take Rene to wait at table; on such occasions he made him take off his blue cotton jacket, with its big pockets hanging round his hips, and always bulging with handkerchiefs, clasp-knives, fruits, or a handful of nuts, and forced him to put on a regulation coat. Rene would then stuff his fill with the other servants. This duty, which du Bousquier had turned into a reward, won him the most absolute discretion from the Breton servant. “You here, mademoiselle!” said Rene to Suzanne when she entered; “‘t’isn’t your day. We haven’t any linen for the wash, tell Madame Lardot.” “Old stupid!” said Suzanne, laughing. The pretty girl went upstairs, leaving Rene to finish his porringer of buckwheat in boiled milk. Du Bousquier, still in bed, was revolving in his mind his plans of fortune; for ambition was all that was left to him, as to other men who have sucked dry the orange of pleasure. Ambition and play are inexhaustible; in a well-organized man the passions which proceed from the brain will always survive the passions of the heart. “Here am I,” said Suzanne, sitting down on the bed and jangling the curtain-rings back along the rod with despotic vehemence. “Quesaco, my charmer?” said the old bachelor, sitting up in bed. “Monsieur,” said Suzanne, gravely, “you must be astonished to see me here at this hour; but I find myself in a condition which obliges me not to care for what people may say about it.” “What does all that mean?” said du Bousquier, crossing his arms. “Don’t you understand me?” said Suzanne. “I know,” she continued, making a pretty little face, “how ridiculous it is in a poor girl to come and nag at a man for what he thinks a mere nothing. But if you really knew me, monsieur, if you knew all that I am capable of for a man who would attach himself to me as much as I’m attached to you, you would never repent having married me. Of course it isn’t here, in Alencon, that I should be of service to you; but if we went to Paris, you would see where I could lead a man with your mind and your capacities; and just at this time too, when they are remaking the government from top to toe. So--between ourselves, be it said--_is_ what has happened a misfortune? Isn’t it rather a piece of luck, which will pay you well? Who and what are you working for now?” “For myself, of course!” cried du Bousquier, brutally. “Monster! you’ll never be a father!” said Suzanne, giving a tone of prophetic malediction to the words. “Come, don’t talk nonsense, Suzanne,” replied du Bousquier; “I really think I am still dreaming.” “How much more reality do you want?” cried Suzanne, standing up. Du Bousquier rubbed his cotton night-cap to the top of his head with a rotatory motion, which plainly indicated the tremendous fermentation of his ideas. “He actually believes it!” thought Suzanne, “and he’s flattered. Heaven! how easy it is to gull men!” “Suzanne, what the devil must I do? It is so extraordinary--I, who thought--The fact is that--No, no, it can’t be--”