able to impose respect by superior physical ability.

This mixture of former splendor now departed, of beauty gone, of blind
maternal love, of sufferings heroically borne, made the mother one of
those pathetic figures which catch the eye of many an observer in Paris.

Incapable, naturally, of understanding the real attachment of Moreau to
this woman, or that of the woman for the man she had saved in 1797,
now her only friend, Pierrotin did not think it best to communicate
the suspicion that had entered his head as to some danger which was
threatening Moreau. The valet's speech, "We have enough to do in this
world to look after ourselves," returned to his mind, and with it came
that sentiment of obedience to what he called the "chefs de file,"--the
front-rank men in war, and men of rank in peace. Besides, just now
Pierrotin's head was as full of his own stings as there are five-franc
pieces in a thousand francs. So that the "Very good, madame,"
"Certainly, madame," with which he replied to the poor mother, to whom a
trip of twenty miles appeared a journey, showed plainly that he desired
to get away from her useless and prolix instructions.

"You will be sure to place the packages so that they cannot get wet if
the weather should happen to change."

"I've a hood," replied Pierrotin. "Besides, see, madame, with what care
they are being placed."

"Oscar, don't stay more than two weeks, no matter how much they may ask
you," continued Madame Clapart, returning to her son. "You can't please
Madame Moreau, whatever you do; besides, you must be home by the end of
September. We are to go to Belleville, you know, to your uncle Cardot."

"Yes, mamma."

"Above all," she said, in a low voice, "be sure never to speak about
servants; keep thinking all the time that Madame Moreau was once a
waiting-maid."

"Yes, mamma."

Oscar, like all youths whose vanity is excessively ticklish, seemed
annoyed at being lectured on the threshold of the Lion d'Argent.

"Well, now good-bye, mamma. We shall start soon; there's the horse all
harnessed."

The mother, forgetting that she was in the open street, embraced her
Oscar, and said, smiling, as she took a little roll from her basket:--

"Tiens! you were forgetting your roll and the chocolate! My child, once
more, I repeat, don't take anything at the inns; they'd make you pay for
the slightest thing ten times what it is worth."

Oscar would fain have seen his mother farther off as she