It had been arranged that the bride and bridegroom should pass their honeymoon in Brittany, and then return to Danville’s estate near Lyons.  The parting was hurried over, as all such partings should be.  The carriage had driven off; Trudaine, after lingering long to look after it, had returned hastily to the house; the very dust of the whirling wheels had all dispersed; there was absolutely nothing to see; and yet there stood Monsieur Lomaque at the outer gate; idly, as if he was an independent man—­calmly, as if no such responsibilities as the calling of Madame Danville’s coach, and the escorting of Madame Danville back to Lyons, could possibly rest on his shoulders.

Idly and calmly, slowly rubbing his hands one over the other, slowly nodding his head in the direction by which the bride and bridegroom had departed, stood the eccentric land-steward at the outer gate.  On a sudden the sound of footsteps approaching from the house seemed to arouse him.  Once more he looked out into the road, as if he expected still to see the carriage of the newly-married couple.  “Poor girl! ah, poor girl!” said Monsieur Lomaque softly to himself, turning round to ascertain who was coming from the house.

It was only the postman with a letter in his hand, and the post-bag crumpled up under his arm.

“Any fresh news from Paris, friend?” asked Lomaque.

“Very bad, monsieur,” answered the postman.  “Camille Desmoulins has appealed to the people in the Palais Royal; there are fears of a riot.”

“Only a riot!” repeated Lomaque, sarcastically.  “Oh, what a brave Government not to be afraid of anything worse!  Any letters?” he added, hastily dropping the subject.

“None to the house,” said the postman, “only one from it, given me by Monsieur Trudaine.  Hardly worth while,” he added, twirling the letter in his hand, “to put it into the bag, is it?”

Lomaque looked over his shoulder as he spoke, and saw that the letter was directed to the President of the Academy of Sciences, Paris.

“I wonder whether he accepts the place or refuses it?” thought the land-steward, nodding to the postman, and continuing on his way back to the house.

At the door he met Trudaine, who said to him, rather hastily, “You are going back to Lyons with Madame Danville, I suppose?”

“This very day,” answered Lomaque.

“If you should hear of a convenient bachelor lodging, at Lyons, or near it,” continued the other, dropping his voice and speaking more rapidly than before, “you would be doing me a favor if you would let me know about it.”

Lomaque assented; but before he could add a question which was on the tip of his tongue, Trudaine had vanished in the interior of the house.

“A bachelor lodging!” repeated the land-steward, standing alone on the doorstep.  “At or near Lyons!  Aha!  Monsieur Trudaine, I put your bachelor lodging and your talk to me last night together, and I make out a sum total which is, I think, pretty near the mark.  You have refused that Paris appointment, my friend; and I fancy I can guess why.”