Monsieur Vermoncey went behind the curtains and led her forth, as red as a cherry, into the middle of the room; he kissed her on the forehead, and said to her: "You desired to make my son happy when he had nothing; now that he is rich, it is only fair that he should do as much for you." "Ah! that is what I call talking!" cried Sans-Cravate. "Look you, monsieur, do you know what this comes to? why, that you've recovered all your children to-day!" On returning home with his sister, Sans-Cravate was very gay and happy; but he glanced constantly from side to side, as if he hoped to meet someone. Adeline noticed it and smiled to herself, but said nothing. Early in the evening, someone knocked softly at the door of their room. "Hark! who can have come to see us?" said Sans-Cravate, looking at his sister; "I don't know of any visitor we expect." Adeline made no reply, but went to open the door, and Bastringuette stood before them. Sans-Cravate was so agitated that he could not speak; his first impulse was to throw his arms about the tall girl's neck; but he checked himself, because he reflected that the fact that Paul was not her lover did not prove that she was not attached to somebody else. Bastringuette remained standing in front of him; she glanced coyly at him, and finally, as if she divined his thoughts, she held out her hand, saying: "I was a flirt--you were ugly--but I love you still, and after this you needn't be afraid, because, you see, a woman's like a saucepan: when it has once been on the fire, it's better than a new one." Sans-Cravate threw his arms about her. "To make sure you don't change again, I'll marry you!" he said. "That ain't always the safest way," rejoined Bastringuette, with a smile; "but as I've been a little free before marriage, I promise you I won't be afterward." "And I'll take you to Auvergne, to live with my father; how does that strike you?" "To Auvergne--I should say so! I'm so fond of chestnuts." A few weeks later, Paul led pretty Elina to the altar; she had ceased to be a dressmaker at the same time that her lover had ceased to be a messenger. And good Madame Desroches consented to live with the young couple, who treated her as their mother. As for Madame Baldimer, she had left Paris for America immediately after Albert's death. Albert's friends continue to stroll on the boulevards, cigar in mouth. Mouillot is still a high liver, Balivan as distraught as ever, and Dupétrain still insists on putting people to sleep. Monsieur Varinet no longer lends five hundred francs on an olive, because he is afraid of having to keep it too long in his purse, and Monsieur Célestin de Valnoir, having obtained his release from Sainte-Pélagie, bends his energies to piling up other debts.