“I’ll go over,” cried Monsieur Hochon, whose curiosity carried the day over every other feeling.

Monsieur Hochon found old Rouget in his bedroom, writing the following letter at his nephew’s dictation: 

Mademoiselle,—­If you do not start to return here the moment you receive this letter, your conduct will show such ingratitude for all my goodness that I shall revoke the will I have made in your favor, and give my property to my nephew Philippe.  You will understand that Monsieur Gilet can no longer be my guest after staying with you at Vatan.  I send this letter by Captain Carpentier, who will put it into your own hands.  I hope you will listen to his advice; he will speak to you with authority from me.  Your affectionate

  J.-J.  Rouget.

“Captain Carpentier and I MET my uncle, who was so foolish as to follow Mademoiselle Brazier and Monsieur Gilet to Vatan,” said Philippe, with sarcastic emphasis, to Monsieur Hochon.  “I have made my uncle see that he was running his head into a noose; for that girl will abandon him the moment she gets him to sign a power of attorney, by which they mean to obtain the income of his money in the Funds.  That letter will bring her back under his roof, the handsome runaway! this very night, or I’m mistaken.  I promise to make her as pliable as a bit of whalebone for the rest of her days, if my uncle allows me to take Maxence Gilet’s place; which, in my opinion, he ought never to have had in the first place.  Am I not right?—­and yet here’s my uncle bemoaning himself!”

“Neighbor,” said Monsieur Hochon, “you have taken the best means to get peace in your household.  Destroy your will, and Flore will be once more what she used to be in the early days.”

“No, she will never forgive me for what I have made her suffer,” whimpered the old man; “she will no longer love me.”

“She shall love you, and closely too; I’ll take care of that,” said Philippe.

“Come, open your eyes!” exclaimed Monsieur Hochon.  “They mean to rob you and abandon you.”

“Oh!  I was sure of it!” cried the poor imbecile.

“See, here is a letter Maxence has written to my grandson Borniche,” said old Hochon.  “Read it.”

“What infamy!” exclaimed Carpentier, as he listened to the letter, which Rouget read aloud, weeping.

“Is that plain enough, uncle?” demanded Philippe.  “Hold that hussy by her interests and she’ll adore you as you deserve.”

“She loves Maxence too well; she will leave me,” cried the frightened old man.

“But, uncle, Maxence or I,—­one or the other of us—­won’t leave our footsteps in the dust of Issoudun three days hence.”

“Well then go, Monsieur Carpentier,” said Rouget; “if you promise me to bring her back, go!  You are a good man; say to her in my name all you think you ought to say.”

“Captain Carpentier will whisper in her ear that I have sent to Paris for a woman whose youth and beauty are captivating; that will bring the jade back in a hurry!”