“What’s all this?”

“My good Max,” said the old man, glad to get the protection of the soldier who, by agreement with Flore, always took his side in a dispute, “I swear by all that is most sacred, that I now hear this news for the first time.  I have never written to my sister; my father made me promise not to leave her any of my property; to leave it to the Church sooner than to her.  Well, I won’t receive my sister Agathe to this house, or her sons—­”

“Your father was wrong, my dear Jean-Jacques, and Madame Brazier is still more wrong,” answered Max.  “Your father no doubt had his reasons, but he is dead, and his hatred should die with him.  Your sister is your sister, and your nephews are your nephews.  You owe it to yourself to welcome them, and you owe it to us as well.  What would people say in Issoudun?  Thunder!  I’ve got enough upon my shoulders as it is, without hearing people say that we shut you up and don’t allow you a will of your own, or that we influence you against your relations and are trying to get hold of your property.  The devil take me if I don’t pull up stakes and be off, if that sort of calumny is to be flung at me! the other is bad enough!  Let’s eat our breakfast.”

Flore, who was now as mild as a weasel, helped Vedie to set the table.  Old Rouget, full of admiration for Max, took him by both hands and led him into the recess of a window, saying in a low voice:—­

“Ah!  Max, if I had a son, I couldn’t love him better than I love you.  Flore is right:  you two are my real family.  You are a man of honor, Max, and what you have just said is true.”

“You ought to receive and entertain your sister and her son, but not change the arrangements you have made about your property,” said Max.  “In that way you will do what is right in the eyes of the world, and yet keep your promise to your father.”

“Well! my dear loves!” cried Flore, gayly, “the salmi is getting cold.  Come, my old rat, here’s a wing for you,” she said, smiling on Jean-Jacques.

At the words, the long-drawn face of the poor creature lost its cadaverous tints, the smile of a Theriaki flickered on his pendent lips; but he was seized with another fit of coughing; for the joy of being taken back to favor excited as violent an emotion as the punishment itself.  Flore rose, pulled a little cashmere shawl from her own shoulders, and tied it round the old man’s throat, exclaiming:  “How silly to put yourself in such a way about nothing.  There, you old goose, that will do you good; it has been next my heart—­”

“What a good creature!” said Rouget to Max, while Flore went to fetch a black velvet cap to cover the nearly bald head of the old bachelor.

“As good as she is beautiful”; answered Max, “but she is quick-tempered, like all people who carry their hearts in their hands.”