You are still in favour with the king of--I will not name him here ?' 'Still, madame,' I answered, looking steadily at mademoiselle, though my face burned.
'You are still--he consults you, Gaston ?' 'Still, madame.' My mother heaved a happy sigh, and sank lower in the bed.

'And your employments ?' she murmured, her voice trembling with gratification.
'They have not been reduced?
You still retain them, Gaston ?' 'Still, madame,' I answered, the perspiration standing on my brow, my shame almost more than I could bear.
'Twelve thousand livres a year, I think ?' 'The same, madame.' 'And your establishment?
How many do you keep now?
Your valet, of course?
And lackeys--how many at present ?' She glanced, with an eye of pride, while she waited for my answer, first at the two silent figures by the fire, then at the poverty-stricken room; as if the sight of its bareness heightened for her the joy of my prosperity.
She had no suspicion of my trouble, my misery, or that the last question almost filled the cup too full.

Hitherto all had been easy, but this seemed to choke me.

I stammered and lost my voice.

Mademoiselle, her head bowed, was gazing into the fire.