Léodgard stared at his father as if he doubted his ears; it was the same with all those present, except the two noblemen seated with the marquis. "If you consent to this union, Léodgard," continued the latter, "I will this very day convey to Bathilde Landry this house and the revenue of two other houses which I own in Paris; moreover, I will settle my entire fortune, after my death, on the child that is soon to be born. I myself will retire to my estate of Champfleury, and end my life there; life in the city is no longer congenial to my years or my tastes. If you refuse to take Bathilde for your wife, then, monsieur, there is another satisfaction which her father has the right to expect; I read in his eyes that he is burning to demand it, and I cannot blame him!--Choose, therefore, Bathilde's hand, or a duel with her father." "My choice cannot be doubted!" cried Léodgard. "The Comte de Marvejols will not marry a bath keeper's daughter! And if the bath keeper desires to measure swords with me, I am willing to consent to do him that honor." A low groan was heard from the direction of the two girls, while Landry, proudly twisting his moustache, said calmly: "Monsieur le comte, King Henri IV tapped me on the shoulder and called me his _brave_! I do not think that you will dishonor yourself by measuring your sword with my rapier!" "And so," rejoined the marquis, with a grief-stricken glance at his son, "you expect, by shedding her father's blood, to efface the shame with which you have sullied this maid's honor! Let it be as you choose, monsieur! Henceforth God will attend to your punishment.--But be not alarmed, my poor girl, poor mother, whom your seducer spurns; whatever the result of the combat about to take place, I will henceforth take care of you as if you were my own child.--And you, Landry, you, her father--now that you see her grief, her suffering, her repentance, you will forgive her for her sin; yes, you will forgive her--I see it in your eyes; and then you will thank this other maid, her friend, of whose devotion you are not as yet aware.--Come forward, Ambroisine, and receive the praise which you deserve; let your father hear it; let us bring joy to one heart at least!" Master Hugonnet, flushing crimson with pleasure, gently pushed Ambroisine forward; she walked a few steps, being in dire embarrassment, and said, lowering her eyes: