"For you. Oh, it was only for an instant. I soon liked you in quite a different way--and better, too. I respected you and was grateful to you. I liked you for correcting my faults as a spoiled child, for enlarging my mind, for teaching me to appreciate all that is beautiful, elevated and noble; and all, too, in a joking way by making fun of everything that is ugly and worthless and of everything that is dull or mean and cowardly. You taught me how to play ball and how to endure being bored to death with imbeciles. I have to thank you for much of what I think about, for much of what I am and for a little of any good there is in me. I wanted to pay my debt with a true and lasting friendship, and by giving you cordially, as a comrade, some of the affection I have for father." As Renee said these last words she raised her voice slightly and spoke in a graver tone. "What in the world is that?" exclaimed M. Mauperin, who had just entered and had caught sight of Denoisel's sketch. "Is that intended for my daughter! Why, it's a frightful libel," and M. Mauperin picked up the album and began to tear the page up. "Oh, papa!" exclaimed Renee, "and I wanted it--for a keepsake!" XII A light carriage, drawn by one horse, was conveying the Mauperin family along the Sannois road. Renee had taken the reins and the whip from her brother, who was seated at her side smoking. Animated by the drive, the air, and the movement, M. Mauperin was joking about the people they met and bowing gaily to any acquaintances they passed. Mme. Mauperin was silent and absorbed. She was buried in herself, thinking out and preparing her amiability for the approaching visit. "Why, mamma," remarked Renee, "you don't say a word. Are you not well?" "Oh, yes, very well, quite well," answered Mme. Mauperin; "but the fact is I'm worrying rather about this visit--and if it had not been for Henri--There's something so stiff and cold about Mme. Bourjot--they are all so high and mighty. Oh, it isn't that they impress me at all--their money indeed! I know too well where they had it from. They made their money from some invention they bought from an unfortunate working-man for a mere nothing--a few coppers." "Come, come, Mme. Mauperin," put in her husband, "they must have bought more than----" "Well, anyhow, I don't feel at ease with these people." "You are very foolish to trouble yourself----" "We can tell them we don't care a hang for their fine airs!" said Mlle. Mauperin, whipping up the horse so that her slang was lost in the sound of the animal's gallop. * * * * *