“Good-morning, uncle,” he said, in a hoarse voice. “I am your nephew, Philippe Bridau,--a specimen of how the Bourbons treat a lieutenant-colonel, an old soldier of the old army, one who carried the Emperor’s orders at the battle of Montereau. If my coat were to open, I should be put to shame in presence of Mademoiselle. Well, it is the rule of the game! We hoped to begin it again; we tried it, and we have failed! I am to reside in your city by the order of the police, with a full pay of sixty francs a month. So the inhabitants needn’t fear that I shall raise the price of provisions! I see you are in good and lovely company.” “Ah! you are my nephew,” said Jean-Jacques. “Invite monsieur le colonel to breakfast with us,” said Flore. “No, I thank you, madame,” answered Philippe, “I have breakfasted. Besides, I would cut off my hand sooner than ask a bit of bread or a farthing from my uncle, after the treatment my mother and brother received in this town. It did not seem proper, however, that I should settle here, in Issoudun, without paying my respects to him from time to time. You can do what you like,” he added, offering the old man his hand, into which Rouget put his own, which Philippe shook, “--whatever you like. I shall have nothing to say against it; provided the honor of the Bridaus is untouched.” Gilet could look at the lieutenant-colonel as much as he pleased, for Philippe pointedly avoided casting his eyes in his direction. Max, though the blood boiled in his veins, was too well aware of the importance of behaving with political prudence--which occasionally resembles cowardice--to take fire like a young man; he remained, therefore, perfectly calm and cold. “It wouldn’t be right, monsieur,” said Flore, “to live on sixty francs a month under the nose of an uncle who has forty thousand francs a year, and who has already behaved so kindly to Captain Gilet, his natural relation, here present--” “Yes, Philippe,” cried the old man, “you must see that!” On Flore’s presentation, Philippe made a half-timid bow to Max. “Uncle, I have some pictures to return to you; they are now at Monsieur Hochon’s. Will you be kind enough to come over some day and identify them.” Saying these last words in a curt tone, lieutenant-colonel Philippe Bridau departed. The tone of his visit made, if possible, a deeper impression on Flore’s mind, and also on that of Max, than the shock they had felt at the first sight of that horrible campaigner. As soon as Philippe had slammed the door, with the violence of a disinherited heir, Max and Flore hid behind the window-curtains to watch him as he crossed the road, to the Hochons’. “What a vagabond!” exclaimed Flore, questioning Max with a glance of her eye. “Yes; unfortunately there were men like him in the armies of the Emperor; I sent seven to the shades at Cabrera,” answered Gilet. “I do hope, Max, that you won’t pick a quarrel with that fellow,” said Mademoiselle Brazier.