“A lot of improper things, as men always do when they talk together,” replied Mademoiselle Thuillier, who often attacked men with the sort of instinct natural to old maids.

“No, they are incapable of that,” said Phellion, gravely.  “Monsieur de la Peyrade is one of the most virtuous young men I have ever met.  People know what I think of Felix; well, I put the two on the same line; indeed, I wish my son had a little more of Monsieur de la Peyrade’s beautiful piety.”

“You are right; he is a man of great merit, who is sure to succeed,” said Minard.  “As for me, my suffrages—­for I really ought not to say protection—­are his.”

“He pays more for oil than for bread,” said Dutocq.  “I know that.”

“His mother, if he has the happiness to still possess her, must be proud of him,” remarked Madame Thuillier, sententiously.

“He is a real treasure for us,” said Thuillier.  “If you only knew how modest he is!  He doesn’t do himself justice.”

“I can answer for one thing,” added Dutocq; “no young man ever maintained a nobler attitude in poverty; he triumphed over it; but he suffered—­it is easy to see that.”

“Poor young man!” cried Zelie.  “Such things make my heart ache!”

“Any one could safely trust both secrets and fortune to him,” said Thuillier; “and in these days that is the finest thing that can be said of a man.”

“It is Colleville who is making him laugh,” cried Dutocq.

Just then Colleville and la Peyrade returned from the garden the very best friends in the world.

“Messieurs,” said Brigitte, “the soup and the King must never be kept waiting; give your hand to the ladies.”

Five minutes after this little pleasantry (issuing from the lodge of her father the porter) Brigitte had the satisfaction of seeing her table surrounded by the principal personages of this drama; the rest, with the one exception of the odious Cerizet, arrived later.

The portrait of the former maker of canvas money-bags would be incomplete if we omitted to give a description of one of her best dinners.  The physiognomy of the bourgeois cook of 1840 is, moreover, one of those details essentially necessary to a history of manners and customs, and clever housewives may find some lessons in it.  A woman doesn’t make empty bags for twenty years without looking out for the means to fill a few of them.  Now Brigitte had one peculiar characteristic.  She united the economy to which she owed her fortune with a full understanding of necessary expenses.  Her relative prodigality, when it concerned her brother or Celeste, was the antipodes of avarice.  In fact, she often bemoaned herself that she couldn’t be miserly.  At her last dinner she had related how, after struggling ten minute and enduring martyrdom, she had ended by giving ten francs to a poor workwoman whom she knew, positively, had been without food for two days.

“Nature,” she said naively, “is stronger than reason.”