Valentine might have soothed the sorrow of the faithful servant, by telling him Gaston still lived; but she feared it would be indiscreet, and, unfortunately, said nothing.

“Can I see M. Louis?” she asked after a long silence.

This question seemed to arouse all the anger slumbering in the breast of poor St. Jean.

“You!  You would dare take such a step, Mlle. de la Verberie?  What! would you presume to appear before him after what has happened?  I will never allow it!  And you had best, moreover, take my advice, and return home at once.  I will not answer for the tongues of the servants here, when they see you.”

And, without waiting for an answer, he hurried away.

What could Valentine do?  Humiliated and miserable, she could only wearily drag her aching limbs back the way she had so rapidly come early that morning.  On the road, she met many people coming from the town, where they had heard of the events of the previous night; and the poor girl was obliged to keep her eyes fastened to the ground in order to escape the insulting looks and mocking salutations with which the gossips passed her.

When Valentine reached La Verberie, she found Mihonne waiting for her.

“Ah, mademoiselle,” she said, “make haste, and go in the house.  Madame had a visitor this morning, and ever since she left has been crying out for you.  Hurry; and take care what you say to her, for she is in a violent passion.”

Much has been said in favor of the patriarchal manners of our ancestors.

Their manners may have been patriarchal years and years ago; but our mothers and wives nowadays certainly have not such ready hands and quick tongues, and are sometimes, at least, elegant in manner, and choice in their language.

Mme. de La Verberie had preserved the manners of the good old times, when grand ladies swore like troopers, and impressed their remarks by slaps in the face.

When Valentine appeared, she was overwhelmed with coarse epithets and violent abuse.

The countess had been informed of everything, with many gross additions added by public scandal.  An old dowager, her most intimate friend, had hurried over early in the morning, to offer her this poisoned dish of gossip, seasoned with her own pretended condolences.

In this sad affair, Mme. de la Verberie mourned less over her daughter’s loss of reputation, than over the ruin of her own projects—­projects of going to Paris, making a grand marriage for Valentine, and living in luxury the rest of her days.

A young girl so compromised would not find it easy to get a husband.  It would now be necessary to keep her two years longer in the country, before introducing her into Parisian society.  The world must have time to forget this scandal.

“You worthless wretch!” cried the countess with fury; “is it thus you respect the noble traditions of our family?  Heretofore it has never been considered necessary to watch the La Verberies; they could take care of their honor:  but you must take advantage of your liberty to cover our name with disgrace!”