“Ah, my good friend, may Heaven reward you.”

“Madame, up to the present time I have no complaint to make of Heaven.  I am on the rise:  here, mademoiselle, is a gimcrack they have given me;” and he unbuttoned his overcoat, and showed them a piece of tricolored ribbon and a clasp.  “As for me, I look to ‘the solid;’ I care little for these things,” said he, swelling visibly, “but the world is dazzled by them.  However, I can show you something better.”  He took out a letter.  “This is from the Minister of the Interior to a client of mine:  a promise I shall be the next prefect; and the present prefect—­I am happy to say—­is on his death-bed.  Thus, madame, your humble servant in a few short months will be notary no longer, but prefect; I shall then sell my office of notary:  and I flatter myself when I am a prefect you will not blush to own me.”

“Then, as now, monsieur,” said the baroness politely, “we shall recognize your merit.  But”—­

“I understand, madame:  like me you look to ‘the solid.’  Thus then it is; I have money.”

“Ah! all the better for you.”

“I have a good deal of money.  But it is dispersed in a great many small but profitable investments:  to call it in suddenly would entail some loss.  Nevertheless, if you and my young lady there have ever so little of that friendly feeling towards me of which I have so much towards you, all my investments shall be called in, and two-thirds of your creditors shall be paid off at once.  A single client of mine, no less a man than the Commandant Raynal, will, I am sure, advance me the remaining third at an hour’s notice; and so Beaurepaire chateau, park, estate, and grounds, down to the old oak-tree, shall be saved; and no power shall alienate them from you, mademoiselle, and from the heirs of your body.”

The baroness clasped her hands in ecstasy.

“But what are we to do for this?” inquired Josephine calmly, “for it seems to me that it can only be effected by a sacrifice on your part.”

“I thank you, mademoiselle, for your penetration in seeing that I must make sacrifices.  I would never have told you, but you have seen it; and I do not regret that you have seen it.  Madame—­mademoiselle—­those sacrifices appear little to me; will seem nothing; will never be mentioned, or even alluded to after this day, if you, on your part, will lay me under a far heavier obligation, if in short”—­here the contemner of things unsubstantial reopened his coat, and brought his ribbon to light again—­“if you, madame, will accept me for your son-in-law—­if you, mademoiselle, will take me for your husband.”

The baroness and her daughter looked at one another in silence.

“Is it a jest?” inquired the former of the latter.

“Can you think so?  Answer Monsieur Perrin.  He has just done us a kind office, mother.”