g the orderly economy of his domestic
life. This disciple of the golden calf went to bed at half-past ten
o'clock and got up at five in the morning. Moreover, being perfectly
sure of Latournelle's and Butscha's discretion, he could talk over
difficult business matters, obtain the advice of the notary gratis,
and get an inkling of the real truth of the gossip of the street. This
stolid gold-glutton (the epithet is Butscha's) belonged by nature to
the class of substances which chemistry terms absorbents. Ever since the
catastrophe of the house of Mignon, where the Kellers had placed him to
learn the principles of maritime commerce, no one at the Chalet had ever
asked him to do the smallest thing, no matter what; his reply was too
well known. The young fellow looked at Modeste precisely as he would
have looked at a cheap lithograph.

"He's one of the pistons of the big engine called 'Commerce,'" said poor
Butscha, whose clever mind made itself felt occasionally by such little
sayings timidly jerked out.

The four Latournelles bowed with the most respectful deference to an
old lady dressed in black velvet, who did not rise from the armchair in
which she was seated, for the reason that both eyes were covered with
the yellow film produced by cataract. Madame Mignon may be sketched in
one sentence. Her august countenance of the mother of a family attracted
instant notice as that of one whose irreproachable life defies the
assaults of destiny, which nevertheless makes her the target of its
arrows and a member of the unnumbered tribe of Niobes. Her blonde wig,
carefully curled and well arranged upon her head, became the cold white
face which resembled that of some burgomaster's wife painted by Hals or
Mirevelt. The extreme neatness of her dress, the velvet boots, the lace
collar, the shawl evenly folded and put on, all bore testimony to the
solicitous care which Modeste bestowed upon her mother.

When silence was, as the notary had predicted, restored in the pretty
salon, Modeste, sitting beside her mother, for whom she was embroidering
a kerchief, became for an instant the centre of observation. This
curiosity, barely veiled by the commonplace salutations and inquiries
of the visitors, would have revealed even to an indifferent person the
existence of the domestic plot to which Modeste was expected to fall
a victim; but Gobenheim, more than indifferent, noticed nothing, and
proceeded to light the candles on the card-table. Th