“They are talking of our children and our death and a lot of other such trifles; they are counting our gold to see if we can keep five horses in the stables.  They are talking also of deeds of gift; but there, I have forestalled them.”

“How so?”

“Have I not given myself wholly to you?” he said, looking straight at the girl, whose beauty was enhanced by the blush which the pleasure of this answer brought to her face.

“Mamma, how can I acknowledge so much generosity.”

“My dear child, you have a lifetime before you in which to return it.  To make the daily happiness of a home, is to bring a treasure into it.  I had no other fortune when I married.”

“Do you like Lanstrac?” asked Paul, addressing Natalie.

“How could I fail to like the place where you were born?” she answered.  “I wish I could see your house.”

“Our house,” said Paul.  “Do you not want to know if I shall understand your tastes and arrange the house to suit you?  Your mother had made a husband’s task most difficult; you have always been so happy!  But where love is infinite, nothing is impossible.”

“My dear children,” said Madame Evangelista, “do you feel willing to stay in Bordeaux after your marriage?  If you have the courage to face the people here who know you and will watch and hamper you, so be it!  But if you feel that desire for a solitude together which can hardly be expressed, let us go to Paris were the life of a young couple can pass unnoticed in the stream.  There alone you can behave as lovers without fearing to seem ridiculous.”

“You are quite right,” said Paul, “but I shall hardly have time to get my house ready.  However, I will write to-night to de Marsay, the friend on whom I can always count to get things done for me.”

At the moment when Paul, like all young men accustomed to satisfy their desires without previous calculation, was inconsiderately binding himself to the expenses of a stay in Paris, Maitre Mathias entered the salon and made a sign to his client that he wished to speak to him.

“What is it, my friend?” asked Paul, following the old man to the recess of a window.

“Monsieur le comte,” said the honest lawyer, “there is not a penny of dowry.  My advice is:  put off the conference to another day, so that you may gain time to consider your proper course.”

“Monsieur Paul,” said Natalie, “I have a word to say in private to you.”

Though Madame Evangelista’s face was calm, no Jew of the middle ages ever suffered greater torture in his caldron of boiling oil than she was enduring in her violet velvet gown.  Solonet had pledged the marriage to her, but she was ignorant of the means and conditions of success.  The anguish of this uncertainty was intolerable.  Possibly she owed her safety to her daughter’s disobedience.  Natalie had considered the advice of her mother and noted her anxiety.  When she saw the success of