the parapet that I thought you would lose your footing any moment."
"Thank you, madame," replied Mariette, "I am very careless, indeed."
"You must be more careful, my dear," returned the woman warningly.
"Heavens! how pale you are—are you ill?"
"I feel a little faint, madame," said the girl, feeling a painful dizziness come over her, "but it will pass away."
"Lean on me, then. You are, no doubt, just recovering from a serious illness?"
"Yes—that's it, madame," responded Mariette, passing her hand over her brow, "but where am I?"
"At the Pont au Change—Are you a stranger in Paris?" asked the woman, curiously.
"No, madame; but I was overcome with a strange feeling of dizziness a few moments ago. It is passing over now, and I recognize the surroundings."
"You had better take my arm, you are trembling so," suggested the kind-hearted woman.
"Thank you, madame; it's not necessary, I live only a few steps from here."
"Well, good-bye, and be very cautious."
Having recovered the entire possession of her senses, Mariette now felt her bitter sorrows even more keenly than before; and she trembled at the thought of the harsh reception that awaited her in her desolate home, when she had so much need of consolation, or, at least, of that isolation and sad tranquility which lulls the most intense grief into calm hopelessness.
Being anxious to mitigate the cruel reproaches which her prolonged absence would inevitably draw upon her, she bethought herself of her godmother's desire to obtain the part of a chicken, and determined to satisfy this whim in the hope of being forgiven. She therefore hastened to the neighboring shops, purchased the quarter of a fowl and two white rolls with what remained of the money obtained on her gown and fichu, and turned homeward once more.
As she neared the house she was somewhat surprised to see an elegant cabriolet before the door; but she entered without giving the circumstance another thought, and stopping at the lodge asked for her key.
"Your key, Mademoiselle Mariette?" said Madame Justin, "why, a gentleman has just gone up with it."
"What gentleman?" queried the girl.
"A decorated gentleman. And finely decorated, too, I assure you. A ribbon two good inches wide—and such a loop! Upon my word, I never saw a man more beautifully decorated."
"But I don't know any decorated gentleman," exclaimed the girl in astonishment. "He must be mistaken."
"No, indeed. He inquired for a woman named Lacombe, a cripple living with her goddaughter, who is a seamstress. There is no mistake, as you see."
"Didn't you tell him that my god-mother was ill and could see no one?"
"Yes, I did. But he said he must see her on very important and urgent business; so I gave him the key and let him go up alone, having no desire to be abused by your godmother."
More and more astonished, Mariette ascended the rickety stairs to the fifth floor, pausing on the landing to recover her breath and find some excuse for her long absence. The door being ajar, she caught a glimpse of a stranger within the room, and the next moment distinctly heard these words:
"I am delighted to find your god-daughter away, my good woman; I can explain myself more clearly without her presence."
Mariette, who had been on the point of entering, yielded to an involuntary sentiment of curiosity instead, and remained where she stood.
CHAPTER IV.
The stranger was a man of forty-five years, or thereabouts, with worn but regular features, bearing deep traces of excessive dissipation and the most absolute profligacy. His physiognomy offered a strange mixture of deceit and impertinence; and these disagreeable traits were still more emphasized by a dark heavy moustache, which shone with a lustre equaled only by the false ebony of his artistically curled hair. His hands and feet were large; and, notwithstanding his visible pretentions, he at once betrayed the vulgar personage destined, not to imitate, but to parody veritable elegance. His dress was pompous, and in exceedingly bad taste; and even Mariette could not refrain from a smile at his affected military attitude and the ridiculously large red ribbon that adorned his button-hole.
Madame Lacombe, who had once more returned to her gloomy and sardonic humor, was gazing at the stranger with as much astonishment as distrust, feeling an almost invincible aversion against this insolent and patronizing personage, who had unceremoniously taken a seat at some distance from the bed, and was nibbling at the gold head of his cane while pursuing the conversation with her.
"Yes," repeated the visitor, "I am delighted to find you alone; as I was saying, I can explain myself more clearly."
"Monsieur," said the invalid, in a crabbed tone, "you have asked me if my name was Lacombe and if I was Mariette Moreau's godmother. I have already told you yes. Now what do you want of me? Explain yourself."
"To begin with, my good woman—" he began.
"I am called Madame Lacombe!" interrupted the woman.
"The devil! Well, then, Madame Lacombe," resumed the stranger with mock deference, "I shall first tell you who I am, and then proceed to explain what I want."
"Go on."
"I am called Commander de La Miraudière, an old military officer, as you see," pointing to the red ribbon on his coat, "ten campaigns and five wounds!"
"That's nothing to me. And then?"
"I have the most brilliant acquaintances in Paris: dukes, counts, marquises—"
"What's that to me?"
"I keep a carriage, and spend at least twenty thousand francs a year."
"While my god-daughter and myself are starving on twenty sous per day—that is, when she can earn them!" exclaimed the invalid bitterly. "Such is the justice of the world!"
"No! it is not justice!" protested the commander. "It is not just, and
I am here to put an end to such injustice!"
"If you are here to laugh at me," rejoined the woman, with an ominous scowl, "you had better go."
"Laugh at you, madame!—I!—judge me by what I offer. Do you want a pretty room, in a fine house, a servant to wait on you, two delicious meals every day, coffee every morning, and fifty francs a month for your snuff or other little fancies? Eh! what do you say to that?"
"I say—I say—that it's all a lie—or else there is something beneath it. When one offers so much to a poor, crippled old woman, it is not for the love of God, I am sure."
"You are right, Mamma Lacombe; it's for the love of two beautiful eyes."
"Whose eyes?"
"Your god-daughter's eyes, Mamma Lacombe," returned Commander de La
Miraudière cynically. "No use beating around the bush, you know."
"You know Mariette, then?" she said, with a piercing glance at his dissipated face.
"I often visit Madame Jourdan's establishment, for I am exceedingly fond of fine linen," he observed, casting a complaisant glance on the embroidered folds of his shirt. "I therefore found frequent occasion to admire you god-daughter; I think her beautiful and charming, and—"
"And you want to buy her from me?"
"Bravo! you are a woman of intelligence and good sense, Mamma Lacombe. You understand things without needless words. Now, this is my proposition: A fine, elegantly furnished apartment for Mariette, with whom you shall live,