Mathieu, on calling in the Avenue d’Antin, had hoped to find the Seguins assembled there.  Seguin himself had returned to Paris, nobody knew whence, a week previously, when Andree’s hand had been formally asked of him; and after an interview with his uncle Du Hordel he had evinced great willingness and cordiality.  Indeed, the wedding had immediately been fixed for the month of May, when the Froments also hoped to marry off their daughter Rose.  The two weddings, it was thought, might take place at Chantebled on the same day, which would be delightful.  This being arranged, Ambroise was accepted as fiance, and to his great delight was able to call at the Seguins’ every day, about five o’clock, to pay his court according to established usage.  It was on account of this that Mathieu fully expected to find the whole family at home.

When Constance asked for Valentine, however, a footman informed her that Madame had gone out.  And when Mathieu in his turn asked for Seguin, the man replied that Monsieur was also absent.  Only Mademoiselle was at home with her betrothed.  On learning this the visitors went upstairs.

“What! are you left all alone?” exclaimed Mathieu on perceiving the young couple seated side by side on a little couch in the big room on the first floor, which Seguin had once called his “cabinet.”

“Why, yes, we are alone in the house,” Andree answered with a charming laugh.  “We are very pleased at it.”

They looked adorable, thus seated side by side—­she so gentle, of such tender beauty—­he with all the fascinating charm that was blended with his strength.

“Isn’t Celeste there at any rate?” again inquired Mathieu.

“No, she has disappeared we don’t know where.”  And again they laughed like free frolicsome birds ensconced in the depths of some lonely forest.

“Well, you cannot be very lively all alone like this.”

“Oh! we don’t feel at all bored, we have so many things to talk about.  And then we look at one another.  And there is never an end to it all.”

Though her heart bled, Constance could not help admiring them.  Ah, to think of it!  Such grace, such health, such hope!  While in her home all was blighted, withered, destroyed, that race of Froments seemed destined to increase forever!  For this again was a conquest—­those two children left free to love one another, henceforth alone in that sumptuous mansion which to-morrow would belong to them.  Then, at another thought, Constance turned towards Mathieu:  “Are you not also marrying your eldest daughter?” she asked.

“Yes, Rose,” Mathieu gayly responded.  “We shall have a grand fete at Chantebled next May!  You must all of you come there.”

’Twas indeed as she had thought:  numbers prevailed, life proved victorious.  Chantebled had been conquered from the Seguins, and now their very house would soon be invaded by Ambroise, while the Beauchene works themselves had already half fallen into the hands of Blaise.