“And so you have made up your minds?” asked Mathieu.

“Well, my wife has calculated everything,” Morange replied; “and, yes, we have made up our minds, provided, of course, that nothing unforeseen occurs.  Besides, it is only in October that any situation will be open at the Credit National.  But, I say, my dear friend, keep the matter entirely to yourself, for we don’t want to quarrel with the Beauchenes just now.”

Then he looked at his watch, for, like a good clerk, he was very punctual, and did not wish to be late at the office.  The servant was hurried, the coffee was served, and they were drinking it, boiling hot as it was, when the arrival of a visitor upset the little household and caused everything to be forgotten.

“Oh!” exclaimed Valerie, as she hastily rose, flushed with pride, “Madame la Baronne de Lowicz!”

Seraphine, at this time nine-and-twenty, was red-haired, tall and elegant, with magnificent shoulders which were known to all Paris.  Her red lips were wreathed in a triumphant smile, and a voluptuous flame ever shone in her large brown eyes flecked with gold.

“Pray don’t disturb yourselves, my friends,” said she.  “Your servant wanted to show me into the drawing-room, but I insisted on coming in here, because it is rather a pressing matter.  I have come to fetch your charming little Reine to take her to a matinee at the Circus.”

A fresh explosion of delight ensued.  The child remained speechless with joy, whilst the mother exulted and rattled on:  “Oh!  Madame la Baronne, you are really too kind!  You are spoiling the child.  But the fact is that she isn’t dressed, and you will have to wait a moment.  Come, child, make haste, I will help you—­ten minutes, you understand—­I won’t keep you waiting a moment longer.”

Seraphine remained alone with the two men.  She had made a gesture of surprise on perceiving Mathieu, whose hand, like an old friend, she now shook.

“And you, are you quite well?” she asked.

“Quite well,” he answered; and as she sat down near him he instinctively pushed his chair back.  He did not seem at all pleased at having met her.

He had been on familiar terms with her during his earlier days at the Beauchene works.  She was a frantic pleasure-lover, and destitute of both conscience and moral principles.  Her conduct had given rise to scandal even before her extraordinary elopement with Baron de Lowicz, that needy adventurer with a face like an archangel’s and the soul of a swindler.  The result of the union was a stillborn child.  Then Seraphine, who was extremely egotistical and avaricious, quarrelled with her husband and drove him away.  He repaired to Berlin, and was killed there in a brawl at a gambling den.  Delighted at being rid of him, Seraphine made every use of her liberty as a young widow.  She figured at every fete, took part in every kind of amusement, and many scandalous stories were told of her; but she contrived to keep up appearances and was thus still received everywhere.