In appearance there was no change in their mode of life.

Every morning, at seven o’clock, Mlle. Lucienne went to M. Van Klopen’s, and an hour later Maxence started for his office.  They returned home at night, and spent their evenings together by the fireside.

But what was easy to foresee now took place.

Weak and undecided by nature, Maxence began very soon to feel the influence of the obstinate and energetic character of the girl.  She infused, as it were, in his veins, a warmer and more generous blood.  Gradually she imbued him with her ideas, and from her own will gave him one.

He had told her in all sincerity his history, the miseries of his home, M. Favoral’s parsimony and exaggerated severity, his mother’s resigned timidity, and Mlle. Gilberte’s resolute nature.

He had concealed nothing of his past life, of his errors and his follies, confessing even the worst of his actions; as, for instance, having abused his mother’s and sister’s affection to extort from them all the money they earned.

He had admitted to her that it was only with great reluctance and under pressure of necessity, that he worked at all; that he was far from being rich; that although he took his dinner with his parents, his salary barely sufficed for his wants; and that he had debts.

He hoped, however, he added, that it would not be always thus, and that, sooner or later, he would see the termination of all this misery and privation; for his father had at least fifty thousand francs a year and some day he must be rich.

Far from smiling, Mlle. Lucienne frowned at such a prospect.

“Ah! your father is a millionaire, is he?” she interrupted.  “Well, I understand now how, at twenty-five, after refusing all the positions which have been offered to you, you have no position.  You relied on your father, instead of relying on yourself.  Judging that he worked hard enough for two, you bravely folded your arms, waiting for the fortune which he is amassing, and which you seem to consider yours.”

Such morality seemed a little steep to Maxence.  “I think,” he began, “that, if one is the son of a rich man—­”

“One has the right to be useless, I suppose?” added the girl.

“I do not mean that; but—­”

“There is no but about it.  And the proof that your views are wrong, is that they have brought you where you are, and deprived you of your own free will.  To place one’s self at the mercy of another, be that other your own father, is always silly; and one is always at the mercy of the man from whom he expects money that he has not earned.  Your father would never have been so harsh, had he not believed that you could not do without him.”

He wanted to discuss:  she stopped him.

“Do you wish the proof that you are at M. Favoral’s mercy?” she said.  “Very well.  You spoke of marrying me.”