not compromise yourself, but a woman can, and ought to do
these things. But for a politician in your position, it is another
matter. It would be a fine thing for one of your opponents to be able to
bring one of your most laudable actions up against you.' 'You are
right,' my father said. 'Do as you think best, my dear wife.'

"A quarter of an hour later, the Abbe Poivron came into the
drawing-room, and the situation was explained to him, analyzed and
discussed in all its bearings. If the Marquis de Fumerol, one of the
greatest names in France, were to die without the succor of religion,
it would assuredly be a terrible blow for the nobility in general, and
for the Count de Toumeville in particular, and the freethinkers would be
triumphant. The evilly disposed newspapers would sing songs of victory
for six months; my mother's name would be dragged through the mire and
brought into the prose of Socialistic journals, and my father's would be
bespattered. It was impossible that such a thing should occur.

"A crusade was therefore immediately decided upon, which was to be led
by the Abbe Poivron, a little fat, clean, slightly scented priest, a
true vicar of a large church in a noble and rich quarter.

"The landau was ordered and we started all three, my mother, the Cure
and I, to administer the last sacraments to my uncle.

"It had been decided first of all we should see Madame Melani who had
written the letter, and who was most likely the porter's wife, or my
uncle's servant, and I got down as a scout in front of a seven-storied
house and went into a dark passage, where I had great difficulty in
finding the porter's den. He looked at me distrustfully, and said:

"'Madame Melani, if you please.' 'Don't know her!' 'But I have received
a letter from her.' 'That may be, but don't know her. Are you asking for
some kept woman?' 'No, a servant probably. She wrote me about a place.'
'A servant?... a servant?... Perhaps it is the Marquis's. Go and see,
the fifth story on the left.'

"As soon as he found I was not asking for a kept woman, he became more
friendly and came as far as the passage with me. He was a tall, thin
man with white whiskers, the manners of a beadle and majestic movements.

"I climbed up a long spiral staircase, whose balusters I did not venture
to touch, and I gave three discreet knocks at the left-hand door on the
fifth story. It opened immediately, and an enormous dirty woman appeared
before me, who barre