thing bore the stamp of fashion,
pleased her far better than her old chateau.

Pamela Migeon, the intelligent damsel of fourteen, was questioned by
the journalist as to whether she would like to be waiting-maid to the
imposing Baroness. Pamela, perfectly enchanted, entered on her duties at
once, by going off to order dinner from a restaurant on the boulevard.
Dinah was able to judge of the extreme poverty that lay hidden under the
purely superficial elegance of this bachelor home when she found none
of the necessaries of life. As she took possession of the closets and
drawers, she indulged in the fondest dreams; she would alter Etienne's
habits, she would make him home-keeping, she would fill his cup of
domestic happiness.

The novelty of the position hid its disastrous side; Dinah regarded
reciprocated love as the absolution of her sin; she did not yet look
beyond the walls of these rooms. Pamela, whose wits were as sharp as
those of a _lorette_, went straight to Madame Schontz to beg the loan of
some plate, telling her what had happened to Lousteau. After making
the child welcome to all she had, Madame Schontz went off to her friend
Malaga, that Cardot might be warned of the catastrophe that had befallen
his future son-in-law.

The journalist, not in the least uneasy about the crisis as affecting
his marriage, was more and more charming to the lady from the provinces.
The dinner was the occasion of the delightful child's-play of lovers set
at liberty, and happy to be free. When they had had their coffee, and
Lousteau was sitting in front of the fire, Dinah on his knee, Pamela ran
in with a scared face.

"Here is Monsieur Bixiou!" said she.

"Go into the bedroom," said the journalist to his mistress; "I will soon
get rid of him. He is one of my most intimate friends, and I shall have
to explain to him my new start in life."

"Oh, ho! dinner for two, and a blue velvet bonnet!" cried Bixiou. "I
am off.--Ah! that is what comes of marrying--one must go through some
partings. How rich one feels when one begins to move one's sticks, heh?"

"Who talks of marrying?" said Lousteau.

"What! are you not going to be married, then?" cried Bixiou.

"No!"

"No? My word, what next? Are you making a fool of yourself, if you
please?--What!--You, who, by the mercy of Heaven, have come across
twenty thousand francs a year, and a house, and a wife connected with
all the first families of the better middle class--a wife, in shor