreciation of the 
 gallantries of wealthy gentlemen; and from his former neighbor's 
 resistance Andre concluded that she was not prepared for ^uch an 
 attention, nor, indeed, for a meeting with this broker. 
 
 That she had come of her own free will w^as unquestionable, nor 
 did that fact compromise her in the least. She had told Subligny 
 that she adored the theater, and that her employer took her there 
 occasionally; but she might be ignorant that this employer had made 
 an appointment with a wielded and unscrupulous man. 
 
 Everything seemed to indicate that this was really the fact. 
 
 The stout, showily-dressed woman had every appearance of being 
 the proprietor of a second-class millinery establishment; and Babi- 
 ole's sulky manner showed plainly enough that Bertand's company 
 was anything but agreeable to her. 
 
 The old scoundrel finally coacluded to beat ^ retreat; but he clid 
 
C4 BABIOLE, THE PRETTY MILLINER. 
 
 not go until after he had held a private conversation with the elder 
 of the two ladies. 
 
 It was short, and evidently satisfactory, for Bertand walked away 
 with a complacent air. 
 
 Babiole and the woman who acted as her chaperon e then entered 
 the theater, and Andre, who had thus far escaped observation, took 
 good care not to show himself. 
 
 This unexpected meeting had changed the whole current of his 
 thoughts. He had not forgotten Mile. Vernelle, but he could not 
 drive from his mind this mere child who had saved his life, and who 
 was now evidently in great danger, exposed as she was to the 
 machinations of an unscrupulous libertine and a shameless creature 
 who accompanied her, not to protect her, but to deliver her into the 
 clutches of a rich accomplice. 
 
 " And shall 1 permit this?'* muttered Andre, stamping his foot 
 angrily. ** 1, who have already delivered her once from the persecu- 
 tion of a passer-by, and whom she has repaid an hundred-fold! 1 
 should indeed be the worst of cowards if I did. I will watch over 
 her during the performance, and when it is over, I will be on hand 
 to see her safely home." 
 
 An instant's reflection moderated this aidor, however. Subligny 
 recollected that it would be impossible tor him to leave M. Yernelle's 
 box during the performance, and that afterward he could not do 
 otherwise than escort his friends to their carriage; besides, Mile. 
 Vernelle had good eyes, and she would not fail to notice if he took 
 it into his head to talk with a young and pretty girl. 
 
 And he was more than ever anxious 'not to offend her, for this 
 evening would perhaps decide his whole destiny. He had no inten- 
 tion of proceeding as hastily as M. Chaiitepie advised; but he had a 
 presentiment that some chance would bring about a decisive explana- 
 tion between Clemence and himself. 
 
 How was he to reconcile these hopes with his resolve to defend 
 Babiole? He finally decided that the best thing for him to do was 
 to give no sign of his presence at the theater, but to be on hand at 
 the critical moment. 
 
 He knew that Bertand intended to take the ladies to the Cafe 
 Heldertosup; consequently, he had only to be in advance of the 
 party and stand guard at the door of the restaurant to prevent the 
 girl from entering it. 
 
 He did not even ask himself if she would accept him as an escort, 
 or what would be the consequences of his interference, and if, for 
 example, Bertand might not take his revenge in telling M. Yernelle 
 that his secretary was the lover of a certain pretty milliner. 
 
 Andre gave the number of the box to an usher, and as he ascend- 
 ed the stairs, he had the mortification of finding that the first act of_ 
 the ** Pre-aux-Clercs " had just begun, 
 
 A lover should never be late. Andre had made a bad beginning. 
 He was obliged to summon all his courage before he ventured to 
 enter the box, for he feared he would be ungraciously received; but 
 a pleasant surprise awaited him. 
 
 Two hands were cordially extended to him; and the father waved 
 him to a seat beside the daughter, who, in turn, smilingly motioiieci 
 
BABIOLE, THE PRETTY MILLIJ^TER. 65 
 
 him to be silent and listen to the music, for the cnitain had risen, 
 and she was unwilling to lose a single note of Herold's music. 
 
 Andre noticed with a sensation of profound relief that M. Vtr- 
 nelle's face was much more serene than in the morning, and he felt 
 satisfied that the business matters which had troubled ihe banker 
 were now satisfactorily adjusted. 
 
 Bertand had probably saved himself by some clever maneuver, 
 and his f)artner had profited by his shrewdness. 
 
 Consequently, Bertand might be a libeitine, but he was not a 
 traitor- and Andre began to feel more amicably disposed toward 
 |lnm, though he was still determiaed to defend Babiole from his 
 machinations. 
 
 But Babiole was soon almost forgotten in ihe happiness he experi- 
 enced in finding himself near Clemence. When she leaned for- 
 ward upon the railmg of the box, her hand grazed that of Andre, 
 and she found his ej^es riveted upon her face whenever she turned 
 her head to see what he thouglit of the air that nad just been sun^. 
 
 And M. Vernelle evidently approved all this, for lie smiled pleas- 
 aatly, and his face wore a softened expression that his secretary had 
 never seen upon it before. 
 
 Besides, was not the seat he had assigned to Andre suflScient proof 
 of his cordial approval? His acquainlances certainly thought so. 
 To show them his daughter seated beside Andre, in this public 
 pLce, was, in their opinion, at least, quite equivalent to an announce- 
 ment that the 3^oung man would soon become his son-in-law. 
 
 The act seemed all too short to Subligny, though he scarcely 
 heard a note of the music. In fact, he did not even see the smgers. 
 He had eyes only for his pretty neighbor; and it was only by chance 
 that, just as the curtain fcil, he glanced down at the family circle 
 land perceived Babiole looking up at him. 
 
 He colored and drew back, but Babiole had recognized him, for 
 she, too, blushedo Ail this escaped IMlle, Vernelle's notice, however. 
 
 *' What adoraoie music! ' she exclaimed- " Do you admire it 
 as much as i do? 1 was never so happy, and 1 should like every 
 one around me to share my happiness/* 
 
 Andre was about to assure her that he was in the seventh heaven 
 of deiightj but the banker checked him by saying, gayly: 
 
 'It is 1, mv dears, who am the happiest of" all. In the first place, 
 because you both are itiappy, and in the second place, because 1 feel 
 so nmch better this evening The improvement, perhaps, is due 
 to the fact that 1 took no bromide before dinner. But the best 
 news 1 have reserved for the last My credit is saved. My house 
 jhas just successfully weathered the worst storm it has ever en- 
 countered ' 
 
 '^What, father, you are talking business here!'' interrupted 
 Clemence. ' If that is the effect the ' Preaux Clercs ' has upon 
 
 you-"* 
 
 " That is just like a young girU You cannot realize that 1 have 
 jbeen on the verge of ruin Only this morning 1 had no expectation 
 |of avoiding it. "That was the reason 1 was so depressed in spirits. 
 jFinaDy an inspiration occurred to me. The decline of securities 
 jwas ruining m.e, but 1 sent Bertand word to sell twice as much an i 
 bnn purQbai^^ci during th^ pa^t mouth. I risked my all, and was 
 
66 BABIOLE, THE PRETTY MILLIITBR. .. . 
 
 SO anxious that 1 did not have courage to go to the Bourse. Stocks 
 will be still lower to-morrow, but now I shall not only lose nothing; 
 but make a million and a half. * ^^. 
 
 ** Your dowry, my dear child," he added with a furtive glance'ltj 
 Andre, who scarcely knew whether to be glad or sorry. _?t^ 
 
 ** Then you have doubtless seen Monsieur Bertand?'* he sai<*f,3 
 timidly. -"^ t 
 
 *' No, though I am rather surprised that he did not come to see^i 
 me after the Bourse closed. He has been too busy, however, to even ' 
 send me a memorandum of the day's operations. But I know him 
 too well to feel the slightest anxiety. Besides, he, too, must have 
 been exceedingly anxious, tor he had as much at stake as 1 had." 
 
 ** He annouQced the great victory to Monsieur Chautepie by tele- 
 phone." 
 
 ** There, 1 was sure of it. Chautepie should have informed me, 
 however ' ' 
 
 ** But you had not returned when he left the office, sir." 
 
 ** That is true. 1 was detained by reason of the Marseilles failure. 
 There, unfortunately, we can expect nothing. They will not pay 
 fifty cents on a dollar. But my good luck of to-day consoles me. 
 and when I am happy, 1 desire every one around me to be happy. 
 What can 1 do for you, my dear Andre?" 
 
 *' For me? why,'^sir, you have loaded me with benefits now. I 
 4esire nothing." 
 
 *' Is that really true?" inquired M. Vernelle, a little mischiev- 
 ously. 
 
 *• Well, 1 desire only one thing, that 1 may never leave you, and 
 that you may always be equally fortunate in your business opera- 
 tions." 
 
 ** 1 too hope that you will never leave mo," said the banker, gen- 
 tly, ** but you cannot always hold the position of secretary. It does 
 very well now, while you are young; but by and by you must have 
 something better. Besides, you forget your mother. I am sure she 
 cannot be reconciled to the idea of always being apart from you." 
 
 ** My mother could easily be persuaded to come to Paris to live." 
 
 *' Yes, if you had a permanent position— an assured future. It 
 you were married, for mstance, especially, well married." 
 
 '* That is a dream which 1 fear will never be realized." 
 
 *' But why, my dear friend? Is it because you are too hard to 
 
 *' Possibly," faltered Subiigny, with a furtive glance at Clemence, 
 >fvho was toying with her fan to hide her blushes 
 
 ** That is a pity, but on the other hand, it is better than being too jl 
 modest. Ambition is an excellent thing in a young man. and it is j| 
 certainly no disadvantage to him to have an ideal. 1 have some ji 
 curiosity to know yours You would wish to love your fvife, aud I 
 to be loved by her, ot course, but you would perhaps require some- j 
 thing more, wea th, for example/' | 
 
 ** No, sir, bv no manner of means. 1 would much rather marry a I 
 young girl without a dowry, provided she has courage enough to J 
 link her fate with mme 1 would toil unremittingly to make her i 
 rich, and I am sure that * should succeed," 
 
BABIOLE, THE PKETTY MILLIKER. 67 
 
 " These sentiments do you honor. But what if you should hap- 
 pen to tall in love with an heiress?*' 
 
 *' That would be very unfortunate, for I fear she would suspect 
 me ot mercenary motives." 
 
 •* But what would you do in such a case?** 
 
 *' 1 think that I should wait until my fortune was equal to hers, 
 before declaring my love— and as 1 have nothing — ** 
 
 *' You might as well say that you would pray lor her to lose all 
 her money," M. Vernelle interrupted, laughing. "You are hard 
 upon the daughters of millionaires. If your ideas on the subject of 
 marriage should become general, well dowered young ladies will be 
 reduced to marrying fortune-hunters. It is not their fault, however, 
 that their parents have fco much money; and it seems very unjust to 
 make them bear the penalty ot their lathers* crimes. Ask Clemence 
 what she thinks of your tUeories." 
 
 ** I think they are very wrons;,'* replied Mile. Vernelle, unhesitat- 
 ingly. •* If we are to believe Monsieur Subligny, one has perfect 
 control over one's heart. But does one ever know whom he is going 
 to love? And when one loves, does one trouble one's self about 
 secondary considerations? If 1 gave my heart to any one, it would 
 be his beyond recall.** 
 
 *• That is going to the opposite extreme. How would it be if you 
 should become enamored of a person who proved to be a thief, for 
 instance?*' 
 
 Clemence made a slight grimace as if to indicate that such a sup- 
 position was absurd; but Andre turned pale, and averted his face. 
 
 He remembered that the written admission of his crime was in M. 
 Chautepie's hands, and that the cashier had only to produce it to 
 ruin him. 
 
 *' There is a happy medium between your extravagant ideas and 
 the exaggerated scruples of our young friend,** remaiked M. Ver- 
 nelle. ** Upon this point, 1 am a sort of a left center; and that is 
 the stand 1 should recommend to you two, if you ever expect to 
 come to an understanding.*' 
 
 *' I am ready to make all due concessions, I am sure,'* laughed 
 Clemence. 
 
 Andre dared not reply, but his eyes spuke for him. 
 
 ** 1 see that you aie really both of tne same mind,'* continued the 
 banker. ** Y^'ou, Andre, forget the power of time and circumstances 
 to reduce every one to an equality. 1 but narrowly escaped ruin to- 
 day, and 1 may be irretrievably ruined to-morrow, while you possess 
 an inalienable capital; youth, intelligence, and industry. Witk 
 these attributes, one is sure to make one's fortune. Your feelings, 
 Clemence, 1 think I understand thoioughly; but suppose you let 
 me hear a description of your ideal." 
 
 "Ah, well, 1 desire, above all, that my husband should be brave 
 and good. 1 would have him love me for myself, love me forever, 
 and never love anyone but me, for 1 should be very jealous ot him, 
 and 1 should never forgive him if he deceived me.*'* 
 
 ** Id a word, you are dreaming of mental perfection. Now as t6 
 physical attributes?*' 
 
 *' I should be less exacting in that respect. 1 should be perfectly 
 
68 BABIOLE, THE PRETTY MILLIN^ER. 
 
 satisfied if he had a pleasant and intelligent face, distinguished 
 manner, and if he were tall, slender, and had light hair." 
 
 "Enougli, enough! Andre will certainly think you are talking 
 about him." 
 
 Clemence smiled, instead of replying, but the smile was equiva- 
 lent to a " yes " distinctly uttered in the presence of a magistrate. 
 
 Andre cut a rather sorry figure, and there are few men who would 
 not have been equally embarrassed under like circumstances. A 
 fortune-hunter would have gotten out of the dilemma by taking 
 advantage of the opportunity to make an eloquent declaration of 
 love; but Andre was too much in love to have his wits about him, 
 and his very awkwardness attested his sincerity. 
 
 M. Vernelle came to his aid. 
 
 He had become serious again, and now looking straight at both of 
 them, he said: 
 
 *' You understand— do you not?— that I have read your hearts, and 
 that when 1 thus questioned you in a jesting way, it was for me 
 purpose of inducing you to confess your mutual love. This is not 
 customary, 1 know, in the society in which we move, but 3 detest 
 false positions, and I thought it quite time to define yours. Am 1 
 mistaken?" 
 
 ** If we were not here at the theater, 1 would certainly kiss you I" 
 exclaimed Clemence. 
 
 '* Oh, sir," began Subligny in a voice broken with emotion, *' how 
 can 1 over—" 
 
 ** No protestations, my dear friend," interposed the banker, 
 ** and above all, do not thank me. That would be premature. 1 
 must have a conversation with you to-morrow. There are several 
 facts which you are ignorant ot, but which you must know before 
 pledging yourself. 
 
 " In the meantime, you must be content with pressing the hand 
 my daughter extends to you." 
 
 Andre did not need a second bidding. He was weeping with joy, 
 and Clemence, who was equally agitated, dropped her eyes to con- 
 ceal her tears. 
 
 They forgot, for an instant, that they were pliffhtiug their troth 
 before hundreds of spectators, for the theater was full, and those 
 present were taking advantage of the entr'acte to turn their opera 
 glasses on the boxes. 
 
 But what did they care for this scrutiny? They were thinking 
 only of their happiness. Andre was overpowered by it, and 
 Clemence, though perhaps not equally unprepared for it, enjoyed 
 it no less, for she had not expected that her father would so prompt- 
 ly consent to a desire that she had not yet dared to express. 
 
 ** Calm yourself, children, and turn to the audience," continued 
 M. Vernelle. '* People are looking at us, and 1 don't care to per- 
 sonate in public the benignant father who gives away his daughter 
 on the stage." The lovers turned and simultaneously caught sight 
 of Babiole, who was devouring them with hei eyes. 
 
 She did even more. As Andre caught her eyes, she bowed to 
 him, smilingly. 
 
 Mile. Vernelle noticed the fact, aod turiiing to Subligny inquired 
 ^ith surprise? 
 
BABIOLE, THE PRETTY MILLIKER. 69 
 
 " Are you acquainled wilh that young: girl?" 
 
 "I have met her once," replied Andre. "She resides in the 
 house where 1 stayed a short time with a friend, betore taking up my 
 quarters on the Rue Rougemout." 
 
 ** Il'ou liave seen her but once, and yet she recognizes you. She 
 must have a remarkable memory. She certainly has a very pretty 
 face. What does she do?" 
 
 " She is a milliner, 1 believe/' 
 
 *' But you are not sure of it," said Clemence, rather ironically. 
 
 "She usually left ihe house very early with a band-box in her 
 hand, so 1 always supposed she was going to some shop." 
 
 Mile. Yernelle said no more, but Andre saw very plainly that she 
 suspected him of not telling the whole truth. 
 
 He could not enter into any explanation, so he was silent, though 
 he secretl}^ anathematized Bertand who had provided the two ladies 
 with seats so nearly opposite M. Vernelle's box. 
 
 It did not sf em at all probable that Bertand had done this inten- 
 tionall}', however, for he would naturally feel anxious to conceal 
 his escapades. It is true, though, that he had not shown himself, 
 and that everytbinir seemed to indicate that he would content him- 
 self with waiting for Babiole at the door of the theater. 
 
 The curtain rose again, and all conversation ceased, but Clemence 
 was no longer listening to the music. She had picked up her 
 father's opera-glass, and had levelled it at an opposite box, the door 
 of which had just been thrown noisily open, but which had until 
 now been vacant. 
 
 Andre w^as troubling himself very little about what was going on 
 around him, but as he sat with his eyes riveted upon the face of his 
 betrothed, he fancied that he perceived an unmistakable palior 
 creeping over it. 
 
 Almost immediately Clemence passed the glass to her father, at 
 the same time directing his attention to the box which had just 
 been invaded by a rather noisy party. 
 
 M. Vernelle turned the glass in that direction, and Andre noticed 
 with very natural astonishment, that the longer lie gazed the more 
 distressed his countenance became. A moment afterward the father 
 rose abruptly, and said to his daughter in a strained, unnatural 
 voice : 
 
 '* Come, let us go." 
 
 Clemence had already risen to her feet, and turned her back to 
 the audience. Her father, too, had retreated to the rear of the box 
 and seemed to be waiting for her with great impatience. Andre, 
 springiug up, and hastening to him, exclaimed: 
 
 *' What! sir, are you going?" 
 
 **I am compelled to do so," replied Monsieur Vernelle, curtly. 
 *' You, my friend, had better remain — " 
 
 *' 1 do not care to, sir, if you — " 
 
 '' Remain, 1 beg. 1 would much prefer that you did not accom- 
 pany us. Do not ask me lor any explanation. 1 can not give it to 
 you here. To-morrow you shall know all. 1 do not regret having 
 come, since I can noA^ call you my son," he added, pressing Sub- 
 ligny's hand cordially, " but nothing in the world could induce m© 
 to remain another moment in this accursed theater.'' 
 
70 BABIOLE, THE PRETTY MILLIIS'EK. 
 
 Cl^mence was so deeply agitated that she quite forgot to say 
 good-by to Andre; indeed, 8ho left the bcx almost without looking 
 at him. Her father loUowed her, and immediately closed the door 
 behind him. 
 
 All this was done so hastily that Andre found himself alone before 
 he had time to say another woid, or gain any insight into the cause 
 ot this abrupt departure. 
 
 What could have made the banker leave the theater in the middle 
 of the programme, and just as he had made two pers(>ns happy by 
 bestowing his daughter's hand on his secretary. 
 
 Andre felt sure that this hurried flighi was in some way con- 
 nected with the advent of the occupants of the opposite box. Who 
 could these people be? Certainly not creditors, for the banker had 
 none; besides, the creditors of a merchant prince are not like pitiless 
 tradesmen w^ho do not hesitate to press their claims whenever they 
 chance to meet a delinquent debtor. Nor did it seem probable that 
 M. Vernelle had enemies sufHciently dangerous and powerful for 
 him to be afraid to meet them face to face. 
 
 Consequently it was necessary to seek some other explanation of 
 his precipitate flight, for he had not simply beat a retreat as one 
 does when one wishes to avoid a disagreeable meeting, he had fled 
 in the literal acceptation of the word, — fled wiihout stopping to look 
 behind him, dragging hisdaughter off with him with as much haste 
 and trepidation as if threatened wiih imminent danger. 
 
 The simplest way was to begin by CKamining the person who had 
 perhaps unwittingly produced this efl:ect. On seating himself in 
 the chair Clemence had just vacated Andre perceived upon the railing 
 of the box the lorgnette which, in his agitation, M. Vernelle had for- 
 gotten. 
 
 Before making use of it, how^ever, he used his eyes and saw that 
 the box in question was occupied by a woman and two men. 
 
 The woman was sparkling with diamonds; and her companions 
 were attired in the height of fashion. 
 
 Subiigny became more and more puzzled to understand why this 
 fashionable group had so terrified the banker. 
 
 He picked up the opera glass, and as it was an excellent one, he 
 was able to subject the faces which so much interested him to a 
 careful examination. 
 
 One of the gentlemen was old; the other seemed to be about 
 thirty, certainly not more. 
 
 The elder one was a thorough aristocrat in appearance, with gray 
 mustache and side whiskers, a decided tendency to baldness, keen 
 eyes and a scornful mouth. 
 
 The yoimger man was remarkably handsome, with the pallid 
 complexion so many womtn rave over, very red lips and dazzling 
 white teeth which he seemed not at all averse to showing. His 
 attire was irreproacliable, his manner quite as befits a man of the 
 world, and his bearmg diijinitied without stiffness. 
 
 But in spite of all these atlrac(ions, the tout ensemble was not 
 pleasina:, at least so far as Sublignv was able to judge, at such a 
 distance. 
 
 The man was too handsome not to be vain of his beauty; and the 
 
BABIOLE, THE PKETTY MILLINER. 71 
 
 haus^bty carelessness of demeanor he affected was not altogether 
 natural. 
 
