“Bertha was one of those persons, it seemed, who are born especially to marry millionnaires.  Without awkwardness or embarrassment, she passed easily from the humble school-room, where she had assisted her father, to the splendid drawing-room of Valfeuillu.  And when she did the honors of her chateau to all the neighboring aristocracy, it seemed as though she had never done anything else.  She knew how to remain simple, approachable, modest, all the while that she took the tone of the highest society.  She was beloved.”

“But it appears to me,” interrupted the mayor, “that I said the same thing, and it was really not worth while—­”

A gesture from M. Domini closed his mouth, and M. Plantat continued: 

“Sauvresy was also liked, for he was one of those golden hearts which know not how to suspect evil.  He was one of those men with a robust faith, with obstinate illusions, whom doubts never disturb.  He was one of those who thoroughly confide in the sincerity of their friends, in the love of their mistresses.  This new domestic household ought to be happy; it was so.  Bertha adored her husband—­ that frank man, who, before speaking to her a word of love, offered her his hand.  Sauvresy professed for his wife a worship which few thought foolish.  They lived in great style at Valfeuillu.  They received a great deal.  When autumn came all the numerous spare chambers were filled.  The turnouts were magnificent.

“Sauvresy had been married two years, when one evening he brought from Paris one of his old and intimate friends, a college comrade of whom he had often spoken, Count Hector de Tremorel.  The count intended to remain but a short time at Valfeuillu; but weeks passed and then months, and he still remained.  It was not surprising.  Hector had passed a very stormy youth, full of debauchery, of clubs, of gambling, and of amours.  He had thrown to the winds of his caprices an immense fortune; the relatively calm life of Valfeuillu was a relief.  At first people said to him, ’You will soon have enough of the country.’  He smiled, but said nothing.  It was then thought, and rightly, perhaps, that having become poor, he cared little to display his ruin before those who had obscured his splendor.  He absented himself rarely, and then only to go to Corbeil, almost always on foot.  There he frequented the Belle Image hotel, the best in the town, and met, as if by chance, a young lady from Paris.  They spent the afternoon together, and separated when the last train left.”

“Peste!” growled the mayor, “for a man who lives alone, who sees nobody, who would not for the world have anything to do with other people’s business, it seems to me our dear Monsieur Plantat is pretty well informed.”

Evidently M. Courtois was jealous.  How was it that he, the first personage in the place, had been absolutely ignorant of these meetings?  His ill-humor was increasing, when Dr. Gendron answered: