“Just imagine!” he began; “last night at the Thuilliers’ the most extraordinary things took place, one after another.”

First he related the curious episode of pere Picot.  Then he told of the hearty approbation given to Felix’s conduct by the Abbe Gondrin, and the desire the young preacher had expressed to meet him.

“I’ll go and see him,” said Felix; “do you know where he lives?”

“Rue de la Madeleine, No. 8,” replied Minard.  “But the great event of the evening was the spectacle of that fine company assembled to listen to the marriage-contract, and waiting in expectation a whole hour for the notary, who—­never came!”

“Then the contract is not signed?” said Felix, eagerly.

“Not even read, my friend.  Suddenly some one came in and told Brigitte that the notary had started for Brussels.”

“Ah! no doubt,” said Phellion, naively; “some very important business.”

“Most important,” replied Minard; “a little bankruptcy of five hundred thousand francs which the gentleman leaves behind him.”

“But who is this public officer,” demanded Phellion, “so recreant, in this scandalous manner, to the sacred duties of his calling?”

“Parbleu! your neighbor in the rue Saint-Jacques, the notary Dupuis.”

“What!” said Madame Phellion, “that pious man?  Why, he is churchwarden of the parish!”

“Eh! madame, those are the very ones,” said Minard, “to run off—­there are many precedents for that.”

“But,” said Phellion, “such news cast suddenly among the company must have fallen like a thunderbolt.”

“Especially,” said Minard, “as it was brought in the most unexpected and singular manner.”

“Tell us all about it,” said Madame Phellion, with animation.

“Well, it seems,” continued Minard, “that this canting swindler had charge of the savings of a number of servants, and that Monsieur de la Peyrade—­because, you see, they are all of a clique, these pious people—­was in the habit of recruiting clients for him in that walk of life—­”

“I always said so!” interrupted Madame Phellion.  “I knew that Provencal was no good at all.”

“It seems,” continued the mayor, “that he had placed in Dupuis’s hands all the savings of an old housekeeper, pious herself, amounting to a pretty little sum.  Faith!  I think myself it was worth some trouble.  How much do you suppose it was?  Twenty-five thousand francs, if you please!  This housekeeper, whose name is Madame Lambert—­”

“Madame Lambert!” cried Felix; “why, that’s Monsieur Picot’s housekeeper; close cap, pale, thin face, speaks always with her eyes lowered, shows no hair?”

“That’s she,” said Minard,—­“a regular hypocrite!”

“Twenty-five thousand francs of savings!” said Felix.  “I don’t wonder that poor pere Picot is always out of money.”