“I have told Fario to send me all my things,” answered Philippe. “I shall sleep in the room adjoining Gilet’s apartment,--if my uncle consents.” “What will come of all this?” cried the terrified old man. “Mademoiselle Flore Brazier is coming, gentle as a paschal lamb,” replied Monsieur Hochon. “God grant it!” exclaimed Rouget, wiping his eyes. “It is now seven o’clock,” said Philippe; “the sovereign of your heart will be here at half-past eleven: you’ll never see Gilet again, and you will be as happy ever after as a pope.--If you want me to succeed,” he whispered to Monsieur Hochon, “stay here till the hussy comes; you can help me in keeping the old man up to his resolution; and, together, we’ll make that crab-girl see on which side her bread is buttered.” Monsieur Hochon felt the reasonableness of the request and stayed: but they had their hands full, for old Rouget gave way to childish lamentations, which were only quieted by Philippe’s repeating over and over a dozen times:-- “Uncle, you will see that I am right when Flore returns to you as tender as ever. You shall be petted; you will save your property: be guided by my advice, and you’ll live in paradise for the rest of your days.” When, about half-past eleven, wheels were heard in the Grande-Narette, the question was, whether the carriage were returning full or empty. Rouget’s face wore an expression of agony, which changed to the prostration of excessive joy when he saw the two women, as the carriage turned to enter the courtyard. “Kouski,” said Philippe, giving a hand to Flore to help her down. “You are no longer in Monsieur Rouget’s service. You will not sleep here to-night; get your things together, and go. Benjamin takes your place.” “Are you the master here?” said Flore sarcastically. “With your permission,” replied Philippe, squeezing her hand as if in a vice. “Come! we must have an understanding, you and I”; and he led the bewildered woman out into the place Saint-Jean. “My fine lady,” began the old campaigner, stretching out his right hand, “three days hence, Maxence Gilet will be sent to the shades by that arm, or his will have taken me off guard. If I die, you will be the mistress of my poor imbecile uncle; ‘bene sit.’ If I remain on my pins, you’ll have to walk straight, and keep him supplied with first-class happiness. If you don’t, I know girls in Paris who are, with all due respect, much prettier than you; for they are only seventeen years old: they would make my uncle excessively happy, and they are in my interests. Begin your attentions this very evening; if the old man is not as gay as a lark to-morrow morning, I have only a word to say to you; it is this, pay attention to it,--there is but one way to kill a man without the interference of the law, and that is to fight a duel with him; but I know three ways to get rid of a woman: mind that, my beauty!” During this address, Flore shook like a person with the ague.