my! they were marvels,--flowers in silk and openwork, just
like lace, and you could see her rosy little feet through them. Oh!
she's in high feather, and she had a lovely little apron in front of
her which, Vedie says, cost more than two years of our wages put
together."

"Well done! We shall have to dress up," said the artist laughing.

"What do you think of all this, Monsieur Hochon?" said the old lady
when Gritte had departed.

Madame Hochon made Agathe observe her husband, who was sitting with
his head in his hands, his elbows on the arms of his chair, plunged in
thought.

"You have to do with a Maitre Bonin!" said the old man at last. "With
your ideas, young man," he added, looking at Joseph, "you haven't
force enough to struggle with a practised scoundrel like Maxence
Gilet. No matter what I say to you, you will commit some folly. But,
at any rate, tell me everything you see, and hear, and do to-night.
Go, and God be with you! Try to get alone with your uncle. If, in
spite of all your genius, you can't manage it, that in itself will
throw some light upon their scheme. But if you do get a moment alone
with him, out of ear-shot, damn it, you must pull the wool from his
eyes as to the situation those two have put him in, and plead your
mother's cause."

CHAPTER XII

At four o'clock, Joseph crossed the open space which separated the
Rouget house from the Hochon house,--a sort of avenue of weakly
lindens, two hundred feet long and of the same width as the rue Grande
Narette. When the nephew arrived, Kouski, in polished boots, black
cloth trousers, white waistcoat, and black coat, announced him. The
table was set in the large hall, and Joseph, who easily distinguished
his uncle, went up to him, kissed him, and bowed to Flore and Max.

"We have not seen each other since I came into the world, my dear
uncle," said the painter gayly; "but better late than never."

"You are very welcome, my friend," said the old man, looking at his
nephew in a dull way.

"Madame," Joseph said to Flore with an artist's vivacity, "this
morning I was envying my uncle the pleasure he enjoys in being able to
admire you every day."

"Isn't she beautiful?" said the old man, whose dim eyes began to
shine.

"Beautiful enough to be the model of a great painter."

"Nephew," said Rouget, whose elbow Flore was nudging, "this is
Monsieur Maxence Gilet; a man who served the Emperor, like your
brother, in