e sex.

In speaking of him she always said: "Monsieur Planus, my brother!"--and
he, with the same affectionate solemnity, interspersed all his sentences
with "Mademoiselle Planus, my sister!" To those two retiring and innocent
creatures, Paris, of which they knew nothing, although they visited it
every day, was a den of monsters of two varieties, bent upon doing one
another the utmost possible injury; and whenever, amid the gossip of the
quarter, a conjugal drama came to their ears, each of them, beset by his
or her own idea, blamed a different culprit.

"It is the husband's fault," would be the verdict of "Mademoiselle
Planus, my sister."

"It is the wife's fault," "Monsieur Planus, my brother," would reply.

"Oh! the men--"

"Oh! the women--"

That was their one never-failing subject of discussion in those rare
hours of idleness which old Sigismond set aside in his busy day, which
was as carefully ruled off as his account-books. For some time past the
discussions between the brother and sister had been marked by
extraordinary animation. They were deeply interested in what was taking
place at the factory. The sister was full of pity for Madame Fromont and
considered her husband's conduct altogether outrageous; as for Sigismond,
he could find no words bitter enough for the unknown trollop who sent
bills for six-thousand-franc shawls to be paid from his cashbox. In his
eyes, the honor and fair fame of the old house he had served since his
youth were at stake.

"What will become of us?" he repeated again and again. "Oh! these
women--"

One day Mademoiselle Planus sat by the fire with her knitting, waiting
for her brother.

The table had been laid for half an hour, and the old lady was beginning
to be worried by such unheard-of tardiness, when Sigismond entered with a
most distressed face, and without a word, which was contrary to all his
habits.

He waited until the door was shut tight, then said in a low voice, in
response to his sister's disturbed and questioning expression:

"I have some news. I know who the woman is who is doing her best to ruin
us."

Lowering his voice still more, after glancing about at the silent walls
of their little dining-room, he uttered a name so unexpected that
Mademoiselle Planus made him repeat it.

"Is it possible?"

"It is the truth."

And, despite his grief, he had almost a triumphant air.

His old sister could not believe it. Such a refined, polite person, who
had