She seized her husband’s arm, dragged him away, and out of the house; but the Baron was so broken down, that she was obliged to call a coach to take him to the Rue Plumet, where he went to bed. The man remained there for several days in a sort of half-dissolution, refusing all nourishment without a word. By floods of tears, Adeline persuaded him to swallow a little broth; she nursed him, sitting by his bed, and feeling only, of all the emotions that once had filled her heart, the deepest pity for him. At half-past twelve, Lisbeth showed into her dear Marshal’s room--for she would not leave him, so much was she alarmed at the evident change in him--Count Steinbock and the notary. “Monsieur le Comte,” said the Marshal, “I would beg you to be so good as to put your signature to a document authorizing my niece, your wife, to sell a bond for certain funds of which she at present holds only the reversion.--You, Mademoiselle Fischer, will agree to this sale, thus losing your life interest in the securities.” “Yes, dear Count,” said Lisbeth without hesitation. “Good, my dear,” said the old soldier. “I hope I may live to reward you. But I did not doubt you; you are a true Republican, a daughter of the people.” He took the old maid’s hand and kissed it. “Monsieur Hannequin,” he went on, speaking to the notary, “draw up the necessary document in the form of a power of attorney, and let me have it within two hours, so that I may sell the stock on the Bourse to-day. My niece, the Countess, holds the security; she will be here to sign the power of attorney when you bring it, and so will mademoiselle. Monsieur le Comte will be good enough to go with you and sign it at your office.” The artist, at a nod from Lisbeth, bowed respectfully to the Marshal and went away. Next morning, at ten o’clock, the Comte de Forzheim sent in to announce himself to the Prince, and was at once admitted. “Well, my dear Hulot,” said the Prince, holding out the newspapers to his old friend, “we have saved appearances, you see.--Read.” Marshal Hulot laid the papers on his comrade’s table, and held out to him the two hundred thousand francs. “Here is the money of which my brother robbed the State,” said he. “What madness!” cried the Minister. “It is impossible,” he said into the speaking-trumpet handed to him by the Marshal, “to manage this restitution. We should be obliged to declare your brother’s dishonest dealings, and we have done everything to hide them.” “Do what you like with the money; but the family shall not owe one sou of its fortune to a robbery on the funds of the State,” said the Count. “I will take the King’s commands in the matter. We will discuss it no further,” replied the Prince, perceiving that it would be impossible to conquer the old man’s sublime obstinacy on the point. “Good-bye, Cottin,” said the old soldier, taking the Prince’s hand. “I feel as if my soul were frozen--”