It was she who, a few days later, told us of our deliverance. She had placed herself outside of the gate, like an advanced sentinel, and made to us from afar unintelligible signs, which as we drew near we interpreted unfavourably. Assuredly the invader had taken possession of the fortress. The house was sold. We had no longer a roof to shelter us. As Tem had prophesied, we were good for nothing but to be thrown to the dogs. When we were within hearing distance she hailed us: “Come quick, come quick! The house is ours! The house is ours!” We rushed wildly forward. “The bill isn’t there,” cried Bernard, who was ahead. Only the marks of nails remained upon the pillar. “Aha!” continued Aunt Deen’s voice, bursting out in a triumphant cadence. “_They_ thought they had it! But they won’t get it!” _They_ were no longer the doctors, but the gentleman from Paris and other purchasers, who had appeared while we were in school. With uplifted arm she sketched the flight of the dispersed troop. With a step that was rapid in spite of her years she led us to the music room where the family was assembled, with the exception of grandfather, who no doubt had made no change in his hour of walking, and who was probably ignorant of our salvation. Mariette followed us at a respectful distance. Her long service gave her the right to a place in the procession. Our mother, deeply moved, was caressing the hair of my two elder sisters, whom joy, like grief, had moved to tears. But I attached no importance to the tears of my sisters, which used to flow for nothing at all. My father standing, his hand upon the back of my mother’s chair, was smiling. I had never seen his face so radiant, and through the window, behind the group, the sun was coming in like a distinguished guest. “The bill isn’t there,” repeated Bernard without the usual greeting. “Yes,” said our father; “we shall keep the house.” And as our enthusiasm was about to burst forth, he added: “You owe it to your mother and also to your Aunt Bernardine.” The latter, whose parchment cheeks would crimson for no reason but that some one spoke of her, while she kept neither her thoughts nor her property for herself, and daily robbed herself as a matter of course, stoutly refused all praise. “How you talk, Michel! For nothing but a signature! You mustn’t mislead these children.” Mother at once approved: “She is right; it is your father who has saved us all.” And lowering her voice she turned to him, murmuring--but I heard her: “Is not all that I have, yours?”