mother with horror.

"Madame Guillaume!" said the old man, compelling her to silence.
--"Augustine," he went on, "artists are generally little better than
beggars. They are too extravagant not to be always a bad sort. I
served the late Monsieur Joseph Vernet, the late Monsieur Lekain, and
the late Monsieur Noverre. Oh, if you could only know the tricks
played on poor Father Chevrel by that Monsieur Noverre, by the
Chevalier de Saint-Georges, and especially by Monsieur Philidor! They
are a set of rascals; I know them well! They all have a gab and nice
manners. Ah, your Monsieur Sumer--, Somm----"

"De Sommervieux, papa."

"Well, well, de Sommervieux, well and good. He can never have been
half so sweet to you as Monsieur le Chevalier de Saint-Georges was to
me the day I got a verdict of the consuls against him. And in those
days they were gentlemen of quality."

"But, father, Monsieur Theodore is of good family, and he wrote me
that he is rich; his father was called Chevalier de Sommervieux before
the Revolution."

At these words Monsieur Guillaume looked at his terrible better half,
who, like an angry woman, sat tapping the floor with her foot while
keeping sullen silence; she avoided even casting wrathful looks at
Augustine, appearing to leave to Monsieur Guillaume the whole
responsibility in so grave a matter, since her opinion was not
listened to. Nevertheless, in spite of her apparent self-control, when
she saw her husband giving way so mildly under a catastrophe which had