The table was lighted by two hideous candlesticks of plated silver
with four branches each, in which shone eight of those thrifty
wax-candles that go by the name of Aurora. The linen was dazzling
in whiteness, and the silver, with beaded edges, was the fruit,
evidently, of some purchase made during the Revolution by Thuillier's
father. Thus the fare and the service were in keeping with the house,
the dining-room, and the Thuilliers themselves, who could never, under
any circumstances, get themselves above this style of living. The
Minards, Collevilles, and la Peyrade exchanged now and then a smile
which betrayed their mutually satirical but repressed thoughts. La
Peyrade, seated beside Flavie, whispered in her ear:--

"You must admit that they ought to be taught how to live. But those
Minards are no better in their way. What cupidity! they've come here
solely after Celeste. Your daughter will be lost to you if you let
them have her. These parvenus have all the vices of the great lords of
other days without their elegance. Minard's son, who has twelve
thousand francs a year of his own, could very well find a wife
elsewhere, instead of pushing his speculating rake in here. What fun
it would be to play upon those people as one would on a bass-viol or a
clarionet!"

While the dishes of the second course were being removed, Minard,
afraid that Phellion would precede him, said to Thuillier with a grave
air:--

"My dear Thuillier, in accepting your dinner, I did so for the purpose
of making an important communication, which does you so much honor
that all here present ought to be made participants in it."