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.
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