Agathe.

"Keep them, my sister," said the old man, who did not even now believe
in their value.

"Neighbor," remarked Monsieur Hochon, "our best friends, our surest
defenders, are our own relations; above all, when they are such as your
sister Agathe, and your nephew Joseph."

"Perhaps so," said old Rouget in his dull way.

"We ought all to think of ending our days in a Christian manner," said
Madame Hochon.

"Ah! Jean-Jacques," said Agathe, "what a day this has been!"

"Will you accept my carriage?" asked Rouget.

"No, brother," answered Madame Bridau, "I thank you, and wish you health
and comfort."

Rouget let his sister and nephew kiss him, and then he went away without
manifesting any feeling himself. Baruch, at a hint from his grandfather,
had been to see the postmaster. At eleven o'clock that night, the two
Parisians, ensconced in a wicker cabriolet drawn by one horse and ridden
by a postilion, quitted Issoudun. Adolphine and Madame Hochon parted
from them with tears in their eyes; they alone regretted Joseph and
Agathe.

"They are gone!" said Francois Hochon, going, with the Rabouilleuse,
into Max's bedroom.

"Well done! the trick succeeded," answered Max, who was now tired and
feverish.

"But what did you say to old Mouilleron?" asked Francois.

"I told him that I had given my assassin some cause to waylay me; that
he was a dangerous man and likely, if I followed up the affair, to
kill me like a dog before he could be captured. Consequently, I begged
Mouilleron and Prangin to make the most active search ostensibly, but
really to let the assassin go in peace, unless they wished to see me a
dead man."

"I do hope, Max," said Flore, "that you will be quiet at night for some
time to come."

"At any rate, we are delivered from the Parisians!" cried Max. "The
fellow who stabbed me had no idea what a service he was doing us."

The next day, the departure of the Parisians was celebrated as a victory
of the provinces over Paris by every one in Issoudun, except the more
sober and staid inhabitants, who shared the opinions of Monsieur and
Madame Hochon. A few of Max's friends spoke very harshly of the Bridaus.

"Do those Parisians fancy we are all idiots," cried one, "and think they
have only got to hold their hats and catch legacies?"

"They came to fleece, but they have got shorn themselves," said another;
"the nephew is not to the uncle's taste."

"And, if you please, they actually consulted a l