“To his wife, who will bury him,” replied Georges.  “The countess is still fine-looking for a woman of fifty-four years of age.  She is very elegant, and, at a little distance, gives one the illusion—­”

“She will always be an illusion to you,” said Leger, who seemed inclined to revenge himself on his former hoaxer.

“I respect her,” said Georges.  “But, by the bye, what became of that steward whom the count turned off?”

“Moreau?” said Leger; “why, he’s the deputy from the Oise.”

“Ha! the famous Centre man; Moreau de l’Oise?” cried Georges.

“Yes,” returned Leger, “Moreau de l’Oise.  He did more than you for the revolution of July, and he has since then bought the beautiful estate of Pointel, between Presles and Beaumont.”

“Next to the count’s,” said Georges.  “I call that very bad taste.”

“Don’t speak so loud,” said Monsieur de Reybert, “for Madame Moreau and her daughter, the Baronne de Canalis, and the Baron himself, the former minister, are in the coupe.”

“What ‘dot’ could he have given his daughter to induce our great orator to marry her?” said Georges.

“Something like two millions,” replied old Leger.

“He always had a taste for millions,” remarked Georges.  “He began his pile surreptitiously at Presles—­”

“Say nothing against Monsieur Moreau,” cried Oscar, hastily.  “You ought to have learned before now to hold your tongue in public conveyances.”

Joseph Bridau looked at the one-armed officer for several seconds; then he said, smiling:—­

“Monsieur is not an ambassador, but his rosette tells us he has made his way nobly; my brother and General Giroudeau have repeatedly named him in their reports.”

“Oscar Husson!” cried Georges.  “Faith! if it hadn’t been for your voice I should never have known you.”

“Ah! it was monsieur who so bravely rescued the Vicomte Jules de Serizy from the Arabs?” said Reybert, “and for whom the count has obtained the collectorship of Beaumont while awaiting that of Pontoise?”

“Yes, monsieur,” said Oscar.

“I hope you will give me the pleasure, monsieur,” said the great painter, “of being present at my marriage at Isle-Adam.”

“Whom do you marry?” asked Oscar, after accepting the invitation.

“Mademoiselle Leger,” replied Joseph Bridau, “the granddaughter of Monsieur de Reybert.  Monsieur le comte was kind enough to arrange the marriage for me.  As an artist I owe him a great deal, and he wished, before his death, to secure my future, about which I did not think, myself.”

“Whom did Pere Leger marry?” asked Georges.

“My daughter,” replied Monsieur de Reybert, “and without a ‘dot.’”

“Ah!” said Georges, assuming a more respectful manner toward Monsieur Leger, “I am fortunate in having chosen this particular day to do the valley of the Oise.  You can all be useful to me, gentlemen.”