Hortense, the young and superbly beautiful countess, would be an
adorable mistress; it was this very notion, controlled by honor, that
kept him away from the house. Lisbeth was quick to mark the significant
awkwardness that troubles a man in the presence of a woman with whom he
will not allow himself to flirt.

"Very good-looking--that young man," said she in a whisper to Hortense.

"Oh, do you think so?" she replied. "I never noticed him."

"Stidmann, my good fellow," said Wenceslas, in an undertone to his
friend, "we are on no ceremony, you and I--we have some business to
settle with this old girl."

Stidmann bowed to the ladies and went away.

"It is settled," said Wenceslas, when he came in from taking leave of
Stidmann. "But there are six months' work to be done, and we must live
meanwhile."

"There are my diamonds," cried the young Countess, with the impetuous
heroism of a loving woman.

A tear rose in Wenceslas' eye.

"Oh, I am going to work," said he, sitting down by his wife and drawing
her on to his knee. "I will do odd jobs--a wedding chest, bronze
groups----"

"But, my children," said Lisbeth; "for, as you know, you will be
my heirs, and I shall leave you a very comfortable sum, believe me,
especially if you help me to marry the Marshal; nay, if we succeed in
that quickly, I will take you all to board with me--you and Adeline. We
should live very happily together.--But for the moment, listen to the
voice of my long experience. Do not fly to the Mont-de-Piete; it is the
ruin of the borrower. I have always found that when the interest was
due, those who had pledged their things had nothing wherewith to pay up,
and then all is lost. I can get you a loan at five per cent on your note
of hand."

"Oh, we are saved!" said Hortense.

"Well, then, child, Wenceslas had better come with me to see the lender,
who will oblige him at my request. It is Madame Marneffe. If you flatter
her a little--for she is as vain as a _parvenue_--she will get you out
of the scrape in the most obliging way. Come yourself and see her, my
dear Hortense."

Hortense looked at her husband with the expression a man condemned to
death must wear on his way to the scaffold.

"Claude Vignon took Stidmann there," said Wenceslas. "He says it is a
very pleasant house."

Hortense's head fell. What she felt can only be expressed in one word;
it was not pain; it was illness.

"But, my dear Hortense, you must learn something of life!"