Louis did not remember Mihonne.

“When can we see this Fougeroux?” he inquired.

“To-day; I will engage a boat to take us over.”

“Well, let us go now.  I have no time to lose.”

An entire generation has passed away since Louis had last crossed the Rhone in old Pilorel’s boat.

The faithful ferryman had been buried many years, and his duties were now performed by his son, who, possessing great respect for traditional opinions, was delighted at the honor of rowing the Marquis of Clameran in his boat, and soon had it ready for Louis and Joseph to take their seats.

As soon as they were fairly started, Joseph began to warn the marquis against the wily Fougeroux.

“He is a cunning fox,” said the farmer; “I have had a bad opinion of him ever since his marriage, which was a shameful affair altogether.  Mihonne was over fifty years of age, and he was only twenty-four, when he married her; so you may know it was money, and not a wife, that he wanted.  She, poor fool, believed that the young scamp really loved her, and gave herself and her money up to him.  Women will be trusting fools to the end of time!  And Fougeroux is not the man to let money lie idle.  He speculated with Mihonne’s gold, and is now very rich.  But she, poor thing, does not profit by his wealth; one can easily understand his not feeling any love for her, when she looks like his grandmother; but he deprives her of the necessaries of life, and beats her cruelly.”

“He would like to plant her six feet under ground,” said the ferryman.

“Well, it won’t be long before he has the satisfaction of burying her,” said Joseph; “the poor old woman has been in almost a dying condition ever since Fougeroux brought a worthless jade to take charge of the house, and makes his wife wait upon her like a servant.”

When they reached the opposite shore, Joseph asked young Pilorel to await their return.

Joseph knocked at the gate of the well-cultivated farm, and inquired for the master; the farm-boy said that “M.  Fougeroux” was out in the field, but he would go and tell him.

He soon appeared.  He was an ill-looking little man, with a red beard and small, restless eyes.

Although M. Fougeroux professed to despise the nobility and the clergy, the hope of driving a good bargain made him obsequious to Louis.  He insisted upon ushering his visitor into “the parlor,” with may bows and repetitions of “M. the marquis.”

Upon entering the room, he roughly ordered an old woman, who was crouching over some dying embers, to make haste and bring some wine for M. the marquis of Clameran.

At this name, the old woman started as if she had received an electric shock.  She opened her mouth to say something, but a look from her tyrant froze the words upon her lips.  With a frightened air she hobbled out to obey his orders, and in a few minutes returned with a bottle of wine and three glasses.