to
implore a little delay, he had scoffingly told her to send her pretty
daughter to him to plead her cause.

Mademoiselle de Laurebourg was disgusted at this narrative, and her eyes
gleamed with anger.

"I will see this wicked man," said she, "and will come back to you at
once."

She drove straight to the Counsellor's house. Daumon was engaged in
writing when the housekeeper ushered Diana into the office. He rose to
his feet, and, taking off his velvet skull cap, made a profound bow,
advancing at the same time a chair for his visitor's accommodation.

Though Diana knew nothing of this man, she was not so unsophisticated as
Norbert, and was not imposed upon by the air of servile obsequiousness
that he assumed. With a gesture of contempt, she declined the proffered
seat, and this act made Daumon her bitter enemy.

"I have come," said she in the cold, disdainful words in which young
girls of high birth address their inferiors,--"I have come to you from
Widow Rouleau."

"Ah! you know the poor creature then?"

"Yes, and I take a great interest in her."

"You are a very kind young lady," answered the Counsellor with a
sinister smile.

"The poor woman is in the most terrible distress both of mind and body.
She is confined to her bed with a fractured limb, and without any means
of support."

"Yes, I heard of her accident."

"And yet you sent her a summons, and are ready to seize all she
possesses in the world."

Daumon put on an air of sympathy.

"Poor thing!" said he. "How true it is that misfortunes never come
singly!"

Diana was disgusted at the man's cool effrontery.

"It seems to me," answered she, "that her last trouble is of your
making."

"Is it possible?"

"Why, who is it but you who are the persecutor of this poor lone
creature?"

"I!" answered he in extreme astonishment; "do you really think that
it is I? Ah! mademoiselle, why do you listen to the cruel tongues of
scandal-mongers? To make a long story short, this poor woman bought
barley, corn, potatoes, and three sheep from a man in the neighborhood,
who gave her credit to the extent of I daresay three hundred francs.
Well, in time, the man asked--most naturally--for his money, and failing
to get it, came to me. I urged him to wait, but he would not listen to
me, and vowed that if I did not do as he wished he would go to some one
else. What was I to do? He had the law on his side too. Ah!" continued
he, as though speaking to himself, "if