t fash
yourself; we won't trouble your Parisians--before they set their feet in
this house, we shall have shaken the dust of it off ours. Max and I will
be gone, never to return. As for your will, I'll tear it in quarters
under your nose, and to your very beard--do you hear? Leave your
property to your family, if you don't think we are your family; and then
see if you'll be loved for yourself by a lot of people who have not seen
you for thirty years,--who in fact have never seen you! Is it that sort
of sister who can take my place? A pinchbeck saint!"

"If that's all, my little Flore," said the old man, "I won't receive
my sister, or my nephews. I swear to you this is the first word I
have heard of their coming. It is all got up by that Madame Hochon--a
sanctimonious old--"

Max, who had overheard old Rouget's words, entered suddenly, and said in
a masterful tone,--

"What's all this?"

"My good Max," said the old man, glad to get the protection of the
soldier who, by agreement with Flore, always took his side in a dispute,
"I swear by all that is most sacred, that I now hear this news for the
first time. I have never written to my sister; my father made me promise
not to leave her any of my property; to leave it to the Church sooner
than to her. Well, I won't receive my sister Agathe to this house, or
her sons--"

"Your father was wrong, my dear Jean-Jacques, and Madame Brazier is
still more wrong," answered Max. "Your father no doubt had his reasons,
but he is dead, and his hatred should die with him. Your sister is your
sister, and your nephews are your nephews. You owe it to yourself to
welcome them, and you owe it to us as well. What would people say in
Issoudun? Thunder! I've got enough upon my shoulders as it is, without
hearing people say that we shut you up and don't allow you a will of
your own, or that we influence you against your relations and are trying
to get hold of your property. The devil take me if I don't pull up
stakes and be off, if that sort of calumny is to be flung at me! the
other is bad enough! Let's eat our breakfast."

Flore, who was now as mild as a weasel, helped Vedie to set the table.
Old Rouget, full of admiration for Max, took him by both hands and led
him into the recess of a window, saying in a low voice:--

"Ah! Max, if I had a son, I couldn't love him better than I love you.
Flore is right: you two are my real family. You are a man of honor, Max,
and what you have just sai