“They are all in the garden.”

No doubt the assembled stomachs were impatient; for on the appearance of the register of mortgages—­who had no defect except that of having married for her money an intolerable old woman, and of perpetrating endless puns, at which he was the first to laugh—­the gentle murmur by which such late-comers are welcomed arose.  While awaiting the official announcement of dinner, the company were sauntering on the terrace above the river, and gazing at the water-plants, the mosaic of the currents, and the various pretty details of the houses clustering across the river, their old wooden galleries, their mouldering window-frames, their little gardens where clothes were drying, the cabinet-maker’s shop,—­in short, the many details of a small community to which the vicinity of a river, a weeping willow, flowers, rose-bushes, added a certain grace, making the scene quite worthy of a landscape painter.

The chevalier studied all faces, for he knew that his firebrand had been very successfully introduced into the chief houses of the place.  But no one as yet referred openly to the great news of Suzanne and du Bousquier.  Provincials possess in the highest degree the art of distilling gossip; the right moment for openly discussing this strange affair had not arrived; it was first necessary that all present should put themselves on record.  So the whispers went round from ear to ear:—­

“You have heard?”

“Yes.”

“Du Bousquier?”

“And that handsome Suzanne.”

“Does Mademoiselle Cormon know of it?”

“No.”

“Ha!”

This was the piano of the scandal; the rinforzando would break forth as soon as the first course had been removed.  Suddenly Monsieur de Valois’s eyes lighted on Madame Granson, arrayed in her green hat with bunches of auriculas, and beaming with evident joy.  Was it merely the joy of opening the concert?  Though such a piece of news was like a gold mine to work in the monotonous lives of these personages, the observant and distrustful chevalier thought he recognized in the worthy woman a far more extended sentiment; namely, the joy caused by the triumph of self-interest.  Instantly he turned to examine Athanase, and detected him in the significant silence of deep meditation.  Presently, a look cast by the young man on Mademoiselle Cormon carried to the soul of the chevalier a sudden gleam.  That momentary flash of lightning enabled him to read the past.

“Ha! the devil!” he said to himself; “what a checkmate I’m exposed to!”