Pierquin bit his lip.  Emmanuel smiled quietly.

“Felicie, my dear child, take Jean back to school; Martha will go with you,” said Marguerite to her sister.  “Jean, my angel, be a good boy; don’t tear your clothes, for we shall not be rich enough to buy you as many new ones as we did.  Good-bye, little one; study hard.”

Felicie carried off her brother.

“Cousin,” said Marguerite to Pierquin, “and you, monsieur,” she said to Monsieur de Solis, “I know you have been to see my father during my absence, and I thank you for that proof of friendship.  You will not do less I am sure for two poor girls who will be in need of counsel.  Let us understand each other.  When I am at home I shall receive you both with the greatest of pleasure, but when Felicie is here alone with Josette and Martha, I need not tell you that she ought to see no one, not even an old friend or the most devoted of relatives.  Under the circumstances in which we are placed, our conduct must be irreproachable.  We are vowed to toil and solitude for a long, long time.”

There was silence for some minutes.  Emmanuel, absorbed in contemplation of Marguerite’s head, seemed dumb.  Pierquin did not know what to say.  He took leave of his cousin with feelings of rage against himself; for he suddenly perceived that Marguerite loved Emmanuel, and that he, Pierquin, had just behaved like a fool.

“Pierquin, my friend,” he said, apostrophizing himself in the street, “if a man said you were an idiot he would tell the truth.  What a fool I am!  I’ve got twelve thousand francs a year outside of my business, without counting what I am to inherit from my uncle des Racquets, which is likely to double my fortune (not that I wish him dead, he is so economical), and I’ve had the madness to ask interest from Mademoiselle Claes!  I know those two are jeering at me now!  I mustn’t think of Marguerite any more.  No.  After all, Felicie is a sweet, gentle little creature, who will suit me much better.  Marguerite’s character is iron; she would want to rule me—­and—­she would rule me.  Come, come, let’s be generous; I wish I was not so much of a lawyer:  am I never to get that harness off my back?  Bless my soul!  I’ll begin to fall in love with Felicie, and I won’t budge from that sentiment.  She will have a farm of four hundred and thirty acres, which, sooner or later, will be worth twelve or fifteen thousand francs a year, for the soil about Waignies is excellent.  Just let my old uncle des Racquets die, poor dear man, and I’ll sell my practice and be a man of leisure, with fifty—­thou—­sand—­francs—­a—­year.  My wife is a Claes, I’m allied to the great families.  The deuce! we’ll see if those Courtevilles and Magalhens and Savaron de Savarus will refuse to come and dine with a Pierquin-Claes-Molina-Nourho.  I shall be mayor of Douai; I’ll obtain the cross, and get to be deputy—­in short, everything.  Ha, ha!  Pierquin, my boy, now keep yourself in hand; no more nonsense, because—­yes, on my word of honor—­Felicie —­Mademoiselle Felicie Van Claes—­loves you!”