Marsac knitted his brows thoughtfully. “I really don’t know,” he said at last; “I have never heard Fontaine mention Mademoiselle Claire except in general terms; but I know she is a very charming girl, and any man might be glad and proud to have her. But, Monsieur Duval,” said Marsac, confidentially, “you have no idea how the poor fellow has been persecuted with propositions of the sort since his Uncle Maurice’s death. At the club the dukes and marquises are sometimes four deep around him, all with an eye on having him for a son-in-law; and as for the widows, the poor fellow has had to insure his life against their eating him up.” This whetted old Duval’s desire considerably. Marsac, seeing this, kept on. “Now, here is a letter from the Prince de Landais,” taking up Landais’s bill,--“I assure you, neither of us knows the man except in a business way--and here he writes, not only wanting Fontaine to marry his daughter, but actually asking for money in advance,--about six hundred and seventy-five francs,--and he takes the tone of a person already entitled to it!” “A wretched, aristocratic pauper!” cried old Duval, indignantly. “At least, the man who marries my Claire will not have a worthless father-in-law, like this Prince de Landais, to prey upon him!” “And here is a letter from Madame Schmid, or rather the Baroness Schmid,”--Marsac made this addition, seeing how quickly Monsieur Duval had jumped at every title he had named. “She is very particular about her title, because she has just got one. This woman is a great swell, but a rude, coarse creature, old enough to be Fontaine’s mother, and was once a washerwoman, I am told. By the way,”--here Marsac put his mouth to old Duval’s ear,--“she comes to this apartment in pursuit of him! He keeps out of her way, refuses to answer her letters, and then she pursues him here! She was in this room when you were announced below, and it was with the greatest difficulty we got her out. She is in the corridor still, I believe.” Marsac rose, and taking the old brewer by the hand, they tipped to the corridor door. Monsieur Duval knelt down, and through the keyhole saw Madame Schmid rampaging up and down the corridor like a caged lioness. [Illustration] “Great heavens!” whispered old Duval, “no one can blame Monsieur Fontaine from running away from such a woman!” Scarcely were the words out of his mouth, when, Madame Schmid making a lunge at the door, it flew open, knocking Monsieur Duval sprawling. Madame Schmid dashed in, walking over the prostrate Monsieur Duval as if he had been a frog, and began to harangue Marsac violently, swinging her arms about like a Dutch windmill. “Oh, you deceiver! I know it isn’t worth while to do anything with Monsieur Fontaine,--you have him under your thumb; but I will bring you both to terms, that I promise you. And where has Monsieur Fontaine gone? You have spirited him out of the way,--I know it; you do it every time I come!”