“You are out of your mind, my dear Abbé Chaperon.”
“You must think of it, madame, and God grant that your son may in future so conduct himself as to win this old man’s esteem!”
“If it were not you, Monsieur le Curé,” said Madame de Portenduère, “if anybody else were to speak to me so—”
“You would not see him again,” said the Abbé Chaperon, smiling. “Let us hope that your dear son will tell you what goes on in Paris in the way of marriages. You will think of Savinien’s happiness, and, after having already compromised his future, will not prevent him from creating himself a position.”
“And it is you who say this to me!”
“If I did not say it to you, who would?” cried the priest, rising and beating a hasty retreat.
The curé saw Ursule and her godfather walking round the courtyard. The tender-hearted doctor had been so much teased by his goddaughter that he had just yielded; she wanted to go to Paris and was giving him a thousand pretexts. He called the curé, who came, and the doctor begged him to retain all the front seats for him that same evening, if the diligence office were still open. The next day, at half-past six in the evening, the old man and the young girl arrived in Paris, where, that very evening, the doctor went to consult his notary. Political events were threatening. Several times the day before, whilst talking with the doctor, the justice of
