Bachelin took respectful leave of his noble clients, and hurried off to Pont Avesnes as fast as his legs could carry him.

II.—­M.  Derblay’s Passion

It was really M. Derblay whom the Marquis de Beaulieu had met in the woods of Pont Avesnes.  Letting Octave call after him as loud as he liked, he hurried on through the woods.  Chance had brought him nearer to the woman he adored from afar, in a dream as it were, and his heart was full of joy.  He, Philippe, might approach her—­he would be able to speak to her.  But at the thought of the Duc de Bligny, a feeling of deep sadness overcame him, and his strength waned.

He recalled to mind all the exploits of his life, and asked himself if, in virtue of the task he had accomplished, he were not really deserving of happiness.  After very brilliant studies, he had left the polytechnic school with first honours, and had chosen the state mining service when the Franco-German war had broken out.  He was then two-and-twenty, and had just obtained an appointment, but at once enlisted as a volunteer.  He served with distinction, and when at last he started for home he wore on his breast the ribbon of the Legion of Honour.  He found the house in mourning.  His mother had just died, and his little sister, Suzanne, just seven years old, clung to him with convulsive tenderness.  Within six months his father also died, leaving his affairs in a most confused state.

Philippe renounced the brilliant career as an engineer already chalked out before him, and that his sister might not be dowerless, became a manufacturer.  In seven years he had liquidated the paternal inheritance; his property was really his own, and he felt capable of greatly extending his enterprises.  Popular in the district, he might come forward at the elections to be returned as a deputy.  Who knew?  Hope revived in Philippe Derblay’s heart.

After a long talk with Maitre Bachelin, he, on considering the situation, felt it was not unfavourable to his hopes.  When he presented himself at Beaulieu, the marchioness received him kindly, and, touching Suzanne’s fair hair with her lips, “There is peace signed on this child’s forehead,” said she.  “All your sins are forgiven you, neighbour.  And now come and let me introduce you to the family.”

A burning flush suffused Philippe’s face, and he bowed low before the girl he adored.

“Why, he’s a gentleman, dear!” whispered the baroness to Claire.  “And think, I pictured him with a leather apron!  Why, he’s decorated, and the baron isn’t!  He’s really very good-looking, and his eyes are superb!”

Claire looked at him almost sternly.  The contrast was complete between him and Bligny, far away.  Philippe was relieved to find the Baron de Prefont present; he had read a treatise of his, which delighted the baron, who at once became very friendly, and insisted on visiting the ironworks.  Only Claire remained frigid and indifferent, and this on his second visit, instead of disconcerting the ironmaster, only irritated him; and the more she pretended to ignore him the more determined he became to compel her to notice him.  They were all on the terrace when Monsieur and Mademoiselle Monlinet were announced.