“That good woman,” he said to himself as he went home to bed, “was as proud as a peacock; she would never gave given me her daughter.  Hey, hey! why couldn’t I manage matters now so as to marry the girl?  Pere Claes is drunk on carbon, and takes no care of his children.  If, after convincing Marguerite that she must marry to save the property of her brothers and sister, I were to ask him for his daughter, he will be glad to get rid of a girl who is likely to thwart him.”

He went to sleep anticipating the charms of the marriage contract, and reflecting on the advantages of the step and the guarantees afforded for his happiness in the person he proposed to marry.  In all the provinces there was certainly not a better brought-up or more delicately lovely young girl than Mademoiselle Claes.  Her modesty, her grace, were like those of the pretty flower Emmanuel had feared to name lest he should betray the secret of his heart.  Her sentiments were lofty, her principles religious, she would undoubtedly make him a faithful wife:  moreover, she not only flattered the vanity which influences every man more or less in the choice of a wife, but she gratified his pride by the high consideration which her family, doubly ennobled, enjoyed in Flanders,—­a consideration which her husband of course would share.

The next day Pierquin extracted from his strong-box several thousand-franc notes, which he offered with great friendliness to Balthazar, so as to relieve him of pecuniary annoyance in the midst of his grief.  Touched by this delicate attention, Balthazar would, he thought, praise his goodness and his personal qualities to Marguerite.  In this he was mistaken.  Monsieur Claes and his daughter thought it was a very natural action, and their sorrow was too absorbing to let them even think of the lawyer.

Balthazar’s despair was indeed so great that persons who were disposed to blame his conduct could not do otherwise than forgive him,—­less on account of the Science which might have excused him, than for the remorse which could not undo his deeds.  Society is satisfied by appearances:  it takes what it gives, without considering the intrinsic worth of the article.  To the world real suffering is a show, a species of enjoyment, which inclines it to absolve even a criminal; in its thirst for emotions it acquits without judging the man who raises a laugh, or he who makes it weep, making no inquiry into their methods.

Marguerite was just nineteen when her father put her in charge of the household; and her brothers and sister, whom Madame Claes in her last moments exhorted to obey their elder sister, accepted her authority with docility.  Her mourning attire heightened the dewy whiteness of her skin, just as the sadness of her expression threw into relief the gentleness and patience of her manner.  From the first she gave proofs of feminine courage, of inalterable serenity, like that of angels appointed to shed peace on suffering