"What do you wish of me, Madame?" "I wish you to pay me for the coat on your back, for it belongs to me--to me and my husband, Landry, tailor _to the Marquis_"--replied Madelaine, with a sharp voice, insolently staring at her debtor. A blush of shame colored the young man's cheeks, and a movement of bitter impatience contracted his eyebrows; but he repressed his emotion, and replied mildly: "Unhappily I cannot pay you yet, madame." "You cannot pay me! that is easy enough said: but I do not take such money;--when one has nothing to pay for his coats, he should not have them made. . . . I will not go from here until I have my money;" . . . and Madelaine Landry rudely seated herself, while Létorière remained standing. "Listen to me, madame. . . . In one month from now I have the certainty of being able to pay you; I give you my word as a gentleman. . . . Only have the goodness to grant me a little delay, . . . I pray you." . . . These words, _I pray you_, were pronounced with an inflexion of voice so noble and touching, that Madelaine, already struck by ill-fortune so courageously borne, feared she should give way to pity. She meant to burn her ships, and answered the prayer of her debtor with a gross insult: "A fine guarantee, your word of a gentleman! What should I do with that?" "Madame!" cried the Marquis; then restraining himself, he spoke in a sad, yet proud tone: "Madame, it is cruel in you to speak to me thus . . . you are a woman . . . I owe you money . . . I am in my own house . . . what can I answer you? Then do not seek to render more painful my position, which is such as I hope you may never experience." "But you will have no more money at the end of a month than now," said Madelaine, harshly. "It is a fib you are telling me." "If within a month my uncle, the Abbé of Vighan, to whom I intend to apply, does not return from Hanover, I will enlist as a soldier, and my bounty-money shall be faithfully remitted to you. . . . You see, madame, that I can give you my word as a gentleman that you shall be paid." The Marquis spoke of this desperate resolution with so much dignity, and with an accent so sincere, that Madelaine, moved, repented of having gone so far, and replied: "I do not wish to force you to enlist; but I must be paid. This has lasted long enough; sell something, . . . then." . . . "Sell something here, madame?" and with a sorrowful look he pointed to his poor chamber, cold and bare. At this gesture, so cruelly significant, Madelaine cast down her eyes: her heart hardened; then she added, stammering, and pointing to the two gilt frames: "But those two pictures?" . . . "Those pictures?" said the Marquis, gravely and tenderly, "that is all that remains to me of my father,--of my mother. . . . Madame, those are their portraits, and for the first time they see their son blush for his poverty." . . .