The Misses Mechinet, always acting upon their brother’s advice, had made an arrangement with a large house in Bordeaux, by which they received samples of all their goods, and were allowed a discount on whatever they sold.

“I will do so with pleasure,” said the older sister.  “Just allow me to light a lamp.  It is almost dark.”

While she was wiping the chimney, and trimming the wick, she asked her brother,—­

“Are you not going to the Orpheon?”

“Not to-night,” he replied.

“Are you not expected to be there?”

“No:  I sent them word I would not come.  I have to lithograph two plates for the printer, and some very urgent copying to do for the court.”

While he was thus replying, he had folded up his napkin, and lighted a candle.

“Good-night!” he said to his sisters.  “I won’t see you again to-night,” and, bowing deeply to Miss Chandore, he went out, his candle in his hand.

“Where is your brother going?” Dionysia asked eagerly.

“To his room, madam.  His room is just opposite on the other side of the staircase.”

Dionysia was as red as fire.  Was she thus to let her opportunity slip,—­an opportunity such as she had never dared hope for?  Gathering up all her courage, she said,—­

“But, now I think of it, I want to say a few words to your brother, my dear ladies.  Wait for me a moment.  I shall be back in a moment.”  And she rushed out, leaving the dressmakers stupefied, gazing after her with open mouths, and asking themselves if the grand calamity had bereft the poor lady of reason.

The clerk was still on the landing, fumbling in his pocket for the key of his room.

“I want to speak to you instantly,” said Dionysia.

Mechinet was so utterly amazed, that he could not utter a word.  He made a movement as if he wanted to go back to his sisters; but the young girl said,—­

“No, in your room.  We must not be overheard.  Open sir, please.  Open, somebody might come.”

The fact is, he was so completely overcome, that it took him half a minute to find the keyhole, and put the key in.  At last, when the door was opened, he moved aside to let Dionysia pass:  but she said, “No, go in!”

He obeyed.  She followed him, and, as soon as she was in the room, she shut the door again, pushing even a bolt which she had noticed.  Mechinet the clerk was famous in Sauveterre for his coolness.  Dionysia was timidity personified, and blushed for the smallest trifle, remaining speechless for some time.  At this moment, however, it was certainly not the young girl who was embarrassed.

“Sit down, M. Mechinet,” she said, “and listen to me.”

He put his candlestick on a table, and sat down.

“You know me, don’t you?” asked Dionysia.

“Certainly I do, madam.”

“You have surely heard that I am to be married to M. de Boiscoran?”