red
the room, throwing back his shoulders. Tightly buttoned up in his
travelling redingote, and balancing with ease a small gray hat, he bowed
respectfully to the two ladies and then assumed a pose a la Van Dyke.

Constance was so frightened at the sight of this imposing figure that,
instead of jumping at the newcomer's legs, as was her custom, she
sheltered herself under her mistress's chair, uttering low growls; at
first glance the latter shared, if not the terror, at least the aversion
of her dog. Among her numerous antipathies, Mademoiselle de Corandeuil
detested a beard. This was a common sentiment with all old ladies, who
barely tolerated moustaches: "Gentlemen did not wear them in 1780," they
would say.

Marillac's eyes turned involuntarily toward the portraits, and other
picturesque details of a room which was worthy the attention of a
connoisseur; but he felt that the moment was not opportune for indulging
in artistic contemplation, and that he must leave the dead for the
living.

"Ladies," said he, "I ought, first of all, to ask your pardon for thus
intruding without having had the honor of an introduction. I hoped to
find here Monsieur de Bergenheim, with whom I am on very intimate terms.
I was told that he was at the chateau."

"My husband's friends do not need to be presented at his house," said
Clemence; "Monsieur de Bergenheim probably will return soon." And with a
gracious gesture she motioned the visitor to a seat.

"Your name is not unknown to me," said Mademoiselle de Corandeuil in her
turn, having succeeded in calming Constance's agitation. "I remember
having heard Monsieur de Bergenheim mention you often."

"We were at college together, although I am a few years younger than
Christian."

"But," exclaimed Madame de Bergenheim, struck by some sudden thought,
"there is more than a college friendship between you. Are you not,
Monsieur, the person who saved my husband's life in 1830?"

Marillac smiled, bowed his head, and seated himself. Mademoiselle de
Corandeuil herself could not but graciously greet her nephew's preserver,
had he had a moustache as long as that of the Shah of Persia, who ties
his in a bow behind his neck.

After the exchange of a few compliments, Madame de Bergenheim, with the
amiability of a mistress of the house who seeks subjects of conversation
that may show off to best advantage the persons she receives, continued:

"My husband does not like to talk of himself, and ne