enis and Blaise, and the latter's wife Charlotte, were
expected, together with the godparents. Beauchene, the godfather,
had selected Madame Seguin as his _commere_, for, since the death of
Maurice, Constance shuddered at the bare thought of touching a child.
At the same time she had promised to be present at the lunch, and thus
there would be ten of them, sufficient to fill the little dining-room of
the modest flat in the Rue de La Boetie, where the young couple resided
pending fortune's arrival.

It was a very pleasant morning. Although Mathieu and Marianne had been
unwilling to set aside their black garments even for this rejoicing,
they ended by evincing some gentle gayety before the cradle of that
little grandson, whose advent brought them a renewal of hope. Early in
the winter a fresh bereavement had fallen on the family; Blaise had lost
his little Christophe, then two and a half years old, through an attack
of croup. Charlotte, however, was already at that time again _enceinte_,
and thus the grief of the first days had turned to expectancy fraught
with emotion.

The little flat in the Rue de La Boetie seemed very bright and fragrant;
it was perfumed by the fair grace of Andree and illumined by the
victorious charm of Ambroise, that handsome loving couple who, arm in
arm, had set out so bravely to conquer the world. During the lunch, too,
there was the formidable appetite and jovial laughter of Beauchene,
who gave the greatest attention to his _commere_ Valentine, jesting
and paying her the most extravagant court, which afforded her much
amusement, prone as she still was to play a girlish part, though she
was already forty-five and a grandmother like Marianne. Constance alone
remained grave, scarce condescending to bend her thin lips into a faint
smile, while a shadow of deep pain passed over her withered face every
time that she glanced round that gay table, whence new strength, based
on the invincible future, arose in spite of all the recent mourning.

At about three o'clock Blaise rose from the table, refusing to allow
Beauchene to take any more Chartreuse.

"It's true, he is right, my children," Beauchene ended by exclaiming
in a docile way. "We are very comfortable here, but it is absolutely
necessary that we should return to the works. And we must deprive you
of Denis, for we need his help over a big building affair. That's how we
are, we others, we don't shirk duty."

Constance had also risen. "The car