mack his lips
over my sauces when was in the employment of the Count de Chalusse."

Pascal and his mother could not repress a start on hearing this name;
but it was in a tone of well-assumed indifference that Madame Ferailleur
repeated, "M. de Chalusse?"

"Yes, madame--a count--and so rich that he didn't know how much he was
worth. If he were still alive I shouldn't be compelled to go out to
service again. But he's dead and he's to be buried this very day." And
with an air of profound secrecy, she added: "On going yesterday to
the Hotel de Chalusse to ask for a little help, I heard of the great
misfortune. Vantrasson, my husband, accompanied me, and while we were
talking with the concierge, a young woman passed through the hall, and
he recognized her as a person who some time ago was--well--no better
than she should be. Now, however, she's a young lady as lofty as the
clouds, and the deceased count has been passing her off as his daughter.
Ah! this is a strange world."

Pascal had become whiter than the ceiling. His eyes blazed; and Madame
Ferailleur trembled. "Very well," she said, "I will give you twenty-five
francs--but on condition you come without complaining if I sometimes
require your services of an evening. On these occasions I will give you
your dinner." And taking five francs from her pocket she placed them in
Madame Vantrasson's hand, adding: "Here is your earnest money."

The other quickly pocketed the coin, not a little surprised by this
sudden decision which she had scarcely hoped for, and which she by no
means understood. Still she was so delighted with this denouement that
she expressed her willingness to enter upon her duties at once; and to
get rid of her Madame Ferailleur was obliged to send her out to purchase
the necessary supplies for breakfast. Then, as soon as she was alone
with her son, she turned to him and asked: "Well, Pascal?"

But the wretched man seemed turned to stone, and seeing that he neither
spoke nor moved, she continued in a severe tone: "Is this the way you
keep your resolutions and your oaths! You express your intention
of accomplishing a task which requires inexhaustible patience and
dissimulation, and at the very first unforeseen circumstance your
coolness deserts you, and you lose your head completely. If it had not
been for me you would have betrayed yourself in that woman's presence.
You must renounce your revenge, and tamely submit to be conquered by the
Marquis de Valo