I shall have nothing to say against it; provided the honor
of the Bridaus is untouched."
Gilet could look at the lieutenant-colonel as much as he pleased, for
Philippe pointedly avoided casting his eyes in his direction. Max,
though the blood boiled in his veins, was too well aware of the
importance of behaving with political prudence--which occasionally
resembles cowardice--to take fire like a young man; he remained,
therefore, perfectly calm and cold.
"It wouldn't be right, monsieur," said Flore, "to live on sixty francs
a month under the nose of an uncle who has forty thousand francs a
year, and who has already behaved so kindly to Captain Gilet, his
natural relation, here present--"
"Yes, Philippe," cried the old man, "you must see that!"
On Flore's presentation, Philippe made a half-timid bow to Max.
"Uncle, I have some pictures to return to you; they are now at
Monsieur Hochon's. Will you be kind enough to come over some day and
identify them."
Saying these last words in a curt tone, lieutenant-colonel Philippe
Bridau departed. The tone of his visit made, if possible, a deeper
impression on Flore's mind, and also on that of Max, than the shock
they had felt at the first sight of that horrible campaigner. As soon
as Philippe had slammed the door, with the violence of a disinherited
heir, Max and Flore hid behind the window-curtains to watch him as he
crossed the road, to the Hochons'.
"What a vagabond!" exclaimed Flore, questioning Max with a glance of
her eye.
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