r hundred pounds, I suppose?' She had been
waiting for this ever since he came in; he never came to see her for
anything else.

'Four hundred pounds? How can you think----' She said no more; but the
pained expression of her mouth and eyes said clearly enough:

'You know that I have given you everything--that I am dressed in
clothes fit for the rag-bag--that I have not bought a bonnet for three
years--that Corentine washes my linen in the kitchen because I should
blush to give such rubbish to the laundress; and you know also that my
worst misery is to refuse what you ask. Then why do you ask?' And this
mute address of his mother's was so eloquent that Paul Astier answered
it aloud:

'Of course I was not thinking of your having it yourself. By Jove, if
you had, it would be the better for me. But,' he continued, in his cool,
off hand way, 'there is _The Master_ up there. Could you get it from
him? You might. You know how to get hold of him.'

'That is over. There is an end of that.'

'Well, but, you know, he works; his books sell; you spend nothing.'

He looked round in the subdued light at the reduced state of the old
furniture, the worn curtains, the threadbare carpet, nothing of later
date than their marriage thirty years ago. Where was it then that all
the money went?

'I say,' he began again, 'I wonder whether my venerable sire is in the
habit of taking his fling?'

It was an idea so monstrous, so inconceivable, that of Leonard
Astier-Rehu 'taking his fling,' that his wife could not help smiling in
spite of herself. No, on that point she thought there was no need for
uneasiness. 'Only, you know, he has turned suspicious and mysterious,
and "buries his hoard." We have gone too far with him.'

They spoke low, like conspirators, with their eyes upon the carpet.

'And grandpapa,' said Paul, but not in a tone of confidence, 'could you
try him?'

'Grandpapa? You must be mad!'

Yet he knew well enough what old Rehu was. A touchy, selfish man all
but a hundred years old, who would have seen them all die rather than
deprive himself of a pinch of snuff or a single one of the pins that
were always stuck on the lapels of his coat. Ah, poor child! He must be
hard up indeed before he could think of his grandfather.

'Well, you would not like me to try ---- ----.' She paused.

'To try where?'

'In the Rue de Courcelles. I might get something in advance for the
tomb.'

'There? Good Heavens! You had better not!'