“So much the better, my dear Hector, so much the better.  But you know, the first thing is to engage Laurence’s affections; her father adores her, and would not, I am sure, give her to a man whom she herself had not chosen.”

“Don’t disturb yourself,” answered Hector, with a gesture of triumph, “she will love me.”

The next day he took occasion to encounter M. Courtois, who invited him to dinner.  The count employed all his practised seductions on Laurence, which were so brilliant and able that they were well fitted to surprise and dazzle a young girl.  It was not long before the count was the hero of the mayor’s household.  Nothing formal had been said, nor any direct allusion or overture made; yet M. Courtois was sure that Hector would some day ask his daughter’s hand, and that he should freely answer, “yes;” while he thought it certain that Laurence would not say “no.”

Bertha suspected nothing; she was now very much worried about Jenny, and saw nothing else.  Sauvresy, after spending an evening with the count at the mayor’s, during which Hector had not once quitted the whist-table, decided to speak to his wife of the proposed marriage, which he thought would give her an agreeable surprise.  At his first words, she grew pale.  Her emotion was so great that, seeing she would betray herself, she hastily retired to her boudoir.  Sauvresy, quietly seated in one of the bedroom arm-chairs, continued to expatiate on the advantages of such a marriage—­raising his voice, so that Bertha might hear him in the neighboring room.

“Do you know,” said he, “that our friend has an income of sixty thousand crowns?  We’ll find an estate for him near by, and then we shall see him and his wife every day.  They will be very pleasant society for us in the autumn months.  Hector is a fine fellow, and you’ve often told me how charming Laurence is.”

Bertha did not reply.  This unexpected blow was so terrible that she could not think clearly, and her brain whirled.

“You don’t say anything,” pursued Sauvresy.  “Don’t you approve of my project?  I thought you’d be enchanted with it.”

She saw that if she were silent any longer, her husband would go in and find her sunk upon a chair, and would guess all.  She made an effort and said, in a strangled voice, without attaching any sense to her words: 

“Yes, yes; it is a capital idea.”

“How you say that!  Do you see any objections?”

She was trying to find some objection, but could not.

“I have a little fear of Laurence’s future,” said she at last.

“Bah!  Why?”

“I only say what I’ve heard you say.  You told me that Monsieur Tremorel has been a libertine, a gambler, a prodigal—­”

“All the more reason for trusting him.  His past follies guarantee his future prudence.  He has received a lesson which he will not forget.  Besides, he will love his wife.”