who got the meat contract and makes our men eat all the diseased cow
flesh in the neighborhood! Well, I received him like a dog, and

then he let it all out--blurted out the whole thing, and a pretty
mess it is! It appears that Burle only paid him in driblets and had

got himself into a muddle--a confusion of figures which the devil
himself couldn't disentangle. In short, Burle owes the butcher two

thousand francs, and Gagneux threatens that he'll inform the colonel
if he is not paid. To make matters worse, Burle, just to blind me,

handed me every week a forged receipt which he had squarely signed
with Gagneux's name. To think he did that to me, his old friend!

Ah, curse him!"
With increasing profanity the major rose to his feet, shook his fist

at the ceiling and then fell back in his chair. Mme Burle again
repeated: "He has stolen. It was inevitable."

Then without a word of judgment or condemnation she added simply:
"Two thousand francs--we have not got them. There are barely thirty

francs in the house."
"I expected as much," said Laguitte. "And do you know where all the

money goes? Why, Melanie gets it--yes, Melanie, a creature who has
turned Burle into a perfect fool. Ah, those women! Those fiendish

women! I always said they would do for him! I cannot conceive what
he is made of! He is only five years younger than I am, and yet he

is as mad as ever. What a woman hunter he is!"
Another long silence followed. Outside the rain was increasing in

violence, and throughout the sleepy little town one could hear the
crashing of slates and chimney pots as they were dashed by the blast

onto the pavements of the streets.
"Come," suddenly said the major, rising, "my stopping here won't

mend matters. I have warned you--and now I'm off."
"What is to be done? To whom can we apply?" muttered the old woman

drearily.
"Don't give way--we must consider. If I only had the two thousand

francs--but you know that I am not rich."
The major stopped short in confusion. This old bachelor, wifeless

and childless, spent his pay in drink and gambled away at ecarte
whatever money his cognac and absinthe left in his pocket. Despite

that, however, he was scrupulously honest from a sense of
discipline.

"Never mind," he added as he reached the threshold. "I'll begin by
stirring him up. I shall move heaven and earth! What! Burle,

Colonel Burle's son, condemned for theft! That cannot be! I would
sooner burn down the town. Now, thunder and lightning, don't worry;

it is far more annoying for me than for you."
He shook the old lady's hand roughly and vanished into the shadows

of the staircase, while she held the lamp aloft to light the way.
When she returned and replaced the lamp on the table she stood for a

moment motionless in front of Charles, who was still asleep with his
face lying on the dictionary. His pale cheeks and long fair hair

made him look like a girl, and she gazed at him dreamily, a shade of
tenderness passing over her harsh countenance. But it was only a

passing emotion; her features regained their look of cold, obstinate
determination, and, giving the youngster a sharp rap on his little

hand, she said:
"Charles--your lessons."

The boy awoke, dazed and shivering, and again rapidly turned over
the leaves. At the same moment Major Laguitte, slamming the house

door behind him, received on his head a quantity of water falling
from the gutters above, whereupon he began to swear in so loud a

voice that he could be heard above the storm. And after that no
sound broke upon the pelting downpour save the slight rustle of the

boy's pen traveling over the paper. Mme Burle had resumed her seat
near the chimney piece, still rigid, with her eyes fixed on the dead

embers, preserving, indeed, her habitual attitude and absorbed in
her one idea.

CHAPTER II
THE CAFE

The Cafe de Paris, kept by Melanie Cartier, a widow, was situated on
the Place du Palais, a large irregular square planted with meager,

dusty elm trees. The place was so well known in Vauchamp that it
was customary to say, "Are you coming to Melanie's?" At the farther

end of the first room, which was a spacious one, there was another
called "the divan," a narrow apartment having sham leather benches

placed against the walls, while at each corner there stood a marble-
topped table. The widow, deserting her seat in the front room,

where she left her little servant Phrosine, spent her evenings in
the inner apartment, ministering to a few customers, the usual

frequenters of the place, those who were currently styled "the
gentlemen of the divan." When a man belonged to that set it was as

if he had a label on his back; he was spoken of with smiles of
mingled contempt and envy.

Mme Cartier had become a widow when she was five and twenty. Her
husband, a wheelwright, who on the death of an uncle had amazed

Vauchamp by taking the Cafe de Paris, had one fine day brought her
back with him from Montpellier, where he was wont to repair twice a

year to purchase liqueurs. As he was stocking his establishment he
selected, together with divers beverages, a woman of the sort he

wanted--of an engaging aspect and apt to stimulate the trade of the
house. It was never known where he had picked her up, but he

married her after trying her in the cafe during six months or so.
Opinions were divided in Vauchamp as to her merits, some folks

declaring that she was superb, while others asserted that she looked
like a drum-major. She was a tall woman with large features and

coarse hair falling low over her forehead. However, everyone agreed
that she knew very well how to fool the sterner sex. She had fine

eyes and was wont to fix them with a bold stare on the gentlemen of
the divan, who colored and became like wax in her hands. She also

had the reputation of possessing a wonderfully fine figure, and
southerners appreciate a statuesque style of beauty.

Cartier had died in a singular way. Rumor hinted at a conjugal
quarrel, a kick, producing some internal tumor. Whatever may have

been the truth, Melanie found herself encumbered with the cafe,
which was far from doing a prosperous business. Her husband had

wasted his uncle's inheritance in drinking his own absinthe and
wearing out the cloth of his own billiard table. For a while it was

believed that the widow would have to sell out, but she liked the
life and the establishment just as it was. If she could secure a

few customers the bigger room might remain deserted. So she limited
herself to repapering the divan in white and gold and recovering the

benches. She began by entertaining a chemist. Then a vermicelli
maker, a lawyer and a retired magistrate put in an appearance; and

thus it was that the cafe remained open, although the waiter did not
receive twenty orders a day. No objections were raised by the

authorities, as appearances were kept up; and, indeed, it was not
deemed advisable to interfere, for some respectable folks might have

been worried.
Of an evening five or six well-to-do citizens would enter the front

room and play at dominoes there. Although Cartier was dead and the
Cafe de Paris had got a queer name, they saw nothing and kept up

their old habits. In course of time, the waiter having nothing to
do, Melanie dismissed him and made Phrosine light the solitary gas

burner in the corner where the domino players congregated.
Occasionally a party of young men, attracted by the gossip that

circulated through the town, would come in, wildly excited and
laughing loudly and awkwardly. But they were received there with

icy dignity. As a rule they did not even see the widow, and even if
she happened to be present she treated them with withering disdain,

so that they withdrew, stammering and confused. Melanie was too
astute to indulge in any compromising whims. While the front room

remained obscure, save in the corner where the few townsfolk rattled
their dominoes, she personally waited on the gentlemen of the divan,

showing herself amiable without being free, merely venturing in
moments of familiarity to lean on the shoulder of one or another of

them, the better to watch a skillfully played game of ecarte.
One evening the gentlemen of the divan, who had ended by tolerating

each other's presence, experienced a disagreeable surprise on
finding Captain Burle at home there. He had casually entered the