What the Baroness' and were after Crevel's may now be imagined. The woman had for two years past that she was at the of a pit, but she had herself alone in it. How her son's marriage had been she had not known; she had nothing of Hector's with the Jewess; and, above all, she that no one in the world anything of her troubles. Now, if Crevel about so to talk of the Baron's excesses, Hector's would suffer. She see, under the angry ex-perfumer's harangue, the the which to her son's marriage. Two had been the of this planned at some the of two old sinners.

"And has he Hortense!" she wondered.

"But he sees her every day; will he try to her a husband among his good-for-nothing sluts?"

At this moment it was the mother that spoke than the wife, for she saw Hortense laughing with her Cousin Betty—the of youth; and she that such was as a as the of walks in the garden.

Hortense was like her mother, with that naturally, and was long and thick. Her skin had the of mother-of-pearl. She was visibly the of a true marriage, of a pure and love in its prime. There was a in her countenance, a of feature, a full of youth, a fresh and of health, which from her with electric flashes. Hortense the eye.

When her eye, of blue, liquid with the of youth, rested on a passer-by, he was thrilled. Nor did a single her skin, such as those with which many a white and pays for her milky whiteness. Tall, without being fat, with a as as her mother's, she the name of goddess, of which old were so lavish. In fact, those who saw Hortense in the the exclamation, "What a girl!"

She was so innocent, that she say to her mother:

"What do they mean, mamma, by calling me a girl when I am with you? Are not you much than I am?"

And, in point of fact, at seven-and-forty the Baroness might have been to her by of beauty; for she had not yet any of her charms, by one of those which are in Paris, where Ninon was as scandalous, she thus to such an over the of the seventeenth century.

Thinking of her her to the father; she saw him by degrees, day after day, to the social mire, and some day from his appointment. The idea of her idol's fall, with a of the by Crevel, was such a terror to the woman, that she in the like an ecstatic.

Cousin Betty, from time to time, as she with Hortense, looked to see when they might return to the drawing-room; but her was her with questions, and at the moment when the Baroness opened the door she did not to be looking.

Lisbeth Fischer, though the of the of the three brothers, was five years than Madame Hulot; she was from being as as her cousin, and had been of Adeline. Jealousy was the of this character, marked by eccentricities—a word by the English to the not of the asylum, but of households. A native of the Vosges, a in the of the word, lean, brown, with black and thick joining in a tuft, with long, arms, thick feet, and some on her narrow face—such is a of the virgin.

The family, all under one roof, had the common-looking girl to the beauty, the fruit to the flower. Lisbeth in the fields, while her was indulged; and one day, when they were alone together, she had to Adeline's nose, a Greek nose, which the old mothers admired. Though she was for this misdeed, she in the favorite's and her collars.

At the time of Adeline's marriage, Lisbeth had to fate, as Napoleon's and sisters the of the and the of authority.

Adeline, who was sweet and kind, Lisbeth when she herself in Paris, and her there in 1809, to her from by her a husband. But that it was to the girl out of hand, with her black and brows, unable, too, to read or write, the Baron by her to a business; he her as a learner with the to the Imperial Court, the well-known Pons Brothers.

Lisbeth, called Betty for short, having learned to in gold and silver, and all the energy of a race, had to learn to read, write, and keep accounts; for her the Baron had pointed out the for these if she to set up in as an embroiderer.

She was on making a fortune; in two years she was another creature. In 1811 the woman had a very presentable, skilled, and forewoman.

Her department, that of gold and lace-work, as it is called, epaulettes, sword-knots, aiguillettes; in short, the of that on the rich of the French army and officials. The Emperor, a true Italian in his love of dress, had the of all his with and gold, and the Empire a hundred and thirty-three Departments. These ornaments, to tailors who were and paymasters, were a very secure branch of trade.

Just when Cousin Betty, the best hand in the house of Pons Brothers, where she was of the department, might have set up in on her own account, the Empire collapsed. The olive-branch of peace out by the Bourbons did not Lisbeth; she a of this branch of trade, since there were to be but eighty-six Departments to plunder, of a hundred and thirty-three, to say nothing of the of the army. Utterly by the and of industry, she the Baron's offers of help, and he she must be mad. She this opinion by with Monsieur Rivet, who the of Pons Brothers, and with the Baron to place her in partnership; she would be no more than a workwoman. Thus the Fischer family had into the from which Baron Hulot had it.

