“You don’t say so!” said Madame de Kergarouet.  “Poor lady! is she legally separated?”

“No, by mutual consent,” replied Camille.

“Ah, well!  I understand that,” said the viscountess boldly.

Old Mademoiselle de Pen-Hoel, furious at being thus dragged into the enemy’s camp, had retreated to a short distance with her dear Charlotte.  Calyste, after looking about him to make sure that no one could see him, seized the hand of the marquise, kissed it, and left a tear upon it.  Beatrix turned round, her tears dried by anger; she was about to utter some terrible word, but it died upon her lips as she saw the grief on the angelic face of the youth, as deeply touched by her present sorrow as she was herself.

“Good heavens, Calyste!” said Camille in his ear, as he returned with Madame de Rochefide, “are you to have that for a mother-in-law, and the little one for a wife?”

“Because her aunt is rich,” replied Calyste, sarcastically.

The whole party now moved toward the inn, and the viscountess felt herself obliged to make Camille a speech on the savages of Saint-Nazaire.

“I love Brittany, madame,” replied Camille, gravely.  “I was born at Guerande.”

Calyste could not help admiring Mademoiselle des Touches, who, by the tone of her voice, the tranquillity of her look, and her quiet manner, put him at his ease, in spite of the terrible declarations of the preceding night.  She seemed, however, a little fatigued; her eyes were enlarged by dark circles round them, showing that he had not slept; but the brow dominated the inward storm with cold placidity.

“What queens!” he said to Charlotte, calling her attention to the marquise and Camille as he gave the girl his arm, to Mademoiselle de Pen-Hoel’s great satisfaction.

“What an idea your mother has had,” said the old maid, taking her niece’s other arm, “to put herself in the company of that reprobate woman!”

“Oh, aunt, a woman who is the glory of Brittany!”

“The shame, my dear.  Mind that you don’t fawn upon her in that way.”

“Mademoiselle Charlotte is right,” said Calyste; “you are not just.”

“Oh, you!” replied Mademoiselle de Pen-Hoel, “she has bewitched you.”

“I regard her,” said Calyste, “with the same friendship that I feel for you.”

“Since when have the du Guenics taken to telling lies?” asked the old maid.

“Since the Pen-Hoels have grown deaf,” replied Calyste.

“Are you not in love with her?” demanded the old maid.

“I have been, but I am so no longer,” he said.

“Bad boy! then why have you given us such anxiety?  I know very well that love is only foolishness; there is nothing solid but marriage,” she remarked, looking at Charlotte.

Charlotte, somewhat reassured, hoped to recover her advantages by recalling the memories of childhood.  She leaned affectionately on Calyste’s arm, who resolved in his own mind to have a clear explanation with the little heiress.