 ** If he were a Frenchman I would be willing to swear that he 
 has not always displayed his dress-coat in the proscenium boxes; 
 but he is eviaenlly a foieiirner, a South American, 1 should judge 
 trom appearances. The other is also a foreigner, but not of the 
 same nationalily. " 
 
 He next extended his scrutiny to the lady, and instantly decided 
 that she must either have been born in France, or that she had spent 
 many years in Paris. She was perfectly at home in the box, though 
 a host of lorgnettes were directed upon her, and her toilet was in 
 exquisite taste. 
 
 She must have possessed remarkable beauty in former years; but 
 of hex early charms there now remained only regular features, a 
 regal presence and superb shoulders which she displayed freely. 
 
 Her face was a won? of art due to the skillful use of cosmetics of 
 all the colors of the rainbow ; but the effect w^as pleasing, especially 
 at a distance, and the dark-complexioned young man ^ho accom- 
 panied htr did not seem to object to it, for he often leaned over to 
 whisper in her ear. 
 
 He occupied a seat behind her, and indulged in frequent confi- 
 dential remarks which did not appear to trouble in the least the 
 composure of the elderly man, who seemed to be devoting his 
 attention exclusively to a pretty soubrette who was frisking about 
 the stage. 
 
 '* What a singular trio!" Andre said to liimself. ** Is it the wife, 
 the husband and the lover? Whether 1 am mistaken in this sup- 
 position or not, 1 cannot understand what these persons have in 
 common wnth Monsieur Vernelle, and, above all, with his daughter, 
 who certainly turned pale on perceiving them. How dirt she make 
 the acquaintance of this superannuated coquette? Clemence has 
 but just entered society, and that stout lady must have shone there 
 before Clemence was born. 1 must certainly be on the w^oug track; 
 and it was not the entrance of this ill-assorted group that drove 
 Mademoiselle Vernelle and her father from the theater. They may 
 have seen a Medusa's head somewhere, but not in that box; and I 
 am not sufficiently Acquainted with their affairs to discover it, so I 
 will abandon the attempt." 
 
 Moreover, there were many other matters on his mind besides that 
 of solving tlie mystery which his employer had promised to disclose 
 to him on the morrow. 
 
 He had been transported with delight by the betrothal improvised 
 by M. Vernelle; but Babiole had marred his joy by her inopportune 
 greeting. He felt that a vague distrust had stolen into Clemence's 
 heart, and he was a tritle angry with the pretty milliner for having 
 bowed to him so familiarly. Love is selfish, and Sabligny began to 
 ask himself it it would not be wrong for him to trouble the peace of 
 his promised wife for the sake of defending the possible virtue of a 
 girl for whom he felt only friendship and gratitude. 
 
 He glanced at her, and saw that her undivided attention was now 
 given to the opera. She seemed to have devoted herself entirely to 
 
72 BABIOLE, THE PRETTY MILLINER. f? 
 
 the pleasure of listening to a delightful melody. Just then, they, 
 were singing — 
 
 " Les rendezvous de noble compa^nie 
 Se donnent tons en channant js^jour," 
 
 and certainly the words could evoke no recoiled ion of the corpulent 
 speculator who was waiting to inviie her to sup with him at the 
 Hehler. 
 
 Andre felt as if he W( re stifling in the crowded house; he realized, 
 too, the necessity of having time for letlection before deciding 
 whether he should conslitute himself Babiole's champion, or aban- 
 don her to her fate. 
 
 He left the box, and went out in \\\q foyer to get a breath of fresh 
 air. expecting to see no one there before tlie close of the act. 
 
 But it was decreed that he should encounter surprise after sur- 
 prise that evening, tor he had scarcely set foot in the corridor before 
 he found himself face to face with M. Bert and. 
 
 He tried to avoid him, but (he speculator stopped him and said: 
 
 *' What! is this you, young man? 1 did not expect to see you at 
 the Opera Comique this evening. What the devil brought you 
 here?" 
 
 " The same that brought you. probal/y,'' replied Sutligny, dryly. 
 •* 1 came to hear the ' Pre-auxClercs.' " 
 
 '* 1 did not, and it seems to me that you yourself aie not occupied 
 in that way juv,t at the present time. 1 was in the hall a moment, 
 but did noi see you. Wn<re is your seal?" 
 
 Andre was strongly tempted to reply, " What business is it of 
 yours?" But he concluded it would not be advisable to quarrel 
 openly with a man whose business interests v/ere so closely allied 
 Willi those of Clemence's father, so he merely answered: 
 
 * Monsieur Vernelle had the goodness to oiler me a seat in his 
 box." 
 
 '* Vernellel" exclaimed the broker. *' Is Vernelle at the theater 
 this evening? He must have lost his senses." 
 
 ** 1 tail to understand 3'ou." 
 
 ** Is he still here?" 
 
 *' No, sir; he just left in company with Mademoiselle Clemence.'*. 
 
 " !So he brought his daughter 1 That certainly' caps the climax!" 
 
 " You would oblige me very much, sir, if you would explain your 
 meaning moie clearly," said Andre, impatiently. " Such astonish- 
 ment on 3^our part seems to me quit*^ uncalled for." 
 
 " Explain! oh, certainly. Know, then, young man, that Vernelle 
 made a great mistake in attending the opera this evening— a mistake 
 he now regrets bitterly, I assure you." 
 
 *' And why, it you please?" 
 
 *'For two reasons. The first, j^ou know only too welL The 
 second is that Madame \ernelle, his wife, is enthroned in one ot 
 the boxes, escorted by her protector, and by the lover she favors in 
 secret." 
 
 Had a thunderbolt burst at Andre's feet it coidd not have filled 
 him with greater consternation than this coarse respcmse. 
 
 He understood at List. M. Chautepie's insinuations recurred to 
 \\\A memory He had contei:led liimselt with saying that Mme. 
 
BABIOLE, THE PRETTY MILLIKER. 15 
 
 Vernelle had left her husband. Bertand ddw openly asserted that 
 she had sunk to the lowest possible level; and everything seemed to 
 indicate that he did not exagcrerate in the least. 
 
 Andre now understood only too well why Ciemenee had been so 
 anxious to escape from the sight ot her degraded niother. 
 
 So this was the family skeleton, thestain to which he was probably 
 indebted tor a favorable answer to his suit. The millionaire accepted 
 his secretary for a son-in-law because he could find no other. A man 
 can marry the daughter of a woman who has sinned in secret; but 
 he can not marry the daughter ot a woman who parades her shame. 
 '* 1 am not surprised that Vernelle left,'* sneered Bertand. " One 
 may, indeed, be a philosophical husband, and yet not like to meet 
 the hussy who has run away from him with some other man. It 
 serves Vernelle right, though. This will teach him to hire opera 
 boxes on a day like this!" 
 
 Andre did not notice this last remark. He could think only of 
 the ruin that had just overtaken his hopes. 
 
 ** What is the "matter with you?" inquired Bertand. ** One 
 would think you had just been stunned by a brickbat. Your em- 
 ployer has stood it for ten years, as every one knows, and he must 
 be used to it by this time. 1 see no reason why you should appear 
 so inconsolable. What difference does it make to you, if Vernelle 
 is the laughing stock of all Paris? The ridicule does not fall upon 
 his secretary. " Ah ! if it was his financial embarrassment we were 
 talking about, 1 should understand your apparent perturbation, for 
 you must naturally feel some anxiety lest you should lose your 
 place." 
 
 ** 1 can hardly think of self when my benefactor has just been so 
 cruelly wounded," replied Andre, dryly; " and you certainly might 
 have told me a little less coarsely that his wife conducts herself like 
 the vilest of creatures. ' ' 
 
 " Is it possible that you were ignorant of the fact? Why, where 
 can you have kept yourself? Vernelle's domestic misfortunes are 
 known to everybody. 1 don't think he cares much about it himself; 
 but it will be a difficult task for him to marry off his daughter, 
 now, especially. His faithless spouse must be a pretty hard case to 
 return to France. While she was disportiog herself in foreign coun- 
 tries, no one thought very much about the matter; and in fact, it 
 was almost forgotten. But 1 was talking just now with a very well 
 posted broker, who told nie that the old hussy was about to take up 
 her abode in the Champs-Elysees, in great splendor and at the ex- 
 pense of that old nobleman who is sitting in the box beside her. The 
 other man is a fellow that she picked up at Monaco, and that she 
 provides for. 1 don't know what Vernelle will do to stop this 
 scandal; but it must be admitted that the poor man has had hard 
 luck for some time past." 
 
 Each word uttered by Bertand had stabbed Andre to the heart. 
 It seemed to him that the man took a malicious pleasure in tor- 
 menting him; and, moreover, there had been in his remarks, sundry 
 covert allusions that were beginning to excite the 3^oung secretary's 
 anxiety. 
 
 " To be ridiculed and ruined, both at the same time, is certainly 
 too much," continued the speculator 
 
14: BABIOLE, THE t>RETTY MILLINEB. 
 
 ** Ruined!" exclaimed Subligny. " What do j^ou say?" 
 
 '* I am only saying what everybody l^nows. Vernelle has been 
 buying heavily of late aud at very high prices. He has already met 
 with enormous losses; and to-night, alfter the close of the Bourse, 
 there was a fuither declme of two francs. He has also lost heavily 
 by a failure in Marseilles. You can draw your own conclusions, 
 my dear fellow." 
 
 ** Pardon me, sir," leplied Andre, greatly excited. "Monsieur 
 Vernelle sold out in time, as you must know better than any one 
 else." 
 
 ** This is the first intimation I have received of the tact." 
 
 ** You forget that Monsieur Vernelle gave you orders to sell twice 
 as much as he had puichased." 
 
 ** He did nothing of the kind. It is his own fault, too, if he has 
 been caught, for 1 warned him. But he is as obstinate as a mule; 
 and he refused to listen to me. So much the worse for him!" 
 
 ** Sir," began Andre, angrily, '* Monsieur Vernelle just told me 
 the exact opposite of wiiat you assert. One of you must have lied 
 to me, aud it certainly was not he." 
 
 ** Y'^ou will soon find that it was not 1. 1 have done with my 
 own securities exactly what he refused to do, and have cleared 
 quite a handsome amount by the operation, while he may think 
 himself lucky if he finds himself able to pay up his indebtedness at 
 the end of the month. If he does, it will take all he has in the 
 world." 
 
 ** Tlianks to the treachery of which he has been the victinj." 
 
 ** What treachery? Do you mean to insinuate that 1 received the 
 order to sell, and that 1 retrained from executing it?" 
 
 ** You lead my thoughts perfectly." 
 
 ** Young man, are you aware that you are making a very good 
 charge against me?" 
 
 ** Perfectly well aware of it, sir." 
 
 ** You will at least be compelled to prove it." 
 
 *'Do you dare to assert that you have acted in an honest and 
 honorable manner in protecting your own interests and neglecting 
 those of your partner?" 
 
 *• Vernelle Is not my partner, though he invested a certain amount 
 of money in my business, it is true. He consequently has an inter- 
 est in it, and he will have his share of my profits from this day's 
 transactions; but the stocUs with which he so foolishly loaded him- 
 self down, were purchased in his own name, and tor his own 
 benefit. 1 do not play for such high stakes and 1 watch over my 
 mterests myself. If Vernelle is ruined, he owes it to his unpardon- 
 able carelessness. Here is a banker who has been in business thirty 
 years, aud who has an immense amount of money at stake, anil yet, 
 this gentleman does not even take the trouble to acsertain if an 
 order of vital importance has been received by his agent, or even to 
 come to the Bourse on the day his fate is to be decided. You must 
 confess that this is, at least, very strange." 
 
 " 1 am not criticising Monsiuur Vernelle's conduct, but yours; 
 and 1 do not hesitate to declare that it has been dastardly in the ex 
 treme. Y^ou knew that he was very much occupied, and that the 
 decline was likely to continue, ana yet you would not take the \ 
 
BABIOLE, THE PRETTY MILLINER. "^O 
 
 trouble to consult your best customer before tiie hour of closing the 
 Bourse." 
 
 " I did consult him yesterday. 1 even begged him to sell but he 
 would not listen to me. It is possible that he thought better of it 
 during the night: but it was his place to come and see me." 
 
 *' And after ihe closing of the Bourse, you did not inform him of 
 the loss he had sustained?" 
 
 *• 1 sent him a report as usual; he will find it on his return home. 
 He w^ould have received it much earlier, if the unfortunate idea of 
 attending the Opera Comique had not occurred to him. He chose 
 a strange time to take his daughter to the opera." 
 
 ** But you are here!" 
 
 ** It is very different with me, young man. I have made a great 
 deal of money to-day, and i certainly have a riirht to enjoy myself, 
 for I can not see why 1 should deprive myself of a little innocent 
 amusement merely because old Vernelle has been unfortunate in 
 some of his speculations." 
 
 " Very well; 1 have no desire to interfere with your di7ersions; 
 but we will see what Monsieur Vernelle thinks of youi conduct." 
 
 '* He can think whatever he likes. It makes no difference to me. 
 I have been perfectly fair in all my dealings with him. 
 
 " And now, sir, I have one word of advice to give you. You 
 are young, and too enthusiastic. You will learn, to your cost, that 
 it is not well to espouse the cause of others too warmly. Vernelle 
 is a veritable Old Man of the Sea. You had better seek a plank to 
 save yourself from drowning elsewhere, tlian in his house. Still, 
 you are, of course, at perlect liberty to do as you please." 
 
 As he concluded, Beitand turned on his heel and left the foyer. 
 
 Andre felt a wild desire to kick him out of the opera house, but 
 the grief that oppressed his heart overcame his anger, and he allowed 
 the scoundrel to depart without the chastisement he deserved. 
 
 So Andre was left alone, a prey to the deepest consternation, and 
 nearly crushed by the terrible revelations that had been made to 
 him so abruptly. 
 
 His misery, too, seemed all the harder to bear from the fact that 
 the transition from unspeakable happiness had been so sudden. 
 
 What was he to do, now? Give up Clemence, retire from the 
 field? It was not M. Vernelle's financial ruin that would deter liim 
 from marr3M'ng her. But how were the father and daughter to be 
 deliveied from the infamous mother. If he did not succeed in accom- 
 plishing this, how could he endure his life after he had married 
 Mile. Veinelle? What would his mother say, when she learned the 
 disgrace that tainted his bride's parentage. And she could not fail 
 to learn this sooner or later, for, according to the terms of the law, 
 Clemence, before she could marry, must have the consent of this 
 woman who had brought her into the world, but who was so utterly 
 unlike her. Mme. Subligny undoubtedly supposed that the banker 
 was a widower, as she had never spoken to her son about any Mme. 
 Vernelle. What a blow it would be to her when she heard the 
 truth! 
 
 These harrowing thoughts reduced Andre to the depths of de- 
 Bpuir. Indeed, he began lo fear that he was going mad; and anx- 
 
?6 BABIOLE, THE PBETTY MILLINER. 
 
 ious to leave this foyer where his happiness had received its death- 
 blow, he returned to tlie box just as the act was concluding. 
 
 What impelled him to return to the place where Jie had sal only 
 a few moments before beside her he loved, he would have tound it 
 difficult to explain; but it was probably the same instinct that 
 makes the wretched revisit the places where they have suffered. 
 
 Many of the audience had gone out, but the party in tbe opposite 
 box was still there. 
 
 Babiole was chatting with her neighbor, but she must have sud- 
 denly become conscious of Andre's presence, for she turned and 
 glanced up at him. 
 
 But when she perceived him, imitead ot smilinar at him, as she 
 had done the first time, she made a gesture that seemed to signify: 
 
 " 1 wish to speak to you. Wait for me at the door of the theater.'* 
 
 Andre w^as more than willing to comply with this request. In the 
 first place, there was no longer any leason for practising reserve, as 
 JVllle. Vernelle was no longer there, and in the second place, he was 
 delighted to find an opportunity to make himself obnoxious to M. 
 Beriand, for he mistrusted that Babiole's chaperone had said some- 
 thing about taking supper with the gentleman who presented the 
 bouquet, and that the young girl being determined not to accept the 
 invitation, wished to make sure of the protection of her former 
 neighbor on leaving the theater. 
 
 Andre looked around for Bertand, and soon discerned him lying 
 in ambush, as it were, in a dark corner, like a wily spider watching 
 for a poor little fly. He even fancied that he detected the broker 
 exchanging signs with the stout woman who accompanied Babiole, 
 and he secretly vowed to defeat her vile plans. 
 
 He pretended not to see Bertand, and yielding to the strange fas- 
 cination an unpleasant si^ht always exercises over a nervous man, 
 he gazed persistently at the occupants of the opposite box. 
 
 The elder man was asleep in his armchair; the lover was standing 
 in a studied attitude, with the evident expectation of creating a sen- 
 sation by bis charms of person and figure; the lady was using her 
 opera glass perseveringly, and it was not long before Subligny dis- 
 covered that her lorgnette was certainly icv^eled at him. 
 
 Vv'hy was she gazmg at him so peisistently? It was quite impos- 
 sible that she bad seen either her husband or her daughter, for she 
 had scarcely taken her seat when they left the box. Consequently, 
 it could not be on their account that she was studying him as a con- 
 noisseur of feminine loveliness studies a professional beauty. 
 
 boon the lover, apparently annoyed by this performance, bent 
 down to whisper a few words to the lady, who, nevertheless, per- 
 sisted in her scrutiny. 
 
 *' I really believe he is jealous ot me," muttered Andre. ** 1 will 
 reassure him, and show the w^oman the disgust 1 feel for her." 
 
 So he turned his back upon them, giving Babiole a glance tliat 
 said plainly: " Count upon me;" then, talking the opera-glass tor- 
 gotten by Clemeuce, he hastily left the box. 
 
 A moment afterward he was on the boulevard where he took refuge 
 in the same spot from which he had witnessed Bertand's introduce 
 lion to Babiole. 
 
BABIOLE, THE PRETTY MILLi:brER. 77 
 
 The newspapei boys passed, shouting: '* Great Panic at the 
 Bourse. Latest News from Tonquin!'* 
 
 The latest news from Tonquin interested him but slightly; but the 
 anuouuceiiient of the panic only aroused his anxiety atresh, and.re- 
 minded him that even now, M. Vernelle still considered himself rich. 
 What awakening would be his on the morrow! Andre thought 
 vaguely of strangling the traitor Bertand, feeling almost certain that 
 he'll ;!d betrayed his partner. 
 
 When the people began to leave the opera-house, Andie stationed 
 himself at the corner of the Rue Marivaux, so that Babiole could 
 not pass without seeing him. 
 
 He had scai cely taken his stand there before he perceived M. 
 Bertand at the door of the stairway leading to the private rooms of 
 the Cafe Anglais. 
 
 Bertand had seen him, but he evinced no inclination to cross the 
 street to speak to him. 
 
 i^'ive minutes afterward Babiole appeared, leaning on the stout 
 lady's aim, and came straight toward Andre, in spite ol the efforts 
 of her companion to get her on the other side ot the street. 
 
 Andre stepped forward to meet her, bowled to her as deferentially 
 as he would have bowed to any fine lady, and said, quietly: 
 
 " 1 am at your service, mademoiselle." 
 
 Babiole instantly let go her hold on her companion's arm and 
 took that ot Andre, saying, steadily, as she did so: 
 
 "1 tnank you, madame, for the very pleasant evening 1 have 
 passed; but it is not necessary for you to trouble yourself any fuither. 
 1 am very near home; besides, this gentleman will have the kindness 
 to see me safely to my own door," 
 
 *' Why, mademoiselle,** exclaimed the matron, **you know very 
 well tnat w^e are expected — " 
 
 " To take supper with a friend of 3^ours. Yes, madame, but 1 am 
 not hungry, and 1 am sleepy. Consequently, 1 beg you will allow 
 me to wish you o:ood- night— and a good appetite," added the girl 
 mischievously. 
 
 Bertand had hastened up to listen to the conversation. He had 
 come with the very evident intention of interfering, and Subligny 
 was preparing to snub him effectually, when Babiole turned to the 
 broker, and said : 
 
 ** Good evening, sir. 1 re.c:ret that you should have been put to 
 fio much unnecessary trouble.*' 
 
 Even as she spoke she dragged Andre away before he had time to 
 open his lips. Nevertheless he heard the broker mutter an oath 
 together with an opprobrious epithet, which was evidently applied 
 to him. 
 
 Subligny, furiously angry, tried to free himself from his compan- 
 ion's hold, but Babiole clung tightly to his arm, and whispered; 
 
 '* No quarrel ou my account, 1 entreat." 
 
 After hastily crossing the street, in spite of the throng of passing 
 carriages, the two young people soon reached the Rue Laffitte. 
 
 " 1 arrived just iu tmie," remarked Andre, not exactly knowing 
 what to say. 
 
 *'lHm not »trai4 whllo you gie with me/' replied the young 
 
78 BABIOLE, THE PRETTY MILLIKER. 
 
 girl. " Still I shoulil have mnnaged to get. out ot the scrape verj 
 well without assislauce. 1 am in the habit of protecting myselt." 
 
 " Who was that lady?" 
 
 ** It was Madauie Divet, my employer. She will be very angry, 
 but that makes no difference to me. * Had she gi^en me any hint 
 that she intended to take supper with that old wretch after the per- 
 formance, 1 would not have gone to the opera.'* 
 
 * Then you were not acquainted with that gentleman?" 
 
 "I have seen him at the store. He calls there quite often; but ilj 
 1 had known that he wan in league with iny employer — '* 
 
 *' Will you permit me to advise you to change your place of em- 
 ployment?" 
 
 " 1 am thinking strongly of doing so, but it is not a very easy 
 maUer. 1 receive very good pay at Madame Divet's, and I am not 
 at all sure of tinding as good a place anywhere else. Besides, 1 have 
 not had any re^fl cause to complain of her, as yet. Nevertheless, 1 
 should not hesitate to leave her if X really tlnMight that she had any 
 evil designs. But enough on this subject. Will you tell me what 
 you have been doing with yourself for tiie past month? You prom- 
 ised to come and see me, you remember ?'* 
 
 ** 1 have been to the Rue Lamartine several times; but was never 
 tortunate enouf^^h to find you at home." 
 
 ** Oh, you came once to get j^our trunk. You have made a fortune, 
 it seems. 1 noticed you in one ot the highest-priced boxes, and with 
 very brilliant company." 
 
