“It wouldn’t be right, monsieur,” said Flore, “to live on sixty francs a month under the nose of an uncle who has forty thousand francs a year, and who has already behaved so kindly to Captain Gilet, his natural relation, here present—­”

“Yes, Philippe,” cried the old man, “you must see that!”

On Flore’s presentation, Philippe made a half-timid bow to Max.

“Uncle, I have some pictures to return to you; they are now at Monsieur Hochon’s.  Will you be kind enough to come over some day and identify them.”

Saying these last words in a curt tone, lieutenant-colonel Philippe Bridau departed.  The tone of his visit made, if possible, a deeper impression on Flore’s mind, and also on that of Max, than the shock they had felt at the first sight of that horrible campaigner.  As soon as Philippe had slammed the door, with the violence of a disinherited heir, Max and Flore hid behind the window-curtains to watch him as he crossed the road, to the Hochons’.

“What a vagabond!” exclaimed Flore, questioning Max with a glance of her eye.

“Yes; unfortunately there were men like him in the armies of the Emperor; I sent seven to the shades at Cabrera,” answered Gilet.

“I do hope, Max, that you won’t pick a quarrel with that fellow,” said Mademoiselle Brazier.

“He smelt so of tobacco,” complained the old man.

“He was smelling after your money-bags,” said Flore, in a peremptory tone.  “My advice is that you don’t let him into the house again.”

“I’d prefer not to,” replied Rouget.

“Monsieur,” said Gritte, entering the room where the Hochon family were all assembled after breakfast, “here is the Monsieur Bridau you were talking about.”

Philippe made his entrance politely, in the midst of a dead silence caused by general curiosity.  Madame Hochon shuddered from head to foot as she beheld the author of all Agathe’s woes and the murderer of good old Madame Descoings.  Adolphine also felt a shock of fear.  Baruch and Francois looked at each other in surprise.  Old Hochon kept his self-possession, and offered a seat to the son of Madame Bridau.

“I have come, monsieur,” said Philippe, “to introduce myself to you; I am forced to consider how I can manage to live here, for five years, on sixty francs a month.”

“It can be done,” said the octogenarian.

Philippe talked about things in general, with perfect propriety.  He mentioned the journalist Lousteau, nephew of the old lady, as a “rara avis,” and won her good graces from the moment she heard him say that the name of Lousteau would become celebrated.  He did not hesitate to admit his faults of conduct.  To a friendly admonition which Madame Hochon addressed to him in a low voice, he replied that he had reflected deeply while in prison, and could promise that in future he would live another life.

On a hint from Philippe, Monsieur Hochon went out with him when he took his leave.  When the miser and the soldier reached the boulevard Baron, a place where no one could overhear them, the colonel turned to the old man,—­