said Flore. "You will have to spend money. Come, Pere Rouget, offer
your nephew a hundred francs for each copy; here are twenty-seven

pictures, and I think there are eleven very big ones in the garret
which ought to cost double,--call the whole four thousand francs. Oh,

yes," she went on, turning to Joseph, "your uncle can well afford to
pay you four thousand francs for making the copies, since he keeps the

frames--but bless me! you'll want frames; and they say frames cost
more than pictures; there's more gold on them. Answer, monsieur," she

continued, shaking the old man's arm. "Hein? it isn't dear; your
nephew will take four thousand francs for new pictures in the place of

the old ones. It is," she whispered in his ear, "a very good way to
give him four thousand francs; he doesn't look to me very flush--"

"Well, nephew, I will pay you four thousand francs for the copies--"
"No, no!" said the honest Joseph; "four thousand francs and the

pictures, that's too much; the pictures, don't you see, are
valuable--"

"Accept, simpleton!" said Flore; "he is your uncle, you know."
"Very good, I accept," said Joseph, bewildered by the luck that had

befallen him; for he had recognized a Perugino.
The result was that the artist beamed with satisfaction as he went out

of the house with the Rabouilleuse on his arm, all of which helped
Maxence's plans immensely" target="_blank" title="ad.极大地，无限地">immensely. Neither Flore, nor Rouget, nor Max, nor

indeed any one in Issoudun knew the value of the pictures, and the
crafty Max thought he had bought Flore's triumph for a song, as she

paraded triumphantly before the eyes of the astonished town, leaning
on the arm of her master's nephew, and evidently" target="_blank" title="ad.明显地">evidently on the best of terms

with him. People flocked to their doors to see the crab-girl's triumph
over the family. This astounding event made the sensation on which Max

counted; so that when they all returned at five o'clock, nothing was
talked of in every household but the cordial understanding between Max

and Flore and the nephew of old Rouget. The incident of the pictures
and the four thousand francs circulated already. The dinner, at which

Lousteau, one of the court judges, and the Mayor of Issoudun were
present, was splendid. It was one of those provincial dinners lasting

five hours. The most exquisite wines enlivened the conversation. By
nine o'clock, at dessert, the painter, seated opposite to his uncle,

and between Flore and Max, had fraternized with the soldier, and
thought him the best fellow on earth. Joseph returned home at eleven

o'clock somewhat tipsy. As to old Rouget, Kouski had carried him to
his bed dead-drunk; he had eaten as though he were an actor from

foreign parts, and had soaked up the wine like the sands of the
desert.

"Well," said Max when he was alone with Flore, "isn't this better than
making faces at them? The Bridaus are well received, they get small

presents, and are smothered with attentions, and the end of it is they
will sing our praises; they will go away satisfied and leave us in

peace. To-morrow morning you and I and Kouski will take down all those
pictures and send them over to the painter, so that he shall see them

when he wakes up. We will put the frames in the garret, and cover the
walls with one of those varnished papers which represent scenes from

Telemachus, such as I have seen at Monsieur Mouilleron's."
"Oh, that will be much prettier!" said Flore.

On the morrow, Joseph did not wake up till midday. From his bed he saw
the pictures, which had been brought in while he was asleep, leaning

one against another on the opposite wall. While he examined them anew,
recognizing each masterpiece, studying the manner of each painter, and

searching for the signature, his mother had gone to see and thank her
brother, urged thereto by old Hochon, who, having heard of the follies

the painter had committed the night before, almost despaired of the
Bridau cause.

"Your adversaries have the cunning of foxes," he said to Agathe. "In
all my days I never saw a man carry things with such a high hand as

that soldier; they say war educates young men! Joseph has let himself
be fooled. They have shut his mouth with wine, and those miserable

pictures, and four thousand francs! Your artist hasn't cost Maxence
much!"

The long-headed old man instructed Madame Bridau carefully as to the
line of conduct she ought to pursue,--advising her to enter into

Maxence's ideas and cajole Flore, so as to set up a sort of intimacy
with her, and thus obtain a few moments' interview with Jean-Jacques

alone. Madame Bridau was very warmly received by her brother, to whom
Flore had taught his lesson. The old man was in bed, quite ill from

the excesses of the night before. As Agathe, under the circumstances,
could scarcely begin at once to speak of family matters, Max thought

it proper and magnanimous to leave the brother and sister alone
together. The calculation was a good one. Poor Agathe found her

brother so ill that she would not deprive him of Madame Brazier's
care.

"Besides," she said to the old bachelor, "I wish to know a person to
whom I am grateful for the happiness of my brother."

These words gave evident pleasure to the old man, who rang for Madame
Flore. Flore, as we may well believe, was not far off. The female

antagonists bowed to each other. The Rabouilleuse showed the most
servile attentions and the utmosttenderness to her master; fancied

his head was too low, beat up the pillows, and took care of him like a
bride of yesterday. The poor creature received it with a rush of

feeling.
"We owe you much gratitude, mademoiselle," said Agathe, "for the

proofs of attachment you have so long given to my brother, and for the
way in which you watch over his happiness."

"That is true, my dear Agathe," said the old man; "she has taught me
what happiness is; she is a woman of excellent qualities."

"And therefore, my dear brother, you ought to have recompensed
Mademoiselle by making her your wife. Yes! I am too sincere in my

religion not to wish to see you obey the precepts of the church. You
would each be more tranquil in mind if you were not at variance with

morality and the laws. I have come here, dear brother, to ask for help
in my affliction; but do not suppose that we wish to make any

remonstrance as to the manner in which you may dispose of your
property--"

"Madame," said Flore, "we know how unjust your father was to you.
Monsieur, here, can tell you," she went on, looking fixedly at her

victim, "that the only quarrels we have ever had were about you. I
have always told him that he owes you part of the fortune he received

from his father, and your father, my benefactor,--for he was my
benefactor," she added in a tearful voice; "I shall ever remember him!

But your brother, madame, has listened to reason--"
"Yes," said the old man, "when I make my will you shall not be

forgotten."
"Don't talk of these things, my dear brother; you do not yet know my

nature."
After such a beginning, it is easy to imagine how the visit went on.

Rouget invited his sister to dinner on the next day but one.
We may here mention that during these three days the Knights of

Idleness captured an immense quantity of rats and mice, which were
kept half-famished until they were let loose in the grain one fine

night, to the number of four hundred and thirty-six, of which some
were breeding mothers. Not content with providing Fario's store-house

with these boarders, the Knights made holes in the roof of the old
church and put in a dozen pigeons, taken from as many different farms.

These four-footed and feathered creatures held high revels,--all the
more securely because the watchman was enticed away by a fellow who

kept him drunk from morning till night, so that he took no care of his
master's property.

Madame Bridau believed, contrary to the opinion of old Hochon, that
her brother has as yet made no will; she intended asking him what were

his intentions respecting Mademoiselle Brazier, as soon as she could
take a walk with him alone,--a hope which Flore and Maxence were

always holding out to her, and, of course, always disappointing.