Rawdon's eyes opened wide. "Where did you get all that?" he asked.

"And the best joke of all is this," said Becky, holding up a particularly thick bunch of bank-notes.

Becky rejoined her husband at Cambray, a town some miles north of Paris. When she left Brussels, careful little woman that she was, she travelled with all her valuables sewn into her clothes. On meeting Rawdon, she unsewed herself and brought out all the jewellery, cheques, and bank-notes hidden in her long skirts.

Captain Rawdon Crawley, although a big man and so an easy mark for a shot, returned safe and well from the Battle of Waterloo. Indeed, his bravery on the battlefield was so great that it brought him promotion to Colonel Crawley.

Rawdon roared with delighted laughter. "This is better than a play at the theatre!" he said.

"By selling your horses to Joseph Sedley. You should have seen him! He was in such a dreadful hurry to run away from Napoleon that he didn't care what he paid."

The army marched to Paris, and Becky and Rawdon passed the winter of 1815 there, living in fine style. In fact, the money that poor Jos Sedley had paid for those horses was enough to support the Crawleys for at least a year.

"Becky, you're a wonder," said her husband.

"The Colonel has brought fame to the name of Crawley," she said. "Don't you feel a little sympathy for your brave nephew?"

They continued, of course, to have high hopes of Miss Matilda Crawley, and indeed it was well known in Paris that Colonel Rawdon and his so charming wife expected to inherit a large fortune from the gentleman's aunt.

The gentleman's aunt, however, took a different view of the matter. Miss Briggs, her faithful companion, had been deeply impressed by Colonel Rawdon's bravery at Waterloo.

"Briggs, you're a fool," said Miss Crawley. "The Colonel has brought shame to the name of Crawley. He could have married into a good family -- but no, he married a drawing-teacher's daughter, a nobody. She was just what you are, Briggs, only younger and a great deal prettier and cleverer. Rawdon would have had my money one day. But not now. Oh no!"

The truth was that Miss Crawley had a new favourite now, her dear niece-to-be, Lady Jane. Mr Pitt Crawley, Rawdon's older brother, had for some time been visiting his aunt quite frequently. He introduced her to his bride-to-be, Lady Jane, a pleasant, kindly young woman, who was from a grand and well-connected family. Miss Crawley approved of the family, approved of Lady Jane, and approved of the marriage.

And then, in the spring of 1816, Miss Briggs read out to her this announcement in the London newspaper:

She received many amusing letters from Rawdon in Paris (written, of course, by Becky), but however amusing the letters were, they did not soften her heart. Moreover, she heard from an old friend in Paris that Becky was shamelessly using Miss Crawley's name to gain acceptance in Parisian society. This made Miss Crawley wild with anger.

BIRTHS

TO COLONEL AND MRS RAWDON CRAWLEY, A SON

Miss Crawley's fury with Rawdon rose to new heights, and she sent for Pitt Crawley.

Unaware of the end of their financial hopes, Rawdon and Becky continued to live an easy, pleasant life in Paris. Their little son, also called Rawdon, spent the first eighteen months of his life with a nurse in a village, thus enabling his mother to continue with her brilliant social life in the city. The Colonel, however, was a fond father, often riding out to visit little Rawdon.

"You must marry Lady Jane at once," she said. "I will give you and my dear niece a thousand pounds a year during my lifetime, and when I die, the two of you will inherit everything."

With such encouragement the marriage was soon completed, and the happy couple went to live with their affectionate aunt.

As time went on, Becky saw that their easy, pleasant life could not continue. Their money was nearly all gone, they were deeply in debt, and although Rawdon's great skill at billiards and cards gave him many gambling successes, it was not a reliable income. Indeed, many young officers now left Mrs Crawley's parties with sad faces, having lost rather too much money at her card-tables. Warnings were whispered to the inexperienced, and her house began to have an unfortunate reputation.

"That's true," said Rawdon gloomily. "Some of the fellows I play with are not so keen on playing as they used to be."

At this point news reached Paris of Miss Crawley's death, delighting the many people to whom the Crawleys owed money. Naturally, the Crawleys hurried back to London to collect the enormous inheritance that the Colonel was expecting. They would soon return to Paris, Mrs Crawley told everyone, to pay all their bills, and to rent a grander house. As evidence of this intention, they left behind several boxes of possessions -- which were later opened and found to be full of worthless rubbish.

"We must think about the future," Becky said to Rawdon. "Gambling is good to help your income, my dear, but not as an income itself. One day people may grow tired of gambling, and then where will we be?"

"You must leave the army, and we must go back to England," Becky said. "We must find you a government appointment in London, or perhaps a position as a Governor abroad."

No such inheritance, of course, was waiting for the Crawleys in London, but they rented a charming little house in Curzon Street and began a new life. Their unfortunate landlord received no rent, their servants no wages, and the suppliers of food and wine and dresses and carriages were not paid either. But the Crawleys lived well, and once again their debts grew and grew.

"You can't shoot me into society, my dear," said Becky, smiling. "Remember that I was only a governess before, and you, you poor silly boy, have the worst reputation for debt, and gambling, and all sorts of wickedness."

