make his lawful
wife. But Monsieur Sariette was prudent. He contented himself with
asking Guinardon how he was.

"Perfectly well," was Guinardon's reply; but he felt ill, for either age
and love-making had undermined his sturdy constitution, or else young
Octavie's faithlessness had dealt her lover a fatal blow. "God be
praised," he went on, "I still retain my powers of mind and body. I am
chaste. Be chaste, Sariette. Chastity is strength."

That evening Pere Guinardon had taken some specially valuable books out
of the king-wood cabinet to show to a distinguished bibliophile,
Monsieur Victor Meyer, and after the latter's departure he had dropped
off to sleep without putting them back in their places. Books had an
attraction for Monsieur Sariette, and seeing these particular volumes
on the marble top of the cabinet, he began to examine them with
interest. The first one he looked at was _La Pucelle_, in morocco, with
the English continuation. Doubtless it pained his patriotic and
Christian heart to admire its text and illustrations, but a good copy
was always virtuous and pure in his sight. Continuing to chat very
affectionately with Guinardon, he picked up, one by one, the books which
the antiquary had, for one reason or another--binding, illustrations,
distinguished ownership, or scarcity--added to his stock.

Suddenly a glorious shout of joy and love broke from his lips. He had
discovered the _Lucretius_ of the Prior de Vendome, his _Lucretius_, and
he was clasping it to his bosom.

"Once again I behold you," he sighed, as he pressed it to his lips.

At first Pere Guinardon could not quite make out what his old friend was
talking about; but when the latter declared to him that the volume was
from the d'Esparvieu collection, that it belonged to him, Sariette, and
that he was going to take it away without further ado, the antiquary
completely woke up, got on his legs, declared emphatically that the book
belonged to him, Guinardon, by right of true and lawful purchase, and
that he would not part with it unless he got five thousand francs for it
cash down.

"You don't take in what I am telling you," answered Sariette. "The book
belongs to the d'Esparvieu library; I must restore it to its place."

"_Pas de ca, Lisette_"---- hummed Guinardon.

"The book belongs to me, I tell you!"

"You are crazy, my good Sariette!"

And noticing that, as a matter of fact, the librarian had a wandering
look in his eye, he took th