scruples! does a man die because he writes a will?"
"But to speak of making a will to Monsieur de Chauvelin!"
"That's it; you are afraid to interrupt Monsieur le Marquis in his pleasures, to trouble his digestion, to vex his serenity, with that horrid word 'the future,' which always sounds like a death-knell in happy ears. Well, if you are deterred by this fear, you will ruin your children,—all to spare the Marquis's susceptibilities."
"Bonbonne!"
"My figures speak for me; read them."
"'Tis too dreadful."
"It would be more dreadful to wait for the disaster I prophesy. Play the judicious counsellor; get into your travelling coach and away to see the Marquis."
"To Paris?"
"No, to Versailles."
"And meet the society my husband frequents? Never, never!. . .",
" Write to him then."
"Will he so much as read my letter? Alas! when I write to congratulate him or wish him luck, he never reads what I say; is he likely to when I write about tiresome business matters?"
"Then a friend must undertake the task,—myself for instance."
"You?"
"You think he will not listen to me? but I can assure you, Madame, he will."
"You will make him ill, Bonbonne."
"His doctor will cure the illness."
"You will put him in a passion, and then agitation will kill him."
"Not so; I am far too anxious for him to live. If I did kill him, it would be after getting him to sign a will," and the worthy man broke into a loud laugh that was very painful to the Marquise.
"Bonbonne," she moaned, "when you speak so, it is I you are like to kill."
The Intendant took her hand respectfully. "Forgive me," he said, "I forget myself, Madame la Marquise; tell them to put the horses in the coach, I am going to Versailles."
"Thank God for it! You will take my account books with you, and . . . look, look!"
"What is it?"
"Can my orders have been attended to already?"
"In what way?"
"You spoke of my coach, and lo! there it is, in the Grand Avenue."
"Can it be?"
"Sir, the Chauvelin liveries!"
"It is the Marquis's dark greys."
"Madame, Madame!" the Abbé V . . . was heard calling, echoed by another "Madame, Madame!" from Père Delar.
"Madame, Madame!" shouted a score of voices, in the gardens, pleasances and park.
"Mother, mother!" shrilled the children.
"The Marquis, here, at Grosbois, today? It cannot be true," faltered the Marquise.
"Good day to you, Madame," called the Marquis from the carriage window. It had just come to a halt and he was getting out with looks and gestures of alacrity.
"Himself! it is himself, sound in body and cheerful in mind; God be thanked for this!"
"God be thanked! God be thanked! " repeated the same twenty voices, all eager to welcome the master, husband and father.
CHAPTER VIII
'LIKE DICERS' OATHS'
IT was indeed the Marquis in person. Tenderly he embraced the two boys, who had given a shout of joy on seeing him, and kissed with heartfelt affection the hand of the astonished Marquise.
"You here, sir! you! " she cried, taking possession of his arm. "Yes, it is I . . . But these lads were at play or at work; I am loth to interupt their studies, and still more their games."
"Ah! sir, for the brief time they have to see you, let them have full enjoyment of your dear presence."
"God be thanked! they will have plenty of time to enjoy the sight of me."
"Plenty of time,—what, till to-morrow night? You will not be leaving us till to-morrow night?"
"Better still, Madame."
"You will be sleeping two nights at Grosbois?"
"Two nights, four nights, always."
"Ah! sir, what has happened then?" cried the Marquise eagerly, without a
