you were to
become bankrupt, the landlord might come down upon everything, for he
has great power."

He broke off abruptly, for Flavia's maid, as a privileged person,
entered the room without knocking.

"Sir," said she, "my mistress wishes to see you at once."

The banker got up directly. "I am coming," said he; then, taking the
hand of his client, he led her to the door, repeating: "Do not worry
yourself; all the difficulties shall be got through. Come again, and we
will talk them over;" and before she could thank him he was half way to
his daughter's apartment. Flavia had summoned her father to show him
a new costume which had just been sent home by Van Klopen, and which
pleased her greatly. Flavia's costume was a masterpiece of fashionable
bad taste, which makes women look all alike and destroys all appearance
of individuality. It was a mass of frills, furbelows, fringes, and
flutings of rare hue and form, making a series of wonderful contrasts.
Standing in the middle of the room, with every available candle alight,
for the day was fading away, she was so dainty and pretty that even the
_bizarre_ dress of Van Klopen's was unable to spoil her appearance. As
she turned round, she caught sight of her father in a mirror, panting
with the haste he had made in running upstairs.

"What a time you have been!" said she pettishly.

"I was with a client," returned he apologetically.

"You ought to have got rid of him at once. But never mind that; look at
me and tell me plainly what you think of me."

She had no need to put the question, for the most intense admiration
beamed in his face.

"Exquisite, delicious, heavenly!" answered he.

Flavia, accustomed as she was to her father's compliments, was highly
delighted. "Then you think that he will like me?" asked she.

She alluded to Paul Violaine, and the banker heaved a deep sigh as he
replied,--

"Is it possible that any human being exists that you cannot please?"

"Ah!" mused she, "if it were any one but he, I should have no doubts or
misgivings."

Martin Rigal took a seat near the fire, and, drawing his daughter to
him, pressed a fond kiss upon her brow, while she with the grace and
activity of a cat, nestled upon his knee. "Suppose, after all, that he
should not like me," murmured she; "I should die of grief."

The banker turned away his face to hide the gloom that overspread it.
"Do you love him, then, even now?" asked he.

She paused for a moment, and he