"Oh, my daughter, my daughter," moaned the Baroness in a voice like a
dying woman's.

"Oh! I have forgotten all else," Crevel went on. "The day when I was
robbed of Josepha I was like a tigress robbed of her cubs; in short,
as you see me now.--Your daughter? Yes, I regard her as the means of
winning you. Yes, I put a spoke in her marriage--and you will not get
her married without my help! Handsome as Mademoiselle Hortense is, she
needs a fortune----"

"Alas! yes," said the Baroness, wiping her eyes.

"Well, just ask your husband for ten thousand francs," said Crevel,
striking his attitude once more. He waited a minute, like an actor who
has made a point.

"If he had the money, he would give it to the woman who will take
Josepha's place," he went on, emphasizing his tones. "Does a man ever
pull up on the road he has taken? In the first place, he is too sweet
on women. There is a happy medium in all things, as our King has told
us. And then his vanity is implicated! He is a handsome man!--He would
bring you all to ruin for his pleasure; in fact, you are already on
the highroad to the workhouse. Why, look, never since I set foot in
your house have you been able to do up your drawing-room furniture.
'Hard up' is the word shouted by every slit in the stuff. Where will
you find a son-in-law who would not turn his back in horror of the
ill-concealed evidence of the most cruel misery there is--that of
people in decent society? I have kept shop, and I know. There is no
eye so quick as that of the Paris tradesman to detect real wealth from