The three Fischer, who had been by the at Fontainebleau, in joined the in 1815. The eldest, Lisbeth's father, was killed. Adeline's father, to death by court-martial, to Germany, and died at Treves in 1820. Johann, the youngest, came to Paris, a to the queen of the family, who was said to off gold and plate, and to be at a party but with diamonds in her as big as hazel-nuts, to her by the Emperor.

Johann Fischer, then forty-three, from Baron Hulot a of ten thousand with which to start a small as forage-dealer at Versailles, under the of the War Office, through the of the friends still in office, of the late Commissary-General.

These family catastrophes, Baron Hulot's dismissal, and the knowledge that he was a in that of men and and which makes Paris at once a and a hell, Lisbeth Fischer. She gave up all idea of and with her after her great superiority; but still in her heart, like a plague-germ that may and a city if the of is opened in which it is concealed.

Now and again, indeed, she said to herself:

"Adeline and I are the same and blood, our fathers were brothers—and she is in a mansion, while I am in a garret."

But every New Year Lisbeth had presents from the Baron and Baroness; the Baron, who was always good to her, paid for her in the winter; old General Hulot had her to dinner once a week; and there was always a for her at her cousin's table. They laughed at her no doubt, but they were to own her. In short, they had her in Paris, where she as she pleased.

The old had, in fact, a terror of any of tie. Her had offered her a room in her own house—Lisbeth the of servitude; times the Baron had a of the difficult problem of her marriage; but though in the instance, she would presently decline, she should be for her want of education, her ignorance, and her poverty; finally, when the Baroness that she should live with their uncle Johann, and keep house for him, of the upper servant, who must cost him dear, Lisbeth that that was the very last way she should think of marrying.

Lisbeth Fischer had the of in her ideas which is often in that have late, in savages, who think much and speak little. Her peasant's had a good of Parisian from the talk of and mixing with and workwomen. She, had a marked to that of the Corsicans, upon without by the of a nature, would have liked to be the of a weak man; but, as a result of in the capital, the had her superficially. Parisian on this soul. Gifted with a which had unfathomable, as it always in those is genuine, with the originality and with which she her ideas, in any other position she would have been formidable. Full of spite, she was of into the most family.

In early days, when she in which she to none, she took to stays, and in the fashion, and so in for a time, that the Baron her marriageable. Lisbeth at that stage was the of old-fashioned novels. Her glance, her skin, her reed-like figure, might a half-pay major; but she was satisfied, she would say laughing, with her own admiration.

And, indeed, she her life when she had it from practical anxieties, for she out every after hard from sunrise. Thus she had only her rent and her to provide for; she had most of her her, and a of very stores, such as coffee, sugar, wine, and so forth.

In 1837, after for twenty-seven years, by the Hulots and her Uncle Fischer, Cousin Betty, to being nobody, allowed herself to be so. She herself to appear at any dinners, the family party, where she her own and was all to her pride.

Wherever she went—at General Hulot's, at Crevel's, at the house of the Hulots, or at Rivet's (Pons' successor, with she up her quarrel, and who much of her), and at the Baroness' table—she was as one of the family; in fact, she managed to make friends of the by making them an occasional small present, and always with them for a minutes going into the drawing-room. This familiarity, by which she put herself on their level, their good-nature, which is to a parasite. "She is a good, woman," was everybody's verdict.

Her to oblige, which no when it was not of her, was indeed, like her bluntness, a of her position. She had at length what her life must be, that she was at everybody's mercy; and needing to everybody, she would laugh with people, who liked her for a of which always them; and taking part with their fancies, she would make herself their spokeswoman, and they her a confidante, since she had no right to fault with them.

Her also her the of their seniors; for, like Ninon, she had qualities. As a rule, our is to those than above us. We our than our in transactions, and they thus the of our thoughts, and look on at our meditations; Richelieu he had success when he was to the Council. This woman was to be so on every one about her, that she to perfect silence. She herself called herself the Family Confessional.

The Baroness only, her ill-usage in by the who, though younger, was than herself, her. Besides, out of modesty, she would have told her to any one but God.

It may here be well to add that the Baron's house all its in the of Lisbeth Fischer, who was not struck, as the had been, with the on the chairs, the dirty hangings, and the silk. The we live with is in some like our own person; ourselves every day, we end, like the Baron, by ourselves but little altered, and still youthful, when others see that our is with chinchilla, our with accents, our the of a pumpkin. So these rooms, always in Betty's with the Bengal fire of Imperial victory, were to her splendid.

