"Remove to a better place?" she repeated, mechanically. "To one more suitable for people of our condition?" "Yes," said Oliver. "I have in my mind a château in Normandy of which I have heard. I think of buying it." Madame Munier's wonder had reached as high as it could soar. She began to wonder whether Oliver had not gone mad. He gave her scarcely any time to recover before he administered another and a greater shock. "Mother," said he, suddenly, "the family returns to the château to-day?" "Yes," said his mother; "they passed through the town about a half an hour before you came." "I know," said Oliver; "I saw them upon the road. There were two ladies with monseigneur. Do you know who they were?" "One of them was thin and wrinkled, with black eyes and heavy eyebrows?" "Yes," said Oliver. "The other, a young girl, rather pretty?" "She is beautiful!" said Oliver. "No doubt they were Madame the Marquise, and Mademoiselle Céleste, the daughter," said Madame Munier. There was a little time of silence, and then Oliver gave his mother that second shock, a shock such as the poor woman never had in her life before. "Mother," said he, "I love Mademoiselle Céleste." Madame Munier opened her eyes and mouth as wide as she was able. "You what?" she cried. "I love Mademoiselle Céleste," said Oliver: it was delicious to repeat those words. Madame Munier looked slowly all about her, as though she had dropped from the moon, and knew not as yet where she was. "He loves Mademoiselle Céleste!" she repeated to herself. "Yes," said Oliver; "I love her." "He loves her!" said Madame Munier, mechanically. "He is mad!" "Mad!" said Oliver. "Why am I mad? Were I a beggar and she a princess I might still love her. Were I now as I was twelve months ago, poor, ignorant, dull, a witless, idle sot, satisfied to sit the day through on the bench in front of the inn yonder, I might still love her! Were we living in poverty as we were then--you and I--dwelling in that little stone hut, feeding upon stewed cabbage and onions, I might still love Céleste de Flourens! Love," cried Oliver--"love is universal; it is limitless; it is the right of every man, and no one can take it from him!" [Illustration: "'MAD!' SAID OLIVER, 'WHY AM I MAD?'"] Madame Munier listened; she thought that she had never heard any one talk so beautifully as Oliver. It put the matter in a new light.