ned open,
before all the waiting-room, where the paternosters were silent, he
pursued Jansoulet--who slunk off murmuring excuses to the door--with
these terrible words:

"You have outraged the honour of the Chamber in my person, sir. Our
colleagues shall be informed of it this very day; and, this crime coming
after your others, you will learn to your cost that Paris is not the
East, and that here we do not make shameless traffic of the human
conscience."

Then, after having chased the seller from the temple, the just man
closed his door, and approaching the mysterious green curtain, said in a
tone that sounded soft amidst his pretended anger:

"Is that what you wanted, Baroness Marie?"

THE SITTING

That morning there were no guests to lunch at 32 Place Vendome, so
that towards one o'clock might have been seen the majestic form of M.
Barreau, gleaming white at the gate, among four or five of his scullions
in their cook's caps, and as many stable-boys in Scotch caps--an
imposing group, which gave to the house the aspect of an hotel where the
staff was taking the air between the arrivals of the trains. To complete
the resemblance, a cab drew up before the door and the driver took down
an old leather trunk, while a tall old woman, her upright figure wrapped
in a little green shawl, jumped lightly to the footpath, a basket on
her arm, looked at the number with great attention, then approached the
servants to ask if it was there that M. Bernard Jansoulet lived.

"It is here," was the answer; "but he is not in."

"That does not matter," said the old lady simply.

She returned to the driver, who put her trunk in the porch, and paid
him, returning her purse to her pocket at once with a gesture that said
much for the caution of the provincial.

Since Jansoulet had been deputy for Corsica, the domestics had seen
so many strange and exotic figures at his house, that they were not
surprised at this sunburnt woman, with eyes glowing like coals, a
true Corsican under her severe coif, but different from the ordinary
provincial in the ease and tranquility of her manners.

"What, the master is not here?" said she, with an intonation which
seemed better fitted for farm people in her part of the country, than
for the insolent servants of a great Parisian mansion.

"No, the master is not here."

"And the children?"

"They are at lessons. You cannot see them."

"And madame?"

"She is asleep. No one sees her before