ng their arrival
by trumpet-blasts, two or three vehicles of the Coaching Club, headed
by that of the Duc de Mont had discharged a number of pretty passengers,
whose presence soon caused the halt of many gay cavaliers.

Several groups were formed, commenting on the news of the day, the
scandal of the day before, the fete announced for the next day.

More serious than the others, the group surrounding Madame de Montgeron
strolled along under the trees in the side paths which, in their
windings, often came alongside of the bridle-path.

"What has become of Mademoiselle de Vermont, Duchess?" inquired Madame
de Lisieux, who had been surprised not to find Zibeline riding with
their party.

"She is in the country, surrounded by masons, occupied in the building
of our Orphan Asylum. The time she required before making over the
property to us expires in two weeks."

"It is certainly very singular that we do not know where we are to go
for the ceremonies of inauguration," said Madame Desvanneaux, in her
usual vinegary tones.

"I feel at liberty to tell you that the place is not far away, and the
journey thence will not fatigue you," said the president, with the air
of one who has long known what she has not wished to reveal heretofore.

"The question of fatigue should not discourage us when it is a matter of
doing good," said M. Desvanneaux. "Only, in the opinion of the founders
of the Orphan Asylum, it should be situated in the city of Paris
itself."

"The donor thought that open fields and fresh air would be better for
the children."

"Land outside of Paris costs very much less, of course; that is probably
the real reason," said M. Desvanneaux.

"Poor Zibeline! you are well hated!" Madame de Nointel could not help
saying.

"We neither like nor dislike her, Madame. We regard her as indifferently
as we do that," the churchwarden replied, striking down a branch with
the end of his stick, with the superb air of a Tarquin.

Still gesticulating, he continued:

"The dust that she throws in the eyes of others does not blind us, that
is all!"

The metaphor was not exactly happy, for at that instant the unlucky man
received full in his face a broadside of gravel thrown by the hoofs of a
horse which had been frightened by the flourishing stick, and which had
responded to the menace by a violent kick.

This steed was none other than Seaman, ridden by Mademoiselle de
Vermont. She had recognized the Duchess and turned he