red francs a year.
Well, then, how much have you saved?"

"Four thousand five hundred francs."

"Poor Betty!" said her cousin.

She raised her eyes to heaven, so deeply was she moved at the thought of
all the labor and privation such a sum must represent accumulated during
thirty years.

Lisbeth, misunderstanding the meaning of the exclamation, took it as the
ironical pity of the successful woman, and her hatred was strengthened
by a large infusion of venom at the very moment when her cousin had cast
off her last shred of distrust of the tyrant of her childhood.

"We will add ten thousand five hundred francs to that sum," said
Adeline, "and put it in trust so that you shall draw the interest for
life with reversion to Hortense. Thus, you will have six hundred francs
a year."

Lisbeth feigned the utmost satisfaction. When she went in, her
handkerchief to her eyes, wiping away tears of joy, Hortense told her of
all the favors being showered on Wenceslas, beloved of the family.

So when the Baron came home, he found his family all present; for the
Baroness had formally accepted Wenceslas by the title of Son, and the
wedding was fixed, if her husband should approve, for a day a fortnight
hence. The moment he came into the drawing-room, Hulot was rushed at
by his wife and daughter, who ran to meet him, Adeline to speak to him
privately, and Hortense to kiss him.

"You have gone too far in pledging me to this, madame," said the Baron
sternly. "You are not married yet," he added with a look at Steinbock,
who turned pale.

"He has heard of my imprisonment," said the luckless artist to himself.

"Come, children," said he, leading his daughter and the young man
into the garden; they all sat down on the moss-eaten seat in the
summer-house.

"Monsieur le Comte, do you love my daughter as well as I loved her
mother?" he asked.

"More, monsieur," said the sculptor.

"Her mother was a peasant's daughter, and had not a farthing of her
own."

"Only give me Mademoiselle Hortense just as she is, without a trousseau
even----"

"So I should think!" said the Baron, smiling. "Hortense is the daughter
of the Baron Hulot d'Ervy, Councillor of State, high up in the War
Office, Grand Commander of the Legion of Honor, and the brother to Count
Hulot, whose glory is immortal, and who will ere long be Marshal of
France! And--she has a marriage portion.

"It is true," said the impassioned artist. "I must seem very ambitious.
But