of those present, and again replied,--

"What's that to me?"

"But," said Francois, "I should think that if old Rouget revoked his
will,--in case he has made one in favor of the Rabouilleuse--"

Here Max cut short his henchman's speech. "I've stopped the mouths of
people who have dared to meddle with you, my dear Francois," he said;
"and this is the way you pay your debts? You use a contemptuous nickname
in speaking of a woman to whom I am known to be attached."

Max had never before said as much as this about his relations with the
person to whom Francois had just applied a name under which she was
known at Issoudun. The late prisoner at Cabrera--the major of the
grenadiers of the Guard--knew enough of what honor was to judge rightly
as to the causes of the disesteem in which society held him. He had
therefore never allowed any one, no matter who, to speak to him on
the subject of Mademoiselle Flore Brazier, the servant-mistress of
Jean-Jacques Rouget, so energetically termed a "slut" by the respectable
Madame Hochon. Everybody knew it was too ticklish a subject with Max,
ever to speak of it unless he began it; and hitherto he had never begun
it. To risk his anger or irritate him was altogether too dangerous; so
that even his best friends had never joked him about the Rabouilleuse.
When they talked of his liaison with the girl before Major Potel and
Captain Renard, with whom he lived on intimate terms, Potel would
reply,--

"If he is the natural brother of Jean-Jacques Rouget where else would
you have him live?"

"Besides, after all," added Captain Renard, "the girl is a worthless
piece, and if Max does live with her where's the harm?"

After this merited snub, Francois could not at once catch up the thread
of his ideas; but he was still less able to do so when Max said to him,
gently,--

"Go on."

"Faith, no!" cried Francois.

"You needn't get angry, Max," said young Goddet; "didn't we agree to
talk freely to each other at Mere Cognette's? Shouldn't we all be mortal
enemies if we remembered outside what is said, or thought, or done here?
All the town calls Flore Brazier the Rabouilleuse; and if Francois did
happen to let the nickname slip out, is that a crime against the Order
of Idleness?"

"No," said Max, "but against our personal friendship. However, I thought
better of it; I recollected we were in session, and that was why I said,
'Go on.'"

A deep silence followed. The pause became so embarrassing