of their betrothal would be as welcome to him as to herself. And if so,
she could restore to him the sort of compassionate friendship she had
learned to cherish in the hour of his illness and repentance. She had
resolved to seize the first opportunity he afforded to her of speaking to
him with frank and truthful plainness. But, meanwhile, her gentle nature
recoiled from the confession of her resolve to appeal to Gustave himself
for the rupture of their engagement.

Thus the Venosta alone received Madame Rameau; and while that lady was
still gazing round her with an emotion too deep for immediate utterance,
her husband entered with an expression of face new to him--the look of a
man who has been stung to anger, and who has braced his mind to some
stern determination. This altered countenance of the good-tempered
bourgeois was not, however, noticed by the two women. The Venosta did
not even raise her eyes to it, as with humbled accents she said, "Pardon,
dear Monsieur, pardon, Madame, our want of hospitality; it is not our
hearts that fail. We kept our state from you as long as we could. Now
it speaks for itself; '_la fame e una bretta festin._'"

"Oh, Madame! and oh, my poor Isaura!" cried Madame Rameau, bursting into
tears. "So we have been all this time a burden on you,--aided to bring
such want on yon! How can we ever be forgiven? And my son--to leave us
thus,--not even to tell us where to find him!"

"Do not degrade us, my wife," said M. Rameau, with unexpected dignity,
"by a word to imply that we would stoop to sue for support to our
ungrateful child. No, we will not starve! I am strong enough still to
find food for you. I will apply for restoration to the National Guard.
They have augmented the pay to married men; it is now nearly two francs
and a half a-day to a _pere de famille_, and on that pay we all can at