"At her request? No, madame," sadly replied the hunchback, shaking his head, "Madame de Beaumesnil is dead." "Dead! And when did the poor, dear lady die?" "Let us step inside and I will then answer your question," said the marquis, in an authoritative manner that rather awed Madame Barbancon; besides, she was very anxious to hear the particulars of Madame de Beaumesnil's death. "And you say that Madame de Beaumesnil is dead?" exclaimed the housekeeper, as soon as they had entered the house. "She died several days ago--the very next day after her interview with you." "What, monsieur, you know?" "I know that Madame de Beaumesnil had a long conversation with you, and I am fulfilling her last wishes in asking you to accept these twenty-five napoleons from her." And the hunchback showed Madame Barbancon a small silk purse filled with shining gold. The words "twenty-five napoleons" grievously offended the housekeeper's ears. Had the marquis said twenty-five louis the effect would probably have been entirely different. So instead of taking the proffered gold, Madame Barbancon, feeling all her former doubts revive, answered majestically, as she waved aside the purse with an expression of superb disdain: "I do not accept napoleons," accenting the detested name strongly; "no, I do not accept napoleons from the first person that happens to come along--without knowing--do you understand, monsieur?" "Without knowing what, my dear madame?" "Without knowing who these people are who say napoleons as if it would scorch their mouths if they should utter the word louis. But it is all plain enough now," she added, sardonically. "Tell me who you go with and I will tell you who you are. Now what do you want with me? I have my soup pot to watch." "As I told you before, madame, I came to bring you a slight token of Madame de Beaumesnil's gratitude for the discretion and reserve you displayed in a certain affair." "What affair?" "You know very well." "I haven't the slightest idea what you mean." "Come, come, my dear Madame Barbancon, why will you not be perfectly frank with me? I was one of Madame de Beaumesnil's most intimate friends, and I know all about that orphan--you know--that orphan." "That orphan?" "Yes, that young girl, I need say no more. You see I know all about it." "Then if you know all about it, why do you come here to question me?" "I come in the interest of the young girl--you know who I mean--to ask you to give me her address, as I have a very important communication to make to her." "Really?" "Really." "Well, well, did anybody ever hear the equal of that?" snorted the housekeeper, indignantly. "But my dear Madame Barbancon, what is there so very extraordinary in what I am saying to you?" "This," yelled the housekeeper, "this--that you are nothing more or less than a miserable old roue!" "I?" "Yes, a miserable scoundrel who is trying to bribe me, and make me blab all I know by promises of gold."