Becky's social success was not the same in London, however. The grand English ladies who had been pleased to know her in Paris now turned cold, unsmiling faces away when they saw her.

This made Rawdon furious. "I'll make these women respect you," he said. "I'll fight their husbands, their brothers, and -- and shoot the lot of them!"

"Nonsense! While there is life there is hope, my dear, and I intend to make a man of you yet. Who sold your horses for you in Brussels? Who stopped you shouting the news all round Paris that your aunt had left everything to Pitt and Lady Jane?"

"What are we to do then? We'll be ruined," said Rawdon.

"That damned brother of mine!" said Rawdon. "Why should that pale-faced idiot and his boring little wife get everything, eh?"

Colonel Rawdon Crawley had survived the Battle of Waterloo, and so had William Dobbin, now promoted from Captain to Major. But many other officers had not survived, and when the news of George Osborne's death was brought to Amelia, it nearly killed her. For weeks she lay in a darkened room while doctors feared for her life. Eventually, she left her bed, and began living again. But sorrow had changed her. Her face was white and thin, her eyes empty of expression, and she accepted friendship and kindness without complaint, and without interest.

"Losing your temper again won't get us your aunt's money," said his wife calmly. "We need to be friends with your brother's family, and this is what you must do. You must write a nice letter to Pitt. You will congratulate him on his good fortune. You will be full of affection for your brother, respect for his wife, and kindness for their children. And you will beg their friendship for us and our little boy. Come -- sit down and write it now."

It was indeed Mr Osborne. His son's death had been a terrible shock to him, and he had never spoken his name, not even when he received George's last letter, written the night before the battle. The poor boy wrote that he wished to say goodbye to his father and, if anything should happen to him, he begged his father to take care of his wife, and perhaps, his child. A few months later, Mr Osborne announced that he was going abroad, and his daughters had little doubt that he would go to Brussels.

He had visited his son's grave, seen the battlefield where his son died, and was returning to his hotel when he passed Amelia's carriage. She was so changed that he did not recognize her until he saw Dobbin at her side. For a second he stared at her, then he called to his servant to drive on.

Throughout this time, Dobbin was never far away from her, and always accompanied her when she went for a drive. One day he was riding as usual by the side of her carriage when he thought he saw George's father in a carriage coming towards them.

But Dobbin rode after him. Amelia, poor girl, had neither recognized her father-in-law, nor noticed that Dobbin had gone.

"Mr Osborne, Mr Osborne!" cried Dobbin, riding up beside him and holding out his hand. Osborne made no move to take it, and shouted again to his servant to drive on.

"From that woman?" said Osborne fiercely.

Dobbin laid his hand on the side of the carriage. "I will see you, sir," he said. "I have a message for you."

"I am here as George's closest friend," Dobbin began when they were face to face. "He left hardly any money when he died. Are you aware how little his widow has to live on?"

"No," replied Dobbin. "From your son."

Mr Osborne fell back in his carriage, but said nothing. Dobbin rode behind him and then followed him into his hotel.

"I don't know his widow, sir," said Osborne. "Let her go back to her father."

"Do you know, sir, Mrs Osborne's condition?" Dobbin went on. "She has been very ill. In fact, she may die. There is just one thing which may save her. She will soon be a mother. Will you not forgive the child for poor George's sake?"

Our friend Dobbin was one of them. It was he who brought her back to England, and home to her parents. He visited them every day, and brought gifts for the child, and sometimes he was allowed to hold the baby. Amelia wrapped her child in love, and Dobbin could see that there was no place for him in her heart. He bore this knowledge gently, without complaining.

But Major Dobbin did not tell Amelia about his meeting with Mr Osborne. She would not have cared, for her thoughts were only for her dead husband. But the day came when the poor widowed girl held a child in her arms, a child with the eyes of George who was gone -- a beautiful little boy. How she laughed and wept over this baby! And what joy it gave her friends to see her eyes once again shining with love.

One day he arrived carrying toys for little Georgy -- a wooden horse, a trumpet, and all kinds of warlike toys. The landlord's little daughter, who was often with Amelia and was one of the few people allowed to play with the baby, laughed, as Georgy was only six months old, much too young for such toys.

Osborne stared at Dobbin angrily. "My son was a disobedient fool, and he brought this on himself. I am a man of my word. I swore I would never speak to that woman, nor recognize her as my son's wife, and that is what you may tell her."

"Goodbye? Where are you going?" she said, with a smile.

"To India, with the regiment," he said. "You will write to me, won't you? I'll be away a long time."

The child was asleep. "Hush!" said Amelia as Dobbin came in.

"I have come to say goodbye, Amelia," he said quietly.

Amelia looked up at Dobbin, her face bright with motherly pride, and he saw that his leaving meant nothing to her. For a moment he could not speak; then, "Goodbye," he said.

"I'll write to you about Georgy," she said. "Dear William, you have been so kind to us. Look at him. Isn't he wonderful?"

"Goodbye," said Amelia, and held up her face and kissed him.

"Hush! Don't wake Georgy!" she added, as Dobbin went to the door with heavy steps. She did not hear his carriage drive away; she was looking at the child, who was laughing in his sleep.