 " 1 have obtained a situation in the business house of the gentle- 
 man you saw with me at the opera. He is a banker, and — ** 
 
 " And he has a very charnnng daughter. I cougratulate you." 
 
 Anxious to change the subject Andre hastily inquired: 
 
 " And what have you been doing since 1 saw you, mademoiselle?" 
 
 " Oh, 1 have had one fiouble after another. In the first place my 
 Uncle is quite ill. While out collecting, he took a severe cold, and 
 yesterday he went to the ho-pital, where he can be better cared for 
 than at home. Tomorrow is Sunday, visiting dav, and 1 am going 
 to see him. Then, too, I missed you very much after you went 
 away. J had not known you long, it is true, but 1 very quickly 
 becomcaattacliKl to people 1 like. But tell me, my ex-neighbor, I 
 hope you no iongi r think ot killing yourself?" 
 
 " No, muilenioiselle, hut 1 have-not forgotten that you saved my 
 life."* 
 
 " It was all due to chance. If 1 had not had a bonnet to finish that 
 nijiht, 1 should have gone to bed at nine o'clock, then Heaven only 
 knows wiiat would have happened. Your friend Monsieur Marbeuf 
 was less fortunate. It seems that he is dead. The concurgetold 
 me yesterday that his furniture was to be sold.** 
 
 " I thank you tor niforming me of this fact, but 1 do not yet de- 
 spair of tinding Marbeut. 1 believe that some unforeseen business 
 compelled him to leave Paris suddenlj^, and that he will soon re- 
 turn." 
 
 " I hope so, with all my heart. Now 1 am going to be unpardon- 
 ably inquisitive. May 1 venture to ask if you have since seen the 
 gentleman I found w.'th you w^hm I c^U^d that morning to inquire 
 how you had sjuui iW ni^lit?'^ 
 
BABIOLE, THE PRETTY 3IILLINER i\) 
 
 ** 1 see him every dny." 
 
 '* if you are compelled to do so, 1 certainly pity you." 
 
 " 1 recollect you told me that he was a bad man, but—" 
 
 "1 could say no more at that time, because lie was present. Did 
 he recognize me, ] wonder?" 
 
 ** 1 think not, for he asked me who you were." 
 
 *• 1 hope that you did not tell him my name!" 
 
 " How could I, when I did not even know it myself?*' 
 
 *' I am glad to hear that, for it is not at all likely that he remem' 
 bered me. I was only six years old when he used to come to our 
 house. 1 have changed a good deal since that time, but he has not 
 altered in the least. He has tliesame false, crafty face.'" 
 
 *' Why do you dislike him so much?" 
 
 " He i-uined my father, aa^ my father blew^ his brains out six 
 months afterward." 
 
 "Ruined him! How?" 
 
 •* He urged my father to intrust his little fortune to him to specu- 
 late with. ;^Iy poor father lost his all, and this Chautepie made 
 money by it." 
 
 Andre started violently. It was almost the same story as that of 
 Bertand's connection with M. Vernelle, and Bertand and Chautepie 
 were evidently tlie best of friends. 
 
 " 1 do not know what your connection with him may be," con- 
 tinued Babiole, '* but it is my duty to say to you, * Beware of him. 
 He is a scoundrel and a hypocrite. * " ' ," 
 
 She was preaching to one who was already converted to hei belief. 
 He did not reply, however. It would have taken him too long to 
 explain, and they had already reached the corner of the Kue Lamar- 
 tine. 
 
 ** 1 thauK you for the warning, and will profit by it," he replied. 
 ** May 1 venture, before leaving you, to ask your permission to see 
 you again?" 
 
 " Whenever you like, provided that it is not to-morrow, for 1 shall 
 spend m.ost of the day at the hospital with my uncle. By next 
 Sunday he will be well again, 1 hope, and in that case 1 shall be at 
 hotne all day, and will be very glad to see you. Thank you, and au 
 revoir,'' added the girl, shaking hands with him in a friendly, un- 
 afi'ected fashion, for she had now reached her own door. 
 
 He stood gazing after her for a moment as she entered the bouse, 
 then turned sadly toward the Rue RougeiiU)nt. He was thinking of 
 the morrow, and it seemed to him that his last hope had departed 
 with Babiole. 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 It is eight o'clock, and the dull, gray light of a foggy morning is 
 Bhming into a long room bordered with two parallel rows ot white- 
 curtained iron bedsteads. 
 
 The emoothly-polisiied floor shines like a miiror. Through the 
 windows, which are opened at the top, the soft nir enters, freighted 
 with the balmy odors of spring, Sevf.Tal nursrs are moving nc ise- 
 lessly about, ctjiersare ariaugin;;'ii}e nuxiicine bottler oa»an etagere. 
 
80 BABIOLE, THE PRETTY MILLINEB. 
 
 It is the Saint Ferriinand ward of the Nocker Hospital, which stands 
 at the end ot the Rue de Sevres. The hour for tbe physician iu- 
 chicf s visit is fast approaching, and preparations are being made to 
 receive him. 
 
 All the patients are in bed, even those who are able to be np and to 
 walli about, for such is the rule. Clinics require it, for the pupils 
 must be grouped around a bed in order to hear their instructor's 
 remarks. 
 
 Those who are coavalescent are sitting up in bed, and some of 
 them are talking with their neighbors. They bid each other good- 
 morning, and exchange bits of news and even jests, which are 
 always rather coarse, and not unfrequently rather appallins: in char- 
 acter. 
 
 The curtains ot one bed are closely drawn. The patients all know 
 why. Number Ten died last night. 
 
 For here one ceases to be a man and becomes a number. 
 
 *' Well, old Fourteen, how are you this morning?" 
 
 "Tolerable, tolerable, Number Twelve. Though 1 must say I 
 should not object to a quart or tAVO ot beer." 
 
 •* You had better not aiak tor it heie. They will give you a pot ot 
 jerb-tea instead." 
 
 These jeering remarks have for an accompaniment the hollow 
 groans ot Number Sixteen, who is suffering terribly. 
 
 Just then two men enter, bearing a sort of litter, on which rests 
 a coffin, which they deposit near the closed bed. 
 
 " Here comes the domino-box!" exclaim several, who will prob- 
 ably soon be laid aivay to rest is a similar receptacle. 
 
 The dead man is readj^ for the i^rave. His toilet had been made 
 the night before by one of the nurses. He is laid in his cofhn, and 
 is then borne away. 
 
 " Passengers for Clamart, all aboard!" huskily cries a consumpt- 
 ive, who has not a fortnight to live. 
 
 It is not because these poor creatures are heartless, but only be- 
 cause they have become accustomed to such sights. In their own 
 homes, if they saw anyone die, they would mourn their loss far more 
 sincerely than the rich who expect a share of the property ot the 
 deceased. But in the hospital, as on the battle-field, persons only 
 come there to die, and conssequently it is there one must go to learn 
 how little Human liie is worih. 
 
 Who ot us has not witnessed the last moments of some loved one? 
 Relatives are kneeling about the bed, striving to repiess their sobs; 
 despair is depicted on every face. It almost seems to every one that 
 the world is about to end with the departure of ihe loved one who is 
 still clinging to life. And when the soul lakes flight in a faint sigh, 
 moans burst from every lip, and tears tlow from ever}'- eye. It is 
 the direst of catastrophes. 
 
 There is nothing of that kind here. A death is only what one 
 must expect iu the natural course of things. Death is ever pres- 
 ent. It touches a bed, and the bed instantly becomes empty. It 
 will have another occupant to rnorrow, however— another occupant 
 who will go in the same way. But what does that matter to the 
 guivivors? They h^vg become lamiiiar wjtU ilie idea oi: partip|t 
 
BABIOLE, THE PKETTY MILLINER. 81 
 
 and qnielly await their time, without longing for it, like soldieis 
 who see their comrades falling around them. 
 
 Their end is usually silent and lonely, for nearly all die without a 
 moan, at night, when those around them are asleep. But they per- 
 haps depart on their last journey with less regret, for they have not 
 before their eyes the harrowing sight of the grief and despair ot 
 those whom they love, but from whom they must part. 
 
 The clock strikes nine, and the phj^yician enters, followed by a 
 crowd ot medical students. He has a white apron tied around his 
 waist. The head-nuise and the hospital apothecary walk beside 
 liim, note-books in hand, to jot down his directions. The students 
 crowd closely upon Iheir heels, for Dr. Valbregue's class in clinics 
 is very popular. 
 
 Some of the students are shabbily dressed, and not a few of them 
 have suu!;:en eyes and haggard faces, for there had been a public ball 
 in the Quartier Latin the night before. 
 
 A profound silence reigns in the ward. The patients know that 
 the physician tolerates no facetious remarks, and they also feel that 
 th3ir lives are in his hands. 
 
 Soldiers are always silent when a general in whom they have con- 
 fidence, is leading them into fire. They realize that an injudicious 
 order may cause the death ot all of them, and that the ofiicerin com- 
 mand must not be disturbed. 
 
 M. Valbregue pauses at each bedside, questions the patient, and 
 explains the case to his followers. 
 
 He speaks rapidly and lucidly, though he uses technical terms in 
 order that the patient may not hear his d^ath- warrant. 
 
 He says, for example: " The tubercles are rapidly nearing a state 
 of ramolescence, " and the poor devil who is nearly gone wiili con- 
 sumption, does not understand that the words are an announcement 
 of speedy dissoliuion. 
 
 Not infrequently M. Valbregue calls upon one of the students to 
 give a diagnosis of the case, and if he makes any mistake, gently cor- 
 rects him, nor does he ever forget before passing on, to cheer the 
 patient's spirits by a few words of eucouiagement. 
 
 His is in every respect a model visit. 
 
 That day, it was less interesting than usual. The ward sheltered 
 such common- place maladies as affections of the chest, typhoid and 
 intermittent fevers, and other diseases of a similar nature. In the 
 beds first visited there was not a single remarkable case, or uncom- 
 mon ailment. 
 
 In fact, the doctor was reserving for the last, the only one worthy 
 of particular attention. 
 
 ]N umber Ten had died, as M. Valbregue had predicted the day be- 
 fore; and Number Sixteen was about to rlie; that was evident to any 
 one. 
 
 Number Twenty was a new patient; a man about forty years of 
 age, who had been admitted to the hospital the preceding day, upon 
 a ticket bearing the words: " Pleuropneumonia." 
 
 The doctor examined him carefully, then inquired, kindly: 
 
 ** What is your business, my good man?" 
 
 *' 1 am now a collector, major, but 1 was formerly a quartermas- 
 ter in the Seven tli Cuirassiers," 
 
82 BABIOLE, THE PRETTY MILLJKER. 
 
 " And it was in running about to collect money that you cou- 
 tracted this cold, I suppose?" 
 
 " Yes; 1 think so, major." 
 
 *• Oh, well, 3'ou will be out again in a week. There was a mis- 
 take in your ticket ot admission. You have only a severe attack of 
 bronchitis. But it would be well for you to change your business. 
 You have a predisposition to inflammation and enlargement ot the 
 lungs, which will cause you a great deal of trouble if you are not 
 careful." 
 
 ** I should be very glad to retire, 1 assure you, but 1 have no 
 money, and 1 must earn my living in some way." 
 
 " Nonsense! you can earn it as a copyist or book-keeper. 1 will 
 speak to one of my friends, a banker, about you." 
 
 ** Thank you, major. I shall require no urging, I assure you.'* 
 
 M. Valbregue pa-^sed on. The ward contained forty beds; the 
 even numbers on one side, the uneven numbers on theother. Num- 
 ber Twenty was consequently the last patient in one of the rows, and 
 directly opposite Number Nineteen. That bed was occupied by a 
 patient afflicted with a malady of an unusual kind; one of those 
 patients who find shelter in the Paris hospitals only tor a time, for 
 he looked the picture ot health. 
 
 He was a young and stalwart man, with keen bright eyes, and a 
 heavy black beard upon which he bestowed no attention, and v/hich 
 consequently gave him a rather wild air. 
 
 He had gone to bed, of course, like the others; but beseemed very 
 anxious to get up, for he was moving restlessly about under the 
 coverlet. 
 
 ** Ah, well," said the doctor, feeling his pulse, ** how are you pro- 
 gressing, my dear — Pray tell me your name, I always forget it." 
 
 ** And 1, too, have forgotten it, as you know very well, for that 
 is the reason you keep me here," replied the patient. 
 
 ** Nothing would give me more pleasure than to sign your ticket 
 of dismissal; but where would you go?" 
 
 **True: 1 have also forgotten where 1 used to live. But that 
 need make no difference. I cannot reniain in a hospital forever. 
 You had better send me away, doctor. 1 shall manage very well, 1 
 dare say. Before 1 came here, 1 did not live upon air. I must have 
 earned my living in some way." 
 
 ** But how?" 
 
 •* I cannot say. It seems to me, though, that 1 kept books." 
 
 ** Yes, you must have been a clerk, 1 think. But where? In one 
 of the government departments?" 
 
 ** All 1 can tell you is that I worked in an office. There are times 
 when I can see the office, it seems to me." 
 
 ** This is a sign of improvement, gentlemen," said the doctor, turn- 
 ing to his pupils. 
 
 '* It even seems to me that if 1 could be taken there 1 should recog- 
 nize it." 
 
 ** That is the precise difficulty, my friend; if you could only recol- 
 lect the locality in which you lived, 1 would take you there myself, 
 and it would be very strarige if your memory did not return to you 
 when you passed your old home. Come, now, try to remember." 
 
 " I don't do anything else. My poor brain is constantly at work 
 
BABIOLE, THE PRETTY MILLINER. 83 
 
 trying to solve the mystei^y. Occasionally, some chance word 
 awakens a vague recollection vrilhin me. I strive to seize it, and 
 then it fades away, almost instantly. 1 am like a man who is lost 
 in the depths of a mine, and who is vainlj^ endeavoring to grope his 
 way out through the darkness." 
 
 ** And the past still remains a perfect blank to you?" inquired the 
 doctor. 
 
 ** A perfect blank. It seems to me, now, that my life began at 
 the moment 1 regained consciousness here on this bed. And yet, I 
 am not insane, for 1 realize my conait ion perfectly, and even the con- 
 dition of those around me. 1 know that I was brought to the IS ecker 
 hospital in a state of complete insensibilit}^ and that I had been 
 picked up on the Boulevard des Italiens. 1 know that you are a 
 celebrated physician, and that a man died here in the ward last 
 night. More than that, 1 have followed and understood all the 
 theories you have advanced in the presence of these gentlemen, with 
 regard to my malady. 1 know that 1 fell, and that in my tall my 
 brain received a shock from which il has not recovered.** 
 
 ** And how about all the rest?" 
 
 *' 1 know nothing whatever about that. I do not even know who 
 or what 1 was before the accident." 
 
 A murmur of surprise rose from the crowd, for never before had 
 the students seen such a case. 
 
 M. Valbregue vainly endeavored to devise some plan by which he 
 could connect the past with the present, the known with the un- 
 known, and dispel the darkness in which the accident had enshrouded 
 this unfortunate young man's mind. 
 
 '* you express yourself so well that you must have received a 
 superior education," he remarked. 
 
 •* That is very probable," was the reply. 
 
 *' At what college were you educated?" 
 
 " 1 don't lemember." 
 
 ** Have you forgotten your parents and relatives* Dcnorecollec 
 tiotts of your childhood haunt your mind?" 
 
 *' None whatever." 
 
 The doctor paused, realizing that these questions which were al- 
 ways revolving in the same circle, would be futile. 
 
 ** And your sweetheart, have yuu no recollection of her?" 
 
 ** 1 never had one." 
 
 " Are you sure?'* 
 
 " At least, I have no remembrance of having had one.'* 
 
 ** And yet you know what a sweetheart is?" 
 
 ** Certainly. Last Thursday a veiy pretty woman came to see 
 jS"umber Ten— the patient who died last night, and I really enjoyed 
 looking at her.*' 
 
 " But you did not know her, 1 suppose?'* 
 
 ** !No, not at all.** 
 
 " Do you think that if you had ever seen her before you wouW 
 have recognized her?'* 
 
 ** 1 think so; but I am not sure." 
 
 " That would be a good experiment, and chance may furnish you 
 tvitU the opportunity. Do you remain in the ward on visitors' day?** 
 
84 BABIOLE, THE PRETTY MlLLIi^ER. 
 
 *• Not always. 1 walk in the garden as often as I can The open 
 air does me good. " 
 
 " Fes, and 1 advise you to embrace every opportunity to get out 
 of doors; but try to be here at the hours when visitors are aamitted." 
 
 ** 1 will not fail to do so, of course, it 3'ou vTish it, sir." 
 
 ** It is for 3^our own sake entirely, that 1 make the request. Some 
 one may come who will recognize you, and speak to you; and even 
 that may be enough to brinj? your past back to you, and restore j^our 
 memory. Then you can leave this hospital, where you find ii lather 
 dull, 1 tear." 
 
 *' Yes; 1 am positively dyiog of ennui and mortification." 
 
 ** Well, you can then re-enter social lite, where 1 feel sure that 
 you occupied an honorable position, and regain 3^our lost identity." 
 
 " That is the boon I crave above all others, for if that piece of 
 good fortune does not befall me 1 don't know what will become of 
 me. You will perhaps finish by sending me to a mad-house. I am 
 not a lunatic now, but 1 should soon become one in such a place.** 
 
 *1 promise you to do all in my power to prevent that. 1 even 
 promise to try to find a situation for you if you desire it. You have 
 not forgotten how to read and write, and you could easily fitl a 
 clerk's position. 1 am not sure, indeed, but it would be the most 
 effectual way ot restoring vour memory." 
 
 " I should be very glad of an opportunity to attempt it." 
 
 ** Then 1 will see what i can do tor you; but 1 should like you to 
 remain here a fortnight longer. You will be the gainer, and science 
 will also profit by it." 
 
 " Yes, 1 know that my case will figure in the medical annals, and 
 that you are going to report it to the Academy. It is an honor that 
 I do not crave in the least, but you are so kind to me that 1 will do 
 whatever you wish." 
 
 " It is settled, then. Trust me, and have patience. Quiet, mod- 
 erate exercise, and a substantial diet— but above all, quiet, are what 
 you need now. Don't rack your brain in the hope of reviving your 
 recollections of the past. Wait for some incident to do that for you." 
 
 With these concluding words, the doctor left the bedside, and after 
 laying aside his apron in the ante- room, turned to tlie crowd of 
 students around him, and said: 
 
 " Y^ou have just seen, gentlemen, a case unparalleled in the an- 
 nals of science. The loss of memory in consequence of a fall, or of 
 a blow, has been frequently observed; but one of two thmgs always 
 happens: either the lost faculty gradually returns after a short de- 
 lay, or, on the contrary. In the "same space of time, intelligence be- 
 comes totally extinct, and the injured person remains an idiot. We 
 can all testify to entirely different results in the case of the patient 
 we have just been examining. Thirty-three days after his accident, 
 he is still in the same condition. The patient is not only stid un- 
 cured, but he has made no progress whatever toward recovery. 
 
 " It will be very interesting tu know what will be the result in this 
 extraordinary case; and 1 need not add that 1 do not intend to lose 
 sight of the patient after he leaves the hospital. 
 
 •* If any one of you has any comments to make, I will listen to 
 them with pleasure. " 
 
 '* J. have oue," said one of the students, timidly. 
 
BABIOLE, THE PKETTY HILLIKER. 85 
 
 ** Speak, my triend." 
 
 •* 1 should like to ask if this case does not strongly resemble one 
 of pretended madness." 
 
 *' That is not a bad suggestion for a student in his first year. You 
 mean that this man has preserved his memory, and that he is only 
 pretending to have lost it. Upon what do you base this opinion, 
 may 1 ask?" 
 
 *' It seems to me that this person may have some object in conceal- 
 ing his identity. He was probably wounded in some brawl, for 
 ^ when he was brought here his clothing was torn and stained with 
 mud. It is possible that he killed or wounded some one seriously, 
 before his fall. Who knows, indeed, but he may have fallen in scaling 
 some wall, with the intention of committing a robbery or an assas- 
 sination?" 
 
 "You have read many criminal romances, 1 see, youn": man," 
 saifl M. Valbregue, smiling. " Your conjecture is ingenious, but it 
 is based on no scientitic observation. Besides, 1 can set your mind 
 at rest on this point. At first, 1 was under the same impression that 
 you are — and so, indeed, were others— but I investigated the matter, 
 first making inquiries of course at the pi*efecture of police. ] found 
 that nothing w^hatever was known about our patient there, and that 
 ou the night of his accident there was no street fight, and not even 
 an attempt at robbery; hence, it is only reasonable to conclude that 
 lie speaks the truth when he declares that he remembers nothing. 
 
 *' You will see if the future does not confirm my diagnosis, lor I 
 feel sure that my patient will be recoirnized sooner or later. Now 
 farewell until to-morrow, gentlemen." 
 
 The crowd that had gathered around the doctor hastily dispersed; 
 the students movins: away in little groups, busily engaged in discuss- 
 ing their instructor's vievVs on this interestimr subject. 
 
 There lingered to escort M. V'albregueto his carriage only the two 
 members of the hospital corps. 
 
 The apothecary looked very like a miner, for his hair was dishev- 
 eled and his clothing shabby, while his hands bore marks of the 
 chemical experiments to which he devoted himself with untiring 
 ardor. 
 
 The assistant supermtendent was a small, dark-complexioned 
 man, much belter dressed than his companion, and endowed with 
 an intelligent and prepossessing face. 
 
