mamma, and we must make up our mind to it."

Then turning towards Marius, and bearing upon each syllable, as if
afraid that the allusion might escape him,

"The men of whom I speak," she added, "marry the girls who can
starve to death."

Knowing her daughter well enough to be aware that she could not
impose silence upon her, the Baroness de Thaller had dropped upon
a chair. She was trying hard to appear indifferent to what her
daughter was saying; but at every moment a threatening gesture, or
a hoarse exclamation, betrayed the storm that raged within her.

"Go on, poor foolish child!" she said,--"go on!"

And she did go on.

"Finally, were M. de Tregars willing to have me, I would refuse
him myself, because, then--"

A fugitive blush colored her cheeks, her bold eyes vacillated, and,
dropping her voice,

"Because, then," she added, "he would no longer be what he is;
because I feel that fatally I shall despise the husband whom papa
will buy for me. And, if I came here to expose myself to an affront
which I foresaw, it is because I wanted to make sure of a fact of
which a word of Costeclar, a few days ago, had given me an idea,
--of a fact which you do not, perhaps, suspect, dear mother, despite
your astonishing perspicacity. I wanted to find out M. de Tregars'
secret; and I have found it out."

M. de Tregars had come to the Thaller mansion with a plan well
settled in advance. He had pondered long before deciding what he
would do, and what he would say, and how he would begin the decisive
struggle. What had taken place showed him the idleness of his
conjectures, and, as a natural consequence, upset his plans. To
abandon himself to the chances of the hour, and to make the best
possible use of them, was now the wisest thing to do.

"Give me credit, mademoiselle," he uttered, "for sufficient
penetration to have perfectly well discerned your intentions.
There was no need of artifice, because I have nothing to conceal.
You had but to question me, I would have answered you frankly,
'Yes, it is true I love Mlle. Gilberte; and before a month she
will be Marquise de Tregars.'"

Mme. de Thaller, at those words, had started to her feet, pushing
back her arm-chair so violently, that it rolled all the way to the
wall.

"What!" she exclaimed, "you marry Gilberte Favoral,--you!"

"I--yes."

"The daughter of a defaulting cashier, a dishonored man whom justice
pursues and the galleys await!"

"Yes!" And in an