dling up; then, with an ingenuous air:

"What is this lady's name?"

"It is unknown; she was one of the Regent's mistresses, you know; he who
played so many pranks."

"I believe you; the memoirs of the time----"

And the notary, without giving her time to finish the sentence, deplored
this example of a prince carried away by his passions.

"But you are all like that!"

The two gentlemen protested, and then followed a dialogue on women and
on love. Marescot declared that there were many happy unions; sometimes
even, without suspecting it, we have close beside us what we require for
our happiness.

The allusion was direct. The widow's cheeks flushed scarlet; but,
recovering her composure almost the next moment:

"We are past the age for folly, are we not, M. Bouvard?"

"Ha! ha! For my part, I don't admit that."

And he offered his arm to lead her towards the adjoining room.

"Be careful about the steps. All right? Now observe the church window."

They traced on its surface a scarlet cloak and two angels' wings. All
the rest was lost under the leads which held in equilibrium the numerous
breakages in the glass. The day was declining; the shadows were
lengthening; Madame Bordin had become grave.

Bouvard withdrew, and presently reappeared muffled up in a woollen
wrapper, then knelt down at the prie-dieu with his elbows out, his face
in his hands, the light of the sun falling on his bald patch; and he was
conscious of this effect, for he said:

"Don't I look like a monk of the Middle Ages?"

Then he raised his forehead on one side, with swimming eyes, and trying
to give a mystical expression to his face. The solemn voice of Pecuchet
was heard in the corridor:

"Don't be afraid. It is I." And he entered, his head covered with a
helmet--an iron pot with pointed ear-pieces.

Bouvard did not quit the prie-dieu. The two others remained standing. A
minute slipped away in glances of amazement.

Madame Bordin appeared rather cold to Pecuchet. However he wished to
know whether everything had been shown to them.

"It seems to me so." And pointing towards the wall: "Ah! pray excuse us;
there is an object which we may restore in a moment."

The widow and Marescot thereupon took their leave. The two friends
conceived the idea of counterfeiting a competition. They set out on a
race after each other; one giving the other the start. Pecuchet won the
helmet.

Bouvard congratulated him upon it, and received praises f