“This has happened,” returned the Presidente.  “We were to have had an interview with a Court Councillor; his son is thirty years old and very well-to-do, and M. de Marville would have obtained a post in the audit-office for him and paid the money.  The young man is a supernumerary there at present.  And now they tell us that he has taken it into his head to rush off to Italy in the train of a duchess from the Bal Mabille. . . .  It is nothing but a refusal in disguise.  The fact is, the young man’s mother is dead; he has an income of thirty thousand francs, and more to come at his father’s death, and they don’t care about the match for him.  You have just come in in the middle of all this, dear cousin, so you must excuse our bad temper.”

While Pons was casting about for the complimentary answer which invariably occurred to him too late when he was afraid of his host, Madeleine came in, handed a folded note to the Presidente, and waited for an answer.  The note ran as follows: 

“DEAR MAMMA,—­If we pretend that this note comes to you from papa at the Palais, and that he wants us both to dine with his friend because proposals have been renewed—­then the cousin will go, and we can carry out our plan of going to the Popinots.”

“Who brought the master’s note?” the Presidente asked quickly.

“A lad from the Salle du Palais,” the withered waiting woman unblushingly answered, and her mistress knew at once that Madeleine had woven the plot with Cecile, now at the end of her patience.

“Tell him that we will both be there at half-past five.”

Madeleine had no sooner left the room than the Presidente turned to Cousin Pons with that insincere friendliness which is about as grateful to a sensitive soul as a mixture of milk and vinegar to the palate of an epicure.

“Dinner is ordered, dear cousin; you must dine without us; my husband has just sent word from the court that the question of the marriage has been reopened, and we are to dine with the Councillor.  We need not stand on ceremony at all.  Do just as if you were at home.  I have no secrets from you; I am perfectly open with you, as you see.  I am sure you would not wish to break off the little darling’s marriage.”

“I, cousin?  On the contrary, I should like to find some one for her; but in my circle—­”

“Oh, that is not at all likely,” said the Presidente, cutting him short insolently.  “Then you will stay, will you not?  Cecile will keep you company while I dress.

“Oh!  I can dine somewhere else, cousin.”

Cruelly hurt though he was by her way of casting up his poverty to him, the prospect of being left alone with the servants was even more alarming.

“But why should you?  Dinner is ready; you may just as well have it; if you do not, the servants will eat it.”