"Come," said Clotilde, smiling, "there he is, at his devil's cookery,
as grandmother says."

And she tranquilly resumed her copying of the hollyhocks. She
completed the drawing with mathematical precision, she found the exact
tone of the violet petals, striped with yellow, even to the most
delicate discoloration of the shades.

"Ah!" murmured Martine, after a moment, again seated on the ground,
and occupied in mending the chair, "what a misfortune for a good man
like that to lose his soul wilfully. For there is no denying it; I
have known him now for thirty years, and in all that time he has never
so much as spoken an unkind word to any one. A real heart of gold, who
would take the bit from his own mouth. And handsome, too, and always
well, and always gay, a real blessing! It is a murder that he does not
wish to make his peace with the good God. We will force him to do it,
mademoiselle, will we not?"

Clotilde, surprised at hearing her speak so long at one time on the
subject, gave her word with a grave air.

"Certainly, Martine, it is a promise. We will force him."

Silence reigned again, broken a moment afterward by the ringing of the
bell attached to the street door below. It had been attached to the
door so that they might have notice when any one entered the house,
too vast for the three persons who inhabited it. The servant appeared
surprised, and grumbled a few words under her breath. Who could have
come in such heat as this? She rose, opened the door, and went and