pinions about people without
knowing something about them. When you talk of Jesuits I know you mean
priests; and I wish you would do me the kindness to keep your opinions
on religion to yourself when you are in company with your daughter.
We may sacrifice our own souls, but not the souls of our children. You
don't want Celeste to be a creature without religion? And remember,
my dear, that we are at the mercy of others; we have four children to
provide for; and how do you know that, some day or other, you may not
need the services of this one or that one? Therefore don't make enemies.
You haven't any now, for you are a good-natured fellow; and, thanks to
that quality, which amounts in you to a charm, we have got along pretty
well in life, so far."

"That's enough!" said Colleville, flinging his coat on a chair and
pulling off his cravat. "I'm wrong, and you are right, my beautiful
Flavie."

"And on the next occasion, my dear old sheep," said the sly creature,
tapping her husband's cheek, "you must try to be polite to that young
lawyer; he is a schemer and we had better have him on our side. He is
playing comedy--well! play comedy with him; be his dupe apparently; if
he proves to have talent, if he has a future before him, make a friend
of him. Do you think I want to see you forever in the mayor's office?"

"Come, wife Colleville," said the former clarionet, tapping his knee to
indicate the place he wished his wife to take. "Let us warm our toes and
talk.--When I look at you I am more than ever convinced that the youth
of women is in their figure."

"And in their heart."

"Well, both," assented Colleville; "waist slender, heart solid--"

"No, you old stupid, deep."

"What is good about you is that you have kept your fairness without
growing fat. But the fact is, you have such tiny bones. Flavie, it is
a fact that if I had life to live over again I shouldn't wish for any
other wife than you."

"You know very well I have always preferred you to _others_. How unlucky
that monseigneur is dead! Do you know what I covet for you?"

"No; what?"

"Some office at the Hotel de Ville,--an office worth twelve thousand
francs a year; cashier, or something of that kind; either there, or at
Poissy, in the municipal department; or else as manufacturer of musical
instruments--"

"Any one of them would suit me."

"Well, then! if that queer barrister has power, and he certainly has
plenty of intrigue, let us manage him. I'll