owards
Amedee. Is it because he is a friend of the family, and because we like
him--your father and I?"

"Well, mamma," replied the poor child one day, "if I made him welcome,
should I not be still more in the wrong?"

"What do you mean by that?" cried Madame de Watteville. "What is the
meaning of such words? Your mother is unjust, no doubt, and according
to you, would be so in any case! Never let such an answer pass your lips
again to your mother--" and so forth.

This quarrel lasted three hours and three-quarters. Rosalie noted the
time. Her mother, pale with fury, sent her to her room, where Rosalie
pondered on the meaning of this scene without discovering it, so
guileless was she. Thus young Monsieur de Soulas, who was supposed by
every one to be very near the end he was aiming at, all neckcloths set,
and by dint of pots of patent blacking--an end which required so much
waxing of his moustaches, so many smart waistcoats, wore out so many
horseshoes and stays--for he wore a leather vest, the stays of the
_lion_--Amedee, I say, was further away than any chance comer, although
he had on his side the worthy and noble Abbe de Grancey.

* * * * *

"Madame," said Monsieur de Soulas, addressing the Baroness, while
waiting till his soup was cool enough to swallow, and affecting to
give a romantic turn to his narrative, "one fine morning the mail coach
dropped at the Hotel National a gentleman from Paris, who, after seeking
apartments, made up his mind in favor of the first floor in Mademoiselle
Galard's house, Rue du Perron. Then the stranger went straight to the
Mairie, and had himself registered as a resident with all political
qualifications. Finally, he had his name entered on the list of the
barristers to the Court, showing his title in due form, and he left
his card on all his new colleagues, the Ministerial officials, the
Councillors of the Court, and the members of the bench, with the name,
'ALBERT SAVARON.'"

"The name of Savaron is famous," said Mademoiselle de Watteville, who
was strong in heraldic information. "The Savarons of Savarus are one of
the oldest, noblest, and richest families in Belgium."

"He is a Frenchman, and no man's son," replied Amedee de Soulas. "If
he wishes to bear the arms of the Savarons of Savarus, he must add
a bar-sinister. There is no one left of the Brabant family but a
Mademoiselle de Savarus, a rich heiress, and unmarried."

"The bar-sinister is, of course, the badge of a b