Hortense’s absence of mind, with her brother’s and the Baroness’ deep dejection, made the dinner a melancholy meal, especially with the added chill of the Marshal’s utter deafness. Three persons gave a little life to the scene: Lisbeth, Celestine, and Wenceslas. Hortense’s affection had developed the artist’s natural liveliness as a Pole, the somewhat swaggering vivacity and noisy high spirits that characterize these Frenchmen of the North. His frame of mind and the expression of his face showed plainly that he believed in himself, and that poor Hortense, faithful to her mother’s training, kept all domestic difficulties to herself. “You must be content, at any rate,” said Lisbeth to her young cousin, as they rose from table, “since your mother has helped you with her money.” “Mamma!” replied Hortense in astonishment. “Oh, poor mamma! It is for me that she would like to make money. You do not know, Lisbeth, but I have a horrible suspicion that she works for it in secret.” They were crossing the large, dark drawing-room where there were no candles, all following Mariette, who was carrying the lamp into Adeline’s bedroom. At this instant Victorin just touched Lisbeth and Hortense on the arm. The two women, understanding the hint, left Wenceslas, Celestine, the Marshal, and the Baroness to go on together, and remained standing in a window-bay. “What is it, Victorin?” said Lisbeth. “Some disaster caused by your father, I dare wager.” “Yes, alas!” replied Victorin. “A money-lender named Vauvinet has bills of my father’s to the amount of sixty thousand francs, and wants to prosecute. I tried to speak of the matter to my father at the Chamber, but he would not understand me; he almost avoided me. Had we better tell my mother?” “No, no,” said Lisbeth, “she has too many troubles; it would be a death-blow; you must spare her. You have no idea how low she has fallen. But for your uncle, you would have found no dinner here this evening.” “Dear Heaven! Victorin, what wretches we are!” said Hortense to her brother. “We ought to have guessed what Lisbeth has told us. My dinner is choking me!” Hortense could say no more; she covered her mouth with her handkerchief to smother a sob, and melted into tears. “I told the fellow Vauvinet to call on me to-morrow,” replied Victorin, “but will he be satisfied by my guarantee on a mortgage? I doubt it. Those men insist on ready money to sweat others on usurious terms.” “Let us sell out of the funds!” said Lisbeth to Hortense. “What good would that do?” replied Victorin. “It would bring fifteen or sixteen thousand francs, and we want sixty thousand.” “Dear cousin!” cried Hortense, embracing Lisbeth with the enthusiasm of guilelessness.