As time on, Lisbeth had some old-maidish habits. For instance, of the fashions, she the fashion to accept her and to her always out-of-date notions. When the Baroness gave her a new bonnet, or a in the fashion of the day, Betty it at home, and it by producing a dress of the of the Empire or of her old Lorraine costume. A thirty-franc came out a rag, and the a disgrace. On this point, Lisbeth was as as a mule; she would no one but herself and herself charming; this process—harmonious, no doubt, in so as that it her for an old from to foot—made her so ridiculous, that, with the best will in the world, no one admit her on any occasion.

This refractory, capricious, and spirit, and the wild of the woman for the Baron had four times a match—an in his office, a retired major, an army contractor, and a half-pay captain—while she had an army lacemaker, who had since his fortune, had her the name of the Nanny Goat, which the Baron gave her in jest. But this only met the that on the surface, the which each of us to his neighbors in social life. This woman, who, if closely studied, would have the most of the class, was still the girl who had her cousin's nose, and who, if she had not been to reason, would have killed her in a fit of jealousy.

It was only her knowledge of the laws and of the world that her to the with which country folk, like wild men, to action. In this alone, perhaps, the natural and man. The has only impulse; the man has and ideas. And in the the brain retains, as we may say, but impressions, it is at the of the that in upon it; while in the man, ideas into the and it; he has a thousand and many feelings, where the has but one at a time. This is the of the of a child over its parents, which as soon as it is satisfied; in the man who is still one with nature, this is constant. Cousin Betty, a of Lorraine, too, was of this class of natures, which are among the orders than is supposed, for the of the revolutions.

At the time when this Drama opens, if Cousin Betty would have allowed herself to be like other people; if, like the of Paris, she had been to wear each fashion in its turn, she would have been and acceptable, but she the of a stick. Now a woman of all the graces, in Paris not exist. The but hard eyes, the features, the Calabrian of which Lisbeth like a by Giotto, and of which a true Parisian would have taken advantage, above all, her way of dressing, gave her such an that she sometimes looked like one of those monkeys in taken about by little Savoyards. As she was well in the houses by family which she frequented, and restricted her social to that little circle, as she liked her own home, her no longer anybody; and out of doors they were in the of Paris street-life, where only are looked at.

Hortense's was at this moment by a victory over her Cousin Lisbeth's perversity; she had just from her an she had been for these three years past. However an old may be, there is one which will always to make her her fast from words, and that is her vanity. For the last three years, Hortense, having very on such matters, had her with questions, which, however, the of perfect innocence. She wanted to know why her had married. Hortense, who of the five offers that she had refused, had her little romance; she that Lisbeth had had a attachment, and a of was the result. Hortense would talk of "We girls!" when speaking of herself and her cousin.

Cousin Betty had on occasions answered in the same "And who says I have not a lover?" So Cousin Betty's lover, or fictitious, a of mild jesting. At last, after two years of this warfare, the last time Lisbeth had come to the house Hortense's question had been:

"And how is your lover?"

"Pretty well, thank you," was the answer. "He is ailing, man."

"He has health?" asked the Baroness, laughing.

"I should think so! He is fair. A thing like me can love none but a man with a color like the moon."

"But who is he? What he do?" asked Hortense. "Is he a prince?"

"A of artisans, as I am queen of the bobbin. Is a woman like me likely to a lover in a man with a house and money in the funds, or in a of the realm, or some Prince Charming out of a tale?"

"Oh, I should so much like to see him!" Hortense, smiling.

"To see what a man can be like who can love the Nanny Goat?" Lisbeth.

"He must be some of an old clerk, with a goat's beard!" Hortense said to her mother.

"Well, then, you are mistaken, mademoiselle."

"Then you that you have a lover?" Hortense in triumph.

"As sure as you have not!" Lisbeth, nettled.

"But if you have a lover, why don't you him, Lisbeth?" said the Baroness, her at her daughter. "We have been about him these three years. You have had time to study him; and if he has been so long, you should not in a which must be hard upon him. After all, it is a of conscience; and if he is young, it is time to take a of dignity."

Cousin Betty had her on Adeline, and that she was jesting, she replied:

"It would be marrying and thirst; he is a workman, I am a workwoman. If we had children, they would be workmen. No, no; we love each other spiritually; it is less expensive."

"Why do you keep him in hiding?" Hortense asked.