She stopped short.

“Well, mademoiselle?”

“You will, perhaps, have done yourself a service.”

“Ah! if Thuillier has told you my secret, I must leave this house.”

Brigitte looked up.

“Did he tell you that I love Celeste?”

“No, on my word of honor!” cried Brigitte, “but I myself was just about to speak of her.”

“And offer her to me?  Oh! may God forgive us!  I can only win her of herself, her parents, by a free choice—­No, no, all I ask of you is your good-will, your protection.  Promise me, as Thuillier has, in return for my services your influence, your friendship; tell me that you will treat me as a son.  If you will do that, I will abide by your decision in this matter; I can trust it; I need not speak to my confessor.  For the last two years, ever since I have seen much of this family, to whom I would fain give my powers and devote my utmost energy—­for, I shall succeed! surely I shall!—­I have observed that your integrity, your honor is that of the olden time, your judgment righteous and inflexible.  Also, you have a knowledge of business; and these qualities combined are precious helps to a man.  With a mother-in-law, as I may say, of your powers, I should find my home life relieved of a crowd of cares and details as to property, which hinder a man’s advance in a political career if he is forced to attend to them.  I admired you deeply on Sunday evening.  Ah! you were fine!  How you did manage matters!  In ten minutes that dining-room was cleared!  And, without going outside of your own apartment, you had everything at hand for the refreshments, for the supper!  ‘There,’ I said to myself, as I watched you, ’is a true “maitresse-femme”—­a masterly woman!’”

Brigitte’s nostrils dilated; she breathed in the words of the young lawyer.  He gave her a side-long glance to enjoy his triumph; he had touched the right chord in her breast.

At this moment he was standing, but he now resumed his seat beside her, and said:—­

“Now here is our affair, dear aunt—­for you will be a sort of aunt—­”

“Hush! you naughty fellow!” said Brigitte, “and go on.”

“I’ll tell you the matter roughly—­and remark, if you please, that I compromise myself in telling it to you; for these secrets are entrusted to me as a lawyer.  Therefore understand that you and I are both committing a crime, so to speak, of leze-confidence!  A notary of Paris was in partnership with an architect; they bought land and built upon it; at the present moment, property has come down with a rush; they find themselves embarrassed—­but all that doesn’t concern us.  Among the houses built by this illegal partnership—­for notaries, you know, are sworn to have nothing to do with enterprises—­is a very good one which, not being finished, must be sold at a great sacrifice; so great that they now ask only one hundred thousand francs for it, although the cost of the land and the