I do," he said, cynically; "my death sets her at liberty."

This speech paints the nature of the old man. Covering his evil doings
with witty sayings, he obtained indulgence for them, in a land where
wit is always applauded,--especially when addressed to obvious
self-interest. In those words the notary read the concentrated hatred
of a man whose calculations had been balked by Nature herself, and who
revenged himself upon the innocent object of an impotent love. This
opinion was confirmed to some extent by the obstinate resolution of
the doctor to leave nothing to the Rabouilleuse, saying with a bitter
smile, when the notary again urged the subject upon him,--

"Her beauty will make her rich enough!"

CHAPTER IX

Jean-Jacques Rouget did not mourn his father, though Flore Brazier
did. The old doctor had made his son extremely unhappy, especially
since he came of age, which happened in 1791; but he had given the
little peasant-girl the material pleasures which are the ideal of
happiness to country-folk. When Fanchette asked Flore, after the
funeral, "Well, what is to become of you, now that monsieur is dead?"
Jean-Jacques's eyes lighted up, and for the first time in his life his
dull face grew animated, showed feeling, and seemed to brighten under
the rays of a thought.

"Leave the room," he said to Fanchette, who was clearing the table.

At seventeen, Flore retained that delicacy of feature and form, that
distinction of beauty which attracted the doctor, and which women of
the world know how to preserve, though it fades among the
peasant-girls like the flowers of the field. Nevertheless, the
tendency to embonpoint, which handsome countrywomen develop when they
no longer live a life of toil and hardship in the fields and in the
sunshine, was already noticeable about her. Her bust had developed.
The plump white shoulders were modelled on rich lines that
harmoniously blended with those of the throat, already showing a few
folds of flesh. But the outline of the face was still faultless, and
the chin delicate.

"Flore," said Jean-Jacques, in a trembling voice, "you feel at home in
this house?"

"Yes, Monsieur Jean."

As the heir was about to make his declaration, he felt his tongue
stiffen at the recollection of the dead man, just put away in his
grave, and a doubt seized him as to what lengths his father's
benevolence might have gone. Flore, who was quite unable even to
suspect h