They bought the house the year before the war, upon their brother’s advice, and going halves with him, paying a sum of forty-seven thousand francs, every thing included.  It was a capital bargain; for they rented out the basement and the first story to the first grocer in Sauveterre.  The sisters did not think they were imprudent in paying down ten thousand francs in cash, and in binding themselves to pay the rest in three yearly instalments.  The first year all went well; but then came the war and numerous disasters.  The income of the sisters and of the brother was much reduced, and they had nothing to live upon but his pay as clerk; so that they had to use the utmost economy, and even contract some debts, in order to pay the second instalment.  When peace came, their income increased again, and no one doubted in Sauveterre but that they would manage to get out of their difficulties, as the brother was one of the hardest working men, and the sisters were patronized by “the most distinguished” ladies of the whole country.

“Grandpapa, they are at home,” said Dionysia, when they reached the Square.

“Do you think so?”

“I am sure.  I see light in their windows.”

M. de Chandore stopped.

“What am I to do next?” he asked.

“You are going to give me the bonds, grandpapa, and to wait for me here, walking up and down, whilst I am going to the Misses Mechinet.  I would ask you to come up too; but they would be frightened at seeing you.  Moreover, if my enterprise does not succeed, it would not matter much as long as it concerned only a little girl.”

The old gentleman’s last doubts began to vanish.

“You won’t succeed, my poor girl,” he said.

“O God!” she replied, checking her tears with difficulty, “why will you discourage me?”

He said nothing.  Suppressing a sigh, he pulled the papers out of his pockets, and helped Dionysia to stuff them, as well as she could, into her pocket and a little bag she had in her hand.  When she had done, she said,—­

“Well, good-bye, grandpapa.  I won’t be long.”

And lightly, like a bird, she crossed the street, and ran up to her dressmakers.  The old ladies and their brother were just finishing their supper, which consisted of a small piece of port and a light salad, with an abundance of vinegar.  At the unexpected entrance of Miss Chandore they all started up.

“You, miss,” cried the elder of the two,—­“you!”

Dionysia understood perfectly well what that simple “you” meant.  It meant, with the help of the tone of voice, “What? your betrothed is charged with an abominable crime; there is overwhelming evidence against him; he is in jail, in close confinement; everybody knows he will be tried at the assizes, and he will be condemned—­and you are here?”

But Dionysia kept on smiling, as she had entered.

“Yes,” she replied, “it is I. I must have two dresses for next week; and I come to ask you to show me some samples.”