“You have cut down the forest of Waignies. The ground has not been cleared and is therefore unproductive. As for your farms at Orchies, the rents scarcely suffice to pay the interest of the sums you have borrowed--” “Then what are we living on?” he demanded. Marguerite held up her needle and continued:-- “Gabriel’s income helps us, but it is insufficient; I can make both ends meet at the close of the year if you do not overwhelm me with bills that I do not expect, for purchases you tell me nothing about. When I think I have enough to meet my quarterly expenses some unexpected bill for potash, or zinc, or sulphur, is brought to me.” “My dear child, have patience for six weeks; after that, I will be judicious. My little Marguerite, you shall see wonders.” “It is time you should think of your affairs. You have sold everything,--pictures, tulips, plate; nothing is left. At least, refrain from making debts.” “I don’t wish to make any more!” he said. “Any more?” she cried, “then you have some?” “Mere trifles,” he said, but he dropped his eyes and colored. For the first time in her life Marguerite felt humiliated by the lowering of her father’s character, and suffered from it so much that she dared not question him. A month after this scene one of the Douai bankers brought a bill of exchange for ten thousand francs signed by Claes. Marguerite asked the banker to wait a day, and expressed her regret that she had not been notified to prepare for this payment; whereupon he informed her that the house of Protez and Chiffreville held nine other bills to the same amount, falling due in consecutive months. “All is over!” cried Marguerite, “the time has come.” She sent for her father, and walked up and down the parlor with hasty steps, talking to herself:-- “A hundred thousand francs!” she cried. “I must find them, or see my father in prison. What am I to do?”