ed the room, and
stood blushing with confusion at sight of the stranger.

"This is my wife, monsieur," said Joseph, leading her toward Louis, "but
I have not given her time to put on her finery. This is M. the marquis,
Antoinette."

The farmer's wife bowed, and, having nothing to say, gracefully uplifted
her brow upon which the marquis pressed a kiss.

"You will see the children in a few minutes, M. the marquis," said
Joseph; "I have sent to the school for them."

The worthy couple overwhelmed the marquis with attentions.

After so long a walk he must be hungry, they said; he must take a glass
of wine now, and breakfast would soon be ready; they would be so proud
and happy if M. the marquis would partake of a country breakfast!

Louis willingly accepted their invitation; and Joseph went to the cellar
after the wine, while Toinette ran to catch her fattest pullet.

In a short time, Louis sat down to a table laden with the best of
everything on the farm, waited upon by Joseph and his wife, who watched
him with respectful interest and awe.

The children came running in from school, smeared with the juice of
berries. After Louis had embraced them they stood off in a corner, and
gazed at him with eyes wide open, as if he were a rare curiosity.

The important news had spread, and a number of villagers and countrymen
appeared at the open door, to speak to the Marquis of Clameran.

"I am such a one, M. the marquis; don't you remember me?" "Ah! I should
have recognized you anywhere." "The late marquis was very good to me."
Another would say, "Don't you remember the time when you lent me your
gun to go hunting?"

Louis welcomed with secret delight all these protestations and proofs of
devotion which had not chilled with time.

The kindly voices of these honest people recalled many pleasant moments
of the past, and made him feel once more the fresh sensations of his
youth.

Here, at least, no echoes of his stormy life had been heard; no
suspicions of his shameful career were entertained by these humble
villagers on the borders of the Rhone.

He, the adventurer, the bully, the base accomplice of London swindlers,
delighted in these marks of respect and veneration, bestowed upon him as
the representative of the house of Clameran; it seemed to make him
once more feel a little self-respect, as if the future were not utterly
hopeless.

Ah, had he possessed only a quarter of his squandered inheritance, how
happy he wo