t value which La Briere
attached to her opinion filled Modeste with an emotion that was
inestimably sweet.

"Mademoiselle," said Canalis, leaving the colonel and waylaying Modeste,
"in spite of the little value you attach to my sentiments, my honor is
concerned in effacing a stain under which I have suffered too long. Here
is a letter which I received from the Duchesse de Chaulieu five days
after my arrival in Havre."

He let Modeste read the first lines of the letter we have seen, which
the duchess began by saying that she had seen Mongenod, and now wished
to marry her poet to Modeste; then he tore that passage from the body of
the letter, and placed the fragment in her hand.

"I cannot let you read the rest," he said, putting the paper in his
pocket; "but I confide these few lines to your discretion, so that you
may verify the writing. A young girl who could accuse me of ignoble
sentiments is quite capable of suspecting some collusion, some trickery.
Ah, Modeste," he said, with tears in his voice, "your poet, the poet of
Madame de Chaulieu, has no less poetry in his heart than in his mind.
You are about to see the duchess; suspend your judgment of me till
then."

He left Modeste half bewildered.

"Oh, dear!" she said to herself; "it seems they are all angels--and not
marriageable; the duke is the only one that belongs to humanity."

"Mademoiselle Modeste," said Butscha, appearing with a parcel under his
arm, "this hunt makes me very uneasy. I dreamed your horse ran away with
you, and I have been to Rouen to see if I could get a Spanish bit which,
they tell me, a horse can't take between his teeth. I entreat you to
use it. I have shown it to the colonel, and he has thanked me more than
there is any occasion for."

"Poor, dear Butscha!" cried Modeste, moved to tears by this maternal
care.

Butscha went skipping off like a man who has just heard of the death of
a rich uncle.

"My dear father," said Modeste, returning to the salon; "I should like
to have that beautiful whip,--suppose you were to ask Monsieur de La
Briere to exchange it for your picture by Van Ostade."

Modeste looked furtively at Ernest, while the colonel made him this
proposition, standing before the picture which was the sole thing he
possessed in memory of his campaigns, having bought it of a burgher
at Rabiston; and she said to herself as La Briere left the room
precipitately, "He will be at the hunt."

A curious thing happened. Modeste