“He must be some monster of an old clerk, with a goat’s beard!” Hortense said to her mother.

“Well, then, you are quite mistaken, mademoiselle.”

“Then you mean that you really have a lover?” Hortense exclaimed in triumph.

“As sure as you have not!” retorted Lisbeth, nettled.

“But if you have a lover, why don’t you marry him, Lisbeth?” said the Baroness, shaking her head at her daughter.  “We have been hearing rumors about him these three years.  You have had time to study him; and if he has been faithful so long, you should not persist in a delay which must be hard upon him.  After all, it is a matter of conscience; and if he is young, it is time to take a brevet of dignity.”

Cousin Betty had fixed her gaze on Adeline, and seeing that she was jesting, she replied: 

“It would be marrying hunger and thirst; he is a workman, I am a workwoman.  If we had children, they would be workmen.—­No, no; we love each other spiritually; it is less expensive.”

“Why do you keep him in hiding?” Hortense asked.

“He wears a round jacket,” replied the old maid, laughing.

“You truly love him?” the Baroness inquired.

“I believe you!  I love him for his own sake, the dear cherub.  For four years his home has been in my heart.”

“Well, then, if you love him for himself,” said the Baroness gravely, “and if he really exists, you are treating him criminally.  You do not know how to love truly.”

“We all know that from our birth,” said Lisbeth.

“No, there are women who love and yet are selfish, and that is your case.”

Cousin Betty’s head fell, and her glance would have made any one shiver who had seen it; but her eyes were on her reel of thread.

“If you would introduce your so-called lover to us, Hector might find him employment, or put him in a position to make money.”

“That is out of the question,” said Cousin Betty.

“And why?”

“He is a sort of Pole—­a refugee——­”

“A conspirator?” cried Hortense.  “What luck for you!—­Has he had any adventures?”

“He has fought for Poland.  He was a professor in the school where the students began the rebellion; and as he had been placed there by the Grand Duke Constantine, he has no hope of mercy——­”

“A professor of what?”

“Of fine arts.”

“And he came to Paris when the rebellion was quelled?”

“In 1833.  He came through Germany on foot.”

“Poor young man!  And how old is he?”

“He was just four-and-twenty when the insurrection broke out—­he is twenty-nine now.”

“Fifteen years your junior,” said the Baroness.

“And what does he live on?” asked Hortense.

“His talent.”

“Oh, he gives lessons?”

“No,” said Cousin Betty; “he gets them, and hard ones too!”

“And his Christian name—­is it a pretty name?”