“You see how it all maps out, uncle,” said Philippe.  “Therefore, sign no paper before the third of December; the next day you shall be free, happy, and beloved by Flore, without having to coax for it.”

“You don’t know him, Philippe,” said the terrified old man.  “Maxence has killed nine men in duels.”

“Yes; but ninety thousand francs a year didn’t depend on it,” answered Philippe.

“A bad conscience shakes the hand,” remarked Mignonnet sententiously.

“In a few days from now,” resumed Philippe, “you and the Rabouilleuse will be living together as sweet as honey,—­that is, after she gets through mourning.  At first she’ll twist like a worm, and yelp, and weep; but never mind, let the water run!”

The two soldiers approved of Philippe’s arguments, and tried to hearten up old Rouget, with whom they walked about for nearly two hours.  At last Philippe took his uncle home, saying as they parted:—­

“Don’t take any steps without me.  I know women.  I have paid for one, who cost me far more than Flore can ever cost you.  But she taught me how to behave to the fair sex for the rest of my days.  Women are bad children; they are inferior animals to men; we must make them fear us; the worst condition in the world is to be governed by such brutes.”

It was about half-past two in the afternoon when the old man got home.  Kouski opened the door in tears,—­that is, by Max’s orders, he gave signs of weeping.

“Oh!  Monsieur, Madame has gone away, and taken Vedie with her!”

“Gone—­a—­way!” said the old man in a strangled voice.

The blow was so violent that Rouget sat down on the stairs, unable to stand.  A moment after, he rose, looked about the hall, into the kitchen, went up to his own room, searched all the chambers, and returned to the salon, where he threw himself into a chair, and burst into tears.

“Where is she?” he sobbed.  “Oh! where is she? where is Max?”

“I don’t know,” answered Kouski.  “The captain went out without telling me.”

Gilet thought it politic to be seen sauntering about the town.  By leaving the old man alone with his despair, he knew he should make him feel his desertion the more keenly, and reduce him to docility.  To keep Philippe from assisting his uncle at this crisis, he had given Kouski strict orders not to open the door to any one.  Flore away, the miserable old man grew frantic, and the situation of things approached a crisis.  During his walk through the town, Maxence Gilet was avoided by many persons who a day or two earlier would have hastened to shake hands with him.  A general reaction had set in against him.  The deeds of the Knights of Idleness were ringing on every tongue.  The tale of Joseph Bridau’s arrest, now cleared up, disgraced Max in the eyes of all; and his life and conduct received in one day their just award.  Gilet met Captain Potel, who was looking for him, and seemed almost beside himself.