om giving him any information:
she must have felt that, in the lowering mood in which she found him, his
desire for greater knowledge of Virginie's antecedents boded her no good.
And yet he made his aunt his confidante--told her what she had only
suspected before--that he was deeply enamoured of Mam'selle Cannes, and
would gladly marry her. He spoke to Madame Babette of his father's
hoarded riches; and of the share which he, as partner, had in them at the
present time; and of the prospect of the succession to the whole, which
he had, as only child. He told his aunt of the provision for her (Madame
Babette's) life, which he would make on the day when he married Mam'selle
Cannes. And yet--and yet--Babette saw that in his eye and look which
made her more and more reluctant to confide in him. By-and-by he tried
threats. She should leave the conciergerie, and find employment where
she liked. Still silence. Then he grew angry, and swore that he would
inform against her at the bureau of the Directory, for harbouring an
aristocrat; an aristocrat he knew Mademoiselle was, whatever her real
name might be. His aunt should have a domiciliary visit, and see how she
liked that. The officers of the Government were the people for finding
out secrets. In vain she reminded him that, by so doing, he would expose
to imminent danger the lady whom he had professed to love. He told her,
with a sullen relapse into silence after his vehement outpouring of
passion, never to trouble herself about that. At last he wearied out the
old woman, and, frightened alike of herself and of him, she told him
all,--that Mam'selle Cannes was Mademoiselle Virginie de Crequy, daughter
of the Count of that name. Who was the Count? Younger brother of the
Marquis. Where was the Marquis? Dead long ago, leaving a widow and
child. A son? (eagerly). Yes, a son. Where was he? Parbleu! how
should she know?--for her courage returned a little as the talk went away
from the only person of the De Crequy family that she cared about. But,
by dint of some small glasses out of a bottle of Antoine Meyer's, she
told him more about the De Crequys than she liked afterwards to remember.
For the exhilaration of the brandy lasted but a very short time, and she
came home, as I have said, depressed, with a presentiment of coming evil.
She would not answer Pierre, but cuffed him about in a manner to which
the spoilt boy was quite unaccustomed. His cousin's short, angry