the lesson is a good one; and if ever
again I am caught bragging in a public coach--"

"It is a stupid thing to do," said Joseph Bridau.

"And common," added Mistigris. "'Vulgarity is the brother of
pretension.'"

While the matter of the sale was being settled between Monsieur
Margueron and the Comte de Serizy, assisted by their respective notaries
in presence of Monsieur de Reybert, the ex-steward walked with slow
steps to his own house. There he entered the salon and sat down without
noticing anything. Little Husson, who was present, slipped into a
corner, out of sight, so much did the livid face of his mother's friend
alarm him.

"Eh! my friend!" said Estelle, coming into the room, somewhat tired with
what she had been doing. "What is the matter?"

"My dear, we are lost,--lost beyond recovery. I am no longer steward of
Presles, no longer in the count's confidence."

"Why not?"

"Pere Leger, who was in Pierrotin's coach, told the count all about the
affair of Les Moulineaux. But that is not the thing that has cost me his
favor."

"What then?"

"Oscar spoke ill of the countess, and he told about the count's
diseases."

"Oscar!" cried Madame Moreau. "Ah! my dear, your sin has found you out.
It was well worth while to warm that young serpent in your bosom. How
often I have told you--"

"Enough!" said Moreau, in a strained voice.

At this moment Estelle and her husband discovered Oscar cowering in his
corner. Moreau swooped down on the luckless lad like a hawk on its prey,
took him by the collar of the coat and dragged him to the light of a
window. "Speak! what did you say to monseigneur in that coach? What
demon let loose your tongue, you who keep a doltish silence whenever I
speak to you? What did you do it for?" cried the steward, with frightful
violence.

Too bewildered to weep, Oscar was dumb and motionless as a statue.

"Come with me and beg his Excellency's pardon," said Moreau.

"As if his Excellency cares for a little toad like that!" cried the
furious Estelle.

"Come, I say, to the chateau," repeated Moreau.

Oscar dropped like an inert mass to the ground.

"Come!" cried Moreau, his anger increasing at every instant.

"No! no! mercy!" cried Oscar, who could not bring himself to submit to a
torture that seemed to him worse than death.

Moreau then took the lad by his coat, and dragged him, as he might a
dead body, through the yards, which rang with the boy's outcries and
sobs. He pull