 *' What do you think of the case, my dear Bosc?" the doctor in- 
 quired of him. •' Have you any hope that we shall eventually solve 
 the enigma?" 
 
 " Balzac indicates a mode of cure which seems to me excellent," 
 was the smiling response. 
 
 " Balzac! So you, too. study romances with a view to curing the 
 sick?" 
 
 ** He tells a story of a woman who had become mad in a mount- 
 ain pass, where her husband perished before her very eyes. 
 Twenty years afterward, some one conceived the idea of represent- 
 ing in her presence the catastrophe which had caused the loss of her 
 reason, with the adjuncts of a pretended river and glaciers. And 
 on witnessing the sight, she suddenly recovered her reason. That 
 would answer admirably on the stage; but, in the first place, our 
 
86 BABIOLE, THE PRETTY MILLIKEE. 
 
 man is not mad, and in the second place, 1 should like to know how 
 you would manage to show him the scene ot his accident. He him- 
 self has no idea what happened to him, or where it happened." 
 
 *' But he will recollect, perhaps — and then, by taking him to the 
 scene ot the catastrophe—" 
 
 " In the meantime, my dear tellow, you had better peruse again 
 some oi the numerous works on diseases of the brain. They are 
 the best authority, after all. And as you will be on duty to-morrow, 
 JSunday, do me the favor to go up in the ward while the visitors are 
 there, and devise some way of calling Number Nineteen's attention 
 to them, and it you should detect in him any sign of a revival of 
 memory, pray do your best to awaken it thoroughly." 
 
 •* Very well, sir, 1 will do my best." 
 
 As they were crossing the court -yard, M. Valbregue turned to his 
 other companion, and said : 
 
 *' I came very near forgetting to give you this little package, my 
 dear Houssais. It contains a bromide powder which 1 prescribed 
 tor one of my patients. It disagrees with him strangely. When- 
 ever he takes one, he complains of a terrible contraction of the mus- 
 cles ot the throat, and of other symptoms very like those of lock 
 jaw." 
 
 *' Those are some of the most noticeable ettects of strychnine." 
 
 ** I know it; and it is for that very reason 1 beg that you will an- 
 alyze the compound. Do me the favor to send me, in writing, to- 
 morrow morning, the result of your analysis." 
 
 '• It will be ready for you to day. 1 am going to the laboratory 
 now." 
 
 ** If you don't use the entire powder, you had better send me what 
 you have left, m case it should be necessary to subject the com- 
 pound to another analysis," remarked the doctor. 
 
 With this final recommendation, M. Valbregue took leave of the 
 two young men who hastened to the fencing-hall to have a contest 
 before breakfast, and while they were engaged in this pleasant pas- 
 time, the existence ot the patients resumed its wonted course. 
 
 All days are very much alike at the hospital. Nevertheless, on 
 Sundays, the inmates array themselves in their best to receive their 
 friends — at least, such as have any, and to the credit of the Parisians 
 it must be said, that a great majority of the invalids have friends 
 warm and true. 
 
 As ]5eranger says, the poor are not happy, but the third line of the 
 celebrated refrain of the *' Gueux" expresses an incontestable truth: 
 ** They love one another." 
 
 Number Nineteen did not seem to be a favorite, however. No one 
 had called to see him, since he had been an inmate of the hospital; 
 but this perhaps might be due to the fact that his former acquaint- 
 an( cs did not know his whereabouts. 
 
 After eating the cutlet brought- him for his breakfast, he went 
 down into the garden as usual. 
 
 He was in the habit of spending most of his time there, smoking 
 the brier-wood pipe he had purchased out ot the sixty francs 
 found in liis pocket when he entered the hospital. 
 
 All the convalescents haunted the garden from morning until night. 
 Some walked up and down the paths, others sat on the benches and 
 
BABIOLE, THE PKETTY MILLINER. 8'? 
 
 read, but !N umber Nineteen did not associate with any of them, 
 not because their education was inferior to his own, but because he 
 did not know what to say to them. What can one talk about when 
 one has no recollection ot the past, when one has entirely forgotten 
 his tormer occupation, aod even who he is? Of the present? At 
 the hospital life is so monotonous, so utterly devoid of incident, that 
 there is nothing to say about it. 
 
 The patients who frequented the garden were nearly all respecta- 
 ble working-men who discussed the matters that mterested them 
 most: the price of provisions and of labor, the heartlessness of em- 
 ployers, or the wife and children left at home to long for the return 
 of the head of the family who had been incapacitated for bread- 
 winning by illness. 
 
 Nor did they seek his society, though he showed no disposition 
 to put on airs, as they said, for he alwaj^s answered civilly when he 
 was spoken to, and he never refused tobacco to those who asked 
 him for it. 
 
 But his face did not suit their fancy, and his case, curious as it 
 was, interested them but slightly from the fact that they did not 
 understand how very peculiar it was. 
 
 Many, in fact, did not believe it in the least, and had formed an 
 opinion diametrically opposed to that which M. Valbregue had just 
 refuted. 
 
 These parties said that Number Nineteen was not a malefactor, 
 who was striving to conceal his identity; but, on the contrary, a de- 
 tective, disguised as a patient, in order to play the spy at his ease. To 
 play the spy upon whom? They did not specify any paiticular per- 
 son ; they could not. But the m'ore improbable a thing is, the more 
 easily it seems to find credence. 
 
 The natural result of all this was that the poor fellow was almost 
 always alone. What was he thinking of that day as he sat smoking 
 under the trees? It was impossible to say, but he certainly was 
 thinking, and his thoughts engrossed him to such an extent as to 
 make him foiget that he had promised the physician to be present 
 when the public was admitted to the ward. 
 
 The rule is that on Thursday and Sunday at the hours when visit- 
 ors are admitted, all the patients must be in the wards. Formerly, 
 indeed, they were obliged to be in bed, as if for the physician's visit. 
 
 But concessions are not unfrequently made, and the nurses made 
 tluim in the case of Number Nineteen, who gave them ^pourboire of 
 forty sous each week; and on this occasion they allowed him to re- 
 main in the garden the more willingly from the fact that they had 
 not heard Monsieur Valbregue's request. 
 
 Still, the day would have been well chosen to seek a meeting with 
 some acquaintance, for the hospital was filled to oveiflo:ving with 
 worthy people who had taken advantage of this opportunity to bring 
 the invalids consolation and food — more especially food — on account 
 of the general and very erroneous impression that the department 
 of public charities starves its pensioners. 
 
 The Saint Ferdinand ward was crowded with them. Out of the 
 forty beds there were but six that were not surrounded by visitors. 
 
 There were wives, and mothers, and children without number, 
 
88 BABIOLE, THE PBETTY MILLliq"EB. 
 
 but not nearly as many men. Not that men have not equally kind 
 hearts, but the wine shops sometime stops them on the way. 
 
 Not a single person came empty-handed. Certain gifts are not 
 forbidden— such as fruit, tobacco, and flowers — provided there are 
 not too many ot them, and the perfume of them is not too strong — 
 and there is quite a display of gifts upon each little table and upon 
 the shelf over the head of each bed. 
 
 The attendants are polite. They are looking forw^ard to the week- 
 ly gratuity brought by the relatives. 
 
 The whole ward wears a gala air. 
 
 Death is close at hand, on thai day, as on every other, and there 
 is bitter weeping, but those who weep conceal their faces in their 
 handkerchiefs; and death, as if out of regard for the visitors, usually 
 ehooses some other hour to seize his victim. 
 
 Number Twenty, who occupied the last bed on the row to the 
 right, was alone; but he evidently expected some one, for he had 
 combed his hair carefully, and was now sitting up in bed, propped 
 up with pillows. 
 
 A young girl appeared at the door of the ward, and after hesitat- 
 ing a moment, .walked with an uncertain step up the room, between 
 the two rows of little white beds. 
 
 It was easy to see that this was her first visit to the hospital, and 
 that she did not know exactly where to look for the friend she was 
 seeking, for she glanced at the number aflSxed to each bed as she 
 
 A woman, who was still young, and who was miserably clad, en- 
 tered the ward at almost the same moment and walked along beside 
 her. 
 
 She knew very well where she wished to go, however; but the 
 further she advanced, the paler she grew. Suddenly she paused a 
 few steps from Number Ten. The bed had already been freshly 
 made, but it was empty. 
 
 The woman gazed fixedly at the white sheets and the looped-back 
 curtains, but she dared advance no further. An attendant passed. 
 She gave him a questioning look, and he replied in subdued tones: 
 *' Last night at three o'clock." She uttered not a word, but tottered 
 as if about to tall, and two big tears rolled down her thin cheeks. 
 
 The young girl beside her understood, and her heart sunk like 
 lead; but almost immediately she caught sight of Number Twenty, 
 and hastened to him. 
 
 " So here you are, little one!" he exclaimed, kissing hei affection- 
 ately. ** 1 was sure that 1 should see you today; but 1 am none 
 the less grateful to you for coming. It shows that you have not for- 
 gotten your Uncle August.'' 
 
 ** Forget you! the only friend 1 have left in the world now that 
 my mother is dead. Yesterday, when 1 received your letter I want- 
 ed to hasten to you, but Madame Divet told me 1 would be refused 
 admission; and as you said in your letter that your illness was not 
 serious — " 
 
 " It is of no consequence whatever, my little Babiole. The doctor 
 promised me this morning that 1 should be out in a week. 1 had a 
 very comfortable night, too, though only yesterday I thought my 
 condition tjuite desperate." 
 
BABIOLE, THE PRETTY MILLINER. 89 
 
 " But why didn't you remain at home instead of shutting your- 
 self up in this horrid hospital? I would have come and nursed 
 you." 
 
 '* You had something else to do; besides, my room is too small, 
 and an old trooper like myself is not afraid of a hospital.'' 
 
 " Oh, uncle! it you knew what 1 just saw! a woman looking for 
 the husband she will never see again." 
 
 '' Yes. Number Ten. He is dead. Such things will happen. 
 Tell me something more cheerful. How is Madame Divet? And 
 when are you to be promoted to the position of forewoman?" 
 
 "Never, perhaps. I am by no means sure that 1 shall remain 
 any longer in the establishment." 
 
 "Why?" demanded Uncle August, frowning. "Do you want 
 to go to the bad?" 
 
 "It is precisely because 1 do not want to go to the bad that 1 
 think of leaving Madame Divet." 
 
 " What!" exclaimed 'iJncle Augiiste, " is that bunch of fuss and 
 feathers giving you bad advice?" 
 
 " V^orse than that. She had two tickets for the opera comique 
 yesterday, and she invited me to go with her. 1 ought to have re- 
 fused, but she urged me so strondy that 1 finall}^ consented, and I 
 was well punished for it. Would you believe it, the seats were 
 given her by a gentleman who was waitmg for us at the door as wg 
 left the theater to take us to sup with him." 
 
 *' Did you go?" 
 
 " Not 1. In the first place I don't sup with gviutlemen, and even 
 if 1 wanted to 1 would not have supped with this one. He was too 
 old, too ugly, and too common-looking. Madame Divet told me he 
 was a rich broker, but i think he looks more. like a butcher. Any 
 w^ay I bade my employer good evening and left her. How she must 
 have fumed, and the man too!" 
 
 " Y^ou did quite right, Babiole; and you will do still better to 
 leave her. I'll find you another place as soon as I leave the hos- 
 pital, and I'll tell the old wretch what I thinR of hei, too. You see 
 it is not safe to trust to appearances. And to think that 1 chose the 
 place for you! But you shall not remain there a day longer. 1 
 don't intend my poor sister's daughter to be exposed to dangers of 
 that kind. If j^ou go astray, child, you will be the first in our 
 family to do it." 
 
 " There is no danger, uncle, and 1 promise you — ** 
 
 Babiole suddenly paused. She had just become aware that a 
 young man in a tvhite apron was gazing at her with annoying per- 
 sistency. 
 
 It was Bosc, making the round prescribed by his superior officer. 
 Having unexpectedly discovered a pretty girl, he was feasting his 
 eyes upon her; but as she immediately turned her back on him, he 
 vented his ill-humor upon a nurse who happened to be passing at 
 the time. 
 
 " Why is not Number Nineteen here?" he inquired, angrily. 
 
 " He is in the garden," stammered the attendant. 
 
 " Fetcir him at once, and don't let him leave the ward again until 
 after visiting hours." 
 
 The attendant sulkily obeyed, and Bosc walked away, not wiiU* 
 
90 BABIOLE, THE PEETTY MILLINER. 
 
 out turning more than once to catch another glimpse of the pretty 
 girl who had attracted his attention; but receiving no encourage 
 ment whatever, he went to announce his discovery to some of hisf 
 comrades, resolving to return and take another look before the de- 
 parture of the visitors. 
 
 " Is that young man the doctor?" inquired Babiole. 
 
 *' No; he is a sort of assistant superintendent." 
 
 " A.re patients forbidden to walk in the garden?" 
 
 " No, certainly not. Number Nineteen was sent for at the espe- 
 cial request of the head-physician." 
 
 ** Number Nineteen?" 
 
 "Yes; the patient who occupies the bed opposite mine, lam 
 Number Twenty. One is not know^n by one's name here; besides, 
 this man has none." 
 
 " No name? Impossible!" 
 
 •* It is exactly as 1 tell you. Look at his card. It bears the date 
 of his admission and the name of his malady; but the place where 
 the name and profession are usually given is left empty, while upon 
 mine you can read in large letters, Auguste Brochard, collection 
 clerk." 
 
 ** But how can this unfortunate man have forgotten his?" 
 
 "It is a strange story. It seems that he fell and injurert his head, 
 thus causing a total loss of memory. This morning the major, 1 
 mean the doctoi, talked with him for ten minutes or more, and I 
 heard all he said. He may be a very learned man; but in my opin- 
 ion, this patient is tooling him completely. He pretends to remem- 
 ber nothing, but he is no'more mad than 1 am. He is only pretend- 
 ing." 
 
 " But what can be his object?" 
 
 " Probably to conceal some crime he committed before coming 
 here. 1 have an idea that he is some defaulting cashier who has 
 taken refuge in the Necker while the police are hunting for him in 
 Belgium or America. 1 don't know him, but it seems to me 1 have 
 seen him somewhert or other." 
 
 ** Haven't jon tried to talk with him?" 
 
 *' Not yet. 1 came only yesterday; besides, 1 take no interest in 
 his affairs. 1 am not w^orking for tlie police." 
 
 ' You are quite right. 1 am sure that 1 could never make up my 
 mind to denounce any one— not even a thief." 
 
 " Besides, rich people don't deserve much consideration. They 
 are so mean and unscrupulous. Do you remember that scoundrel 
 Chaulcpie who ruined your father?" 
 
 " Oh, yes, for 1 saw him only a short time ago." 
 
 " Well, it would be hard for you to guess what has become of 
 him. After his rascality of ten years ago, we thought he would take 
 up his abode in some foreign land. But he did nothmg of the kind. 
 He is now in a very respectal)le banking-house— that of Verneile — 
 on the Rue Bergdre, and the strangest thing of it idl is that he is 
 cashier there. 1 went there the other day to collect a note, and he 
 paid me." 
 
 *' Did he recognize you?" 
 
 " No, I think'^not; at least, he said nothing to me; but 1 longed to 
 iialt strangle him and then go and warn Verneile that his safe was 
 
BABIOLE, THE PRETTY MILLINER. 91 
 
 fn very unsafe hands. Bin on reflection I concUided to keep quiet. 
 There was no chance of Chautepie's lepayiug the nione}^ of which 
 he defrauded your father, for even at the time we were unable to 
 prove that he had put it in his pocket instead of losing it at the 
 Bourse, as he pretended. Besides, Vernelle is notlnng to me. He 
 has misplaced his contidence, and he must suffer for it. 1 heaid 
 only day before yesterday at the bank that he had lost heavilj in 
 stocks; so much the wm rse for him." 
 
 ** Poor man! It was doubtless tliat wretch Chnutepie who urged 
 him to speculate — as he urged my poor father — and he has probably 
 enriched himself at his emp oyer's expense. He, too, has a daughter, 
 perhaps— this Monsieur Vernelle—" 
 
 *' Yes, he has; but she will never know positive want, for Vernelle 
 is very wealthy. The loss of two or three millions will not prevent 
 his daughter from making a brilliant match, while you, Babiole, are 
 reduced to making bonnets. And for whom? For an old hussy 
 who is tiying to naike money out of j^our beaut}'. Ah! won't 1 give 
 her a piece of my mind when I get out of this place! And if I 
 knew the broker who was in league with her. 1 d teach him that 
 he must respect the niece of an old soldier." 
 
 '* 1 assure jou that it w^ould not be woith while, uncle, particu- 
 larly as it is not at all probable that he will ^ive me any further 
 trouble, as it is now decided that I am not to return to Madame Div- 
 et's. You will find me another place; and in ihe meantime, you 
 need feel no anxiety about me. 1 have a little monej'' laid by." 
 
 ** Yes, 1 know that you are very prudent ; but in some other shop 
 it w ill be just the same. You are very pretty, and are consequently 
 as sure to attract imm as a candle is to attract moths." 
 
 "Ah, well, moths generallv come to griel in the candle," was 
 Babiole's laughini; response. 
 
 " Yes; but a girl like you cannot intend to be an old maid." 
 
 " Oh, I have plenty of time to consider that subject, as one can't 
 be called an old maid before one is twenty-live, and 1 was only six- 
 teen last September." 
 
 " But fine gentlemen are just as sure to hang around milliner shops 
 as water is to" flow under the bridges; so you see, little one, the best 
 thing for 3^ou to do is to get maiTied." 
 
 " 1 am in no hurry about that." 
 
 *' ^OY should 1 be, under other circumstances, foi you are still 
 rather too young; but that w^ould not prevrt^nt me from being well 
 pleased to take you to the mayor's office if 1 knew any worthy young 
 man who wanted you. But perhaps you are ambitious, and unwill- 
 inff to many a mere clerk." 
 
 '* Certainly not, if I loved him. 1 ffm not foolish enough to im- 
 agine that an embassador will come to sue for my hand." 
 
 '* They have been known to marry w^omen much inferior to you 
 in every respect. But if any s^vell should ask me for you, I should 
 refuse him flatly. 1 know these men. They w^ouid desert you in 
 less than six months. What 1 would prefer for you, is a young 
 man, not rich, but capable of becoming so by reason of industry and 
 steady habits." 
 
 '* That would suit me, provided he was kind, well-bred, and n<^t 
 too ugly." 
 
92 BABIOLE, THE PRETTY MILLINER. 
 
 "Of course. WeJl, such a person can he lound perhaps. 1 Trill 
 look for him. " 
 
 *' Yes, uncle, look for him," said Babiole. " I shall not attempt 
 It. 1 am too much afraid of making a mistake." 
 
 '* You are right. At your age, it is difficult to distinguish the 
 counterfeit from the genuine article; and provided the coin shines, 
 one does not think to test it. So it is settled. You are to remain 
 quietly at home until 1 leave here. But how will you pass the time 
 away?" 
 
 ** Oh, you need have no fears. 1 never suffer from ennui. 1 have 
 my rooms to take care of; my birds must be fed, and 1 sing and 
 read — " 
 
 '* Novels, 1 suppose. That is a pity. They are sure to turn young 
 girls' heads sooner or later." 
 
 *' I don't care much for novels. 1 prefer plays." 
 
 ** They are not much better. By the way, do you ever see any- 
 thing of your neighbor?" 
 
 '* 1 have no neighbor, now." 
 
 '• What, are you alone on the fourth floor?" 
 
 The rooms opposite mine were occupied by a gentleman. He wont 
 out one evening and nothing has been seen or heard of him since. 
 No one knows wiiat has become of him. It is strange, isn't it? But 
 it is true, nevertheless. His furniture is to be sold, the concierge 
 tella me; and the rooms have been advertised for rent. It is no great 
 loss to me, however. 1 used to meet him occasionally on the 
 stairs; but 1 never spoke to him, and 1 don't believe he could tell 
 whether J was young or old, tor he never even looked at me." 
 
 " What did the gentleman do?" 
 
 *' He was employed in a mercantile hpuse on the Hue du gentler, 
 1 believe." 
 
 ** He was probably sent to collect some money and he has made 
 off with it." 
 
 " That is possible, though he was an honest, steady looking young 
 man." 
 
 *' So was Ch£.utepie, but that did not prevent him from being a 
 scoundrel." 
 
 *' They are not unlike in appears nee, but yet, until 1 am convinced 
 to the contrary, 1 shall not believe that my neighbor was a thief. 1 
 made some inquiries about him of his most intimate friend, who 
 told me that Monsieur Marbeuf was obliged to leave the city sud- 
 denly on account of very urgent business." 
 
 " So you are acquainted with his friends?" 
 
 *' With one of them, though 1 have met him but twice, once at 
 home, and once at the theater." 
 
 ** I would advise you to have nothing more to do with him. The 
 intimate triend of a runaway clerk cannot be a very desirable ac- 
 quaintance." 
 
 Babiole was about to tell her uncle the service Subligny had ren- 
 dered her the evening before, but this remark caused her to abstain 
 from a fear of being scolded. 
 
 *' 1 came near forgetting that 1 brought you some chocolate," she ; 
 said, depositing a little package on the table. *' They trieci to tfike 
 it from me at the door, but 1 begged si> hard they finally consented. ' 
 
BABIOLE, THE PKETTY MILLINER. 93 
 
 ''Thanks, little one," said Uncle A^uguste affectionately. *' 1 
 shall enjoy eating it very much when the doctor will permit it. 
 Just now I am confined to tea and toast. He says, loo, that 1 must 
 not talk too much." 
 
 *' Do you mean that 1 must go away now?" 
 •* Oh, no; remain as long as you can, and talk as much as you 
 like. I must not answer you, but 1 can listen to you, and that will 
 console me. 
 
