constitutionals.  The rector was therefore not received in the Cormon household, whose sympathies were all given to the curate of Saint-Leonard, the aristocratic parish of Alencon.  Du Bousquier, that fanatic liberal now concealed under the skin of a royalist, knowing how necessary rallying points are to all discontents (which are really at the bottom of all oppositions), had drawn the sympathies of the middle classes around the rector.  So much for the first case; the second was this:—­

Under the secret inspiration of du Bousquier the idea of building a theatre had dawned on Alencon.  The henchmen of the purveyor did not know their Mohammed; and they thought they were ardent in carrying out their own conception.  Athanase Granson was one of the warmest partisans for the theatre; and of late he had urged at the mayor’s office a cause which all the other young clerks had eagerly adopted.

The chevalier, as we have said, offered his arm to the old maid for a turn on the terrace.  She accepted it, not without thanking him by a happy look for this attention, to which the chevalier replied by motioning toward Athanase with a meaning eye.

“Mademoiselle,” he began, “you have so much sense and judgment in social proprieties, and also, you are connected with that young man by certain ties—­”

“Distant ones,” she said, interrupting him.

“Ought you not,” he continued, “to use the influence you have over his mother and over himself by saving him from perdition?  He is not very religious, as you know; indeed he approves of the rector; but that is not all; there is something far more serious; isn’t he throwing himself headlong into an opposition without considering what influence his present conduct may exert upon his future?  He is working for the construction of a theatre.  In this affair he is simply the dupe of that disguised republican du Bousquier—­”

“Good gracious!  Monsieur de Valois,” she replied; “his mother is always telling me he has so much mind, and yet he can’t say two words; he stands planted before me as mum as a post—­”

“Which doesn’t think at all!” cried the recorder of mortgages.  “I caught your words on the fly.  I present my compliments to Monsieur de Valois,” he added, bowing to that gentleman with much emphasis.

The chevalier returned the salutation stiffly, and drew Mademoiselle Cormon toward some flower-pots at a little distance, in order to show the interrupter that he did not choose to be spied upon.

“How is it possible,” he continued, lowering his voice, and leaning towards Mademoiselle Cormon’s ear, “that a young man brought up in those detestable lyceums should have ideas?  Only sound morals and noble habits will ever produce great ideas and a true love.  It is easy to see by a mere look at him that the poor lad is likely to be imbecile, and come, perhaps, to some sad end.  See how pale and haggard he is!”

“His mother declares he works too hard,” replied the old maid, innocently.  “He sits up late, and for what? reading books and writing!  What business ought to require a young man to write at night?”