'Which would have been better employed in a worthier cause,' said Pauline, interrupting him. 'A worthier cause!' said Mr. Wetter. 'How could that be? There can be nothing better than the restoration of an old friendship, unless,' he added, half under his breath, 'unless it be the commencement of a new one.' His tone was so eminently provoking, that despite her better reason, Pauline suffered herself to be betrayed into an expression of annoyance. 'It is not the restoration of an old friendship that brings you here, Monsieur Wetter,' she said, settling herself stiffly, and glaring at him. 'Your memory, of which you prate, cannot serve you very well if you take me for a fool.' 'My dear Mademoiselle Lunelle, Madame Durham, Madame--I beg your pardon, I have forgotten the most recent appellation--you do me a serious injustice in imagining that I take you for anything of the kind. The way in which you managed your affairs at Marseilles would have prevented my having any such ideas.' 'And yet you think to blind and hoodwink me by pretending that you are very glad to see me.' 'I am very glad to see you,' said Mr. Wetter, smiling; 'I can give you my word of honour of that.' 'But why--why, I ask?' said Pauline vehemently. 'Because I think you can be of use to me,' said Mr. Wetter, bending forward, and bringing his hand down with force upon the table. 'It is well to be explicit about that.' 'Of use to you,' said Pauline. 'In what way?' 'By introducing me to the lady who was living with you out in that country place where I last had the pleasure of seeing you, who is now living with you in this house. I have taken a fancy to her, and desire the pleasure of making her acquaintance.' 'Monsieur, que d'honneur!' exclaimed Pauline, with curling lip, and making him a mock obeisance. 'How flattered she ought to be at this proof of your esteem!' 'Don't be satirical, Mademoiselle Lunelle--it is best to stick to the name which I know once to have been really yours,' said Mr. Wetter, with a certain amount of savageness; 'don't be satirical; it does not become you, and it offends me.' 'Offends!' cried Pauline. 'Offends,' repeated Mr. Wetter. 'I have asked you to do nothing extraordinary, nothing but what any gentleman might ask of any lady.' 'And suppose I were to refuse--suppose I were to decide from pique, jealousy, or whatever other motive you may choose to accredit me with, that it was inexpedient for me to present you to my friend--what then?' 'Then,' said Mr. Wetter, with smiling lips, but with an unpleasant look in his eyes, 'I should be forced to present myself. I have made up my mind to make this lady's acquaintance, and it's a characteristic of mine, that I invariably carry out what I once undertake, and in making her acquaintance, I should have occasion to inquire how much she knew of the character and antecedents of the person who was domesticated with her.' 'You threaten?' cried Pauline.