d is true."

"You ought to receive and entertain your sister and her son, but not
change the arrangements you have made about your property," said Max.
"In that way you will do what is right in the eyes of the world, and yet
keep your promise to your father."

"Well! my dear loves!" cried Flore, gayly, "the salmi is getting
cold. Come, my old rat, here's a wing for you," she said, smiling on
Jean-Jacques.

At the words, the long-drawn face of the poor creature lost its
cadaverous tints, the smile of a Theriaki flickered on his pendent lips;
but he was seized with another fit of coughing; for the joy of being
taken back to favor excited as violent an emotion as the punishment
itself. Flore rose, pulled a little cashmere shawl from her own
shoulders, and tied it round the old man's throat, exclaiming: "How
silly to put yourself in such a way about nothing. There, you old goose,
that will do you good; it has been next my heart--"

"What a good creature!" said Rouget to Max, while Flore went to fetch a
black velvet cap to cover the nearly bald head of the old bachelor.

"As good as she is beautiful"; answered Max, "but she is quick-tempered,
like all people who carry their hearts in their hands."

The baldness of this sketch may displease some, who will think the
flashes of Flore's character belong to the sort of realism which a
painter ought to leave in shadow. Well! this scene, played again and
again with shocking variations, is, in its coarse way and its horrible
veracity, the type of such scenes played by women on whatever rung of
the social ladder they are perched, when any interest, no matter what,
draws them from their own line of obedience and induces them to grasp
at power. In their eyes, as in those of politicians, all means to an end
are justifiable. Between Flore Brazier and a duchess, between a
duchess and the richest bourgeoise, between a bourgeoise and the most
luxuriously kept mistress, there are no differences except those of the
education they have received, and the surroundings in which they live.
The pouting of a fine lady is the same thing as the violence of a
Rabouilleuse. At all levels, bitter sayings, ironical jests, cold
contempt, hypocritical complaints, false quarrels, win as much success
as the low outbursts of this Madame Everard of Issoudun.

Max began to relate, with much humor, the tale of Fario and his barrow,
which made the old man laugh. Vedie and Kouski, who came to listen,
explod