M. Dulaurens, forgetting his peaceful instincts when his interests were concerned, was going to fly into a rage, when his eyes fell on a work lying on his table between a society novel and a book on heraldry. It was Nicole’s handbook: “The Methods of Peace among Mankind.” He had bought it cheap on account of its title and had contented himself with the reading of that alone, which was sympathetic to the natural tranquillity of his disposition. Calming himself, he sent the peasant away with many kind words, but without the slightest concession. “Landlords are really to be pitied,” he protested. “They do not know what to do. My friend M. Timoléon Mestrallet himself has great difficulty in getting out of debt.” M. Mestrallet was an old miser in the neighborhood, who spent his holidays in complaining of the bad times and the difficulty he had in making ends meet. But he never said anything about the enormous sums he saved every year. As the tenant was going away, inwardly reproaching himself for having gained nothing by the interview, Alice came into the room. She carried a cup of coffee made as her father liked it. She counted on the favorable effect the fragrant beverage would have on her father, who was inordinately fond of it and accepted the cup now with an angelic smile of pleasure. While he was taking little satisfied sips, she sat down, then got up, and could not remain still. Confused and frightened, she trembled violently as she forced out these simple words: “Father, you are going to have a visitor presently.” “Well, my dear, your mother is in the drawing-room. And who is it?” “Madame Guibert,” replied a choking voice, which should have revealed the young girl’s secret to Monsieur Dulaurens, if the latter had not a long time ago abdicated his privileges as head of the family and neglected the knowledge of his own children. “Madame Guibert? She never goes to see anyone since she became a widow. It is an honor that we shall appreciate.” And drawing up his little figure to show his appreciation, he said, with a great air of superiority: “She is not very used to society, but she is a good woman, and her sons have succeeded very well.” Alice thought his praise rather inadequate and murmured, “Her husband saved my life, Father. You remember when I had typhoid fever?” “Yes, yes,” he said quickly. He also remembered that the doctor’s bill might not have been settled, and he did not wish to go into the matter very deeply. Could Madame Guibert be coming to claim this old debt? But surely not, she would not be so impertinent--especially now, when her son and daughter were so kindly received at La Chênaie. She would be unwilling to spoil such good social relations by the intrusion of business. Why then this visit, for which Alice had been prepared beforehand? “Did she tell you she was coming?” he asked. “Yes, Papa.” And then in a very low voice she spoke again. “Madame Guibert is coming on my account.”