“What, the little Duc d’Herouville?”

“Yes, monsieur.”

“Is he coming for Mademoiselle de La Bastie?” asked La Briere, coloring.

“So it appears, monsieur.”

“We are cheated!” cried Canalis looking at La Briere.

“Ah!” retorted Ernest quickly, “that is the first time you have said, ‘we’ since we left Paris:  it has been ‘I’ all along.”

“You understood me,” cried Canalis, with a burst of laughter.  “But we are not in a position to struggle against a ducal coronet, nor the duke’s title, nor against the waste lands which the Council of State have just granted, on my report, to the house of Herouville.”

“His grace,” said La Briere, with a spice of malice that was nevertheless serious, “will furnish you with compensation in the person of his sister.”

At this instant, the Comte de La Bastie was announced; the two young men rose at once, and La Briere hastened forward to present Canalis.

“I wished to return the visit that you paid me in Paris,” said the count to the young lawyer, “and I knew that by coming here I should have the double pleasure of greeting one of our great living poets.”

“Great!—­Monsieur,” replied the poet, smiling, “no one can be great in a century prefaced by the reign of a Napoleon.  We are a tribe of would-be great poets; besides, second-rate talent imitates genius nowadays, and renders real distinction impossible.”

“Is that the reason why you have thrown yourself into politics?” asked the count.

“It is the same thing in that sphere,” said the poet; “there are no statesmen in these days, only men who handle events more or less.  Look at it, monsieur; under the system of government that we derive from the Charter, which makes a tax-list of more importance than a coat-of-arms, there is absolutely nothing solid except that which you went to seek in China,—­wealth.”

Satisfied with himself and with the impression he was making on the prospective father-in-law, Canalis turned to Germain.

“Serve the coffee in the salon,” he said, inviting Monsieur de La Bastie to leave the dining-room.

“I thank you for this visit, monsieur le comte,” said La Briere; “it saves me from the embarrassment of presenting my friend to you in your own house.  You have a heart, and you have also a quick mind.”

“Bah! the ready wit of Provence, that is all,” said Charles Mignon.

“Ah, do you come from Provence?” cried Canalis.

“You must pardon my friend,” said La Briere; “he has not studied, as I have, the history of La Bastie.”

At the word friend Canalis threw a searching glance at Ernest.

“If your health will allow,” said the count to the poet, “I shall hope to receive you this evening under my roof; it will be a day to mark, as the old writer said ‘albo notanda lapillo.’  Though we cannot duly receive so great a fame in our little house, yet your visit will gratify my daughter, whose admiration for your poems has even led her to set them to music.”