Arming himself, however, with his professional eloquence, he talked the old lady into calmness.  He was not so foolish as to contradict her.  On the contrary, he caressed her hobby.  He was humorous and pathetic by turns.  He attacked the authors of the revolution, cursed its errors, deplored its crimes, and almost wept over its disastrous results.  Commencing with the infamous Marat he eventually reached the rascal of a judge who had offended her.  He abused his scandalous conduct in good set terms, and was exceedingly severe upon the dishonest scamp of a painter.  However, he thought it best to let them off the punishment they so richly deserved; and ended by suggesting that it would perhaps be prudent, wise, noble even to pay.

The unfortunate word “pay” brought Madame d’Arlange to her feet in the fiercest attitude.

“Pay!” she screamed.  “In order that these scoundrels may persist in their obduracy!  Encourage them by a culpable weakness!  Never!  Besides to pay one must have money! and I have none!”

“Why!” said M. Daburon, “it amounts to but eighty-seven francs!”

“And is that nothing?” asked the marchioness; “you talk very foolishly, my dear sir.  It is easy to see that you have money; your ancestors were people of no rank; and the revolution passed a hundred feet above their heads.  Who can tell whether they may not have been the gainers by it?  It took all from the d’Arlanges.  What will they do to me, if I do not pay?”

“Well, madame, they can do many things; almost ruin you, in costs.  They may seize your furniture.”

“Alas!” cried the old lady, “the revolution is not ended yet.  We shall all be swallowed up by it, my poor Daburon!  Ah! you are happy, you who belong to the people!  I see plainly that I must pay this man without delay, and it is frightfully sad for me, for I have nothing, and am forced to make such sacrifices for the sake of my grandchild!”

This statement surprised the magistrate so strongly that involuntarily he repeated half-aloud, “Sacrifices?”

“Certainly!” resumed Madame d’Arlange.  “Without her, would I have to live as I am doing, refusing myself everything to make both ends meet?  Not a bit of it!  I would invest my fortune in a life annuity.  But I know, thank heaven, the duties of a mother; and I economise all I can for my little Claire.”

This devotion appeared so admirable to M. Daburon, that he could not utter a word.

“Ah!  I am terribly anxious about this dear child,” continued the marchioness.  “I confess M. Daburon, it makes me giddy when I wonder how I am to marry her.”

The magistrate reddened with pleasure.  At last his opportunity had arrived; he must take advantage of it at once.

“It seems to me,” stammered he, “that to find Mademoiselle Claire a husband ought not to be difficult.”

“Unfortunately, it is.  She is pretty enough, I admit, although rather thin, but, now-a-days, beauty goes for nothing.  Men are so mercenary they think only of money.  I do not know of one who has the manhood to take a d’Arlange with her bright eyes for a dowry.”