The widow promptly made her appearance; but her manner was humble and supplicating.
She had often heard her dear, dead husband say that madame was his benefactress, and now she came to beg a little aid to enable her to open a small drinking saloon.
Her son Polyte—ah! such a good son! just eighteen years old, and such a help to his poor mother—had discovered a little house in a good situation for the business, and if they only had three or four hundred francs——
Mme. Blanche gave her five hundred francs.
“Either her humility is a mask,” she thought, “or her husband has told her nothing.”
Five days later Polyte Chupin presented himself.
They needed three hundred francs more before they could commence business, and he came on behalf of his mother to entreat the kind lady to advance them.
Determined to discover exactly where she stood, the duchess shortly refused, and the young man departed without a word.
Evidently the mother and son were ignorant of the facts. Chupin’s secret had died with him.
This happened early in January. Toward the last of February, Aunt Medea contracted inflammation of the lungs on leaving a fancy ball, which she attended in an absurd costume, in spite of all the attempts which her niece made to dissuade her.