Brigitte licked her lips; she perceived the means of keeping her own property intact, and of enriching her brother by this use of Madame Thuillier’s fortune. “My brother is right,” she said to Theodose; “you certainly are a rare man; you’ll get on in the world.” “And he’ll walk before me,” responded Theodose with a naivete that touched the old maid. “You will live in the family,” she said. “There may be obstacles to that,” he remarked. “Madame Thuillier is very queer at times; she doesn’t like me.” “Ha! I’ll settle that,” cried Brigitte. “Do you attend to that affair and carry it through if it is feasible, and leave your interests in my hands.” “Thuillier, member of the municipal council, owner of an estate with a rental of forty thousand francs a year, with the cross of the Legion of honor and the author of a political work, grave, serious, important, will be deputy at the forthcoming general election. But, between ourselves, little aunt, one couldn’t devote one’s self so utterly except for a father-in-law.” “You are right.” “Though I have no fortune I shall have doubled yours; and if this affair goes through discreetly, others will turn up.” “Until I have seen the house,” said Mademoiselle Thuillier again, “I can decide on nothing.” “Well then, send for a carriage to-morrow and let us go there. I will get a ticket early in the morning to view the premises.” “To-morrow, then, about mid-day,” responded Brigitte, holding out her hand to Theodose that he might shake it, but instead of that he laid upon it the most respectful and the most tender kiss that Brigitte had ever in her life received. “Adieu, my child,” she said, as he reached the door. She rang the bell hurriedly and when the servant came:-- “Josephine,” she cried, “go at once to Madame Colleville, and ask her to come over and speak to me.” Fifteen minutes later Flavie entered the salon, where Brigitte was walking up and down, in a state of extreme agitation. “My dear,” she cried on seeing Flavie, “you can do me a great service, which concerns our dear Celeste. You know Tullia, don’t you?--a danseuse at the opera; my brother was always dinning her into my ears at one time.” “Yes, I know her; but she is no longer a danseuse; she is Madame la Comtesse du Bruel. Her husband is peer of France!” “Does she still like you?” “We never see each other now.” “Well, I know that Chaffaroux, the rich contractor, is her uncle,” said Brigitte. “He is old and wealthy. Go and see your former friend, and get her to give you a line of introduction to him, saying he would do her an eminent favor if he would give a piece of friendly advice to the bearer of the note, and then you and I will take it to him to-morrow about one o’clock. But tell Tullia she must request her uncle to keep secret about it. Go, my dear. Celeste, our dear child, will be a millionaire! I can’t say more; but she’ll have, from me, a husband who will put her on a pinnacle.”