Eve opened the door, and Lucien sat down without a word at the little table on an X-shaped trestle.  There was no tablecloth; the poor little household boasted but three silver spoons and forks, and Eve had laid them all for the dearly loved brother.

“What have you there?” she asked, when she had set a dish on the table, and put the extinguisher on the portable stove, where it had been kept hot for him.

Lucien did not answer.  Eve took up a little plate, daintily garnished with vine-leaves, and set it on the table with a jug full of cream.

“There, Lucien, I have had strawberries for you.”

But Lucien was so absorbed in his letter that he did not hear a word.  Eve came to sit beside him without a murmur; for in a sister’s love for a brother it is an element of great pleasure to be treated without ceremony.

“Oh! what is it?” she cried as she saw tears shining in her brother’s eyes.

“Nothing, nothing, Eve,” he said, and putting his arm about her waist, he drew her towards him and kissed her forehead, her hair, her throat, with warmth that surprised her.

“You are keeping something from me.”

“Well, then—­she loves me.”

“I knew very well that you kissed me for somebody else,” the poor sister pouted, flushing red.

“We shall all be happy,” cried Lucien, swallowing great spoonfuls of soup.

“We?” echoed Eve.  The same presentiment that had crossed David’s mind prompted her to add, “You will not care so much about us now.”

“How can you think that, if you know me?”

Eve put out her hand and grasped his tightly; then she carried off the empty plate and the brown earthen soup-tureen, and brought the dish that she had made for him.  But instead of eating his dinner, Lucien read his letter over again; and Eve, discreet maiden, did not ask another question, respecting her brother’s silence.  If he wished to tell her about it, she could wait; if he did not, how could she ask him to tell her?  She waited.  Here is the letter:—­

“MY FRIEND,—­Why should I refuse to your brother in science the help that I have lent you?  All merits have equal rights in my eyes; but you do not know the prejudices of those among whom I live.  We shall never make an aristocracy of ignorance understand that intellect ennobles.  If I have not sufficient influence to compel them to accept M. David Sechard, I am quite willing to sacrifice the worthless creatures to you.  It would be a perfect hecatomb in the antique manner.  But, dear friend, you would not, of course, ask me to leave them all in exchange for the society of a person whose character and manner might not please me.  I know from your flatteries how easily friendship can be blinded.  Will you think the worse of me if I attach a condition to my consent?  In the interests of your future I should like to see your friend, and know and decide for myself whether you are not mistaken.  What is this but the mother’s anxious care of my dear poet, which I am in duty bound to take?

“LOUISE DE NEGREPELISSE.”