However, when Beauchene reached this stage Mathieu felt that the battle was gained.  He smiled and answered:  “Of course, one can never tell—­the girl is certainly not malicious.  But when women are driven beyond endurance, they become capable of the worst follies.  I must say that she made no demands of me; she did not even explain what she wanted; she simply said that she could not remain in the streets in this bleak weather, since her father had turned her away from home.  If you want my opinion, it is this:  I think that one might at once put her to board at a proper place.  Let us say that four or five months will elapse before she is able to work again; that would mean a round sum of five hundred francs in expenses.  At that cost she might be properly looked after.”

Beauchene walked nervously up and down, and then replied:  “Well, I haven’t a bad heart, as you know.  Five hundred francs more or less will not inconvenience me.  If I flew into a temper just now it was because the mere idea of being robbed and imposed upon puts me beside myself.  But if it’s a question of charity, why, then, do as you suggest.  It must be understood, however, that I won’t mix myself up in anything; I wish even to remain ignorant of what you do.  Choose a nurse, place the girl where you please, and I will simply pay the bill.  Neither more nor less.”

Then he heaved a sigh of relief at the prospect of being extricated from this equivocal position, the worry of which he refused to acknowledge.  And once more he put on the mien of a superior, victorious man, one who is certain that he will win all the battles of life.  In fact, he even jested about the girl, and at last went off repeating his instructions:  “See that my conditions are fully understood.  I don’t want to know anything about any child.  Do whatever you please, but never let me hear another word of the matter.”

That day was certainly one fertile in incidents, for in the evening there was quite an alarm at the Beauchenes.  At the moment when they were about to sit down to dinner little Maurice fainted away and fell upon the floor.  Nearly a quarter of an hour elapsed before the child could be revived, and meantime the distracted parents quarrelled and shouted, accusing one another of having compelled the lad to go out walking that morning in such cold, frosty weather.  It was evidently that foolish outing which had chilled him.  At least, this was what they said to one another by way of quieting their anxiety.  Constance, while she held her boy in her arms, pictured him as dead.  It occurred to her for the first time that she might possibly lose him.  At this idea she experienced a terrible heart-pang, and a feeling of motherliness came upon her, so acute that it was like a revelation.  The ambitious woman that was in her, she who dreamt of royalty for that only son, the future princely owner of the ever-growing family fortune, likewise suffered horribly.  If she was to lose that son she would