"I am called Madame Lacombe!" interrupted the woman. "The devil! Well, then, Madame Lacombe," resumed the stranger with mock deference, "I shall first tell you who I am, and then proceed to explain what I want." "Go on." "I am called Commander de La Miraudière, an old military officer, as you see," pointing to the red ribbon on his coat, "ten campaigns and five wounds!" "That's nothing to me. And then?" "I have the most brilliant acquaintances in Paris: dukes, counts, marquises--" "What's that to me?" "I keep a carriage, and spend at least twenty thousand francs a year." "While my god-daughter and myself are starving on twenty sous per day--that is, when she can earn them!" exclaimed the invalid bitterly. "Such is the justice of the world!" "No! it is not justice!" protested the commander. "It is not just, and I am here to put an end to such injustice!" "If you are here to laugh at me," rejoined the woman, with an ominous scowl, "you had better go." "Laugh at you, madame!--I!--judge me by what I offer. Do you want a pretty room, in a fine house, a servant to wait on you, two delicious meals every day, coffee every morning, and fifty francs a month for your snuff or other little fancies? Eh! what do you say to that?" "I say--I say--that it's all a lie--or else there is something beneath it. When one offers so much to a poor, crippled old woman, it is not for the love of God, I am sure." "You are right, Mamma Lacombe; it's for the love of two beautiful eyes." "Whose eyes?" "Your god-daughter's eyes, Mamma Lacombe," returned Commander de La Miraudière cynically. "No use beating around the bush, you know." "You know Mariette, then?" she said, with a piercing glance at his dissipated face. "I often visit Madame Jourdan's establishment, for I am exceedingly fond of fine linen," he observed, casting a complaisant glance on the embroidered folds of his shirt. "I therefore found frequent occasion to admire you god-daughter; I think her beautiful and charming, and--" "And you want to buy her from me?" "Bravo! you are a woman of intelligence and good sense, Mamma Lacombe. You understand things without needless words. Now, this is my proposition: A fine, elegantly furnished apartment for Mariette, with whom you shall live, of course; five hundred francs per month for her expenses, exclusive of maid and cook; a suitable trousseau for the girl; and a purse of fifty louis to begin housekeeping, not counting costly gifts for good conduct. Besides this, there will be carriages, operas, balls, and a host of friends among ladies of my acquaintance. In a word, she will lead an enchanted existence--the existence of a duchess! What do you think of it?" "Why not?" murmured the woman, with a strange smile. "Poor wretches like us are only good to sell ourselves when we are young, or sell others when we are old."