“Tremendously so, but at times there is not the value of a franc in the house. Then Madame is like a tigress, and would sent to borrow from all her friends.” “But she must feel much humiliated?” “Not a bit; when she wants a heavy amount, she sends off to the Duke de Champdoce, and he always parts; but she doesn’t mince matters with him.” “It would seem as if you had known the contents of your mistress’s letters?” remarked Mascarin with a smile. “Of course I have; I like to know what is in the letters I carry about. She only says, ‘My good friend, I want so much,’ and back comes the money without a word. Of course it is easy to see that there has been something between them.” “Yes, evidently.” “And when master and missus do meet they only have rows, and such rows! When the working man has had a drop too much, he beats his wife, she screams, then they kiss and make it up; but the Mussidans say things to each other in cold blood that neither can ever forgive.” From the air with which Mascarin listened to these details, it almost seemed as if he had been aware of them before. “Then,” said he, “Mademoiselle Sabine is the only nice one in the house?” “Yes, she is always gentle and considerate.” “Then you think that M. de Breulh-Faverlay will be a happy man?” “Oh, yes; but perhaps this marriage will----” but here Florestan interrupted himself and assumed an air of extreme caution. After looking carefully round, he lowered his voice, and continued, “Mademoiselle Sabine has been left so much to herself that she acts just as she thinks fit.” “Do you mean,” asked Mascarin, “that the young lady has a lover?” “Just so.” “But that must be wrong; and let me tell you that you ought not to repeat such a story.” The man grew quite excited. “Story,” repeated he; “I know what I know. If I spoke of a lover, it is because I have seen him with my own eyes, not once, but twice.” From the manner in which Mascarin received this intelligence, Florestan saw that he was interested in the highest degree. “I’ll tell you all about it,” continued he. “The first time was when she went to mass; it came on to rain suddenly, and Modeste, her maid, begged me to go for an umbrella. As soon as I came back I went in and saw Mademoiselle Sabine standing by the receptacle for holy water, talking to a young fellow. Of course I dodged behind a pillar, and kept a watch on the pair--” “But you don’t found all your story on this?” “I think you would, had you seen the way they looked into each other’s eyes.” “What was he like?” “Very good looking, about my height, with an aristocratic air.” “How about the second time?” “Ah, that is a longer story. I went one day with Mademoiselle when she was going to see a friend in the Rue Marboeuf. She waited at a corner of the street, and beckoned me to her. ‘Florestan,’ said she, ‘I forgot to post this letter; go and do so; I will wait here for you.’” “Of course you read it?”