“Providence!” he giggled; “that’s very good on the stage, in a play, with low music in the orchestra. I can just see it. In real life, unfortunately, the life which we both live, you and I, it is not with words, were they a yard long, that the baker, the grocer, and those rascally landlords, can be paid, or that dresses and shoes can be bought.” She made no answer. “Now, then,” he went on, “here you are without a penny. Is it Maxence who will supply you with money? Poor fellow! Where would he get it? He has hardly enough for himself. Therefore, what are you going to do?” “I shall work, sir.” He got up, bowed low, and, resuming his seat, “My sincere compliments,” he said. “There is but one obstacle to that fine resolution: it is impossible for a woman to live by her labor alone. Servants are about the only ones who ever get their full to eat.” “I’ll be a servant, if necessary.” For two or three seconds he remained taken aback, but, recovering himself, “How different things would be,” he resumed in an insinuating tone, “if you had not rejected me when I wanted to become your husband! But you couldn’t bear the sight of me. And yet, ‘pon my word, I was in love with you, oh, but for good and earnest! You see, I am a judge of women; and I saw very well how you would look, handsomely dressed and got up, leaning back in a fine carriage in the Bois--” Stronger than her will, disgust rose to her lips. “Ah, sir!” she said. He mistook her meaning. “You are regretting all that,” he continued. “I see it. Formerly, eh, you would never have consented to receive me thus, alone with you, which proves that girls should not be headstrong, my dear child.” He, Costeclar, he dared to call her, “My dear child.” Indignant and insulted, “Oh!” she exclaimed. But he had started, and kept on, “Well, such as I was, I am still. To be sure, there probably would be nothing further said about marriage between us; but, frankly, what would you care if the conditions were the same,--a fine house, carriages, horses, servants--” Up to this moment, she had not fully understood him. Drawing herself up to her fullest height, and pointing to the door, “Leave this moment,” she ordered. But he seemed in no wise disposed to do so: on the contrary, paler than usual, his eyes bloodshot, his lips trembling, and smiling a strange smile, he advanced towards Mlle. Gilberte. “What!” said he. “You are in trouble, I kindly come to offer my services, and this is the way you receive me! You prefer to work, do you? Go ahead then, my lovely one, prick your pretty fingers, and redden your eyes. My time will come. Fatigue and want, cold in the winter, hunger in all seasons, will speak to your little heart of that kind Costeclar who adores you, like a big fool that he is, who is a serious man and who has money,--much money.” Beside herself, “Wretch!” cried the girl, “leave, leave at once.” “One moment,” said a strong voice. M. Costeclar looked around.