Cousin Betty had on several occasions answered in the same tone--"And who says I have not a lover?" So Cousin Betty's lover, real or fictitious, became a subject of mild jesting. At last, after two years of this petty warfare, the last time Lisbeth had come to the house Hortense's first question had been: "And how is your lover?" "Pretty well, thank you," was the answer. "He is rather ailing, poor young man." "He has delicate health?" asked the Baroness, laughing. "I should think so! He is fair. A sooty thing like me can love none but a fair man with a color like the moon." "But who is he? What does he do?" asked Hortense. "Is he a prince?" "A prince of artisans, as I am queen of the bobbin. Is a poor woman like me likely to find a lover in a man with a fine house and money in the funds, or in a duke of the realm, or some Prince Charming out of a fairy tale?" "Oh, I should so much like to see him!" cried Hortense, smiling. "To see what a man can be like who can love the Nanny Goat?" retorted Lisbeth. "He must be some monster of an old clerk, with a goat's beard!" Hortense said to her mother. "Well, then, you are quite mistaken, mademoiselle." "Then you mean that you really have a lover?" Hortense exclaimed in triumph. "As sure as you have not!" retorted Lisbeth, nettled. "But if you have a lover, why don't you marry him, Lisbeth?" said the Baroness, shaking her head at her daughter. "We have been hearing rumors about him these three years. You have had time to study him; and if he has been faithful so long, you should not persist in a delay which must be hard upon him. After all, it is a matter of conscience; and if he is young, it is time to take a brevet of dignity." Cousin Betty had fixed her gaze on Adeline, and seeing that she was jesting, she replied: "It would be marrying hunger and thirst; he is a workman, I am a workwoman. If we had children, they would be workmen.--No, no; we love each other spiritually; it is less expensive." "Why do you keep him in hiding?" Hortense asked. "He wears a round jacket," replied the old maid, laughing. "You truly love him?" the Baroness inquired. "I believe you! I love him for his own sake, the dear cherub. For four years his home has been in my heart." "Well, then, if you love him for himself," said the Baroness gravely, "and if he really exists, you are treating him criminally. You do not know how to love truly." "We all know that from our birth," said Lisbeth. "No, there are women who love and yet are selfish, and that is your case." Cousin Betty's head fell, and her glance would have made any one shiver who had seen it; but her eyes were on her reel of thread. "If you would introduce your so-called lover to us, Hector might find him employment, or put him in a position to make money." "That is out of the question," said Cousin Betty. "And why?" "He is a sort of Pole--a refugee----" "A conspirator?" cried Hortense. "What luck for you!--Has he had any adventures?"