“Come, la Peyrade, my friend, don’t listen to her,” said Thuillier, going up to the barrister, who was pale with anger.  “The affection she has for me blinds her; I know very well what government offices are, and I shouldn’t be surprised if you had had to pay out money of your own.”

“Monsieur,” said la Peyrade, “I am, unfortunately, not in a position to return to you, instantly, that money, an accounting for which is so insolently demanded.  Grant me a short delay; and have the goodness to accept my note, which I am ready to sign, if that will give you patience.”

“To the devil with your note!” cried Thuillier; “you owe me nothing; on the contrary, it is we who owe you; for Cardot told me I ought to give you at least ten thousand francs for enabling us to buy this magnificent property.”

“Cardot!  Cardot!” said Brigitte; “he is very generous with other people’s money.  We were giving monsieur Celeste, and that’s a good deal more than ten thousand francs.”

La Peyrade was too great a comedian not to turn the humiliation he had just endured into a scene finale.  With tears in his voice, which presently fell from his eyes, he turned to Brigitte.

“Mademoiselle,” he said, “when I had the honor to be received by you I was poor; you long saw me suffering and ill at ease, knowing, alas! too well, the indignities that poverty must bear.  From the day that I was able to give you a fortune which I never thought of for myself I have felt, it is true, more assurance; and your own kindness encouraged me to rise out of my timidity and depression.  To-day, when I, by frank and loyal conduct, release you from anxiety,—­for, if you chose to be honest, you would acknowledge that you have been thinking of another husband for Celeste,—­we might still remain friends, even though I renounce a marriage which my delicacy forbids me to pursue.  But you have not chosen to restrain yourself with the limits of social politeness, of which you have a model beside you in Madame de Godollo, who, I am persuaded, although she is not at all friendly to me, would never have approved of your odious behavior.  Thank Heaven!  I have in my heart some religious sentiment at least; the Gospel is not to me a mere dead-letter, and—­understand me well, mademoiselle—­I forgive you.  It is not to Thuillier, who would refuse them, but to you that I shall, before long, pay the ten thousand francs which you insinuate I have applied to my own purposes.  If, by the time they are returned to you, you feel regret for your unjust suspicions, and are unwilling to accept the money, I request that you will turn it over to the bureau of Benevolence to the poor—­”

“To the bureau of Benevolence!” cried Brigitte, interrupting him.  “No, I thank you! the idea of all that money being distributed among a crowd of do-nothings and devotes, who’ll spend it in junketing!  I’ve been poor too, my lad; I made bags for the money of others long before I had any money of my own; I have some now, and I take care of it.  So, whenever you will, I am ready to receive that ten thousand francs and keep it.  If you didn’t know how to do what you undertook to do, and spent that money in trying to put salt on a sparrow’s tail, so much the worse for you.”