in the
Avenue d'Antin. He was intent on resuming the little intrigue that he
had begun there and felt confident of victory. Valentine, on her side,
after a period of terror followed by great relief, had set about making
up for lost time, throwing herself more wildly than ever into the vortex
of fashionable life. She had recovered her good looks and youthfulness,
and had never before experienced such a desire to divert herself,
leaving her children more and more to the care of servants, and going
about, hither and thither, as her fancy listed, particularly since her
husband did the same in his sudden fits of jealousy and brutality, which
broke out every now and again in the most imbecile fashion without the
slightest cause. It was the collapse of all family life, with the threat
of a great disaster in the future; and Santerre lived there in the midst
of it, helping on the work of destruction.

He gave a cry of rapture when Valentine at last made her appearance
gowned in a delicious travelling dress, with a cavalier toque on her
head. But she was not quite ready, for she darted off again, saying that
she would be at their service as soon as she had seen her little Andree,
and given her last orders to the nurse.

"Well, make haste," cried her husband. "You are quite unbearable, you
are never ready."

It was at this moment that Mathieu called, and Seguin received him in
order to express his regret that he could not that day go into business
matters with him. Nevertheless, before fixing another appointment, he
was willing to take note of certain conditions which the other wished to
stipulate for the purpose of reserving to himself the exclusive right
of purchasing the remainder of the Chantebled estate in portions and
at fixed dates. Seguin was promising that he would carefully study this
proposal when he was cut short by a sudden tumult--distant shouts, wild
hurrying to and fro, and a violent banging of doors.

"Why! what is it? what is it?" he muttered, turning towards the shaking
walls.

The door suddenly opened and Valentine reappeared, distracted, red with
fear and anger, and carrying her little Andree, who wailed and struggled
in her arms.

"There, there, my pet," gasped the mother, "don't cry, she shan't hurt
you any more. There, it's nothing, darling; be quiet, do."

Then she deposited the little girl in a large armchair, where she at
once became quiet again. She was a very pretty child, but still so puny,