“No, Monsieur, no. I wish to have nothing to do with these men. I shall not even go to the chateau to remove my clothing nor that of my daughter. If they send it to us--very well. If it pleases them to keep it, so much the better. The more shameful, infamous and odious their conduct appears, the better I shall be satisfied.” The baron made no reply; but his wife spoke, believing she had a sure means of conquering this incomprehensible obstinacy. “I should understand your determination if you were alone in the world,” said she, “but you have children.” “My son is eighteen, Madame; he possesses good health and an excellent education. He can make his own way in Paris, if he chooses to remain there.” “But your daughter?” “Marie-Anne will remain with me.” M. d’Escorval thought it his duty to interfere. “Take care, my dear friend, that your grief does not overthrow your reason,” said he. “Reflect! What will become of you--your daughter and yourself?” The wretched man smiled sadly. “Oh,” he replied, “we are not as destitute as I said. I exaggerated our misfortune. We are still landed proprietors. Last year an old cousin, whom I could never induce to come and live at Sairmeuse, died, bequeathing all her property to Marie-Anne. This property consisted of a poor little cottage near the Reche, with a little garden and a few acres of sterile land. In compliance with my daughter’s entreaties, I repaired the cottage, and sent there a few articles of furniture--a table, some chairs, and a couple of beds. My daughter designed it as a home for old Father Guvat and his wife. And I, surrounded by wealth and luxury, said to myself: ‘How comfortable those two old people will be there. They will live as snug as a bug in a rug!’ Well, what I thought so comfortable for others, will be good enough for me. I will raise vegetables, and Marie-Anne shall sell them.” Was he speaking seriously? Maurice must have supposed so, for he sprang forward. “This shall not be, Monsieur Lacheneur!” he exclaimed. “Oh----” “No, this shall not be, for I love Marie-Anne, and I ask you to give her to me for my wife.” CHAPTER VI Maurice and Marie-Anne had loved each other for many years. As children, they had played together in the magnificent grounds surrounding the Chateau de Sairmeuse, and in the park at Escorval. Together they chased the brilliant butterflies, searched for pebbles on the banks of the river, or rolled in the hay while their mothers sauntered through the meadows bordering the Oiselle. For their mothers were friends. Mme. Lacheneur had been reared like other poor peasant girls; that is to say, on the day of her marriage it was only with great difficulty she succeeded in inscribing her name upon the register.