e here to-morrow-morning at half-past nine o'clock, to talk with
this lover of your daughter. I want to be where I can see all and hear
all, without being seen or heard by them. If you will furnish me with
the means of doing so, I will reward that service with the gift of two
thousand francs and a yearly stipend of six hundred. My notary shall
prepare a deed before you this evening, and I will give him the money to
hold; he will pay the two thousand to you to-morrow after the conference
at which I desire to be present, as you will then have given proofs of
your good faith."

"Will it injure my daughter, my good monsieur?" she asked, casting a
cat-like glance of doubt and uneasiness upon him.

"In no way, madame. But, in any case, it seems to me that your daughter
does not treat you well. A girl who is loved by so rich a man as
Ferragus ought to make you more comfortable than you seem to be."

"Ah, my dear monsieur, just think, not so much as one poor ticket to
the Ambigu, or the Gaiete, where she can go as much as she likes. It's
shameful! A girl for whom I sold my silver forks and spoons! and now
I eat, at my age, with German metal,--and all to pay for her
apprenticeship, and give her a trade, where she could coin money if she
chose. As for that, she's like me, clever as a witch; I must do her that
justice. But, I will say, she might give me her old silk gowns,--I,
who am so fond of wearing silk. But no! Monsieur, she dines at the
Cadran-Bleu at fifty francs a head, and rolls in her carriage as if she
were a princess, and despises her mother for a Colin-Lampon. Heavens and
earth! what heedless young ones we've brought into the world; we have
nothing to boast of there. A mother, monsieur, can't be anything else
but a good mother; and I've concealed that girl's ways, and kept her in
my bosom, to take the bread out of my mouth and cram everything into her
own. Well, well! and now she comes and fondles one a little, and says,
'How d'ye do, mother?' And that's all the duty she thinks of paying. But
she'll have children one of these days, and then she'll find out what it
is to have such baggage,--which one can't help loving all the same."

"Do you mean that she does nothing for you?"

"Ah, nothing? No, monsieur, I didn't say that; if she did nothing, that
would be a little too much. She gives me my rent and thirty-six francs a
month. But, monsieur, at my age,--and I'm fifty-two years old, with
eyes that feel the strain a