m none
of these things could concern, she went on: "I know you, madame, but I'm
better acquainted with your son, Monsieur Victor, who has often come to
chat at our place. Oh! you needn't be afraid, I shan't say it, I shall
never compromise anybody; but if Monsieur Victor were free to speak, he'd
be the man to explain Salvat's ideas properly."

Madame Mathis looked at her in stupefaction. Ignorant as she was of her
son's real life and views, she experienced a vague dread at the idea of
any connection between him and Salvat's family. Moreover, she refused to
believe it possible. "Oh! you must be mistaken," she said. "Victor told
me that he now seldom came to Montmartre, as he was always going about in
search of work."

By the anxious quiver of the widow's voice, Madame Theodore understood
that she ought not to have mixed her up in her troubles; and so in all
humility she at once beat a retreat: "I beg your pardon, madame, I didn't
think I should hurt your feelings. Perhaps, too, I'm mistaken, as you
say."

Madame Mathis had again turned to her sewing as to the solitude in which
she lived, that nook of decent misery where she dwelt without
companionship and almost unknown, with scarcely sufficient bread to eat.
Ah! that dear son of hers, whom she loved so well; however much he might
neglect her, she had placed her only remaining hope in him: he was her
last dream, and would some day lavish all kinds of happiness upon her!

At that moment Mere-Grand came downstairs again, laden with a bundle of
linen and woollen clothing, and Madame Theodore and little Celine
withdrew while pouring forth their thanks. For a long time after they had
gone Guillaume, unable to resume work, continued walking to and fro in
silence, with a frown upon his face.

When Pierre, still hesitating and still tortured by conflicting feelings,
returned to Montmartre on the following day he witnessed with much
surprise a visit of a very different kind. There was a sudden gust of
wind, a whirl of skirts and a ring of laughter as little Princess
Rosemonde swept in, followed by young Hyacinthe Duvillard, who, on his
side, retained a very frigid bearing.

"It's I, my dear master," exclaimed the Princess. "I promised you a
visit, you remember, for I am such a great admirer of your genius. And
our young friend here has been kind enough to bring me. We have only just
returned from Norway, and my very first visit is for you."

She turned as she spoke, and b