“Then I shall seize the occasion to have my portrait drawn,” said Madame Cremiere.

In the provinces they always say a picture is drawn, not painted.

“The old German is not dismissed, is he?” said Madame Massin.

“He was there yesterday,” replied Cabirolle.

“Now,” said Goupil, “you may as well give up counting on your inheritance.  Ursula is seventeen years old, and she is prettier than ever.  Travel forms young people, and the little minx has got your uncle in the toils.  Five or six parcels come down for her by the diligence every week, and the dressmakers and milliners come too, to try on her gowns and all the rest of it.  Madame Dionis is furious.  Watch for Ursula as she comes out of church and look at the little scarf she is wearing round her neck,—­real cashmere, and it cost six hundred francs!”

If a thunderbolt had fallen in the midst of the heirs the effect would have been less than that of Goupil’s last words; the mischief-maker stood by rubbing his hands.

The doctor’s old green salon had been renovated by a Parisian upholsterer.  Judged by the luxury displayed, he was sometimes accused of hoarding immense wealth, sometimes of spending his capital on Ursula.  The heirs called him in turn a miser and a spendthrift, but the saying, “He’s an old fool!” summed upon, on the whole, the verdict of the neighbourhood.  These mistaken judgments of the little town had the one advantage of misleading the heirs, who never suspected the love between Savinien and Ursula, which was the secret reason of the doctor’s expenditure.  The old man took the greatest delights in accustoming his godchild to her future station in the world.  Possessing an income of over fifty thousand francs a year, it gave him pleasure to adorn his idol.

In the month of February, 1832, the day when Ursula was eighteen, her eyes beheld Savinien in the uniform of an ensign as she looked from her window when she rose in the morning.

“Why didn’t I know he was coming?” she said to herself.

After the taking of Algiers, Savinien had distinguished himself by an act of courage which won him the cross.  The corvette on which he was serving was many months at sea without his being able to communicate with the doctor; and he did not wish to leave the service without consulting him.  Desirous of retaining in the navy a name already illustrious in its service, the new government had profited by a general change of officers to make Savinien an ensign.  Having obtained leave of absence for fifteen days, the new officer arrived from Toulon by the mail, in time for Ursula’s fete, intending to consult the doctor at the same time.

“He has come!” cried Ursula rushing into her godfather’s bedroom.

“Very good,” he answered; “I can guess what brings him, and he may now stay in Nemours.”

“Ah! that’s my birthday present—­it is all in that sentence,” she said, kissing him.