"'Before letters.' It's a proof before letters! Can you see?" "Perfectly." "And margins!--a gem, isn't it? They didn't give it me, I can tell you, the thieves! It was run up--and by a woman, too!" "Oh, of course!" "A _cocotte_, who asked to see it every time I went any higher. The rascal of an auctioneer kept saying, 'Pass it to the lady.' At last I got it for five pounds eight. Oh, I wouldn't have paid one halfpenny more." "I should think not! If I had only known--why, there's a proof like that, exactly like it, at Spindler's, the artist's--and with larger margins, too. He does not care about Louis Seize things, Spindler. If I had only asked him!" "Good heavens!--and before letters, like mine? Are you quite sure?" "Before letters--before--Oh, yes, it's an earlier one than yours. It's before--" and Denoisel whispered something to the old man which brought a flush of pleasure to his face and a moisture to his lips. Just at this moment M. Mauperin entered the drawing-room with his daughter. She was leaning on his arm, her head slightly thrown back in an indolent way, rubbing her hair against the sleeve of her father's coat as a child does when it is being carried. "How are you?" she said as she kissed her sister. She then held her forehead to her mother's lips, shook hands with her brother-in-law, and ran across to the little man with the portfolio. "Can I see, god-papa?" "No, little girl, you are not grown-up enough yet," he replied, patting her cheek in an affectionate way. "Ah, it's always like that with the things you buy!" said Renee, turning her back on the old man, who tied up the ribbon of his portfolio with the special little bow so familiar to the fingers of print collectors. "Well, what's this I hear?" suddenly exclaimed Mme. Mauperin, turning to her daughter. Reverchon was sitting next her, so near that her dress touched him every time she moved. "You were both carried away by the current," she continued. "It was dangerous, I am sure! Oh, that river! I really cannot understand how M. Mauperin allows----" "Mme. Mauperin," replied her husband, who was by the table looking through an album with his daughter, "I do not allow anything--I tolerate----" "Coward!" whispered Renee to her father. "I assure you, mamma, there was no danger," put in Henri Mauperin. "There was no danger at all. They were just slightly carried along by the current, and they preferred holding on to a boat to going half a mile or so lower down the river. That was all! You see----" "Ah, you comfort me," said Mme. Mauperin, the serenity of her expression gradually returning at her son's words. "I know you are so prudent, but, you see, M. Reverchon, our dear Renee is so foolish that I am always afraid. Oh, dear, there are drops of water on her hair now. Come here and let me brush them off." "M. Dardouillet!" announced a servant. "A neighbour of ours," said Mme. Mauperin in a low voice to Reverchon.