“What is it, my little darling?” said Madame Vinet.

“My rich cousin isn’t as kind to me as my poor grandmother was,” sobbed Pierrette.

“Your grandmother took your money,” said Sylvie, “and your cousin will leave you hers.”

The colonel and the lawyer glanced at each other.

“I would rather be robbed and loved,” said Pierrette.

“Then you shall be sent back whence you came.”

“But what has the dear little thing done?” asked Madame Vinet.

Vinet gave his wife the terrible, fixed, cold look with which men enforce their absolute dominion.  The hapless helot, punished incessantly for not having the one thing that was wanted of her, a fortune, took up her cards.

“What has she done?” said Sylvie, throwing up her head with such violence that the yellow wall-flowers in her cap nodded.  “She is always looking about to annoy us.  She opened my watch to see the inside, and meddled with the wheel and broke the mainspring.  Mademoiselle pays no heed to what is said to her.  I am all day long telling her to take care of things, and I might just as well talk to that lamp.”

Pierrette, ashamed at being reproved before strangers, crept softly out of the room.

“I am thinking all the time how to subdue that child,” said Rogron.

“Isn’t she old enough to go to school?” asked Madame Vinet.

Again she was silenced by a look from her husband, who had been careful to tell her nothing of his own or the colonel’s schemes.

“This is what comes of taking charge of other people’s children!” cried the colonel.  “You may still have some of your own, you or your brother.  Why don’t you both marry?”

Sylvie smiled agreeably on the colonel.  For the first time in her life she met a man to whom the idea that she could marry did not seem absurd.

“Madame Vinet is right,” cried Rogron; “perhaps teaching would keep Pierrette quiet.  A master wouldn’t cost much.”

The colonel’s remark so preoccupied Sylvie that she made no answer to her brother.

“If you are willing to be security for that opposition journal I was talking to you about,” said Vinet, “you will find an excellent master for the little cousin in the managing editor; we intend to engage that poor schoolmaster who lost his employment through the encroachments of the clergy.  My wife is right; Pierrette is a rough diamond that wants polishing.”

“I thought you were a baron,” said Sylvie to the colonel, while the cards were being dealt, and after a long pause in which they had all been rather thoughtful.

“Yes; but when I was made baron, in 1814, after the battle of Nangis, where my regiment performed miracles, I had money and influence enough to secure the rank.  But now my barony is like the grade of general which I held in 1815,—­it needs a revolution to give it back to me.”

“If you will secure my endorsement by a mortgage,” said Rogron, answering Vinet after long consideration, “I will give it.”