filled with a deep and simple joy, for in their youth they had been
intimate friends.

After the first exclamations of surprise at the changes which time had
wrought in their bodies and countenances, they told each other about
their lives since they had last met.

Joseph Mouradour, who was from the south of France, had become a
government official. His manner was frank; he spoke rapidly and without
restraint, giving his opinions without any tact. He was a Republican,
one of those good fellows who do not believe in standing on ceremony,
and who exercise an almost brutal freedom of speech.

He came to his friend's house and was immediately liked for his easy
cordiality, in spite of his radical ideas. Madame de Meroul would
exclaim:

"What a shame! Such a charming man!"

Monsieur de Meroul would say to his friend in a serious and confidential
tone of voice; "You have no idea the harm that you are doing your
country." He loved him all the same, for nothing is stronger than
the ties of childhood taken up again at a riper age. Joseph Mouradour
bantered the wife and the husband, calling them "my amiable snails," and
sometimes he would solemnly declaim against people who were behind the
times, against old prejudices and traditions.

When he was once started on his democratic eloquence, the couple,
somewhat ill at ease, would keep silent from politeness and
good-breeding; then the husband would try to turn the conversation into
some other channel in order to avoid a clash. Joseph Mouradour was only
seen in the intimacy of the family.

Summer came. The Merouls had no greater pleasure than to receive their
friends at their country home at Tourbeville. It was a good, healthy
pleasure, the enjoyments of good people and of country proprietors. They
would meet their friends at the neighboring railroad station and would
bring them back in their carriage, always on the lookout for compliments
on the country, on its natural features, on the condition of the roads,
on the cleanliness of the farm-houses, on the size of the cattle grazing
in the fields, on everything within sight.

They would call attention to the remarkable speed with which their horse
trotted, surprising for an animal that did heavy work part of the
year behind a plow; and they would anxiously await the opinion of
the newcomer on their family domain, sensitive to the least word, and
thankful for the slightest good intention.

Joseph Mouradour was invited, and