Every one, no doubt, will condemn the lady’s horrible conduct; but what mother in Mme. Camusot’s position will not do the same?  Put the choice between her own daughter and an alien, she will prefer to sacrifice the honor of the latter.  There are many ways of doing this, but the end in view is the same.

The old musician fled down the staircase in haste; but he went slowly along the boulevards to his theatre, he turned in mechanically at the door, and mechanically he took his place and conducted the orchestra.  In the interval he gave such random answers to Schmucke’s questions, that his old friend dissembled his fear that Pons’ mind had given way.  To so childlike a nature, the recent scene took the proportions of a catastrophe.  He had meant to make every one happy, and he had aroused a terrible slumbering feeling of hate; everything had been turned topsy-turvy.  He had at last seen mortal hate in the Presidente’s eyes, tones, and gesture.

On the morrow, Mme. Camusot de Marville made a great resolution; the President likewise sanctioned the step now forced upon them by circumstances.  It was determined that the estate of Marville should be settled upon Cecile at the time of her marriage, as well as the house in the Rue de Hanovre and a hundred thousand francs.  In the course of the morning, the Presidente went to call upon the Comtesse Popinot; for she saw plainly that nothing but a settled marriage could enable them to recover after such a check.  To the Comtesse Popinot she told the shocking story of Pons’ revenge, Pons’ hideous hoax.  It all seemed probable enough when it came out that the marriage had been broken off simply on the pretext that Cecile was an only daughter.  The Presidente next dwelt artfully upon the advantage of adding “de Marville” to the name of Popinot; and the immense dowry.  At the present price fetched by land in Normandy, at two per cent, the property represented nine hundred thousand francs, and the house in the Rue de Hanovre about two hundred and fifty thousand.  No reasonable family could refuse such an alliance.  The Comte and Comtesse Popinot accepted; and as they were now touched by the honor of the family which they were about to enter, they promised to help explain away yesterday evening’s mishap.

And now in the house of the elder Camusot, before the very persons who had heard Mme. de Marville singing Frederic Brunner’s praises but a few days ago, that lady, to whom nobody ventured to speak on the topic, plunged courageously into explanations.

“Really, nowadays” (she said), “one could not be too careful if a marriage was in question, especially if one had to do with foreigners.”

“And why, madame?”

“What has happened to you?” asked Mme. Chiffreville.

“Do you not know about our adventure with that Brunner, who had the audacity to aspire to marry Cecile?  His father was a German that kept a wine-shop, and his uncle is a dealer in rabbit-skins!”