crucifies me--but of what you must be
suffering if any least part of it should be the truth."

"Do not let such nonsense worry you; love me as I love you, and give
me time--a few months----" said Lucien, replacing his empty cup on the
silver tray.

"Do not let my father see you; he would say something disagreeable; and
as you could not submit to that, we should be done for.--That odious
Marquise d'Espard told him that your mother had been a monthly nurse and
that your sister did ironing----"

"We were in the most abject poverty," replied Lucien, the tears rising
to his eyes. "That is not calumny, but it is most ill-natured gossip. My
sister now is a more than millionaire, and my mother has been dead
two years.--This information has been kept in stock to use just when I
should be on the verge of success here----"

"But what have you done to Madame d'Espard?"

"I was so rash, at Madame de Serizy's, as to tell the story, with some
added pleasantries, in the presence of MM. de Bauvan and de Granville,
of her attempt to get a commission of lunacy appointed to sit on her
husband, the Marquis d'Espard. Bianchon had told it to me. Monsieur de
Granville's opinion, supported by those of Bauvan and Serizy, influenced
the decision of the Keeper of the Seals. They all were afraid of the
_Gazette des Tribunaux_, and dreaded the scandal, and the Marquise got
her knuckles rapped in the summing up for the judgment finally recorded
in that miserable business.

"Though M. de Serizy by his tattle has made the Marquise my mortal foe,
I gained his good offices, and those of the Public Prosecutor, and Comte
Octave de Bauvan; for Madame de Serizy told them the danger in which I
stood in consequence of their allowing the source of their information
to be guessed at. The Marquis d'Espard was so clumsy as to call upon me,
regarding me as the first cause of his winning the day in that atrocious
suit."

"I will rescue you from Madame d'Espard," said Clotilde.

"How?" cried Lucien.

"My mother will ask the young d'Espards here; they are charming boys,
and growing up now. The father and sons will sing your praises, and then
we are sure never to see their mother again."

"Oh, Clotilde, you are an angel! If I did not love you for yourself, I
should love you for being so clever."

"It is not cleverness," said she, all her love beaming on her lips.
"Goodnight. Do not come again for some few days. When you see me in
church, at Saint-Thomas-