"She had just left school," resumed the woman of business in a doleful voice, "and a man seduced her, down in the country, at the home of one of her schoolfellows where she was staying. The father has just discovered her condition. He wished to kill her. The aunt, to save the dear child, made herself her accomplice, and they have both of them told the father a story, to the effect that the seducer was a worthy fellow who was longing to redeem his momentary error." "Therefore," said Saccard in a tone of surprise and as though annoyed, "the man in the country is going to marry the young girl?" "No, he cannot, he is already married." A pause ensued. The rattle in Angèle's throat resounded more painfully in the quivering atmosphere. Little Clotilde had ceased playing; she was now looking at Madame Sidonie and her father, with her great eyes of a thoughtful child, as though she had understood their words. Saccard began to put a few brief questions. "How old is the young girl?" "Nineteen." "How long has she been in her present condition?" "Three months. There will no doubt be a miscarriage." "And the family is a wealthy and honourable one?" "An old middle-class family. The father was a judge. A very handsome fortune." "What is the aunt prepared to give?" "A hundred thousand francs." Another pause ensued. Madame Sidonie was no longer blubbering; she was on business, her voice assumed the metallic jingle of a second-hand dealer trying to drive a bargain. Her brother took a covert glance at her, and added with some slight hesitation: "And you, what will you want?" "We'll talk of that later on," replied she. "You can do me a service in your turn." She waited a few seconds, and as he remained silent, she asked him plainly: "Well, what have you decided? These poor women are in despair; they wish to prevent a scandal. They have promised the father to tell him to-morrow the name of the seducer. If you accept, I will send them one of your cards by a commissionaire." Saccard seemed to awaken from a dream; he started, and turned with a frightened air towards the adjoining room, where he fancied he had heard a slight noise. "But I cannot," said he with anguish; "you know very well that I cannot." Madame Sidonie looked at him fixedly, with a cold and disdainful gaze. All the Rougon blood, all his ardent longings came rushing back to his throat. He took a card from his pocket-book and gave it to his sister, who, after carefully scratching out the address, placed it in an envelope. She then went out. It was barely nine o'clock.