In her little, white, bare chamber, confined to her old armchair, she laughed with delight when the Abbe Cornille brought to her the list of the distributions he had made.

"Give more! Give more!" she cried, as it seemed to her as if not enough were done.

She would, in reality, have liked to have seen the Pere Mascart seated for ever at a table before a princely banquet; the Chouteaux living in palatial luxury; the _mere_ Gabet cured of her rheumatism, and by the aid of money to have renewed her youth.

As for the Lemballeuse, the mother and daughters, she absolutely wished to load them with silk dresses and jewellery.

The hail of golden pieces redoubled over the town as in fairy-tales, far beyond the daily necessities, as if merely for the beauty and joy of seeing the triumphal golden glory, thrown from full hands, falling into the street and glittering in the great sunlight of charity.
At last, on the eve of the happy day, everything was in readiness.
Felicien had bought a large house on the Rue Magloire, at the back of the Bishop's palace, which had been fitted up and furnished most luxuriously.