"

"Yes, my darling mother; she found me ignorant as a carp, and she has
taught me."

"You knew the essential things when you learned the duties taught us
by religion," replied the baroness. "Ah! this woman is fated to destroy
your noble and sacred beliefs."

The old maid rose, and solemnly stretched forth her hands toward her
brother, who was dozing in his chair.

"Calyste," she said, in a voice that came from her heart, "your father
has never opened books, he speaks Breton, he fought for God and for the
king. Educated people did the evil, educated noblemen deserted their
land,--be educated if you choose!"

So saying, she sat down and began to knit with a rapidity which betrayed
her inward emotion.

"My angel," said the mother, weeping, "I foresee some evil coming down
upon you in that house."

"Who is making Fanny weep?" cried the old man, waking with a start at
the sound of his wife's voice. He looked round upon his sister, his son,
and the baroness. "What is the matter?" he asked.

"Nothing, my friend," replied his wife.

"Mamma," said Calyste, whispering in his mother's ear, "it is impossible
for me to explain myself just now; but to-night you and I will talk of
this. When you know all, you will bless Mademoiselle des Touches."

"Mothers do not like to curse," replied the baroness. "I could not curse
a woman who truly loved my Calyste."

The young man bade adieu to his father and went out. The baron and his
wife rose to see him pass through the court-yard, open the gate, and
disappear. The baroness did not again take up the newspaper; she was too
agitated. In this tranquil, untroubled life such a discussion was the
equivalent of a quarrel in other homes. Though somewhat calmed, her
motherly uneasiness was not dispersed. Whither would such a friendship,
which might claim the life of Calyste and destroy it, lead her boy?
Bless Mademoiselle des Touches? how could that be? These questions
were as momentous to her simple soul as the fury of revolutions to a
statesman. Camille Maupin was Revolution itself in that calm and placid
home.

"I fear that woman will ruin him," she said, picking up the paper.

"My dear Fanny," said the old baron, with a jaunty air, "you are too
much of an angel to understand these things. Mademoiselle des Touches
is, they say, as black as a crow, as strong as a Turk, and forty years
old. Our dear Calyste was certain to fall in love with her. Of course
he will tell certain honora