Antonin, however, had also begun to laugh with the air of an artful idler who was more particularly attracted by the free dissipation of Paris life.  “Oh! minister?” said he, “I haven’t much taste for that.  I would much sooner win a million at once so as to rest afterwards.”

Delighted with this display of wit, the Lepailleurs burst into noisy merriment.  Oh! their boy would do great things, that was quite certain!

Marianne, her heart oppressed by thought of the mourning which awaited her, had hitherto kept silent.  She now asked, however, why little Therese did not form one of the party.  Lepailleur dryly replied that he did not choose to embarrass himself with a child but six years old, who did not know how to behave.  Her arrival had upset everything in the house; things would have been much better if she had never been born.  Then, as Marianne began to protest, saying that she had seldom seen a more intelligent and prettier little girl, Madame Lepailleur answered more gently:  “Oh! she’s sharp; that’s true enough; but one can’t send girls to Paris.  She’ll have to be put somewhere, and it will mean a lot of trouble, a lot of money.  However, we mustn’t talk about all that this morning, since we want to enjoy ourselves.”

At last the train reached Paris, and the Lepailleurs, leaving the Northern terminus, were caught and carried off by the impetuously streaming crowd.

When Mathieu and Marianne alighted from their cab on the Quai d’Orsay, in front of the Beauchenes’ residence, they recognized the Seguins’ brougham drawn up beside the foot pavement.  And within it they perceived the two girls, Lucie and Andree, waiting mute and motionless in their light-colored dresses.  Then, as they approached the door, they saw Valentine come out, in a very great hurry as usual.  On recognizing them, however, she assumed an expression of deep pity, and spoke the words required by the situation: 

“What a frightful misfortune, is it not? an only son!”

Then she burst out into a flood of words:  “You have hastened here, I see, as I did; it is only natural.  I heard of the catastrophe only by chance less than an hour ago.  And you see my luck!  My daughters were dressed, and I myself was dressing to take them to a wedding—­a cousin of our friend Santerre is marrying a diplomatist.  And, in addition, I am engaged for the whole afternoon.  Well, although the wedding is fixed for a quarter-past eleven, I did not hesitate, but drove here before going to the church.  And naturally I went upstairs alone.  My daughters have been waiting in the carriage.  We shall no doubt be a little late for the wedding.  But no matter!  You will see the poor parents in their empty house, near the body, which, I must say, they have laid out very nicely on the bed.  Oh! it is heartrending.”