"Ah! god-mother," she cried, throwing her arms around the woman's neck, "I knew that you loved me as a daughter!" Then turning toward Commander de La Miraudière, whom she recognized as the man whose persistent gaze had so frequently annoyed her at Madame Jourdan's establishment, she added with withering scorn: "Go, this moment, monsieur!"
"But, my dear little dove—" he began.
"I was there at the door, monsieur, and heard all," she interrupted quickly.
"So much the better then, my dear. You know my offer; you are still at liberty to accept it."
"Once more, monsieur, I beg you to go out."
"There, there, I am going my little Lucretia! But I give you a week for reflection," said the visitor, as he moved toward the door, Pausing on the threshold, however, he added:
"Don't forget my name, my dear—Commander de La Miraudière. Madame
Jourdan has my address," and he vanished with these words.
"Ah! godmother," cried the girl, kissing the sick woman with new effusion, "how warmly you defended me! how your heart spoke for me!"
"Yes, yes," muttered the invalid, roughly disengaging herself from the girl's embrace, "and with those fine principles we starve instead of rolling in luxury."
"But, my dear godmother—" Mariette tried to protest.