et. But how should your mother, with her ignorance of the
world, her disinterestedness, and her religious ideas, know how to
manage such an affair? However, I am not able to throw any light
on the matter. All that you have done so far has probably given
the alarm, and your adversaries may already have secured
themselves--

"That is what I call an opinion in good shape," exclaimed Monsieur
Hochon, proud of being himself appreciated by a Parisian lawyer.

"Oh! Desroches is a famous fellow," answered Joseph.

"It would be well to read that letter to the two women," said the old
man.

"There it is," said Joseph, giving it to him; "as to me, I want to be
off to-morrow; and I am now going to say good-by to my uncle."

"Ah!" said Monsieur Hochon, "I see that Monsieur Desroches tells you in
a postscript to burn the letter."

"You can burn it after showing it to my mother," said the painter.

Joseph dressed, crossed the little square, and called on his uncle, who
was just finishing breakfast. Max and Flore were at table.

"Don't disturb yourself, my dear uncle; I have only come to say
good-by."

"You are going?" said Max, exchanging glances with Flore.

"Yes; I have some work to do at the chateau of Monsieur de Serizy, and
I am all the more glad of it because his arm is long enough to do a
service to my poor brother in the Chamber of Peers."

"Well, well, go and work"; said old Rouget, with a silly air. Joseph
thought him extraordinarily changed within a few days. "Men must work--I
am sorry you are going."

"Oh! my mother will be here some time longer," remarked Joseph.

Max made a movement with his lips which the Rabouilleuse observed, and
which signified: "They are going to try the plan Baruch warned me of."

"I am very glad I came," said Joseph, "for I have had the pleasure of
making your acquaintance and you have enriched my studio--"

"Yes," said Flore, "instead of enlightening your uncle on the value
of his pictures, which is now estimated at over one hundred thousand
francs, you have packed them off in a hurry to Paris. Poor dear man! he
is no better than a baby! We have just been told of a little treasure at
Bourges,--what did they call it? a Poussin,--which was in the choir of
the cathedral before the Revolution and is now worth, all by itself,
thirty thousand francs."

"That was not right of you, my nephew," said Jean-Jacques, at a sign
from Max, which Joseph could not see.

"Come now, fr