business."

He then quitted the room, but, suddenly re-opening the door, exclaimed
in an imperious tone: "Above all things, do not trust Aristide; he is a
mar-all, who would spoil everything. I have studied him sufficiently to
feel certain that he will always fall on his feet. Don't have any
pity; if we make a fortune, he'll know well enough how to rob us of his
share."

When Eugene had gone, Felicite endeavoured to ferret out the secret that
was being hidden from her. She knew her husband too well to interrogate
him openly. He would have angrily replied that it was no business of
hers. In spite, however, of the clever tactics she pursued, she learnt
absolutely nothing. Eugene had chosen a good confidant for those
troubled times, when the greatest discretion was necessary. Pierre,
flattered by his son's confidence, exaggerated that passive ponderosity
which made him so impenetrable. When Felicite saw she would not learn
anything from him, she ceased to flutter round him. On one point only
did she remain inquisitive, but in this respect her curiosity was
intense. The two men had mentioned a price stipulated by Pierre himself.
What could that price be? This after all was the sole point of interest
for Felicite, who did not care a rap for political matters. She knew
that her husband must have sold himself dearly, but she was burning to
know the nature of the bargain. One evening, when they had gone to bed,
finding Pierre in a good humour, she brought the conversation round to
the discomforts of their poverty.

"It's quite time to put an end to this," she said. "We have been ruining
ourselves in oil and fuel since those gentlemen have been coming here.
And who will pay the reckoning? Nobody perhaps."

Her husband fell into the trap, and smiled with complacent superiority.
"Patience," said he. And with an air of shrewdness he looked into his
wife's eyes and added: "Would you be glad to be the wife of a receiver
of taxes?"

Felicite's face flushed with a joyous glow. She sat up in bed and
clapped her old withered little hands like a child.

"Really?" she stammered. "At Plassans?"

Pierre, without replying, gave a long affirmative nod. He enjoyed his
consort's astonishment and emotion.

"But," she at last resumed, half sitting, "you would have to deposit
an enormous sum as security. I have heard that our neighbour, Monsieur
Peirotte, had to deposit eighty thousand francs with the Treasury."

"Eh!" said the retired o