ir to-morrow morning at
the auction mart, eighteen hundred francs! To repay my friends, as much
again! Three quarters' rent to the landlord--whom you know.--My 'uncle'
wants five hundred francs--"

"And you!--to live on?"

"Oh! I have my pen----"

"It is heavier to lift than any one could believe who reads your
articles," said she, with a subtle smile.--"I have not such a sum as
you need, but come to-morrow at eight; the bailiff will surely wait till
nine, especially if you bring him away to pay him."

She must, she felt, dismiss Lousteau, who affected to be unable to look
at her; she herself felt such pity as might cut every social Gordian
knot.

"Thank you," she added, rising and offering her hand to Lousteau. "Your
confidence has done me good! It is long indeed since my heart has known
such joy----"

Lousteau took her hand and pressed it tenderly to his heart.

"A drop of water in the desert--and sent by the hand of an angel! God
always does things handsomely!"

He spoke half in jest and half pathetically; but, believe me, as a piece
of acting it was as fine as Talma's in his famous part of _Leicester_,
which was played throughout with touches of this kind. Dinah felt his
heart beating through his coat; it was throbbing with satisfaction, for
the journalist had had a narrow escape from the hulks of justice; but
it also beat with a very natural fire at seeing Dinah rejuvenescent and
restored by wealth.

Madame de la Baudraye, stealing an examining glance at Etienne, saw that
his expression was in harmony with the flowers of love, which, as she
thought, had blossomed again in that throbbing heart; she tried to look
once into the eyes of the man she had loved so well, but the seething
blood rushed through her veins and mounted to her brain. Their eyes met
with the same fiery glow as had encouraged Lousteau on the Quay by the
Loire to crumple Dinah's muslin gown. The Bohemian put his arm round her
waist, she yielded, and their cheeks were touching.

"Here comes my mother, hide!" cried Dinah in alarm. And she hurried
forward to intercept Madame Piedefer.

"Mamma," said she--this word was to the stern old lady a coaxing
expression which never failed of its effect--"will you do me a great
favor? Take the carriage and go yourself to my banker, Monsieur
Mongenod, with a note I will give you, and bring back six thousand
francs. Come, come--it is an act of charity; come into my room."

And she dragged away her m