"Here, dear friends, I bring you the alternative!" cried Monsieur Joseph, in his joyfullest tone. "Why not marry Mademoiselle Hélène to the best and handsomest boy in Anjou--in France, for that matter--a boy we have all known from his cradle--who will have a good fortune, a prudent father's only child--who would, no doubt, though I grieve to say it, serve under any flag you please for such a prize. Yes, I am safe in saying so, for--" The romantic little gentleman was stopped in his wild career. Angelot, his eyes blazing, with a white face and teeth set as furiously as Madame de Sainfoy's own, turned round upon him, seized him with his free hand by the other arm, and shook him with all his young strength, hissing out: "Will you be quiet, Uncle Joseph! Will you hold your tongue, if you please, and leave me to manage my own affairs." "Come, come, what does all this mean?" cried Urbain, stepping forward. "It means that my uncle is mad--mad--you know you are!" Angelot said in a choked voice. Still holding Monsieur Joseph with a dog's firm grip, he stared into his eyes and shook his head violently. "What, ungrateful--" the little uncle tried to say, but Angelot's face, his totally unexpected rage, seemed to suggest such unknown mysteries that the words died in his throat. Suddenly released, he dropped into a chair and swore prodigiously under his breath, quite forgetting the presence of ladies in the unnatural, awful change that had come over his nephew. He stared at Angelot, who was indeed the centre of all eyes; his mother sitting upright in consternation; his father with angry brow and queerly smiling mouth; Hervé de Sainfoy very grave, with elevated eyebrows; the Comtesse leaning back in her chair, hard, fierce, watchful, yet a shade less angry than before. If this was only a fancy of that ridiculous Joseph, it might not signify--yet who knew? She was ready to suspect any one, every one, even the young man's father. The name of La Marinière was odious to her. Angelot drew himself very upright, folded his arms, and turned to face the family council. "See what it is to have an uncle!" he said, and his voice, though clear enough, was not quite so proud and convincing as his attitude. "He treats me like a child crying for the moon. If he could, he would fetch the moon out of the sky for me. But his kind pains are quite thrown away, mesdames et messieurs, for--I do not want the moon, any more than the moon wants me!" He almost laughed; and only the quick change of colour in his young face showed that any feeling lay behind the words which sounded--in Monsieur Joseph's ears at least--heartlessly playful. Angelot stepped up to Madame de Sainfoy and respectfully kissed her hand. "Bonsoir, madame!" "Bonsoir, Angelot." She spoke coldly; she was still uneasy, still suspicious; she gave him a keen look, and his eyelids were not lifted to meet it. In another moment he was gone.