Here there was a ring at the door-bell, and Toussaint left the room. On his return he said: “The husband of madame is below. He wishes to speak with madame.” Surprised and disturbed, Mrs. Charlton said, “Take away the breakfast things.” “But madame has not touched the salmon nor the omelette, and only a poor little bit of the crust of this roll,” murmured Toussaint. “I have had enough, my good Toussaint. Take them away, and let Mr. Charlton come in.” Then, as if by way of contradicting what she had said a moment before, she began smoothing her hair and arranging her shawl. The inconsistency between her practice and her profession seemed to suggest itself to her suddenly, for she smiled sadly, and murmured, “After all, I have not quite outlived my folly!” Charlton entered unaccompanied. His manner was that of a man who has a big scheme in his head, which he is trying to disguise and undervalue. Moved by an unwonted excitement, he strove to appear calm and indifferent, but, like a bad actor, he overdid his part. “I have come, Emily,” said he, “to ask your pardon for the past.” “Indeed! Then you want something. What can I do for you?” “You misapprehend me, my dear. Affairs have gone wrong with me of late; but my prospects are brightening now, and my wish is that you should have the benefit of the change.” “My time for this world’s benefits is likely to be short,” said the invalid. “Not so, my dear! You are looking ten per cent better than when I saw you last.” “My glass tells me you do not speak truly in that. Come, deal frankly with me. What do you want?” “As I was saying, my love,” resumed Charlton, “my business is improving; but I need a somewhat more extended credit, and you can help me to it.” “I thought there was something wanted,” returned the invalid, with a scornful smile; “but you overrate my ability. How can I help your credit? The annuity allowed by Mr. Berwick ends with my life. I have no property, real or personal,—except my canary-bird, and what few clothes you can find in yonder wardrobe.” “But, my dear,” urged Charlton, “many persons imagine that you have property; and if I could only show them an authenticated instrument under which you bequeath, in the event of your death, all your estate, real and personal, to your husband, it would aid me materially in raising money.” “That, sir, would be raising money under false pretences. I shall lend myself to no such attempt. Why not tell the money-lenders the truth? Why not tell them your wife has nothing except what she receives from the charity of her step-son?”