“Oh, that will be much prettier!” said Flore.

On the morrow, Joseph did not wake up till midday.  From his bed he saw the pictures, which had been brought in while he was asleep, leaning one against another on the opposite wall.  While he examined them anew, recognizing each masterpiece, studying the manner of each painter, and searching for the signature, his mother had gone to see and thank her brother, urged thereto by old Hochon, who, having heard of the follies the painter had committed the night before, almost despaired of the Bridau cause.

“Your adversaries have the cunning of foxes,” he said to Agathe.  “In all my days I never saw a man carry things with such a high hand as that soldier; they say war educates young men!  Joseph has let himself be fooled.  They have shut his mouth with wine, and those miserable pictures, and four thousand francs!  Your artist hasn’t cost Maxence much!”

The long-headed old man instructed Madame Bridau carefully as to the line of conduct she ought to pursue,—­advising her to enter into Maxence’s ideas and cajole Flore, so as to set up a sort of intimacy with her, and thus obtain a few moments’ interview with Jean-Jacques alone.  Madame Bridau was very warmly received by her brother, to whom Flore had taught his lesson.  The old man was in bed, quite ill from the excesses of the night before.  As Agathe, under the circumstances, could scarcely begin at once to speak of family matters, Max thought it proper and magnanimous to leave the brother and sister alone together.  The calculation was a good one.  Poor Agathe found her brother so ill that she would not deprive him of Madame Brazier’s care.

“Besides,” she said to the old bachelor, “I wish to know a person to whom I am grateful for the happiness of my brother.”

These words gave evident pleasure to the old man, who rang for Madame Flore.  Flore, as we may well believe, was not far off.  The female antagonists bowed to each other.  The Rabouilleuse showed the most servile attentions and the utmost tenderness to her master; fancied his head was too low, beat up the pillows, and took care of him like a bride of yesterday.  The poor creature received it with a rush of feeling.

“We owe you much gratitude, mademoiselle,” said Agathe, “for the proofs of attachment you have so long given to my brother, and for the way in which you watch over his happiness.”

“That is true, my dear Agathe,” said the old man; “she has taught me what happiness is; she is a woman of excellent qualities.”

“And therefore, my dear brother, you ought to have recompensed Mademoiselle by making her your wife.  Yes!  I am too sincere in my religion not to wish to see you obey the precepts of the church.  You would each be more tranquil in mind if you were not at variance with morality and the laws.  I have come here, dear brother, to ask for help in my affliction; but do not suppose that we wish to make any remonstrance as to the manner in which you may dispose of your property—­”