ich they justly owed? It might be done without saying
anything to monsieur, who had never been willing to appeal to the
law. And this time Clotilde approved of her idea. It was a perfect
conspiracy. Clotilde consulted the register, and made out the bills, and
the servant presented them. But nowhere did she receive a sou; they told
her at every door that they would look over the account; that they would
stop in and see the doctor himself. Ten days passed, no one came, and
there were now only six francs in the house, barely enough to live upon
for two or three days longer.

Martine, when she returned with empty hands on the following day from a
new application to an old patient, took Clotilde aside and told her that
she had just been talking with Mme. Felicite at the corner of the Rue de
la Banne. The latter had undoubtedly been watching for her. She had
not again set foot in La Souleiade. Not even the misfortune which had
befallen her son--the sudden loss of his money, of which the whole
town was talking--had brought her to him; she still continued stern and
indignant. But she waited in trembling excitement, she maintained her
attitude as an offended mother only in the certainty that she would at
last have Pascal at her feet, shrewdly calculating that he would sooner
or later be compelled to appeal to her for assistance. When he had not a
sou left, when he knocked at her door, then she would dictate her
terms; he should marry Clotilde, or, better still, she would demand the
departure of the latter. But the days passed, and he did not come. And
this was why she had stopped Martine, assuming a pitying air, asking
what news there was, and seeming to be surprised that they had not had
recourse to her purse, while giving it to be understood that her dignity
forbade her to take the first step.

"You should speak to monsieur, and persuade him," ended the servant. And
indeed, why should he not appeal to his mother? That would be entirely
natural.

"Oh! never would I undertake such a commission," cried Clotilde.
"Master would be angry, and with reason. I truly believe he would die of
starvation before he would eat grandmother's bread."

But on the evening of the second day after this, at dinner, as Martine
was putting on the table a piece of boiled beef left over from the day
before, she gave them notice.

"I have no more money, monsieur, and to-morrow there will be only
potatoes, without oil or butter. It is three weeks now