Now he must be saved, and at all hazards. But where should she find the money? She had nothing. The sale of her furniture had brought in some millions of francs, but they had been quickly spent. The trifles of jewelry she had would not bring half the necessary sum. She never thought of appealing to D’Argenton. First, he hated the boy; and next, he was very miserly. Besides, he was far from rich. They lived with great economy in the winter, the better to keep up their hospitality during the summer. “I have always felt,” said D’Argenton, after leaving her time to finish the letter, “that this boy was bad at heart!” She made no reply; indeed she hardly heard what he said. She was thinking that her child would go to prison if she could not obtain the money. He continued, “What a disgrace this is to me!” The mother was still saying to herself, “The money, where shall I get it?” He determined to prevent her asking him the question he saw on her lips. “We are not rich enough to do anything!” “Ah! if you could,” she murmured. He became very angry. “If I could!” he cried. “I expected that! You know better than any one else how enormous our expenses are here. It is enough that for two years I have supported that boy without paying for the thefts he has committed. Six thousand francs! where shall I find them?” “I did not think of you,” she answered, slowly. “Of whom, then?” he questioned, sternly. With heightened color, and with lips quivering with shame, she uttered a name, expecting from her poet an explosion of wrath. He was silent for a moment. “I can but make one more sacrifice for you, Charlotte,” he said, pompously. “Thanks! thanks! How good you are!” she cried. And they lowered their voices, for Dr. Hirsch was heard descending the stairs. It was a most singular conversation—syllabic and disjointed—he affecting great repugnance, she great brevity. “It was impossible to trust to a letter,” Charlotte said. Then, terrified at her own audacity, she added, “Suppose I go to Tours myself.” With the utmost tranquillity he answered, “Very well, we will go.” “How good you are, dear!” she cried: “you will go with me there, and then to Indret with the money!” and the foolish creature kissed his hands with tears. The truth was that he did not care for her to go to Tours without him; he knew that she had lived there and been happy. Suppose she should never return to him! She was so weak, so shallow, so inconsistent! The sight of her old lover, of the luxury she had relinquished—the influence of her child, might decide her to cast aside the heavy chains with which he had loaded her. In addition, he was by no means averse to this little journey, nor to playing his part in the drama at Indret. He told Charlotte that he would never abandon her, that he was ready to share her sorrows as well as her joys; and, in short, convinced Charlotte that he loved her more than ever.