ade about the
town, or visits to his friends.

In all weather he wore boots, blue coat and trousers, and a white
waistcoat,--the style of dress exacted by his wife. His linen was
remarkable for its fineness and purity, owing to the fact that Severine
obliged him to change it daily. Such care for his person, seldom taken
in the provinces, contributed to make him considered in Arcis very much
as a man of elegance is considered in Paris. Externally this worthy
seller of cotton hose seemed to be a personage; for his wife had sense
enough never to utter a word which could put the public of Arcis on the
scent of her disappointment and the utter nullity of her husband, who,
thanks to his smiles, his handsome dress, and his manners, passed for a
man of importance. People said that Severine was so jealous of him that
she prevented him from going out in the evening, while in point of fact
Phileas was bathing the roses and lilies of his skin in happy slumber.

Beauvisage, who lived according to his tastes, pampered by his wife,
well served by his two servants, cajoled by his daughter, called himself
the happiest man in Arcis, and really was so. The feeling of Severine
for this nullity of a man never went beyond the protecting pity of a
mother for her child. She disguised the harshness of the words she was
frequently obliged to say to him by a joking manner. No household was
ever more tranquil; and the aversion Phileas felt for society, where
he went to sleep, and where he could not play cards (being incapable of
learning a game), had made Severine sole mistress of her evenings.

Cecile's entrance now put an end to her father's embarrassment, and he
cried out heartily:--

"Hey! how fine we are!"

Madame Beauvisage turned round abruptly and cast a look upon her
daughter which made the girl blush.

"Cecile, who told you to dress yourself in that way?" she demanded.

"Are we not going to-night to Madame Marion's? I dressed myself now to
see if my new gown fitted me."

"Cecile! Cecile!" exclaimed Severine, "why do you try to deceive your
mother? It is not right; and I am not pleased with you--you are hiding
something from me."

"What has she done?" asked Beauvisage, delighted to see his daughter so
prettily dressed.

"What has she done? I shall tell her," said Madame Beauvisage, shaking
her finger at her only child.

Cecile flung herself on her mother's neck, kissing and coaxing her,
which is a means by which only daughte