was becoming a perfect hell upon earth.  And in everything, the slightest incident, the most common-place remark, he found an opportunity for jeers and gibes.  These made Mathieu and Marianne extremely uncomfortable; but at last he let fall such a harsh expression that Valentine indignantly rebelled, and he had to apologize.  At heart he feared her, especially when the blood of the Vaugelades arose within her, and she gave him to understand, in her haughty disdainful way, that she would some day revenge herself on him for his treatment.

However, seeking another outlet for his spite and rancor, he at last turned to Mathieu, and spoke of Chantebled, saying bitterly that the game in the covers there was fast becoming scarcer and scarcer, in such wise that he now had difficulty in selling his shooting shares, so that his income from the property was dwindling every year.  He made no secret of the fact that he would much like to sell the estate, but where could he possibly find a purchaser for those unproductive woods, those sterile plains, those marshes and those tracts of gravel?

Mathieu listened to all this attentively, for during his long walks in the summer he had begun to take an interest in the estate.  “Are you really of opinion that it cannot be cultivated?” he asked.  “It’s pitiful to see all that land lying waste and idle.”

“Cultivate it!” cried Seguin.  “Ah!  I should like to see such a miracle!  The only crops that one will ever raise on it are stones and frogs.”

They had by this time eaten their dessert, and before rising from table Marianne was telling Valentine that she would much like to see and kiss her children, who had not been allowed to lunch with their elders on account of their supposed unruly ways, when a couple of visitors arrived in turn, and everything else was forgotten.  One was Santerre the novelist, who of late had seldom called on the Seguins, and the other, much to Mathieu’s dislike, proved to be Beauchene’s sister, Seraphine, the Baroness de Lowicz.  She looked at the young man in a bold, provoking, significant manner, and then, like Santerre, cast a sly glance of mocking contempt at Marianne and Valentine.  She and the novelist between them soon turned the conversation on to subjects that appealed to their vicious tastes.  And Santerre related that he had lately seen Doctor Gaude perform several operations at the Marbeuf Hospital.  He had found there the usual set of society men who attend first performances at the theatres, and indeed there were also some women present.

And then he enlarged upon the subject, giving the crudest and most precise particulars, much to the delight of Seguin, who every now and again interpolated remarks of approval, while both Mathieu and Marianne grew more and more ill at ease.  The young woman sat looking with amazement at Santerre as he calmly recapitulated horror after horror, to the evident enjoyment of the others.  She remembered having