While the foregoing plot was progressing, Philippe was walking arm in arm with his uncle along the boulevard Baron. “The two great tacticians are coming to close quarters at last,” thought Monsieur Hochon as he watched the colonel marching off with his uncle; “I am curious to see the end of the game, and what becomes of the stake of ninety thousand francs a year.” “My dear uncle,” said Philippe, whose phraseology had a flavor of his affinities in Paris, “you love this girl, and you are devilishly right. She is damnably handsome! Instead of billing and cooing she makes you trot like a valet; well, that’s all simple enough; but she wants to see you six feet underground, so that she may marry Max, whom she adores.” “I know that, Philippe, but I love her all the same.” “Well, I have sworn by the soul of my mother, who is your own sister,” continued Philippe, “to make your Rabouilleuse as supple as my glove, and the same as she was before that scoundrel, who is unworthy to have served in the Imperial Guard, ever came to quarter himself in your house.” “Ah! if you could do that!--” said the old man. “It is very easy,” answered Philippe, cutting his uncle short. “I’ll kill Max as I would a dog; but--on one condition,” added the old campaigner. “What is that?” said Rouget, looking at his nephew in a stupid way. “Don’t sign that power of attorney which they want of you before the third of December; put them off till then. Your torturers only want it to enable them to sell the fifty thousand a year you have in the Funds, so that they may run off to Paris and pay for their wedding festivities out of your millions.” “I am afraid so,” replied Rouget. “Well, whatever they may say or do to you, put off giving that power of attorney until next week.” “Yes; but when Flore talks to me she stirs my very soul, till I don’t know what I do. I give you my word, when she looks at me in a certain way, her blue eyes seem like paradise, and I am no longer master of myself,--especially when for some days she had been harsh to me.” “Well, whether she is sweet or sour, don’t do more than promise to sign the paper, and let me know the night before you are going to do it. That will answer. Maxence shall not be your proxy unless he first kills me. If I kill him, you must agree to take me in his place, and I’ll undertake to break in that handsome girl and keep her at your beck and call. Yes, Flore shall love you, and if she doesn’t satisfy you--thunder! I’ll thrash her.” “Oh! I never could allow that. A blow struck at Flore would break my heart.” “But it is the only way to govern women and horses. A man makes himself feared, or loved, or respected. Now that is what I wanted to whisper in your ear--Good-morning, gentlemen,” he said to Mignonnet and Carpentier, who came up at the moment; “I am taking my uncle for a walk, as you see, and trying to improve him; for we are in an age when children are obliged to educate their grandparents.”