Marsac was overwhelmed by the old man’s generosity; and the silence, as he stood grasping Uncle Maurice’s hand, was only broken by the slamming of the door as Madame Fleury rushed out, dragging the unhappy Fleury after her. As Monsieur Duval watched her exit, he said slowly,-- “Perhaps it is better, after all, that I am not in Fleury’s shoes.” “A great deal better,” remarked Uncle Maurice, solemnly; “she’s too much for you, Monsieur Duval.” This great truth seemed to strike the old brewer with much force; the more so when Madame Schmid said, pointing after Fleury’s departing figure: “That man weighed near two hundred pounds when he married that woman, and I believe he has lost not less than a pound a day since that time; and you see what he is now. Well, I must be going. M’sieu Marsac, when you and that pretty young lady”--pointing to Delphine--“are married, please to give me your washing. The same to you, M’sieu Fontaine, and your young lady.” Marsac was so embarrassed by this speech that he remained perfectly silent; but Fontaine escorted Madame Schmid to the door with profuse thanks. Old Duval still seemed dazed about the dead and the living Uncle Maurice. At every mention of the suppositious Uncle Maurice the real one would shake with merriment. “So Monsieur Marsac made up the yarn,” said Monsieur Duval, dubiously. “The noble romance, you mean,” replied Marsac. “My invention of Uncle Maurice ranks with Orestes, with Pantagruel, with Don Quixote, with all those splendid creations of the imagination that are as real to us as you, sir, are,” to Uncle Maurice. “I endowed you with every virtue, and I find, happily, that I have only done you justice.” Marsac folded his arms, and assumed a look of triumphant virtue. “What a clever fellow! what a very clever fellow!” chuckled Uncle Maurice, delightedly. “And I also invented two other rich uncles and an aged and decrepit aunt,--all of whom were to make Fontaine their heir,” added Marsac; at which Uncle Maurice nearly went into convulsions of enjoyment. “I used to think,” said Monsieur Duval, “that Monsieur Marsac with his plays and his paint-pots and his writing and his fiddling was a great fool, but I have changed my opinion.” “A thousand thanks,” replied Marsac, with dignity,--“not only for myself, but for all the other fools who write or paint or fiddle, and thereby add to the gaiety of nations.” “Well, well, well,” said Monsieur Duval, hastily, “let us sit down and talk things over.” So he and Uncle Maurice and Fontaine and Claire formed a group and sat down. Delphine, who had taken but little part in the proceedings, but whose heart had swelled at Marsac’s triumph, walked toward the embrasure of a window. Marsac followed her. The curtain fell behind them, and they were as much alone as if in another room. Outside the window the fountains plashed in the May air; the day was all blue and gold. The trees in the Luxembourg gardens rustled softly; it was a day for making love.