"Is it not she that--that--I love?" stammered the assistant.

Much put out by his own want of perspicacity, Guillaume sat down
again, and rested his long head in his hands to consider the
perplexing situation in which he found himself. Joseph Lebas,
shamefaced and in despair, remained standing.

"Joseph," the draper said with frigid dignity, "I was speaking of
Virginie. Love cannot be made to order, I know. I know, too, that you
can be trusted. We will forget all this. I will not let Augustine
marry before Virginie.--Your interest will be ten per cent."

The young man, to whom love gave I know not what power of courage and
eloquence, clasped his hand, and spoke in his turn--spoke for a
quarter of an hour, with so much warmth and feeling, that he altered
the situation. If the question had been a matter of business the old
tradesman would have had fixed principles to guide his decision; but,
tossed a thousand miles from commerce, on the ocean of sentiment,
without a compass, he floated, as he told himself, undecided in the
face of such an unexpected event. Carried away by his fatherly
kindness, he began to beat about the bush.

"Deuce take it, Joseph, you must know that there are ten years between
my two children. Mademoiselle Chevrel was no beauty, still she has had
nothing to complain of in me. Do as I did. Come, come, don't cry. Can
you be so silly? What is to be done? It can be managed perhaps. There
is always some way out of a scrape. And we men are not always devoted
Celadons to our wives--you understand? Madame Guillaume is very pious.
. . . Come. By Gad, boy, give your arm to Augustine this morning as we