"You see how it all maps out, uncle," said Philippe. "Therefore, sign no paper before the third of December; the next day you shall be free, happy, and beloved by Flore, without having to coax for it."
"You don't know him, Philippe," said the terrified old man. "Maxence has killed nine men in duels."
"Yes; but ninety thousand francs a year didn't depend on it," answered
Philippe.
"A bad conscience shakes the hand," remarked Mignonnet sententiously.
"In a few days from now," resumed Philippe, "you and the Rabouilleuse will be living together as sweet as honey,—that is, after she gets through mourning. At first she'll twist like a worm, and yelp, and weep; but never mind, let the water run!"
The two soldiers approved of Philippe's arguments, and tried to hearten up old Rouget, with whom they walked about for nearly two hours. At last Philippe took his uncle home, saying as they parted:—
"Don't take any steps without me. I know women. I have paid for one, who cost me far more than Flore can ever cost you. But she taught me how to behave to the fair sex for the rest of my days. Women are bad children; they are inferior animals to men; we must make them fear us; the worst condition in the world is to be governed by such brutes."
It was about half-past two in the afternoon when the old man got home. Kouski opened the door in tears,—that is, by Max's orders, he gave signs of weeping.
"Oh! Monsieur, Madame has gone away, and taken Vedie with her!"
"Gone—a—way!" said the old man in a strangled voice.