The calculation was a good one. Poor Agathe found her
brother so ill that she would not deprive him of Madame Brazier's
care.
"Besides," she said to the old bachelor, "I wish to know a person to
whom I am grateful for the happiness of my brother."
These words gave evident pleasure to the old man, who rang for Madame
Flore. Flore, as we may well believe, was not far off. The female
antagonists bowed to each other. The Rabouilleuse showed the most
servile attentions and the utmost tenderness to her master; fancied
his head was too low, beat up the pillows, and took care of him like a
bride of yesterday. The poor creature received it with a rush of
feeling.
"We owe you much gratitude, mademoiselle," said Agathe, "for the
proofs of attachment you have so long given to my brother, and for the
way in which you watch over his happiness."
"That is true, my dear Agathe," said the old man; "she has taught me
what happiness is; she is a woman of excellent qualities."
"And therefore, my dear brother, you ought to have recompensed
Mademoiselle by making her your wife. Yes! I am too sincere in my
religion not to wish to see you obey the precepts of the church. You
would each be more tranquil in mind if you were not at variance with
morality and the laws. I have come here, dear brother, to ask for help
in my affliction; but do not suppose that we wish to make any
remonstrance as to the manner in which you may dispose of your
property--"
"Madame," said Flore, "we know how unjust your father was to you.
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