ful waist you have been wearing...."

Mme. Bretoneux smiled as though she could still see Perrine in the
hideous waist.

"But there," she said brightly, "all that can be remedied; you are a
beautiful girl, there is no denying that, and I shall see that you have
a dinner dress to set off your beauty and a smart little tailored
costume to wear in the carriage, and when you see yourself in it you
will remember who gave it you. I expect your underwear is no better than
your waist. Let me see it...."

Thereupon, with an air of authority, she opened first one drawer, then
another, then shut them again disdainfully with a shrug of her
shoulders.

"I thought so," she said, "it is dreadful; not good enough for you."

Perrine felt suffocated; she could not speak.

"It's lucky," continued Mme. Bretoneux, "that I came here, for I intend
to look after you."

Perrine wanted to refuse everything and tell this woman that she did
not wish her to take care of her, but remembered the part she had to
play. After all, Mme. Bretoneux's intentions were most generous; it was
her words, her manner, that seemed so hard.

"I'll tell my brother," she continued, "that he must order from a
dressmaker at Amiens, whose address I will give him, the dinner dress
and the tailor suit which is absolutely necessary, and in addition some
good underwear. In fact, a whole outfit. Trust in me and you shall have
some pretty things, and I hope that they'll remind you of me all the
time. Now don't forget what I have told you."

CHAPTER XXVI

PAINFUL ARGUMENTS

After the talk his mother had had with Perrine, Casimir, by his looks
and manner, gave her every opportunity to confide in him. But she had no
intention of telling him about the researches that his uncle was having
made both in India and in England. True, they had no positive news of
the exile; it was all vague and contradictory, but the blind man still
hoped on. He left no stone unturned to find his beloved son.

Mme. Bretoneux's advice had some good effect. Until then Perrine had not
taken the liberty of having the hood of the phaeton pulled up, if she
thought the day was chilly, nor had she dared advise M. Vulfran to put
on an overcoat nor suggest that he have a scarf around his neck; neither
did she dare close the window in the study if the evening was too cool,
but from the moment that Mme. Bretoneux had warned her that the damp
mists and rain would be bad for him she put aside al