‘Mademoiselle,’ said the notary haughtily, ’I was proposing nothing but justice; but it is no affair of mine.’  And with that he went out brusquely—­very brusquely for a gentleman of such polite manners.

‘I am astonished at you, Marie,’ said Madame Verine.  This was true, but it was meant as a reproach.

‘She is beside herself with compassion,’ said the Russian lady; ’but that is just what men of the world despise most.’

Then Marie went to her room weeping, and the two ladies talked to Celeste till her soft face had hard lines about the mouth and her eyes were defiant.  Young Fernand slipped out and went again to the market-place.

‘I come to ask your aid, monsieur the notary.’

‘I do not advise you.’

‘But, monsieur, to whom else can I apply?’

‘I am too busy,’ said the notary.

Fernand and Celeste walked back to their village, hand in hand, both downcast, both peevish, but still together.

Now the notary was not what might be called a bad man himself, but he believed that the world was very bad.  He had seen much to confirm this belief, and had not looked in the right place to find any facts that would contradict it.  This belief had made him hard and sometimes even dishonest in his dealings with men; for what is the use of being good in a world that can neither comprehend goodness nor admire it?  On the whole, the notary was much better satisfied with himself than with human nature around him, although, if he had only known it, he himself had grown to be the reflex—­the image as in a mirror—­of what he thought other men were; it is always so.  There was just this much truth in him at the bottom of his scorn and grumbling—­he flattered himself that if he could see undoubted virtue he could admire it; and there was in him that possibility of grace.

After he left Madame Verine’s door he thought with irritation of the girl who had rebuked him.  Then he began to remember that she was only a woman and very young, and she had appealed to his heart—­ah, yes, he had a heart.  After all, he was not sure but that her appeal was charming.  Then he thought of her with admiration.  This was not the result of Marie’s words—­words in themselves are nothing; it is the personality of the speaker that makes them live or die, and personality is strongest when nourished long in virtue and silence and prayer.  When it came to pass that the notary actually did the thing Marie told him to do, he began to think of her even with tenderness in his heart.

Now a very strange thing happened.  In about a week the notary called on Madame Verine a second time; he greeted her with all ceremony, and then he sat down on a little stiff chair and explained his business in his own brief, dry way.

Marie was not there.  The little salon, all polished and shining, gave faint lights and shadows in answer to every movement of its inmates.  Madame Verine, in a voluminous silk gown, sat all attention, looking at the notary; she thought he was a very fine man, quite a great personage, and undoubtedly handsome.