 '* Ah, here comes the assistant superintendent again. He wants 
 to make eyes at you again, 1 suppose. He had better not try to 
 carry things too far. If he does, 1 shall snub him as he deserves." 
 
 Bosc was, in fact, returning, in company with Number Nineteen 
 whom he had met on the staircase. He was talking with him, and 
 making fun of the visitors in order to draw this strange patient's 
 attention to them, and see it he recognized any of them. 
 
 "Good Heaven!" murmured Babiole, as soon as she perceived 
 him. '* I cannot be mistaken — it is he." 
 "Who?" demanded the uncle. 
 " The gentleman with the beard*—" 
 
 " Ele is the patient who has forgotten his name or who will not 
 tell it." 
 " Well, that is certainly Monsieur Marbeuf, my former neighbor." 
 " Are you suie of it?' 
 
 " Perfectly sure. He is greatly changed, and much thinner, but 
 it is he, nevertheless." 
 
 " We will soon know. I have only to call the superintendent 
 and ask him—" 
 
 " Oh no, no. Pray don*t." 
 
 *' What, don't you wish me to disclose his name?" 
 ** 1 should be very sorry to have you do so. You said, only a mo- 
 ment, ago, that nothiag could induce you to inform on any one." 
 " But that would not be informing on him." 
 " It would be equivalent to that, as you think he has committed 
 some crime and is desirous of concealing his name." 
 
 " I may be mistaken. Besides, ne will be sure to recognize you.'* 
 ** If he recognizes me, and speaks to me, that will be sufficient 
 proof that he has no cause to reproach himself. In that case, 1 shall 
 answer him, and remind him that we were neighbors on the Rue 
 Lamartme. But if he does not address me, 1 shall be silent. 1 
 have no desire to injure him. That would bring us bad luck." 
 
 " You are rignt, child, I would much rather that you did not mix 
 yourself up in the affair. You would perhaps be obliged to go be- 
 fore a commissioner of police and explain. Besides, the man has 
 never injured us, and 1 don't see why we should betray him." 
 
 ** It is a pity though, for 1 should dearly love to show these doc- 
 tors what asses they are." 
 
 One often hears such chaiitable wishes expressed in hospitals. 
 
 Patient^, in general, detest those who care for them gratis, and whom 
 
 they ought to bless. Human beings are proverbially ungrateful. 
 
 ^ Nor was Babiole's desire to keep her recognition of Marbeut a 
 
 f secret due solely to an unwillingness to injure him. She remem- 
 
 ■ bered that Andre was the intimate friend of this Marbeuf , whom she 
 
 was beginning to believ^e guilty of some great crime, for she recoj- 
 
94 BABIOLE, THE PRETTY MILLINER. 
 
 lected well the night when Andre sat awaiting his comrarle*s return; 
 and she knew now that Marbeuf's strange disappearance had made 
 Andre resolve to kill himself. 
 
 Being aware of these facts, Babiole instantly came to the conclu- 
 sion either that Marbeuf must have taken his friend's money away 
 with him, or that he had induced Andre to engage in some com- 
 promising enterprise, and then fled, leaving him to face the storm. 
 Nevertheless, Andre must have forgiven him, as only the evening 
 before he had told Babiole that business had compelled Marbeuf to 
 leave Paris very unexpectedly; hence Babiole was obliged to keep 
 silence under penalty of offendmg Andre, or even injuring him. 
 
 As she had prevailed upon her uncle by resorting to other argu- 
 ments, there was a strong probability that Number Nmeteen would 
 remain what he was — a nameless patient, a living mystery — to the 
 great chagrin of the physician who had undertaken to cure him — 
 that is, unless Number Nineteen should recognize Babiole, which 
 was scarcely probable, since he had scaicely looked at her on the 
 Rue Lamarline. 
 
 He advanced slowly, escorted by the assistant superintendent who 
 was watching the young girl out of the corner ot his eye, and who 
 did not tail to call Marbeuf's attention to her by a gentle nudge. 
 
 Marbeuf glanced at her, and seemed to take pleasure in looking 
 at her; but he manifested neither surprise nor emotion. 
 
 He was pleased to see a pretty face, and that was all. 
 
 " 1 think you must be grateful to me now for having sent for 
 you," remarked Bosc, raising his voice, so as to be beard by Babiole 
 and her uncle. ** You were walking about there under the leafless 
 trees, with no horizon but the walls, while the prospect here is much 
 more agreeable. ' ' 
 
 '* But not for long," replied Number Nineteen, smiling sadly. 
 
 '* For twenty minutes lon<rer, at least," replied his companion, 
 glancing at his watch, " and aftcrw^ard, you can think ot the persons 
 you are now looking at. They will return next Thursday, perhaps, 
 and if you recognize them when they do come, that will be making 
 some progress. ' ' 
 
 " Well, comrade, how do you feel to-day?" cried Uncle Auguste, 
 wiio could hold his tongue no longer. 
 
 *' About the same," was Marbeuf's gloomy reply. 
 
 " 1 was just relating your history to my niece, and she would not 
 believe me." 
 
 " I can very readily understand why mademoiselle should find it 
 difficult to believe it. There are moments when I can scarcely be- 
 lieve it myself." 
 
 ** It is so extraordinary," stammered Babiole, who was on nettles. 
 
 " So extraordinary, mademoiselle," said Bosc, delighted to have 
 an opportunity to enter into conversation with such a pretty young 
 girl, *' so extraordinary that only a few^ hours ago one of the students 
 expressed the opinion that this worthy fellow^ was only fooling us, 
 and that he could tell us his name and history if he chose." 
 
 '* I only wish 1 could," replied Marbeuf. *' 1 assure you 1 would 
 not be vegetating here." 
 
 ** Oh, you will soon be at liberty. One of these days, it other 
 means prove ineffectual, Monsieur Valbr^gue will probably decide 
 
BABIOLE, THE PRETTY MILLINER. 95 
 
 to take you about the city. It 1 were master here, it would have 
 been done before this. 1 have suggested the idea to him, and 1 
 will again." 
 
 " 1 thank you, sir, for 1 firmly believe that it is the only way to 
 cure me. The sight ol some familiar object, a shop or a sign, will 
 perhaps suffice to restore the lost thread ot my recollections. And 
 now 1 think of il," he added in subdued tones and turning to Bosc, 
 " a moment ago, when 1 perceived mademoiselle, it seemed tome 
 that this was not the first lime I had seen her. I thought of a stair- 
 case, and a porter's lodge, and in some waj^ connected her with 
 them. It was absurd, of course; but the Impression lasted only for 
 a second. 1 was deceived, of course; mademoiselle's face is not 
 one to be forgotten when one has once seen it. But a meeting with 
 some other person might illumine my poor brain which is always 
 enshrouded in darkness naw. 
 
 '• In the meantime," he continued sadly, *' there is nothing for me 
 to do but have patience, for 1 am obliged to admit that all my 
 etiorts to remember only result in fatiguing: me. For instance, ever 
 since this morning, I have been constantly racking my brain, and 1 
 am as exhausted as if I had been tramping over plowed ground 
 for hours. 1 can scarcely stand, and when the nurse called me, I 
 was ju>t coming up to go to bed." 
 
 *' Then lie down, my friend, and try to sleep," said Bosc. kindly. 
 
 ** 1 am going to try. Excuse me, mademoiselle," said Marbeuf, 
 politely, raising his voice. 
 
 Babiole bowed without replying. There were tears in her eves. 
 
 Marbeuf lay down; but little Bosc did not allow the conversa- 
 tion to drop. 
 
 " Mademoiselle, you have almost effected a marvelous cure," he 
 said, gayly. , '* A little more, and your presence tvould have dis- 
 pelled the darkness that enshrouds our famous patient, and all the 
 savants at the Academy of Medicine would be talking of you." 
 
 " 1 cannot say that I am at all particular about that," murmured 
 Babiole. 
 
 ** Then you never really saw him before you came here?" in- 
 quired Bosc. 
 
 **No, sir." 
 
 •* Do you take my niece for the head of an intelligence bureau?" 
 growled Uncle Auguste. 
 
 " You are quick to take offense, it seems to me. You make a 
 great mistake to get so excited. It may do you a serious injury in 
 your present condiiion." 
 
 ** Do you consider my uncle dangerously ill?" inquired Babiole, 
 hurriedly. 
 
 '* Oh, no, he is out of danger, but we must avoid a relaose. Re- 
 lapses are very dangerous things, and it is for that reason I beg him 
 not to allow himself to become excited. But some one is waiting 
 for me, so 1 must bid you good-rnoruing, mademoiselle. 
 
 ** But one word of advice, if you will permit it. Relate Number 
 Kineteen's history to all your acquaintances — you may be of great 
 assistance to us in that way— and add to it a description of his per- 
 sonal appearance. You luay know some oiie who can put us ou t|i9 
 right track," 
 
96 BABIOLE, THE PKETTY MILLINER. 
 
 And lifting the skull cap that coveied tlic head already denuded 
 of much ot its natural covering by midnight studies, probably, Bosc 
 moved away with the noiseless step one quickly acquires when one 
 treads the wards of a hospital. 
 
 '* A fine idea, indeed, tor that numskull to give you a commis- 
 sion like that!"- muttered Uncle Auguste, sullenly. ' * It will be no 
 very difficult matter, but 1 would do nothing ot the kind. 1 am not 
 at all anxious to oblige the little fool. 1 think it would be much bet- 
 ter, now that he has gone away, to ask Number Nineteen if he does 
 not remember you." 
 
 '• No, no, not to-day," replied Babioie. '* Don't you see that he is 
 asleep?" 
 
 ** Asleep— or pretending to sleep, 1 don't know which." 
 
 ** Besides, the clock has just struck three, and 1 shall have to go 
 with all the rest ot the visitors. Will you promise me not to say 
 anjMhing to him about me until next Thursday?" 
 
 '* With pleasure. I am more and more convinced that this fellow 
 has been guilty of sonie crime, and I have no desire to become any 
 better acquainted with him." 
 
 " 1 shall be able to ascertain between now^ and Thursday; and on 
 my next visit, I will tell you what 1 have learned." 
 
 '* Very well. 1 am not particularly anxious to know, however. 
 Write to Madame Divet, resignmg your position, and remain quietly 
 at home. I will attend to all the rest. But you will haee :^o go 
 now. Kiss me, child." 
 
 Babioie kissed her uncle affectionately upon both cheeks, and fol- 
 lowed the crowd, after casting another glance at the sleeping Mar- 
 beuf. 
 
 The visitors were departing, gay rather, than sad, for it is more 
 natural to hope than to despair, though there were not a few who 
 would never again see the loved ones to whom they had just bidden 
 adisu. 
 
 Babioie, wiio had been sitting at the further end of the ward, of 
 course found herself at the very end of the long procession of visit- 
 ors, and it was useless for her to attempt to force her way through 
 it. Nor was she in any haste; she was thinking of the two friends 
 who had been her neighbors, though she was thinking much more 
 about Andre than Marbeuf. 
 
 *• 1 must see him," she said to herself, '' but where shall I find 
 him? 1 forgot to ask him tor his address last evening. He promised 
 to come and see me, but will he keep his promise? Besides, 1 can 
 not defer telling him what is going on here. If 1 only knew in what 
 banking house he is emplo3^ed! But now 1 think of it, my uncle 
 just told me that Chautepie is cashier at Monsieur Vernelle's on the 
 Rue Berg^re— and Monsieur Andre told me he saw Chautepie every 
 (lay— so\hey must both be employed in the same house. Ah, well, 
 I will go there, and ask for him." 
 
 These thoughts passed through Babiole's mind as she was de- 
 scending the stairs. The ward she had just visited was on one of 
 the upper floors, and there were many steps that must be passed in 
 order to reach it or leave it. 
 
 Babioie had bee» one of the last to leave the room, aD(3 sjje ^QW 
 
BABIOLE, THE PRETTY MILLIKER. 97 
 
 found herself quite alone, the oiher visitors having reached the 
 street. 
 
 ** Yes," she thought, '* mj'^ uncle told me that this Monsieur 
 Vernelle has a daughter. It was with them that Monsieur Andre 
 attended the opera last evening. The}' lett very suddenly. The fa- 
 ther had perhaps received bad news. My uncle assures me that the 
 gentleman has been speculating of late, and that he has lost heavily. 
 Suppose I go back, and ask him the exact address?" 
 
 She had paused in tne hall, but she had not noticed Bosc who was 
 smoking his pipe in the doorway of the guard-room. 
 
 *' Mademoiselle," he began, stepping forward, and politely remov- 
 ing his pipe from his mouth, " 1 presume you have forgotten some- 
 thing. Tell Dae what it is, and 1 will go up and get it for you." 
 
 " Thank you, sir, but 1 will go myself," replied the young girl, 
 astonished beyond measure. 
 
 *' The visiting hour is o\rer and you will not be allowed to enter. 
 Tell me, is it a parasol or an umbrella you left?" 
 
 " No, sir, there is a question I forgot to ask my uncle — " 
 
 " Very well. 1 will deliver any message for you and bring you 
 the answer." 
 
 ** You are very kind, but I will not trouble you. It is not a mat- 
 ter of much importance, and as 1 shall return on Thursday — " 
 
 ** You evidently have not much confidence in me," said Bosc, 
 laughing. "Just now, when 1 tried to talk to you in the ward 
 about ;N umber Nineteen, you scarcely condescended to answer me 
 — and your uncle snubbed me in the most emphatic manner. Your 
 uncle has not a very genial air, but that will not prevent me from 
 taking good caie of him for his niece's sake." 
 
 ** I'tliank 3^ou very much, sir," said Babiole, blushing a little. 
 
 " Then 1 promise to cure him very quickly which will be very 
 disinterested on m}^ part, for when he is gone, your visits will cease. 
 In the meantime, you ought to assist us in establishing the identity 
 of our Number Nineteen. You told me upstairs that you had never 
 seen him before. I believe you, of course, and yet, 1 can not rid 
 myself of the idea that this man knows you. His eyes brightened 
 on perceiving you." 
 
 *• 1 can not understand why." 
 
 " It is very possible that you have forgotten him, but if 1 should 
 repeat to you what he said to me, the circumstances of your meeting 
 might occur to you." 
 
 " 1 think not," murmured Babiole, firmly resolved to be silent. 
 " Still, you might repeat what he said—" 
 
 '* Gladly, if you will come in." 
 
 *' Where?" 
 
 ** Into our guard-room. If 1 should be seen talking with you on 
 the staircase, it might excite remark. You cannot imagine how par- 
 ticular they are here. 1 have some very interesting "things to tell 
 you." 
 
 ** Thank you, sir, but — " 
 
 '* Oh, you need not be afraid; the guard-room is no trap for pretty 
 girls, and you will not be alone with me. Gimbert, one of the as- 
 sistant surgeons, is there now, and Mother Colas, our matron, who is 
 
98 BABIOLE, THE PRETTY MILLIN"ER. 
 
 making us some coffee on our stove. So come in. You hare never 
 seen anything like it. It is really a very curious place." 
 
 Babiole hesitated. She was dying to know what Marbeuf had 
 said upstairs, tor she had seen him whispering witn Bosc before 
 he threw himself on the bed; but, on the other hand, what would 
 these young men think of her if she accepted the invitation? Still, 
 she was not in the least afraid of them after all; and they were much 
 less formidable ihan the old scoundrel whom she had so cleverly 
 managed to elude on leaving the theater. 
 
 '* So be it," she said, finally, '* but I can remain only an instant. 
 1 am in a great hurry." 
 
 ** Five minutes only, by the watch, mademoiselle,*' exclaimed 
 Bosc, standing aside to let her pass. 
 
 The guard- room w-as a square apartment, with white- washed 
 walls. It looked out into an inner courl-yard, and was very scantily 
 furnished. An iron bedstead, a large*^ book-case filled with old 
 medical journals; a copper w^ater-tank with a basin of the same 
 material, fastened to the wall; a long list of patients' names, with 
 the numbers of their beds, placed there for the convenience of cer- 
 tain specialists who wished to assist at the autopsy attei the death of 
 these poor wretches; a stove upon wiiich an old woman in a mob- 
 cap was cooking somelhing, and in one corner, a pine table upon 
 which a red-haired young nian was leaning, as he pored over some 
 old books. 
 
 This studious personage lifted his head, glanced at Babiole over 
 his spectacles, and then resumed his reading. 
 
 The old woman made a grimace, and, began to poke the ashes in 
 the hope of revivmg a nearly exiinct fire. 
 
 ** Mademoiselle," said Bosc, pushing forward a cane seat chair, 
 ** excuse me for not offering you an arm-chair, but tbe department 
 of public charities neglects to provide u>< with very luxurious seats.'* 
 
 **lt is not necessary to apologize, sir," replied the .young girl. 
 " I haven't lime to sit down, and 1 can listen to you very well stand- 
 ing. Will 3^ou tell me what that unfortunate young man said about 
 me with as little delay as possible?" 
 
 "He told me he thought he had met you on a staircase near a 
 concierge's room. Possibly he has visited some inmate of the house 
 in w^hich you live?" 
 
 " 1 think not," murmured Babiole. 
 
 ** However that may be, we can at least try the experiment. I 
 will repeat what he said to Monsieur Yalbregue to-morrow, and if 
 you will have the kindness to give me your address, 1, myself, will 
 bring Number Nineteen to your house." 
 
 Whether the young gentleman had merely seized upon this pre- 
 text to call upon her, or whether he was really actuated by a desire 
 to solvesuch an interesting mystery in medical science, mattered little 
 to Babiole. She was resolved that he should not come to the house, 
 and that Marbeut should not be identified before she had intoimed 
 Andre of her discovery at the Neckcr Hospital. 
 
 So, pretending to regard the proposal as a mere jest, she said: 
 
 "You are joking, of course, sir. 1 Jive in too plain a way to re- 
 ceive a visit from a celebrated physician, hence, it is useless for lua. 
 to give you my address.'* 
 
BABIOLE, THE PRETTY MILLINER. 99 
 
 " Why? 1 promise you that I will Dot abuse your kindness." 
 
 *' I believe you, of course: but I give my address to no one. That 
 ts one of my principles. Besides, such a vi»it would do no good 
 whatever. The poor fellow has only dreamed this, and such an 
 experiment would only confuse him still more.*' 
 
 " How quickly you decide the question, mademoiselle. Monsieur 
 Valbregue is a physician of the first rank, and yet, all his learning 
 and talent have availed him little in this case. Very well, since you 
 refuse to aid us, i shall report to him to-morrow mornmg, and he 
 will then decide what it is best to do; but 1 warn you that he will 
 blame mc very much for havinji; allowed you to depart." 
 
 *' You would not detain me by force, I am sure?" said Babiole, 
 approaching the door. 
 
 " No, mademoiselle, certainly not, but — " 
 
 Bosc did not finish the sentence. It was cut short by the boister- 
 ous entrance of Houssais, who pushed open the door with such 
 violence as to nearly overturn Babiole, who recoiled in alarm. 
 
 ** Have a care, stupid!" cried Bosc. 
 
 ** 1 was not aware that j^ou had company," replied the intruder^ 
 staring at Babiole, " but don't be alarmed, I will not disturb you 
 loner." 
 
 "Idiot! don't you see Gimbert and Mother Colas? There is no 
 tete-d-tete here. You can come in." 
 
 *' No, 1 have business. One word only. I have just left the 
 laboratory. What do you think the powder Valbregue gave me to 
 analyze contains?" 
 
 '* 1 am not particularly anxious to know." 
 
 *' But 1 am going to tell you. all the same. Some poorly prepared 
 bromide and stryclmme — j^es, my good fellow, strychnine, four mil- 
 ligrammes to the powder — just enough to poison a man slowly and 
 almost imperceptibly, but none the less surely." 
 
 *' The deuce! It Valbregue's patient doesn't change his phar- 
 macist, he won't live a month. 
 
 ** Nor even a fortnight." 
 
 *' You had better hasten to the gentleman, and advise him to stop 
 taking his medicine at once." 
 
 " But 1 don't know either his name or address." 
 
 ** That's a fact. Valbregue neglected to give you any information 
 in regard to his patient. Go and tell the doctor without delay. He 
 will be very grateful to you for warning him." 
 
 ** I am perfectly willing to do so, but the question is, to discover 
 Wtiere 1 can find him. He is never at home on Sundays." 
 
 ** Still, j^ou had better try— and If you don't find him, leave a 
 message for him. He will get it this evening, and can then lalie the 
 necessary steps to save his patient." 
 
 *' It is quite time. 1 will also leave him the rest of the powder, 
 80 he can have it analyzed by some of the experts in the detective 
 service. It is a very strange affair, and the druggist who put up 
 the prescription is likely to have a pretty uncomfortable time of it. 
 Still, the pounders may have been tampered with, after they left his 
 hands." 
 
 ** That is quite possible, and I advise vou to be prudent. Don't 
 speak of the matter to any one but Valbregue, and above all, no 
 
100 BABIOLE, THE PEETTY MILLINER. 
 
 fotssip here in the ho^pilal. Mademoiselle henrd what you said, but 
 am sure that we can rely upon her discretion." 
 
 But mademoiselle was already gliding out through the open door. 
 
 *' I shall ask. your uncle tor your address," Bosc called after her. 
 
 Babiole did not turn, but the blow had told, and she said to her- 
 self: 
 
 " If mj^ uncle gives it to him, they will bring Marbeuf to the 
 house to-morrow, and Heaven only knows what the result will be! 
 1 haven't a moment to lose in warning Monsieur Andre; and 1 must 
 hasten to Monsieur Virnelle's to make inquiries about him. Heaven 
 grant that the bankei's daughter will not be the one to receive me!" 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 While Babiole was talking at the Necker Hospital with Louis 
 Marbeuf, for whom Andre Subligny had long been searching in vain, 
 Clemence Vernelle was weepingin the arms of her father, who did 
 not even try to console her, for lie knew all, and had ceased to hope. 
 
 After a night spent in cursiug the shameless creature who bad re- 
 turned to Paris to dishonor his name, and in asking himself what 
 measures he should take to rid his daughter of the presence of her in- 
 famous mother, M. Vernelle received an early call from Bertand, who 
 came to announce the financial disaster of the preceding day. 
 
 The interview had been a stormy one, for Bertand audaciously de- 
 nied that the interests of the man to whom he owed all had been 
 compromised by any fault of his — for ten yearh before the banlier 
 had lifted Bertand out of abject poverty. The scounaiel even had 
 the impudence to accuse Vernelle of negligence. He denied having 
 received any order to sell; he denied that he had operated on his 
 own account, and that he had abused Vernelle's confidence and 
 credit, and enriched himself at that gentleman's expense. In short, 
 he denied everjnhing, and his victim was not in a -position to prove 
 that these assertions were utterly false. 
 
 Toward the close of the interview, Bertand's manner became so 
 insolent that M. Vernelle was obliged to show him the door. 
 
 But this well-merited expulsion could not avert the ruin caused 
 by the perfidious speculator and friend. It was complete. Every- 
 thing that the banker possessed, everything that the failure at 
 Marseilles had lelt him, w^ould scarcely suffice to pay his indebted- 
 ness at the end of the ruonth, and barely twenty days stood between 
 him and that fatal time. 
 
 To once more tempt fortune in an effort to retrieve his losses was 
 only to expose himself to the danger of becoming involved to a 
 frightful extent, and to risk his honor, after having lost his money: 
 and the banker prized his honor far more than his fortune. 
 
 It was Sunday; the offices were closed, and Chautepie had not 
 made his appearance, so V^ernelle could not apprise him ot the 
 catastrophe which was the more terrible from the fact that it was so 
 unexpected, for only the evening before Vernelle had informed his 
 cashier of the decline in prices, and told him that he had taken 
 measures accordingly^ 
 
 Before apprising his daughter of the blow, he lesolved to 
 
BABIOLE, THE PRETTY MILLINER. 101 
 
 leave no means untried to avert the impf^ndini^ ruin, and he had ap- 
 pealed to his friends in banking circles tor the assistance which he 
 had not refused them under similar circumstances. But people are 
 willing to loan only to the rich, and rumors of his embarrassment 
 were alreadj^ rite in financial circles, so he had received only com- 
 monplace words of C(msolalion and r/)orc or less polite refusals. 
 
 The whole morning was spent in'^this; ^ay,' and Cler^L.'f?nc8; after 
 \/aiting for hun more than an houv, w^is obliged to, breai^fid'alone. 
 
 Andre, too, had failed to maka hls^appear^pce, thou.2;li lie was in 
 the habit of callinc every Sunday ^mpfnidg t«>,*;reatJi^6 Ij'iSi'eiri^lcyer's 
 instructions, or if he had called, lie had'no^ dared to ask 'tb;so6''Mile. 
 Vernelle in her father's absence. 
 
 The poor child was in despair, though she as yet had no idea of 
 the extent of her misfortune. 
 
 She was ten years old, and she loved her mother devotedly, though 
 her mcfther paid very little attention to her, when her father one day 
 came to tell her that her mother had just started on a long journey„ 
 She had not learned the sad truth, however, until long afterward; in 
 tact, not until she left boarding-school, where she remained until she 
 was seventeen years of age. Then M. Vernelle said to her on this 
 sad subject all that a young girl could hear without shocking her 
 modesty. 
 
 '• Forget her, as I have forgotten her," were the concluding words 
 of the desolate father. 
 
 And Clemence had tried hard to obey him, but she had not suc- 
 ceeded. Her mother's features were indelibly impressed on her mem- 
 ory, and though she never spoke of her for fear of reviving M. Ver- 
 nelle's grief, she was ever thinking of her, and hoping she might 
 someday see her again brought repentant to her husband's feet 
 by the power of maternal love. She dreamed of reconciling her 
 parents, and troubling herself very little about the opinion of Parisian 
 society, she sometimes said to herself: 
 
 *' If 1 should meet her, 1 am sure I should recognize her, and 1 
 certainly could not help throwing my arms around her neck.'* 
 
 She had not foreseen that she would first see her mother parading 
 ner shame in an opera-oox, and that she coulrt think only of fleeing 
 from the sig)#t. 
 
 This cruel ordeal had been in store for her, however, and she had 
 submitted to it courageously. She had done what she did unhesitat- 
 ingly, but not without suffering, for the wound was still bleeding. 
 And this cruel blow had fallen upon hex just as her father had be- 
 trothed her to the man she loved. 
 
 ]S"or do misfortunes ever come singly. M. Vernelle returned home 
 about two o'clock, and told her the resi. Out of delicacy he re- 
 frained from speaking of her mother, but he explained the situation 
 to her clearly. He did not conceal from her the fact that inevitable 
 ruin and poverty stared them in the face, for he had resolved to de- 
 vote every penny, if necessary, to the payment of his indebtedness. 
 
 Here, too, Clemence had shown no sign ot weakness. Instead of 
 complaining, she had cordially approved his plans, and declared her- 
 gelf willing to maKe any sacrifice. 
 
 A life devoid of luxury, and even fraught with privations, bad no 
 
10)8 BABIOLE/ THE PRETTY MILLINER. 
 
 terrors tor her; and ber father, seeing her so brave and calm, almost 
 regained courage. 
 
 He would gladly bave shortened this painful interview, but there 
 was one point which must be settled immediately. 
 
 The previous evenmg, only a moment before the scandalous en- 
 tree ot his wite, and while he was still ignorant of the final result of 
 his specula,tion in\ sjtoblts;,' Vepielle had promised his secretary his 
 dauglit^r(s Jhand, artd Mife two- young people had plighted their troth 
 under his very ej^es and w;illirhi^ formal approbation. 
 
 Whatw^s 'i!\e5;yrc>,4i^e ^i'ol'.th riiOw? Would Andre Subligny still 
 feeJJ(ncliiiqd.'t0.keepifcan*dm'arry the dowerless daughter ot a woman 
 who had sunk to the lowest depths of degradation? And even if he 
 felt so inclined, was it not the banker's duty to acquaint him with 
 the deplorable tacts without delay, and release him? 
 
 Clemence read his thoughts, and spared him the pain of making 
 this announcement. 
 
 •' JVly father,-' she said, lirmlv, " we will do our duty unto the end. 
 You will give up all your property to your creditors, and 1, though 
 1 love Andre and shall always love him, will not marry him. I 
 know him well enough to feel sure that our misfortunes will not 
 change his feelings, but 1 will not blight his future by allowing him 
 to share our troubles." 
 
 ** I expected no less of you," replied M. Vernelle, deeply touched'; 
 ** and since you are so heroic in your self abnegnation, 1 will go to 
 Monsieur Subligny and lell him that this marriage is no longer to bo 
 thought ot. 1 will, at the same time, advise him to seek another 
 situation, and 1 will even assist him in procuring one. My recom- 
 mendation will be of some service, and with the business talent he 
 possesses, I am sure he will make his way in some house more tortu- 
 nate than mine." 
 
 ** And he will marry some young girl less deeply disgraced than 
 myself. I have but one favor to ask: that is, to be allowed to see 
 him once more. 1 do not wish him to misunderstand the real cause 
 of my ret usal. He will think, perhaps, that lam acting only in 
 obedience to an order from you. I wish to tell him myself that it is 
 entirely of my own accord that I renounce the happiness of being his 
 wife, and even though he insists, I shall have strength to withstand 
 his entreaties." 
 
 " You are right, my child, and I think you will certainly se^him 
 to day. I am even a little surprised that he has not made his appear- 
 ance before this, for he is sincerely devoted to me; and however quiet 
 the life he leads may be, it seems to me impossible that the rumors 
 which are in circulation about me should not have reached his ears. 
 
 •* Besides, " added Yernelle, after somo slight hesitation, "our 
 abrupt departure last evening must have astonished him, and he 
 may have guessed the cause ot it. I had no intention ot concealing 
 it from him, however, for 1 invited him to call on me this morning 
 lor the express purpose of acquainting him with all the tucts. 
 
 * He may have called unknown to us. I went out very early this 
 morning, and on my return, 1 quite forgot to ask my valet if any 
 one had been here. Ring the bell, it you please. 
 
 '' Pierre is going to bring you a cup of chocolate that I ordered 
 made for you, for 1 was sure'that you have eaten nothing to-day." 
 
JBABIOLE, THE PRETTY MILLINEE, 103 
 
 Cl§mence rano^, and Pierre entered, ^^ailer in hand. 
 
 ** Has Monsieur ISubligny been here this morning?'* inquired the 
 banker. 
 
 " les, sir. 1 forget to tell you, sir. Be called while you were 
 engaged with Monsieur Bertand, and he said he would not intrude 
 then." 
 
 " Did he say that he would call again?" 
 
 *' Ves, sir; and even now there is some one in the antechamber 
 asliing tor him." 
 " Who is it?" 
 
 " A young lady, sir," replied the footman, dubiously. 
 
 Clemence glanced up hastily, and M. Vernelle said, frowningly: 
 *' You must have made a mistake, or else she has." 
 
 " Pardon me, sir, but it is certainly Monsieur Subligny whom this 
 person wishes to see, upon very urgent business, she pretends. 1 told 
 her that he was not here just now. Then she wanted to know where 
 he lived; but 1 did not feel at liberty to give her his address without 
 your permission, so I merely told her that Monsieur Subligny might 
 come in at any moment, and advised her to wait for him at the 
 street-door. Monsieur rang while 1 was talking with her, so I left 
 her in the antechamber ; but if she is not gone 1 will send her away 
 at once." 
 
 "No, no," interposed Mile. Vernelle, quickly. ** 1 want to sea 
 her. Tell her that Monsieur Subligny is here, and bring her in." 
 
 Pierre bowed, and turned to leave the room. 
 
 " What a strange idea!" exclaimed the banker. ** Why are you 
 so anxious to see this young woman?" 
 
 *' To find out it she is not the same person who smiled at Andre at 
 the Opera Comique, last evening?" 
 
 " Can it be that you are jealous ot him?" asked M. Vernelle, sadly. 
 
 *• And what it 1 am?" retorted Clemence, almost sullenly. 
 
 She was very pale, and her eyes sparkled dangerously. She was 
 DO longer a girl resigned to sacrificing her happiness to the terrible 
 exigencies of the situation, but a woman who loved and who wished 
 to be loved in return, entirely and without reserve. 
 
 ** You no longer have any right to be, " replied M. Vernelle. " He 
 will never be your husband. He is free, consequently." 
 
 " He was not free yesterday. I want to know it he was deceiving 
 me." 
 
 *' And you are going to insist upon an explanation with a person 
 you do not know, and perhaps with a woman of doubtful character. 
 The idea is absurd, and I will not allow it. I must go first ana see 
 who she is." 
 
 The banker was about to rise when the door opened and Babiole 
 appeared. 
 
 '* It is she I" murmured Clemence. 
 
 Babiole had paused upon the threshold, and seemed to be con- 
 templating a retreat, but the footman pushed her gently forward. 
 
 " Come in, mademoiselle," said M. Vernelle. 
 
 '* Pardon me, sir," she said, in evident embarrassment, *' I asked 
 1o see Monsieur Subligny. The servant assured me he was here.'' 
 
 *• I am expecting him every moment. What do you desire ol 
 him?" 
 
104 BABIOLE, THE PBETTY MILLIKER, 
 
 *' 1 wish to speak with him.'* 
 
 " What have you to say to him?" 
 
 ** Several things that interest him —him alone, sir. 1 regret hay- 
 ing disturbed you, and 1 will go — " 
 
 ** Remain, 1 beg, mademoiselle," interrupted the banker. ' 
 
 He knew Paris, and his long experience in business life had made 
 him a clever physiognomist; consequently, he had only to glance at 
 this girl of sixteen to read her true character. 
 
 Babiole was clad like an honest working girl, and her charming 
 face wore an expression which was almost equivalent to a certificate 
 of good character. 
 
 Clemence, too, in her secret heart, did the girl justice, and was 
 ashamed of her former suspicions; but she was none the less anx- 
 ious to hear the explanation. 
 
 "If the matter is of grave importance you can confide it to me," 
 replied JVl. Vernelle. ** Monsieur Subligny is my secretary, but he 
 is also my friend, and my daughter's presence need not prevent you 
 from speaking." 
 
 * * Tou are very kind, sir, but 1 fear it would not be best, and if 
 you will kindly give me Monsieur Subligny 's address — " 
 
 ** What! don't you know w^here he lives?" 
 
 *'No, sir. My acquaintance with him is very slight. 1 have 
 spoken to him only three times, at the most." 
 
 ** But he lived in the same house with you," murmured Clemence. 
 
 *' Did he tell you so?" exclaimed Babiole. 
 
 ** Yes, mademoiselle. He told me so last evening at ihe opera, 
 where you occupied a seat nearly opposite us. You saw us, 1 sup- 
 pose?" 
 
 '* Yes, mademoiselle; but you did not remain until the end of the 
 performance, and 1 met Monsieur Subligny on leaving the theater. 
 It was then that 1 spoke to him for the third time." 
 
 ** Then how does it happen that you are ignorant of his address?" 
 
 ** 1 did not think to ask him for it. He only told me that he was 
 employed in a banking-house." 
 
 ** And you quite forgot to take advantage of the opportunity to 
 speak to him about the important matter that brings j^ou here?" 
 
 This was said in a dry tone that greatly disconcerted poor Babi- 
 ole. Her eyes fell, and blushing to her very ears, she stammered : 
 
 " Yesterday 1 did not know what I know now." 
 
 *' What is it you know?" 
 
 Babiole drew herself up haughtily. She was not inclined to an- 
 swer the questions of a person who had no right to question her, 
 and she was probably about to make a rather impertinent reply, 
 when M. Vernelle hastily interposed. He saw the danger, and not 
 wishing this rather singular interview to degenerate into a feminine 
 quarrel, he said gently: 
 
 ** Mademoisp-lie, no one here has any intention of wounding you, 
 and 1 don't doubt that you have news of an important and urgent 
 character for Monsieur Subligny. He resides only a few steps from 
 here, but you would not find" him at home, and he will certainly be 
 here to-day. He may arrive at any moment. Will you not sit 
 down and wait until he comes?" 
 
 "1 thank you, sir, but 1 should be very sorry to intrude upou 
 
BABIOLE, THE PRETTY MILLI]5^ER. 105 
 
 you any longer. It will be quite enough for Monsieur Subligny to 
 know that 1 would like to see him as soon as possible, tor 1 am sure 
 that he will have the goodness to call on Mie, especially it you will 
 do me the tavor to add that it is in relation to his friend. Monsieur 
 Marbeuf, that I w^ish to speak to him.** 
 
 *' Tlie young gentleman whose rooms he shared on his arrival in 
 Paris?" inquired Clemence, alrtadv greatly mollified. 
 
 '* Yes, mademoiselle. Monsieur Sublignj'- remained there only 
 twenty-four hours, but it was then that 1 made his acquaintance, 
 tor Monsieur Marbeuf was my neighbor.** 
 
 " But that gentleman has gone away — has left Paris, 1 believe^?" 
 
 *' 1 thought so; but he is still in the city.'* 
 
 *' Monsieur Subligny assured me to the contrary.** 
 
 ** Monsieur Subligny w^as mistaken. It is to tell hira where his 
 friend is, that 1 am so anxious to see him.'* 
 
 *' Then remain, mademoiselle," exclaimed Clemence, ** remain, 1 
 beg of you." 
 
 The two young girls exchanged glances, and a treaty of peace was 
 instantly concluded. This compact was eminently satisfactory to 
 Babiole, for she was not yet conscious of the nature of the sentiments 
 Andre had inspired in her heart; still less, did she cherish any hope 
 of marrying him, so without a word, she accepted the chair which 
 M. Vernelle placed for her between his daughter and himself. 
 
 She accepted it with very good grace, and now seemed to be wait- 
 ing for some one to question her. 
 
 " This is Sunday,'* the banker remarked, ** a holiday for all my 
 employes, and even for Subligny, who is my secretary. But for 
 that—" 
 
 *• Oh, 1 did not expect to find him here," interrupted Babiole; 
 ** but 1 thought I might ascertain his address. It was only by chance 
 that 1 learned he was emploj^ed in your banking house, sir: for he 
 did not tell me your name. But my uncle, who is a collection clerk, 
 informed me that Monsieur Cbautepie w^as your cashier—" 
 
 *' What! do you know Chautepie, too?" inquired M. Yernelle, 
 greatly astonished. 
 
 ** 1 saw him years ago, when 1 was but a child; but 1 have good 
 ^ause to remember him; and as Monsieur Subligny told me he was 
 employed in the same house with this — this man, 1 looked in the 
 directory, found out where you lived, and came here without losing 
 a moment." 
 
 *'* Is the matter so very urgent?" 
 
 ** 1 think so. Monsieur Subligny must be greatly interested in as- 
 certaining the whereabouts of his missing friend." 
 
 *' His missing friend, did you say?" 
 
 " Y"es, sir. On the evening following the day on which Monsieur 
 Subligny arrived at hi3 friend's house, Monsieur Marbeuf did not 
 return home. That was more than a month ago, and no one has 
 heard anything about hini since that time. Our concierge thinks he 
 must be dead, and his furniture is about to be sold." 
 
 " It will not be, now that you nave discovered the missing man. 
 But where is this young man, for he must be young, as he was at 
 college with Subligny, who is scarcely twenty-six." 
 
 •* Pardon me> sir, but I would rather not teU you where he is/' 
 
106 BABIOLE^ THE PRETTY MILLIKEB. 
 
 *Andwby?*' 
 
 ** Because it is a secret tliat does not belong to me. Monsieur 
 Subligny will tell you, 1 am sure; but 1 would rather reveal my 
 discovery to him alone." 
 
 ** As you please, mademoiselle. He will be at liberty to keep the 
 secret, if he likes, for 1 shall not demand it of him. But it seems to 
 me that you have a rather poor opinion of my cashier," said M. 
 Vernelle, smiling. *' May 1 ask what he has done? Is that, too, a 
 secret?" 
 
 *' No, sir; but 1 did not come here to complain of Monsieur Chau- 
 tepie. 1 have no desire to denounce him." 
 
 *• 1 approve your feelings, mademoiselle. Denouncing a person is 
 cowardly when the information is given from interested motives, 
 and that is almost always the case. Still, there are times when one 
 is only fulfilling a duty in unveiling a man's past. If 1 have in- 
 trusted my safe to Monsieur Chautepie's keeping, it is only because 
 1 have no reason to doubt his integrity; consequently, you would 
 do me a sreat service by enlightening me in regard to his antece- 
 dents, with which 1 am but slightly acquainted. 1 took nim into 
 ray employ ten years ago, because he was recommended to me by 
 by a person in whom 1 then felt implicit confidence." 
 
 ** Ten years ago he hnd just ruined my father!" exclaimed Babi- 
 ole, impelled by a feeling of indignation which she could not repress. 
 
 •' What is that you say?" 
 
 *' It is only the truth, sir. My father had accumulated a modest 
 fortune in business. He was foolish enough to intrust it to this 
 Chautepie, who promised to invest it to advantage at the Bourse." 
 
 *' It may have been in perfect good faith that he advised your fa- 
 ther, after all. The cleverest and the best-meaning people are some- 
 times deceived." 
 
 "My father had proofs that his orders were not executed, and 
 that the money he lost enriched Monsieur Chautepie; but, unfortu- 
 nately, they were proofs which, though perfectly satisfactory to him, 
 would not have been admitted in a court of justice, so he engaged 
 in no lawsuit. He preferred to die." 
 
 " "What!" exclaimed Clemence, " is it possible that he — " 
 
 ** Yes, mademoiselle, and my mother died of grief. 1 am an or- 
 phan, and I earn my living by working in a millinery shop." 
 
 Mile. Vernelle, moved to tears, stretched out her hand to iJabiole, 
 , w^ho dared not take it. 
 
 M. Vernelle, recollecting the disaster which had just befallen 
 him by reason of Bertand's treachery, began to wonder if this 
 wretch had not conspired with Chautepie to defraud him. But he 
 deemed it his duty to keep this suspicion to himself, so he endeav- 
 ored to change the subject. 
 
 *' 1 am dying of hunger," he remarked abruptly. ** Permit me to 
 drink this chocolate, mademoiselle; but first give me my powder, 
 Clemence." 
 
 " You forget that Monsieur Valbregue ordered you to stop taking 
 it, yesterday." 
 
 '* Until to-morrow," he said, ** and it is now to-morrow, so give 
 me one." 
 
 Cltoence handisd him a powder— she was in the habit of keep- 
 
BABIOLE, THE PEETTY MILLIKER. lO"? 
 
 ing some constantly in her pocket— and her father was about to 
 empty it into a glass ot water that the footman had brought in with 
 the chocolate, when Babiole interfered. 
 
 ** Stop, sir!" she cried. 
 
 M. Vernelle turned and looked at her as if asking himself if she 
 were nut going mad. She had turned suddenly pale, and had half 
 risen from her chair, at the same time making a movement as if to 
 seize him by the arm. 
 > '* What is the matter with you, mademoiselle?" he exclaimed, in 
 astonishment. 
 
 ** That powder I" murmured the young girl. 
 
 *• Ah, well, that powder is a remedy prescribed by my physician.'* 
 
 ** And your physician's name is Valbregue, is il not?" 
 
 *' Yes, mademoiselle; and the medicine is bromide." 
 
 '* It is poison I" exclaimed Babiole. 
 
 ** Poison I Do you think my daughter would poison me?" 
 
 •' No, certainly not; but I am sure of what 1 say, and 1 beseech 
 you not to take this drug." 
 
 Clemence said nothing, but she snatched the powder from her 
 father's hands. 
 
