insistence, in spite of the dying wish of Lavilette's father, a feeble,
babbling old gentleman in knee-breeches, stock, and swallow-tailed coat,
who, broken down by misfortune, age and loneliness, had gathered himself
together for one last effort for becomingness against his daughter-in-
law's false tastes--and had died the day after. He was spared the
indignity of the coat-of-arms on the tombstone only by the fierce
opposition of Louis Lavilette, who upon this point had his first quarrel
with his wife.

Ferrol saw no particular details in his first view of the house.
The picture was satisfying to a tired man--comfort, quiet, the bread
of idleness to eat, and welcome, admiring faces round him. Monsieur
Lavilette stood in the doorway, and behind him, at a carefully disposed
distance, was Madame, rather more emphatically dressed than necessary.
As he shook hands genially with Madame he saw Sophie and Christine in the
doorway of the parlour. His spirits took another leap. His
inexhaustible emotions were out upon cheerful parade at once.

The Lavilettes immediately became pensioners of his affections. The
first hour of his coming he himself did not know which sister his ample
heart was spending itself on most--Sophie, with her English face, and
slow, docile, well-bred manner, or Christine, dark, petite, impertinent,
gay-hearted, wilful, unsparing of her tongue for others--or for herself.
Though Christine's lips and cheeks glowed, and her eyes had wonderful
warm lights, incredulity was constantly signalled from both eyes and
lips. She was a fine, daring little animal, with as great a talent for
untruth as truth, though, to this point in her life, truth had been more
with her. Her temptations had been few.