“We are far from being your enemies,” his son went on. “I have quarreled with my father-in-law, Monsieur Crevel, for having rescued your notes of hand for sixty thousand francs from Vauvinet, and that money is, beyond doubt, in Madame Marneffe’s pocket.--I am not finding fault with you, father,” said he, in reply to an impatient gesture of the Baron’s; “I simply wish to add my protest to my cousin Lisbeth’s, and to point out to you that though my devotion to you as a father is blind and unlimited, my dear father, our pecuniary resources, unfortunately, are very limited.” “Money!” cried the excitable old man, dropping on to a chair, quite crushed by this argument. “From my son!--You shall be repaid your money, sir,” said he, rising, and he went to the door. “Hector!” At this cry the Baron turned round, suddenly showing his wife a face bathed in tears; she threw her arms round him with the strength of despair. “Do not leave us thus--do not go away in anger. I have not said a word--not I!” At this heart-wrung speech the children fell at their father’s feet. “We all love you,” said Hortense. Lisbeth, as rigid as a statue, watched the group with a superior smile on her lips. Just then Marshal Hulot’s voice was heard in the anteroom. The family all felt the importance of secrecy, and the scene suddenly changed. The young people rose, and every one tried to hide all traces of emotion. A discussion was going on at the door between Mariette and a soldier, who was so persistent that the cook came in. “Monsieur, a regimental quartermaster, who says he is just come from Algiers, insists on seeing you.” “Tell him to wait.” “Monsieur,” said Mariette to her master in an undertone, “he told me to tell you privately that it has to do with your uncle there.” The Baron started; he believed that the funds had been sent at last which he had been asking for these two months, to pay up his bills; he left the family-party, and hurried out to the anteroom. “You are Monsieur de Paron Hulot?” “Yes.” “Your own self?” “My own self.” The man, who had been fumbling meanwhile in the lining of his cap, drew out a letter, of which the Baron hastily broke the seal, and read as follows:-- “DEAR NEPHEW,--Far from being able to send you the hundred thousand francs you ask of me, my present position is not tenable unless you can take some decisive steps to save me. We are saddled with a public prosecutor who talks goody, and rhodomontades nonsense about the management. It is impossible to get the black-chokered pump to hold his tongue. If the War Minister allows civilians to feed out of his hand, I am done for. I can trust the bearer; try to get him promoted; he has done us good service. Do not abandon me to the crows!”