 ** Explain, mademoiselle, if you please," said the banker. ** How 
 can you know?" 
 
 ** Did not your physician announce his intention of having this 
 medicine analyzed?" 
 
 ** Yes, and he took away one of the powders for that purpose, 
 but—" 
 
 ** And does not this doctor have charge of one of the hospitals?" 
 
 ** Of the Necker Hospital, yes." 
 
 *' Then you are certainly the person they were talking about, just 
 
 DOW." 
 
 ** Where?" 
 
 *' At the Necker. How fortunate that Monsieur Subligny did not 
 tell me where he lived yesterda.y." 
 
 '* Why do you consider it so fortunate?" 
 
 ** Because, if 1 had known his address, 1 should have gone straight 
 to his house to tell him about the friend that 1 just saw—" 
 
 " At the hospital? And it was there, too, 1 suppose, that 1 was 
 the subject ot conversation. 1 assure you, mademoiselle, that 1 
 haven't the slightest idea what you mean. Will you kindly explain 
 more clearly? You are congratulating yourself, if 1 am not very 
 much mistaken, upon having warned me that this powder contains 
 a poisonous ingredient." 
 
 ** 1 congratulate myself above all upon having arrived here in time 
 to save your life." 
 
 ** And 1 am very grateful to you for having saved me, if there 
 was any real danger. But, on the other hand, you have given me to 
 undersiand that you came here for the sole purpose of meeting my 
 secretary, and thai if you had not been so anxious to see him you 
 would have allowed me to be poisoned. In that case it is to Subligny 
 that 1 am indebted for my preservation. What am 1 to believe 9" 
 
 *' ]f you will kindly listen to me, sir, you will see that I have no 
 cause for self-reproach. 1 had just ypent two hours by the bedside 
 of my uncle, who is sick in the Saint Ferdinand ward of the Necker 
 
108 BABIOLE, THE PKETTY MILLINEB. 
 
 Hospital, and 1 was about to leave the institution when 1 was 
 stopped on the staircase by one of the officers of tbe iostitution. 
 While we were talking about my uncle's attack of bronchitis, an- 
 other official, the chemist, came up, and told his comrade that Dr. 
 Valbregue— I recollect the name perfectly— had left with him that 
 morning, for analysis, a bromide powder, which he had prescribed 
 for one of his patients, but which did not seem to agree with him. 
 The new-comer added that he had analyzed it, ana satisfied himself 
 of the presence of strychnine in the compound.*' 
 
 * 'Strychnine!" 
 
 ** Yes, strychnine, which must be the most violent of poisons, 
 judging from what they said, for the other young man remarked: 
 ' If Valbregue's patient continues to follow this treatment, he has not 
 much longer to live.' " 
 
 *' And these gentlemen allowed the matter to drop there? Why 
 did not the idea of hastening to infomi me of the fact occur to 
 themv" 
 
 ** Your physician had not told them his patient's name, and as I 
 knew no more about it than they did, 1 could not come here and tell 
 you. One of them started off in search of Monsieur Valbiegue, how- 
 everf but he had very little hope of finding him. You see, sir, that 
 1 have good reason to rejoice at my Ignorance of Monsieur Subligny'* 
 address." 
 
 The father and daughter exchanged glances. 
 
 ** We shall never forget what you have done, mademoiselle," said 
 M. Vernelle, with deep emotion. *' If we can be of service to you ia 
 any way, do not hesitate to make use of us." 
 
 *'l ask for nothing but to see Monsieur Subligny," Babiole re- 
 plied, quietly. 
 
 '* You will see him very soon. He cannot delay much longer; 
 and if he does not come, I will find him and send him to your house. " 
 
 * He will come, 1 am almost sure," murmured Clemence. 
 
 ** So 1 have an enemy who desires my life," said the banker, talk- 
 ing to himself, *' for there can be no mistake. But who can the 
 wretch be?" 
 
 " This powder was prepared by a druggist Monsieur Chautepie 
 recommended to you," interrupted Mile. Vernelle. *' It was Mon- 
 sieur Chautepie who received the last package sent, and it was he 
 who gave the powders to your valet." 
 
 ** Chautepie! — he — no, that is impossible!" 
 ^ ** The man who was the cause of my father's death is capable of 
 any crime," exclaimed Babiole. 
 
 Just then, Pierre came in, and said a few words to his employer 
 in subdued tones. 
 
 Pierre was intelligent and discreet, so he had gained a tolerably 
 correct idea of the situation, and nothing could have induced him to 
 usher Andre Subligny into the little salon without first consulting 
 M. V^ernelle. 
 
 The banker instantly rose. Ba'biole did the same, but he made 
 her reseat herself, and said to her, in a really affectionate tone: 
 
 ** Mademoiselle, both my daughter and myself beg you to remain a 
 while longer. 1 must leave yoif to see some one; but 1 hope to find 
 you here on my return. You will not regret having waited for me, 
 
BABIOLE, THE PRETTY MILLIKTER. 109 
 
 I assure you, and Clemence will keep you company until my re 
 turn." 
 
 Mile. Vernelle did not say nay; on the contrary, she held out her 
 hand to Babiole, and this time Bubiole did not retiise hers. 
 
 The banker thankea Clemence with a 2:]ance, and went out, leav- 
 ing the two girls alone together. He knew, notv, that they were 
 kindly disposed toward each other; and he was in a hurry to have 
 an explanation with Andre, who was awaiting him in his office. 
 
 " Thank you tor having come, my friend," he said to him, on 
 entering. " 1 see by your face that you have heard the bad news. 
 You do not desert nie in adversity. That is kind, very kind in you. " 
 
 ** Desert you!" exclaimed Subligny. "Ah, sn, 1 hope that you 
 did not think me capable of such baseness." 
 
 * No, my friend, but 1 was impatient to see you. 1 have so many 
 things to tell j'ou! 1 will begin with a subject that interests j'^ou ex- 
 clusively, for 1 am not acquainted with the young man — the one 
 whose hospitality you accepted on your arrival in Paris — Monsieur 
 Marbeut, 1 believe." 
 
 *' Yes, sir. Well, what of him?" 
 
 ** He has been found." 
 
 Andre turned pale. Anything in any way connected with the un- 
 fortunate history of the bank-notes always agitated him deeply, and 
 the thought that Marbeuf had perhaps told M. Yernelle all, fUled 
 him with alarm. 
 
 ** Are you not pleased to learn that he is still in Paris?" inquired 
 the banker. 
 
 ** Certainly, sir. 1 shall be very glad to see him again. But the 
 news was so unexpected that it quite took away my breath. If you 
 will have the goodness to tell me where he is—" 
 
 *' 1 cannot do that, but there is a person here who can." 
 
 ** VYho?" 
 
 ** Y^ou will see her in a moment; but first let us speak of my own 
 situation, and of yours. I may as well tell you first as last, that I 
 am utterly ruined." 
 
 " I have been aware of that tact ever since last evening. After 
 your depaiture from the theater, I met Monsieur Bertand in the 
 foye?\ and he told me that your order to sell had not been executed. 
 He even had the audacity to assure me that he had not received any 
 such instructions. I will not conceal from you, sir, that I treated 
 him as he deserved to be treated, for 1 am sure that he was lying. 
 He is a treacherous scoundrel. 1 have proofs of that, for 1 received 
 through the telephone a message that was not intended for you — a 
 message in which he announced that he had just returned from the 
 Bourse, where he had made a large amount of uioney." 
 
 ** This announcement was intended for my cashier, I suppose?" 
 
 ** Yes, sir. You may recollect that 1 mentioned this incident last 
 evening at the opera; but I attached very little importance to it, as 
 1 did not know that Bertand had left you out of the operation." 
 
 ** 1 had a long talk with him this morning, my dear Andre, and I 
 think, with you, that he has betrayed ray confidence; but I cannot 
 prove that he has acted with fraudulent intent. It is useless, there- 
 fore, to make any accusation against him; and 1 can only submit to 
 the consequences of a mistake which was undoubtedly intentional. 
 
110 BABIOLE, THE PRETTY MILLIKER7 
 
 1 hope and believe that I shall be able to meet all my obligations, 
 but my house will disappear. Indeed, 1 shall deem myself lortu- 
 nate it my daughter and myselt have enough left to liveupon, after 
 all my debts are paid." 
 
 ** You will rise again, sir. I will work diligently — '* 
 
 ** Do not confound your situation with mine, my friend. The 
 misfortune that has overtaken me does not involve you. You will 
 lose a modest position by it, but I will assist you in finding a better 
 one." 
 
 ** What do you say, sir? Can you suppose that 1 would leave 
 you? Am 1 not a member ot your family?" 
 
 " You were to become my son-in-law, but you cannot marry 
 Olemence now, tor she has nothing. She understands that as well 
 as 1 do, and she has empowered me to release you from your engage- 
 ment. ' 
 
 " 1 refuse to be released, and 1 ask yon, in pity, to grant me an 
 interview with Mademoiselle Yernelle, in order that 1 may tell her, 
 in your presence, that my wishes have not changed. If I dared, I 
 would add that the only thing that could console me for the disaster 
 which has swept away your fortune, is that no one can now accuse 
 me of having married from mercenary motives." 
 
 *' Your words do you honor, my dear Andre, and show me that 1 
 have judged you ri*z:htly. i ou are the best and most honorable of 
 men; but 1 cannot accept such a sacrifice on your part, nor can my 
 daughter." 
 
 *' Then she does not love me! If she did, she would not hesitate. 
 Do 1?" 
 
 ** You are mistaken, my friend; her heart has not changed; and 
 if my ruin was the only obstacle, 1 should perhaps advise her to 
 marry you as you are generous enough not to wish to be released. 
 But you do not know ail. You do iiot know her mother." 
 
 ** 1 saw her last evening at the theater. A certam person took 
 good care to point her out to me." 
 
 Vernelle started violently. 
 
 ** Then you know why I left so abruptly," he said, in an unsteady 
 voice, ** and you can understand what Clemence must have suffered. " 
 
 ** 1 know all," replied Andre. ** Monsieur Bertand told me." 
 
 '* He! 1 might have known it. It was not enough for him to ruin 
 me. He must needs drag my name through the miie, for what he 
 told you he will tell to others. 1 must be the laughing-stock of all 
 Paris, by this time. Ah! if I had only myself to think of, 1 would 
 kill that woman and her loreis. But 1 must remember my daugh- 
 ter. What would become of her? We have but one resource left: 
 that is, to exile ourselves, and bury our shame in some far-distant 
 land." 
 
 ** If you exile yourselves, 1 shall go with you. But why should 
 you go? It is the guilty one who should go." 
 
 ** You do not know her! She returned here expressly to defy me. 
 She loves to cause us all the suffering she possibly can, 1 sometimes 
 think." 
 
 '* She must be a monster, then." 
 
 *' No, not a monster. She seems to have no idea of the atrocity 
 of her acts. She commits crimes as a pear-tree produces pears, ^h, 
 
BABIOLE, THE PRETTY MILLINER. Ill 
 
 urrer feels the slightest twinge of remorse. You do not know the 
 histoiy ot my marriage." 
 
 " 1 was ignorant, until yesterday, that you had a wife. My father, 
 who so often spoke ot you, always led me to suppose that you were 
 a widower." 
 
 " 1 am grateful to him for his delicacy, especially as there was no 
 person better acquainted with the melancholy history of my married 
 lite than himself. He was an intimate friend ot my wife's family 
 beioie 1 married her, and afterward he lived on the most intimate 
 possible terms with iis. When the scandal came out, about ten 
 years ago, he was living in Havre, but he always paid us a visit 
 when he came to Paris." 
 
 *' 1 was then at college." 
 
 ** Fes, and he never brought you to our house, though ^ often 
 begged him to do so. 1 have thought since, that he was perhaps 
 aware of what was going on in my household, and that he did not 
 wish to introduce his son to a woman who was so basely deceiving 
 nie." 
 
 *• Nor do 1 think that he ever spoke of her to my mother. Had 
 he done so, she would probably have given me some intimation ot the 
 truth, when she gave me the letter recommending ?Tie to you." 
 
 " It was kind in him not to tell an honest woman of my disgrace. 
 But 1 must finish my story. My wife was an orphan; she had just 
 left the convent, when 1 met her; she was rich, and her parents were 
 of noble birth. Her name was Yolande de Bacqueville." 
 
 *' An old Norman name." 
 
 " Yes, her ancestors were knights in the reign of William the 
 Conqueror. Mine tilled the soil; my grandfather sold handker- 
 chiefs at fairs, and mj'^ father kept a country inn. I was just begin- 
 ning to accumulate a fortune, and I felt greatly honored that her 
 guardian, an old and impoverished nobleman, should condescend to 
 grant me her hand. 1 had met her at Dieppe, and had fallen des- 
 perately in love with her. I would gladly have married her, even 
 if she had been poor. As it was, I insisted that she should marry 
 under the dotal regime, and the three hundred thousand trancs she 
 possessed have never been invested in my business. IShe always 
 had the entire disposal of the money, and it was still in her posses- 
 sion when she left me. 
 
 ** The first years of our married life were happy ones. 1 worked 
 untiringly. 1 wanted to make her the wife of a millionaire, and I 
 seemed to be in a fair way to accomplish it. We went but little 
 into society, though she was very fond of it. We entertained only 
 a few friends— your father was one of the number— and yet this 
 retired lite seemed to satisfy my wife. 
 
 *' But the fire was smoldering below. Clemence was born — and 
 would you believe it? — her mother's excesses began only a year after- 
 ward. I, alone, was ignorant of them. My friends stopped visiting 
 the house. Your father's visits to Paris becarce more and moie 
 rare. Yolande had a lover. She had two, three, a dozen of them, 
 and 1 remained blind until the day wiren, infatuated with a fashion- 
 able tenor singei, she tied with him without leaviEg iL.e a letter of 
 farewell, or kissing the daughter she had never loved. She went 
 out oae morning, as usual. I expected her home and waited 4inner 
 
112 BABIOLE, THE PRETTY MILLIKER. 
 
 fo^' her, but she did not return. She had taken the train for Saint 
 Petersburg, and one hundred thousand francs that Chautepie gave 
 her out of my safe, in compliance with her request." 
 
 ** What! was Chautepie with you, then?" 
 
 ** Yes; he had been in my employ about six months. It was she 
 who first recommended him to me. 1 understand your suspicions, 
 and 1 will speak of this man again presently; but first allow me to 
 finish this lamentable confession. 
 
 " 1 had strength to bear the blow, and 1 did everything in my 
 power to spare Clemence all possible suffering. It was a terrible 
 thing to her, for the poor child adored her mother, and has never 
 forgotten her. It was she who first recognized her, last evenings, at 
 the theater. 1 told her all I could tell a child of that age. Then 1 
 sent word to that degraded creature tbat I would leave her in un- 
 disturbed possession of her dowry and the money she had stolen 
 from me, and that 1 would take no steps to procure a divorce from 
 her, upon one condition— which was, that she would never set foot 
 in France again." 
 
 " And she accepted the terms?" 
 
 '• Yes, 1 have a letter she wrote me from Kussia, in which she ac- 
 ceded to my proposals, but in which she never even inquired tor 
 her daughter. 1 have since learned that she soon squandered her 
 fortune, and tbat after her tenor abandoned her she used her beauty 
 as capital. She was still handsome, then; and she held her own 
 bravely among the adventuresses of Saint Petersburg. For several 
 years past she has been the mistress of a Russian prince, whom she 
 deceives in the most brazen manner." 
 
 ** One of the men who accompanied her last evening, probably?" 
 
 " Probably, and ' suppose she supports the other. So long as she 
 concealed her shame in Kussia 1 allowea her to live. But she has 
 broken her compact, and now comes to Paris to torment and humili- 
 ate me. Either she or 1 must go." 
 
 •* She is the one who must go," exclaimed Subligny. 
 • And who is to drive her away?" asked M. Yernelle, sadly. 
 
 Tou certainly can not think of it, my dear Andre; and now you 
 Kaow all, 1 beg you to calmly consider the future that would await 
 yoa if you should marry Clemence. She is my daughter, but she is 
 also the daughter of that shameless and degraded creature." 
 
 " What do the sins of the mother matter to me?" 
 
 ** AYould you have the courage to expose yourself and to expose 
 your wife to the humiliation of again meeting the infamous wretch 
 who paraded her shame so unblushingly yesterday?" 
 
 " 1 don't know how 1 shall do it; but 1 swear to you that 1 will 
 save Mademoiselle Vernelle from any such humiliation in the 
 future." 
 
 '* We have decided to leave Paris." 
 
 *• We are not the ones to go. " 
 
 " We! you say, ' we '?" 
 
 *' Of course, as 1 am soon to become your son-in-law." 
 
 *' So you insist! Y"our resolve to marry Clemence has not been 
 weakened by the frightful revelations that have just been made to 
 you?" 
 
 '* On the contrary, they have ocJy strengthened it. If you will 
 
BABIOLE, THE PRETTY MILLIiTER. 113 
 
 nave the kindness to take me to Mademoiselle Vernelle, 1 will im- 
 plore hei to name the day for our marriage. It shall take place in 
 one week from this time, it she will consent. 1 desire only time to 
 procure an affidavit ot my father's death, and my mother's writtten 
 consent. You will not refuse yours — " 
 
 ** You forget one that is indispensable — the consent of — this 
 woman. Will you go and ask her for it?'' 
 
 " Wnat! Mademoiselle Vernelle can not marry without the con- 
 sent ot a mother who certainly lost all authority over her when she 
 deserted her?" 
 
 **Ko, my friend. The law is explicit. My wife has as much 
 right to oppose her daughter's marriage as the tenderest mother; 
 and if she refuses her consent, Clemence will be obliged to solicit it. 
 Would j^ou advise her to submit to this humiliation?" . 
 
 Andre hung his head ; but he was not convinced, and his hesita- 
 tion lasted only a moment. 
 
 *• I will obtain this consent myself,'' he said firmly. 
 
 ** How will you do it?" 
 
 ** What difference does that make to you, provided I succeed? 1 
 B appose you have no fears of my resorting to unworthy means, and 
 that you will allow me to be guided entirely by my judgment in the 
 course 1 pursue?" 
 
 ** Yes, but Clemence — " 
 
 *• She knows* nothing about the law, consequently it is not worth 
 while to consult her." 
 
 *' Not upon this point, perhaps; but it will be necessary to induce 
 her to revoke her decision. She has given you up. She told me so 
 not an hour ago. ' ' 
 
 '* Because she attributed to me sentiments that 1 do not feel. But 
 when you tell her that 1 know all, and that I love her more than 
 ever, she will not drive me to despair by a refusal." 
 
 ** Why do you not tell her all this yourself?" 
 
 ** 1 am ready to do so. When will you allow me to see her?" 
 
 " In another moment, if you like. I left her in the little salon,'* 
 
 '* Does she know that I am here?" 
 
 ** She probably suspects as much; and the time is not unfavor- 
 able. You will find her greatly agitated by the danger I have just 
 escaped. ' ' 
 
 **The danger you have just escaped!" exclaimed Subligny, in 
 great astonishment. 
 
 ** Yes, I have but narrowly escaped death by poison. It had 
 already affected me considerably, and another dose might have 
 killed me. You doubtless recollect that my physician, astonished 
 at the effect the bromide had upon me, took a powder away with 
 him in order to have it analyzed." 
 
 *'Well?" 
 
 ** Well, it seems that the medicine contained strychnine in such 
 proportions that two or three doses more would have killed me; and 
 I learned this fact jast as I was about to take another." 
 
 " Poison! that is terrible! Who could have done it?" 
 
 '• That is what 1 have been vainly asking myself. 1 have mysug- 
 picions, but until I am certain 1 shall be silent, tor fear of accusing 
 ftU ijy^ocent person. Whtift I h^v^ a talJi: witji Doctor Y^lbr^gu^ 
 
Il4 BABIOLE, THE PRETTY MILLIKER. 
 
 btj can perhaps assist me in discovering the culprit. But to return 
 to your aflairs, njy dear Andie. Do you really wish to see my 
 davighter?" 
 
 '* 1 implore you to take me to her at once." 
 
 ** Did 1 tell you that she is not alone?" 
 
 ** No; I was not aware of that," stammered Subligny, somewhat 
 disconcerted. 
 
 *' A person whom j^ou know, and who knows you — who seems to 
 take a great interest in you, in fact— is with her. She lives in the 
 house where you stayed on your arrival in Paris. Having been a 
 neighbor ot yours, and being* very anxious to see you, she came here 
 in search of you." 
 
 Andre fell from the clouds. 
 
 What could Babiole want? How had she managed to discover 
 M. Vernelle's name and address? On escorting "her home, the 
 evening before, Andre had taken good care not to tell her his em- 
 ployer's name, or where he lived, for he was a little afraid of her. 
 Several words which had escaped her, made him suspect that she 
 was jealous of Clemence, and he was theiefore anxious to prevent 
 the two girls from finding themselves again face to face. 
 
 Now, he asked himself, with no little trepidation, what could be 
 the object of Babiole's unexpected visit to the banker and his 
 daughter. 
 
 *' You seem annoyed to learn that this young woman is here, ' 
 remarked M. Yernelle. 
 
 *' 1 am greatly astonished," replied the young secretary, ** and 1 
 can not imagine what she has to say to me. 1 know her but slightly, 
 and whatever she has to tell might have been told last evening, for 
 1 met her on leaving the theater." 
 
 " She has come to tell you that she discovered your friend, Mon- 
 sieur Marbeuf, to-day. He is in Paris. She has seen him, and her 
 fir^t thought was to apprise you of the fact. She did not know 
 where you lived, but hoped to find you here; and it is very fortunate 
 that she came, for it was she who prevented me from poisoning my- 
 eelf. She had just heard at the Neck( r Hospital that the powders 1 
 was taking contained strychnine. Consequently, we owe her no 
 slight debt of gratitude, and my daughter was not willing to let her 
 go away, though she treated her rather coldlj^ at first. Between our- 
 Beives, my dear Andre, you were the cause of it, for the girl is very 
 pretty, and Clemence is a little inclined to be jealous. But the 
 clouds were soon dispelled, and the pair are now the best friends in 
 the world." 
 
