“Mademoiselle, M. le Comte, with all his cleverness, is a plaything in the hands of mean creatures, petty natures on the lookout for a crushing revenge.  They want to ruin us and bring us low!  There is the President of the Tribunal, M. de Ronceret; he has, as you know, a very great notion of his descent——­”

“His grandfather was an attorney,” interposed Mlle. Armande.

“I know he was.  And for that reason you have not received him; nor does he go to M. de Troisville’s, nor to M. le Duc de Verneuil’s, nor to the Marquis de Casteran’s; but he is one of the pillars of du Croisier’s salon.  Your nephew may rub shoulders with young M. Fabien du Ronceret without condescending too far, for he must have companions of his own age.  Well and good.  That young fellow is at the bottom of all M. le Comte’s follies; he and two or three of the rest of them belong to the other side, the side of M. le Chevalier’s enemy, who does nothing but breathe threats of vengeance against you and all the nobles together.  They all hope to ruin you through your nephew.  The ringleader of the conspiracy is this sycophant of a du Croisier, the pretended Royalist.  Du Croisier’s wife, poor thing, knows nothing about it; you know her, I should have heard of it before this if she had ears to hear evil.  For some time these wild young fellows were not in the secret, nor was anybody else; but the ringleaders let something drop in jest, and then the fools got to know about it, and after the Count’s recent escapades they let fall some words while they were drunk.  And those words were carried to me by others who are sorry to see such a fine, handsome, noble, charming lad ruining himself with pleasure.  So far people feel sorry for him; before many days are over they will—­I am afraid to say what——­”

“They will despise him; say it out, Chesnel!” Mlle. Armande cried piteously.

“Ah!  How can you keep the best people in the town from finding out faults in their neighbors?  They do not know what to do with themselves from morning to night.  And so M. le Comte’s losses at play are all reckoned up.  Thirty thousand francs have taken flight during these two months, and everybody wonders where he gets the money.  If they mention it when I am present, I just call them to order.  Ah! but—­’Do you suppose’ (I told them this morning), ’do you suppose that if the d’Esgrignon family have lost their manorial rights, that therefore they have been robbed of their hoard of treasure?  The young Count has a right to do as he pleases; and so long as he does not owe you a half-penny, you have no right to say a word.’”

Mlle, Armande held out her hand, and the notary kissed it respectfully.

“Good Chesnel! . . .  But, my friend, how shall we find the money for this journey?  Victurnien must appear as befits his rank at court.”

“Oh!  I have borrowed money on Le Jard, mademoiselle.”

“What?  You have nothing left!  Ah, heaven! what can we do to reward you?”