"Don't you know? But I forgot, you were asleep the other day when Madame Mathieu came about them. Well, then, she brought me ten false diamonds--Rhine crystals--to cut exactly to the same size and form as the like number of real diamonds she also brought. There, those are them mixed with the rubies on my table. I think I never saw more splendid stones, or of purer water, than those ten diamonds, which must, at least, be worth 60,000 francs." "And why did she wish them imitated?" "Because a great lady to whom they belonged--a duchess, I think she said--had given directions to M. Baudoin, the jeweller, to dispose of her set of diamonds, and to make her one of false stones to replace it. Madame Mathieu, who matches stones for M. Baudoin, explained this to me, when she gave me the real diamonds, in order that I might be quite sure to cut the false ones to precisely the same size and form. Madame Mathieu gave a similar job to four other lapidaries, for there are from forty to fifty stones to cut; and I could not do them all, as they were required by this morning, because M. Baudoin must have time to set the false gems. Madame Mathieu says that grand ladies, very frequently unknown to anybody but the jeweller, sell their valuable diamonds, and replace them with Rhenish crystals." "Why, don't you see, the mock stones look every bit as well as the real stones? Yet great ladies, who only use such things as ornaments, would never think of sacrificing one of their diamonds to relieve the distress of such unfortunate beings as we are." "Come, come, wife! Be more reasonable than this; sorrow makes you unjust. Who do you think knows that such people as Morel and his family are in existence, still less that they are in want?" "Oh, what a man you are, Morel! I really believe, if any one were to cut you in pieces, that, while they were doing it, you would try to say, 'Thank you!'" Morel compassionately shrugged his shoulders. "And how much will Madame Mathieu owe you this morning?" asked Madeleine. "Nothing; because you know I have already had an advance of 120 francs." "Nothing! Why, our last sou went the day before yesterday. We have not a single farthing belonging to us!" "Alas, no!" cried Morel, with a dejected air. "Well, then, what are we to do?" "I know not." "The baker refuses to let us have anything more on credit,--will he?" "No; and I was obliged yesterday to beg Madame Pipelet to lend me part of a loaf." "Can we borrow anything more of Mother Burette?" "She has already every article belonging to us in pledge. What have we to offer her to lend more money on,--our children?" asked Morel, with a smile of bitterness. "But yourself, my mother, and all the children had but part of a loaf among you all yesterday. You cannot go on in this way; you will be starved to death. It is all your fault that we are not on the books of the charitable institution this year."