"Very well, very well, my little Lucrece, I will go, but I shall allow you one week for reflection," said the stranger, preparing to leave the room. But on the threshold he paused and added: "You will not forget my name, Commandant de la Miraudière, my dear. Madame Jourdan knows my address." After which he disappeared. "Ah, godmother," exclaimed the girl, returning to the invalid, and embracing her effusively, "how nobly you defended me!" "Yes," responded the sick woman, curtly, freeing herself almost roughly from her goddaughter's embrace, "and yet with all these virtues, one perishes of hunger." "But, godmother--" "Don't talk any more about it, for heaven's sake!" cried the invalid, angrily. "It is all settled. What is the use of discussing it any further? I have done my duty; you have done yours. I am an honest woman; you are an honest girl. Great good it will do you, and me, too; you may rest assured of that." "But, godmother, listen to me--" "We shall be found here some fine morning stiff and cold, you and I, with a pan of charcoal between us. Ah, ha, ha!" And with a shrill, mirthless laugh, the poor creature, embittered by years of misfortune, and chafing against the scruples that had kept her honest in spite of herself, put an end to the conversation by abruptly turning her back upon her goddaughter. It was nearly night now. Mariette went out into the hall where she had left the basket containing the sick woman's supper. She placed the food on a small table near the bed, and then went and seated herself silently by the narrow window, where, drawing the fragments of her lover's letter from her pocket, she gazed at them with despair in her soul. * * * * * On leaving Mariette, the commandant said to himself: "I'm pretty sure that last shot told in spite of what they said. The girl will change her mind and so will the old woman. The sight of my gold seemed to dazzle the eyes of that old hag as much as if she had been trying to gaze at the noonday sun. Their poverty will prove a much more eloquent advocate for me than any words of mine. I do not despair, by any means. Two months of good living will make Mariette one of the prettiest girls in Paris, and she will do me great credit at very little expense. But now I must turn my attention to business. A fine little discovery it is that I have just made, and I think I shall be able to turn it to very good account." Stepping into his carriage, he was driven to the Rue Grenelle St. Honoré. Alighting in front of No. 17, a very unpretentious dwelling, he said to the porter: "Does M. Richard live here?" "A father and son of that name both live here, monsieur." "I wish to see the son. Is M. Louis Richard in?" "Yes, monsieur. He has only just returned from a journey. He is with his father now." "Ah, he is with his father? Well, I would like to see him alone." "As they both occupy the same room, there will be some difficulty about that."