 Andre breathed freely once more, though he was not greatly en- 
 lightened by the explanation, as M. Vernelle had left him quite in 
 the dark in regard lo the situation, and Marbeuf 's history in par- 
 ticular. Nevertheless, he felt that it would be best to settle tlie 
 matter then and there. To hesitate to see Mile. Vernelle in Ba- 
 biole's presence would be equivalent to confessing that there was 
 a secret between the little milliner and. hiii.self, and would spoil the 
 fortunate result of the girl's inteiview. 
 
 So Andre resolved to burn his ships behind him; that is to say, 
 to speak to his betrothed exactly as if Babiole were not withiu hear- 
 ing. Having never couimiUed iiimseU in any way with Babiole, he 
 
BABIOLE, THE PRETTY MILLINER. 115 
 
 had DOlhing to conceal from her; and it she cherished any hope of 
 winning his love, it was time to dispel the illusion. 
 
 ** Very well, sir," he said, firmly, turning to the banker, " as you 
 seem to think that my former neighbor can be present, without any 
 impropriety, at the interview vfhich you kintlly grant me with 
 Mademoiselle Vernelle, I beg that it may be no longer deferred." 
 "You are quite right, my friend," was the reply. ** Come." 
 And taking Andres arm he led him to the salon. To reach it 
 they were obliged to pass through the antechamber in which the 
 footman was seated, and that worthy checked his master to whisper: 
 " The young woman is still there." 
 
 ** 1 am aware of the fact," replied M. Vernelle, dryly, probably 
 thinking that his servant displayed too much shrewdness. 
 
 When the gentlemen entered the room, they found the two girls 
 chatting familiarly. Their friendship seemed to be making rapid 
 progress. 
 
 Babiole blushed a little on perceiving Andre, but she did not ap- 
 pear embarrassed, and her manner completely reassured Mile. Ver- 
 nelle, who was furtively watchmg her. 
 
 The most uncomfortable of the three was certainly Subligny ; not 
 that he hesitated for an instant to make his declaration, but he recol- 
 lected a little too late that Babiole with a single word might place 
 him m a position of terrible embarrassment. 
 
 To do this it was only necessary for her to divulge, in the pres- 
 ence of Clemence and her father, wtiat she knew about Marbeuf. 
 An imprudent allusion to the lost or stolen bank-notes would be 
 quite enough to excite, on M. Vernelle's part, questions to which it 
 would be difficult for 8ubligny to give truthful replies. 
 
 He therefore resolved to avert the danger, as far as possible, by 
 questioning Babiole himself. 
 
 ** Mademoiselle," he said to her, after greeting Clemence affec- 
 tionately, '* I hear that you have met my friend, Marbeuf, and 1 
 shall be very happy to talk with you about the worthy fellow, who, 
 1 fear, has been guilty of a great mistake in leaving his employers. 
 But these matters will not interest Monsieur Vernelle; and I will 
 call at his rooms on the Rue Lamartine this evening. He will proba- 
 bly be there by that time, if he is not there already. Y^ou live in the 
 same house; and if you have no objections, 1 will come up to your 
 room after 1 nave seen the concierge, who is intending, 1 am told, 
 to send my friend's furniture to |he auction room." 
 
 " 1 was going to ask you to come," replied Babiole, unhesitating- 
 ly. " Monsieur Marbeuf needs your assistance: but it is useless to 
 discuss his misfortunes betore this gentleman and his daughter. 1 
 have therefore refrained from saying anything to them on the sub- 
 ject; but 1 was extremely anxious to inform you of the state of 
 affairs. That, indeed, is the only reason why 1 ventured to come 
 here." 
 
 " She understands; Heaven be praised!" thought ^Ludre. 
 "But you will come again, 1 sincerely hope," said Clemence. 
 " 1 am already deeply indebted to you; and I should be very glad 
 to have you regard me as a friend." 
 
 Babiole thanked her, though not without a little reserve; and 
 Subligny, reassured upon these points, no longer hesjt^t^d. 
 
116 BABIOLE, THE PRETTY MILLINER. 
 
 ''Mademoiselle," he began, addressing his betrothed, '*! oom^ 
 with your father's permission, to ask you to appoint the day tor oui 
 marriage." 
 
 "Our marriage!" murmured Mile. Vernelle. ** Has not my father 
 told you— " 
 
 " He has told me all, mademoiselle; and my feelings have under- 
 gone no change. This is the fourteenth of March. It you are will- 
 ing, we will be married before the last of the month. On my knees, 1 
 entreat you to name an early day." 
 
 Andre had never taken part in any parlor charades; but deep teel- 
 ing is an admirable substitute for talent, and he executed admirably 
 the rather theatrical movement ot throwing himself at a woman's 
 feet, a very difticult thing to do effectively, especially in the presence 
 of witnesses. He performed the feat, however, with a grace and 
 naturalness which would have excited the envy of many first-class 
 actors, and which certainly touched Clemence. 
 
 She could not summon up courage to uttei either a refusal or an 
 assent; bat she gave him her hand, which he kibsed ardently, yet 
 respectfully. 
 
 M. Veinelle was weeping. 
 
 Babiole had become grave. It was evident that she was not.pre- 
 pared for this scene, and that it made her feel anything but com- 
 fortable. 
 
 Andre, who had known so well how to fall upon his knees, also 
 knew how to rise in time, tor there are situations which can not be 
 prolonged without becoming ridiculous; but sincerity is everything, 
 and Andre was thoroughly in earnest. He forgot, at that moment, 
 the troublesome past and the uncertain future; he even foigot that 
 Babiole was looking on. 
 
 She was already upon her feet, preparing to go. Andre walked 
 straight to M. Verne) ie, who opened his arms to receive him, and 
 who pressed him to his heart, calling him, *' My spn." 
 
 ** Trust me, sir," said Subligny, warmly. *' In less than three 
 days the obstacles you mentioned to me will have ceased to exist." 
 
 Clemence rose in her turn. She had understood him, for she 
 said in a voice that trembled with emotion: 
 
 *' Andre, 1 belong to you, and I intrust my father's honor to your 
 keeping. 1 will watch over the life threatened by the wretches who 
 have rained him. Do not lose a moment, but remember, too, all 
 who love you — your friend who is waiting anxiously for you to come 
 to his relief, and this child, who has such a claim upon your grati- 
 tude and mine. Go with her at once." 
 
 Andre had not dared to hope for such a brilliant success; but he 
 was none the less anxious to profit by it. M. Vernelle, too, gave him 
 an encouraging look. 
 
 ** Will you permit me 1o dispose of to-morrow as I see fit?" Sub- 
 ligny inquired of him. '* 1 will endeavor to make good use of it." 
 
 *' A much better use of it than in my office, I doubt not," replied 
 the banker, sadly. '* My business career is virtually ended; and I 
 have no further need of a secretary, my dear Andre. But 1 count 
 upon seeing you to-morrow. You will dine with us, 1 trust; and 1 
 ardently hope you will bring us good news. I wish this more thaft 
 1 expect it;." 
 
BABIOLE, THE PKETTY MlLLlKER. 11'? 
 
 Babiole seemed to have been suddenly changed into a statue. She 
 alio tv^ed Mile. Yernelle to kiss her upon both cheeks, then made a 
 deep courtesy to M. Vernelle, and left the room without casting a 
 single glance behmd lier. 
 
 Autiie followed her; and the footman stared at them in mute as- 
 tonishment us they passed out, escorted to the door by his master. 
 
 This departure under the banker's protection was a great surprise 
 to Pierre, and upset all his notions ot propriety. 
 
 Subligny was eager to question Babiole; but he did not wish to 
 begin conversation on the staircase; besides, after so many exciting 
 surprises he felt the need of composing himself a little. His com- 
 panion was not acquainted with all the details of his affair with 
 Marbeuf, and he did not intend she should be; so he was wonder- 
 ing how he should broach the subject without apprising her ot facts 
 ofwhich she was doubtless ignorant, for it was not at all probable 
 that Marbeuf had made a full confession. 
 
 She was the first to break the silence, which was maintained 
 until Ihey reached the foot of the stairs, but it was not to speak o* 
 her former neighbor. 
 
 ** 1 was not aware that you expected to marry your employer's 
 daughter," she remarked, *' though 1 might have known it by the 
 way you were looking at her last night. Rich young ladies are very 
 fortunate. They can marry to please themselves. 1 shall never 
 marry." 
 
 *' Why not?" cried Subligny. '* When Mademoiselle Yernelle is 
 my wife, she and 1 will find a nice husband for you, and — " 
 
 But he saw that Babiole was not listening. She was looking at 
 two men who were standing near the gateway ot a house on the cor- 
 ner of the Rue Rougemont. 
 
 **It is he!" she murmured, laying her hand on Andre's arm. 
 *' It is that hateful Chautepie He has seen us, and is coming toward 
 us. 1 don't intend to wait for him, for 1 shall certainly tear his eyes 
 out if he speaks a word to me. I shall not go out to-morrow, so call 
 at whatever hour you like, and 1 will tell jou where Monsieur Mar- 
 beuf is.'' 
 
 And without giving Subligny any time to utter a protest, Babiole 
 ran lightly across the street, and in another minute was out of sight. 
 
 Babiole was right. It was, indeed, Chautepie who stood talking 
 on the opposite sidewalk with a man who looked very much like a 
 bailiff's clerk. 
 
 Andre felt no more desire to enter into conversation with the 
 cashier than Babiole did; but it was too late to avoid him without 
 appearing to flee from him, tor he had left his companion, and was 
 hastening toward Andre. 
 
 ** Good morning, my dear fellow," he cried. ** That is a very 
 pretty girl. Why did she run away as soon as she saw me? Wasn't 
 it the same girl I met in your frierid Marbeuf 's room the day 1 first 
 made your acquaintance? She ran away that morning too. She 
 seems to be afraid of me. You sliow very good taste in your selec- 
 tion ot a mistress; but you do very wrong to make an appointment 
 with her at your employer's door, for if his daughter should see you 
 with her, it would not improve your prospects mj/* 
 
118 BABIOLE, THIS PftETTY MtLLlKM. 
 
 ** You are very much mistaken in regard to that young lady. She 
 is not my mistress," said Subligny, angrily. 
 
 ** Calm yourself, my dear fellow. 1 have no right to meddle with 
 your love affairs, I know; but a word or two of good advice are never 
 amiss. Let us change the subject. You know that Vernelle is 
 ruined, I suppose?" 
 
 " Yes; and 1 also know that he has been basely defrauded by Ber- 
 tand." 
 
 "Defrauded! The deuce! you are putting it pretty strong; and 
 if Bertand should hear you — " 
 
 •* I am ready to repeat to his face exactly what 1 just said to you." 
 
 ** I don't deny it. He has not charged me with the task of defend- 
 ing him. But what are you going to do? The house will ^^o to 
 pieces, and 1 shall not remain in it. Vernelle will not need a cashier 
 when his sate is empty, and that will soon be the case. I can easily 
 obtain a position elsewhere; but what will become of you?" 
 
 " What ousiness is it ot yours what becoaies of me?" 
 
 " You seem to be offended with me. Why, 1 sliould like to know? 
 Because I loaned you one hundred thousand francs to keep you from 
 blowing your brains out—one hundred thousand fraucs to replace 
 the money your friend Marbeuf took away with hira to a foreign 
 land? In that case, you would do well to repay the loan before you 
 insult me. ' ' 
 
 Andre had a startling response upon his lips. He was strongly 
 tempted to reply: " Marbeuf is found; Marbeuf is in Paris, and 
 will vindicate himself," but he paused in time, remembering that it 
 was not advisable for him to say this until he had seen his triend. 
 But Chautepie had gone too far, and Andre resolved to break off all 
 connection w\th him then and there. 
 
 '* Sir, this is the second time that you have taunted me with my 
 indebtedness to you," he said, drawing himself up haughtily. ** You 
 forced the service to which you allude, upon me. I will pay yoa 
 legal interest on the sum loaned me as long as I live, and at my death 
 the loan will be repaid by an insurance company; but I cannot allow 
 you to give me instructions and orders in regard to matters that do 
 not concern you in the least. 1 even torbid you to ever address an- 
 other word ^o me. If you take offense at my language, I am ready 
 to fight with you whenever you like. " 
 
 " Thanks; you might kill me, or I might kill you, and in either 
 case, 1 should lose my money, for the insurance companies do not 
 pay policy holders who are k'lled in duels or who comm.it suicide. 
 These two exceptions are made in every policy. Y^ou had better read 
 j^ours over again. I shall not fight with you, and 1 hope that you 
 have given up all idea ot blowing your brains out, tor your happi- 
 ness is now virtually assured. Mademoiselle Vernelle loves you, 
 and will marry you whenever you like." 
 
 " I forbid you to mention that young lady's name." 
 
 '• Of course I have it in my power to prevent this marriage," con 
 tinned Chautepie, without paying the slight(;st attention to his com- 
 panion's remark. *' If 1 should send Vernelle or his daughter the let- 
 ter you were writing just as I arrived to save you— the letter iu 
 which you accuse yourself of having stolen — " 
 
 *' My letter to Marbeuf ?" 
 
BABIOLE, THE PHETTY MILLIKEH. 119 
 
 "Yes, it is clear and explicit. 1 have preserved it among my 
 papers, with your receipt, which is also sufficiently plain. * I hereby 
 acknowledge that Monsieur Chautepie has paid into Monsieur 
 Yerneile's safe, in my stead, the sum of one hundred thousand 
 francs, due from me to said safe,' the receipt reads, if my memory 
 serves me. What do you think will be the result if 1 exhibit 
 these dncumentsT' 
 
 Andre remained mute. He realized that he was at this man's 
 mercy, and his impotent rage nearly choked him. 
 
 *' But you need ha^e no fear, my dear felow," continued Chautepie. 
 ** 1 shall not make use of them, and 1 would not injure you for the 
 world. 1 am a little rousih, someiimes, for 1 have not had the ad- 
 vantages that you have, but 1 liked you from the very first, and 
 when you learn to know me better, you will regret having so mis- 
 judged me. You must imagine, I am sure, that my anxiety for you 
 to marry Mademoiselle Vernelle is due solely to a desire to insure the 
 payment of your indebtedness to me. 1 will convince you to the 
 contrary. 
 
 ** Mademoiselle Vernelle will not have a penny of dowry, and her 
 father will leave her nothing. Handsome and well-mannered as 
 you are, you might marry a very wealthy heiress. Nevertheless, I 
 urge you more strongly than ever to marry Mademoiselle Vernelle. 
 Why? Because I know that you love her, and that she will make 
 you pertectly happy. This is certainly disinterested advice. Not 
 that 1 renounce all hope of being repaid some da}^ by any means. 1 
 have great hopes of your future. I feel sure that you will make a 
 fortune, so 1 need not depend uponyour bride's dowry tor payment.'' 
 
 This Avas said with a kindly frankness that modified Andre's con- 
 victions a little. It might be, after all, that the cashiei was a sort of 
 surly benefactor, and that Babiole imputed to him crimes of which 
 he was innocent. 
 
 ** Shall 1 give you another proof of my good faith?" continued 
 Chautepie. '* I told you yesterday that Madame Vernelle had turned 
 out badly. Nevertheless, she is Mademoiselle Clemence's mother, 
 and you cannot marry without her consent. She has just arrived in 
 Paris, which is very unfortunate lor her husband, as well as for you; 
 ab she is quite capable of refusing her consent it only to torment 
 and infuriate poor Vernelle, and cause a scandal which you w^ould 
 much prefer to avoid, 1 suppose. 
 
 *' Ah well, would you like for her to grant you permission to marry 
 her daughter, and for her to then return to the country from whence 
 she came — Russia?" 
 
 '* Are you acquainted with her?" exclaimed Subligny. 
 
 ** 1 have known h«T for at least twenty years. It was she who 
 secured me a situation under Vernelle." 
 
 *' 1 know it. He told me so." 
 
 "Ah!" said Chautepie, evidently somewhat disconcerted. Then 
 quickly recovering himself, he added: 
 
 *' Oh, yes, you saw him that evening at the Opera Comique. 
 Bertand told me so. It seems that you treated the poor fellow rather 
 shabbily in XhefoT/er, but that is no concern of mine. 1 underatand 
 now how Vernelle came to tell you about his wife. He was com- 
 pelled to explain why he ran away as soon as he saw her. But what 
 
1:^0 BABIOLE, THE PBETTY MILLIKER. 
 
 »ie could not have told you, because he does not know, was his be« 
 Joved wile's present situation. I am acquainted with it, and it 
 would be well for you to become acquainted with it also, unless you 
 have abanaoned the idea ot marrying — " 
 
 ** Before the expiration of the present month Mademoiselle Vernelle 
 will be my wife." 
 
 * * I congratulate you most heartily, ray dear fellow. It is a decision 
 that does you honor, and 1 assure you that you will not regret it," 
 ^ said Chautepie, warmly. ** I am so delighted that 1 can overlook 
 anything— your ungracious greeting, your proposal to tight, your 
 indebtedness. You can pay me whenever it suits your convenience. 
 1 am in no hurry; and if 1 can do anything to facilitate your mar- 
 riage, it will afford me the greatest pleasure imaginable. The main 
 thing is to obtain the consent ot Yolande— Madame Vernelle's name 
 is Yolande, and her ancestors distinguished themselves in the 
 Crusades. At the present time she is mistress of Prince Lipetsk, 
 with whom she formed a liaison eight years ago, and who has had 
 enough of her. He regards her very much as a galley-slave regards 
 his ball and chain; and is only waiting for an opportunity to get rid 
 of her. It he does abandon her, matters will be even worse, for she 
 will sink still lower, and he will abandon her instantly, if he dis- 
 covers that she is a married woman." 
 
 " Is it possible that he is still ignorant of that fact?** 
 
 " Entirely. She has made him believe that she is the widow of 
 some country gentleman in Normandy. The tenor who eloped with 
 her, ot course, knew better, but he kept her secret for her. Now, 
 this Russian has a horror of complications. He tolerates Yolande's 
 lovers, and remains with her frorn force of habit, but the prospect of 
 a lawsuit would appall him, and of course Vernelle would have no 
 difficulty in proving his wife's guilt and in having the prince indicted 
 as her accomplice." 
 
 *' Monsieur Yernelle will do nothing of the kind." 
 
 ** 1 know that perfectly well; but by threatening Yolande with 
 prosecution, you can obtain whatever you desire of her, for she sets 
 great store on her prince, for the reason that she has squandered all 
 her own money, and he is very liberal with his. Now what Vernelle 
 will not do 1 am sure — he is too proud — you can do. If 1 were 
 fei your place, I would go and see her. She has leased a charming 
 furnished house on the Rue Galilee, No. 47, and is known as the 
 Baroness Orbec. If you go at once you will be sure to find her at 
 *jhome; she always returns from her afternoon drive about five 
 o'clock, and does not dine untill eight. If I were in your place, as 
 1 said before, 1 would go and see her and make known my con- 
 ditions." 
 
 ** What conditions?" 
 
 *' 1 should first demand her consent to her daughter's marriage — 
 her written consent — couched in legal terms. She will not hesitate 
 to give it if you do not spare your threats. Afterward I should extort 
 from her a promise to leave Paris immediately. That will be a more 
 difficult task, for the prince wishes to spend the winter here, but he 
 will cheerfully allow her to go to Nice or Monaco; and in that case, 
 you will be well rid of her, at least, until spring. 
 
 *^Sut you have no time to lose, fer Veruelte is ailiog, and this 
 
BABIOLE, THE PRETTY MlLLIKER. 131 
 
 new trouble will not do him any good. He may die any day, and 
 when he is dead, you will have no means of action against Yo- 
 lande." 
 
 Andie started violently as he thought of the attempted poisoning 
 of which M. Vernelle had so narrowly escaped becoming the vic- 
 tim; but he could no longer suspect Chautepie, who was proposing 
 a plan of action that was dependent uporf the banker's existence, 
 and he asked himself if he should follow this bold but sensible 
 counsel 
 
 If Chautepie told the truth in regard to Mme. Vernelle, the plan 
 might prove successful, and M. Vernelle had just given him full 
 permission to do anything he might deem expedient to obtain his 
 wife's consent. 
 
 " Go, my deal fellow,** urged the cashier; ** go at once. Tell 
 her plainly that you come on behalf of her husband, but do not 
 tell her that the marriage is decided upon. Above all, do not tell 
 her whom Mademoiselle Vernelle is to marry, and do not introduce 
 yourself under your real name. It is very important that Yolando 
 should not know that you are the son of Monsieur Charles Subligny, 
 with whom she was well acquainted in former years." 
 
 ** I am not at all anxious to divulge my name, 1 am sure," mut- 
 tered Andre. 
 
 *' But you are anxious to marry Mademoiselle Clemence, and you 
 are right. I have indicated to you the only means of overcoming 
 the obstacle that looms up in your path. Resort to it, and without 
 delay. You will be mariied before the end of the month, and you 
 will find afterward that Jules Chautepie is not as bad as he seems to 
 be. Now I must step in and see our employer, and tender him my 
 lesignation. Au revoir, my dear fellow, and good luck to you on 
 the Rue Galilee!" 
 
 Chautepie turned and entered the banker's house, leaving Andre 
 Subligny standing on the pavement in a deeply agitated and per- 
 plexed frame of mind. 
 
 ** What am I to believe and do?'* he murmured. ** Am I mis- 
 taken in regard to this man? Perhaps so. But why is he so very 
 anxious for me to marry Clemence?" 
 
 The conclusion of '* Babiole, the Pretty Milliner,** by 
 F. Du Boisgobey, entitled "The Victim of Destiny," is pub- 
 lished in The Seaside Library, No. 2032. Price 25 cents. 
 
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 THE UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA UBRARY