Beaumarchef laid down his pen, and eyed her curiously for a second or two; then he said,-- “You’ve been making a fool of yourself somehow, I expect.” She half turned away her head, and began to complain of the hardness of the terms and of the meanness of the mistresses, who, instead of allowing their cooks to do the marketing, did it themselves, and so cheated their servants out of their commissions. Beaumarchef nodded, just as he had done half an hour before to a lady who had complained bitterly of the misconduct of her servants. He was compelled by his position to sympathize with both sides. The woman had now finished her tirade, and drawing the amount of the fee from a well-filled purse, placed it on the table, saying,-- “Please, M. Beaumarchef, register my name as Caroline Scheumal, and get me a real good place. It must be a cook, you understand, and I want to do the marketing without the missus dodging around.” “Well, I’ll do my best.” “Try and find me a wealthy widower, or a young woman married to a very old fellow. Now, do look round; I’ll drop in again to-morrow;” and with a farewell pinch of snuff, she left the office. Paul listened to this conversation with feelings of anger and humiliation, and in his heart cursed old Tantaine for having introduced him into such company. He was seeking for some plausible excuse for withdrawal, when the door at the end of the room was thrown open, and two men came in, talking as they did so. The one was young and well dressed, with an easy, swaggering manner, which ignorant people mistake for good breeding. He had a many-colored rosette at his buttonhole, showing that he was the knight of more than one foreign order. The other was an elderly man, with an unmistakable legal air about him. He was dressed in a quilted dressing-gown, fur-lined shoes, and had on his head an embroidered cap, most likely the work of the hands of some one dear to him. He wore a white cravat, and his sight compelled him to use colored glasses. “Then, my dear sir,” said the younger man, “I may venture to entertain hopes?” “Remember, Marquis,” returned the other, “that if I were acting alone, what you require would be at once at your disposal. Unfortunately, I have others to consult.” “I place myself entirely in your hands,” replied the Marquis. The appearance of the fashionably dressed young man reconciled Paul to the place in which he was. “A Marquis!” he murmured; “and the other swell-looking fellow must be M. Mascarin.” Paul was about to step forward, when Beaumarchef respectfully accosted the last comer,-- “Who do you think, sir,” said he, “I have just seen?” “Tell me quickly,” was the impatient reply. “Caroline Schimmel; you know who I mean.” “What! the woman who was in the service of the Duchess of Champdoce?” “Exactly so.” M. Mascarin uttered an exclamation of delight. “Where is she living now?”