"I had to show the bait to catch the old witch," said the tempter to himself, with a contemptuous smile. "At last, at last I have touched the glittering gold!" muttered the old woman, jingling the yellow pieces in her hand. "Touching them is nothing; the agreeable part of it is to spend them, Mamma Lacombe." "And this is enough to live in comfort for four or five months," she went on, piling up the coins with childish glee. "You and Mariette will have as much for every month of the year, if you only say so," said the tempter. "Yes, all this gold; do you hear? in pure, glittering gold!" There was a long interval of silence; then, raising her sunken eyes to the visitor, the invalid said wistfully: "You think Mariette pretty and charming, monsieur, do you not? You are right; there is not a better creature in the world. Now, be generous toward her! This sum is nothing for a rich man like you--give it to us as a gift." "What!" gasped the astounded man. "Monsieur, you are good and kind, pray be charitable also," pleaded the woman. "This sum, so insignificant to you, would set us afloat once more. We could pay our debts, and Mariette would not be obliged to kill herself working. She would then find time to seek a more remunerative position, and we would owe you five or six months of tranquillity, of paradise--we live on so little! Come, my good sir, do that and we shall bless your name forever--and I can say that I was happy once in my life." The request was so naïve, the tone so sincere and earnest that the decorated visitor was more hurt than surprised at this proposition. He could neither understand nor believe that a human being could be stupid enough to seriously make such a request to a man of his stamp. "This is anything but flattering," he muttered to himself; "the old witch must take me for a young duckling ready to be plucked." "The devil! Mamma Lacombe," he added aloud, bursting into a sneering laugh, "do you take me for a philanthropist, the inspector of charitable institutions, or a candidate for the Montyon prize? Tut, tut, you will rot in your bed before you receive charitable gifts of six hundred francs, redeemable in blessings and grateful thanks, my good woman! Bless my stars, I am not a bank of that sort!" The sick woman had yielded to one of those wild, sudden hopes, which sometimes sway the most distrustful beings, and even the most hardened victims of implacable destiny. But the withering scorn it had brought upon her aroused all her ire and bitterness of heart. "Pardon me, Monsieur, if I have insulted you!" she rejoined, with her habitual sardonic laugh. "I am not offended, Mamma Lacombe," he returned magnanimously; "but let us come to the point. Shall I, yes or no, re-pocket these beautiful louis, which you take so much pleasure in handling?" He stretched his hand toward the gold pieces, but she thrust it away with an instinctive movement and drew the shining coins nearer to her.