"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."