must tell Giroudeau, the uncle of Finot, to send me,--my sabre, my

sword, and my pistols."
"You need more than that," said the lawyer, shuddering as he looked at

his client. "You will receive a quarterly stipend which will clothe
you decently."

"Bless me! are you here, Godeschal?" cried Philippe, recognizing in
Desroches's head-clerk, as they passed out, the brother of Mariette.

"Yes, I have been with Monsieur Desroches for the last two months."
"And he will stay with me, I hope, till he gets a business of his

own," said Desroches.
"How is Mariette?" asked Philippe, moved at his recollections.

"She is getting ready for the opening of the new theatre."
"It would cost her little trouble to get my sentence remitted," said

Philippe. "However, as she chooses!"
After a meagre dinner, given by Desroches who boarded his head-clerk,

the two lawyers put the political convict in the diligence, and wished
him good luck.

CHAPTER XIV
On the second of November, All-Souls' day, Philippe Bridau appeared

before the commissary of police at Issoudun, to have the date of his
arrival recorded on his papers; and by that functionary's advice he

went to lodge in the rue l'Avenier. The news of the arrival of an
officer, banished on account of the late military conspiracy, spread

rapidly through the town, and caused all the more excitement when it
was known that this officer was a brother of the painter who had been

falsely accused. Maxence Gilet, by this time entirely recovered from
his wound, had completed the difficult operation of turning all Pere

Rouget's mortgages into money, and putting the proceeds in one sum, on
the "grand-livre." The loan of one hundred and forty thousand francs

obtained by the old man on his landed property had caused a great
sensation,--for everything is known in the provinces. Monsieur Hochon,

in the Bridau interest, was much put about by this disaster, and
questioned old Monsieur Heron, the notary at Bourges, as to the object

of it.
"The heirs of old Rouget, if old Rouget changes his mind, ought to

make me a votive offering," cried Monsieur Heron. "If it had not been
for me, the old fellow would have allowed the fifty thousand francs'

income to stand in the name of Maxence Gilet. I told Mademoiselle
Brazier that she ought to look to the will only, and not run the risk

of a suit for spoliation, seeing what numerous proofs these transfers
in every direction would give against them. To gain time, I advised

Maxence and his mistress to keep quiet, and let this sudden change in
the usual business habits of the old man be forgotten."

"Protect the Bridaus, for they have nothing," said Monsieur Hochon,
who in addition to all other reasons, could not forgive Gilet the

terrors he had endured when fearing the pillage of his house.
Maxence Gilet and Flore Brazier, now secure against all attack, were

very merry over the arrival of another of old Rouget's nephews. They
knew they were able, at the first signal of danger, to make the old

man sign a power of attorney under which the money in the Funds could
be transferred either to Max or Flore. If the will leaving Flore the

principal, should be revoked, an income of fifty thousand francs was a
very tolerable crumb of comfort,--more particularly after squeezing

from the real estate that mortgage of a hundred and forty thousand.
The day after his arrival, Philippe called upon his uncle about ten

o'clock in the morning, anxious to present himself in his dilapidated
clothing. When the convalescent of the Hopital du Midi, the prisoner

of the Luxembourg, entered the room, Flore Brazier felt a shiver pass
over her at the repulsive sight. Gilet himself was conscious of that

particular disturbance both of mind and body, by which Nature
sometimes warns us of a latentenmity, or a coming danger. If there

was something indescribably sinister in Philippe's countenance, due to
his recent misfortunes, the effect was heightened by his clothes. His

forlorn blue great-coat was buttoned in military fashion to the
throat, for painful reasons; and yet it showed much that it pretended

to conceal. The bottom edges of the trousers, ragged like those of an
almshouse beggar, were the sign of abjectpoverty. The boots left wet

splashes on the floor, as the mud oozed from fissures in the soles.
The gray hat, which the colonel held in his hand, was horribly greasy

round the rim. The malacca cane, from which the polish had long
disappeared, must have stood in all the corners of all the cafes in

Paris, and poked its worn-out end into many a corruption. Above the
velvet collar, rubbed and worn till the frame showed through it, rose

a head like that which Frederick Lemaitre makes up for the last act in
"The Life of a Gambler,"--where the exhaustion of a man still in the

prime of life is betrayed by the metallic, brassy skin, discolored as
if with verdigris. Such tints are seen on the faces of debauched

gamblers who spend their nights in play: the eyes are sunken in a
dusky circle, the lids are reddened rather than red, the brow is

menacing from the wreck and ruin it reveals. Philippe's cheeks, which
were sunken and wrinkled, showed signs of the illness from which he

had scarcely recovered. His head was bald, except for a fringe of hair
at the back which ended at the ears. The pure blue of his brilliant

eyes had acquired the cold tones of polished steel.
"Good-morning, uncle," he said, in a hoarse voice. "I am your nephew,

Philippe Bridau,--a specimen of how the Bourbons treat a lieutenant-
colonel, an old soldier of the old army, one who carried the Emperor's

orders at the battle of Montereau. If my coat were to open, I should
be put to shame in presence of Mademoiselle. Well, it is the rule of

the game! We hoped to begin it again; we tried it, and we have failed!
I am to reside in your city by the order of the police, with a full

pay of sixty francs a month. So the inhabitants needn't fear that I
shall raise the price of provisions! I see you are in good and lovely

company."
"Ah! you are my nephew," said Jean-Jacques.

"Invite monsieur le colonel to breakfast with us," said Flore.
"No, I thank you, madame," answered Philippe, "I have breakfasted.

Besides, I would cut off my hand sooner than ask a bit of bread or a
farthing from my uncle, after the treatment my mother and brother

received in this town. It did not seem proper, however, that I should
settle here, in Issoudun, without paying my respects to him from time

to time. You can do what you like," he added, offering the old man his
hand, into which Rouget put his own, which Philippe shook, "--whatever

you like. I shall have nothing to say against it; provided the honor
of the Bridaus is untouched."

Gilet could look at the lieutenant-colonel as much as he pleased, for
Philippe pointedly avoided casting his eyes in his direction. Max,

though the blood boiled in his veins, was too well aware of the
importance of behaving with political prudence--which occasionally

resembles cowardice--to take fire like a young man; he remained,
therefore, perfectly calm and cold.

"It wouldn't be right, monsieur," said Flore, "to live on sixty francs
a month under the nose of an uncle who has forty thousand francs a

year, and who has already behaved so kindly to Captain Gilet, his
natural relation, here present--"

"Yes, Philippe," cried the old man, "you must see that!"
On Flore's presentation, Philippe made a half-timid bow to Max.

"Uncle, I have some pictures to return to you; they are now at
Monsieur Hochon's. Will you be kind enough to come over some day and

identify them."
Saying these last words in a curt tone, lieutenant-colonel Philippe

Bridau departed. The tone of his visit made, if possible, a deeper
impression on Flore's mind, and also on that of Max, than the shock

they had felt at the first sight of that horrible campaigner. As soon
as Philippe had slammed the door, with the violence of a disinherited

heir, Max and Flore hid behind the window-curtains to watch him as he
crossed the road, to the Hochons'.

"What a vagabond!" exclaimed Flore, questioning Max with a glance of
her eye.