After the first exclamations of surprise at the changes which time had wrought in their bodies and countenances, they told each other about their lives since they had last met.

Joseph Mouradour, who was from the south of France, had become a government official.  His manner was frank; he spoke rapidly and without restraint, giving his opinions without any tact.  He was a Republican, one of those good fellows who do not believe in standing on ceremony, and who exercise an almost brutal freedom of speech.

He came to his friend’s house and was immediately liked for his easy cordiality, in spite of his radical ideas.  Madame de Meroul would exclaim: 

“What a shame!  Such a charming man!”

Monsieur de Meroul would say to his friend in a serious and confidential tone of voice; “You have no idea the harm that you are doing your country.”  He loved him all the same, for nothing is stronger than the ties of childhood taken up again at a riper age.  Joseph Mouradour bantered the wife and the husband, calling them “my amiable snails,” and sometimes he would solemnly declaim against people who were behind the times, against old prejudices and traditions.

When he was once started on his democratic eloquence, the couple, somewhat ill at ease, would keep silent from politeness and good-breeding; then the husband would try to turn the conversation into some other channel in order to avoid a clash.  Joseph Mouradour was only seen in the intimacy of the family.

Summer came.  The Merouls had no greater pleasure than to receive their friends at their country home at Tourbeville.  It was a good, healthy pleasure, the enjoyments of good people and of country proprietors.  They would meet their friends at the neighboring railroad station and would bring them back in their carriage, always on the lookout for compliments on the country, on its natural features, on the condition of the roads, on the cleanliness of the farm-houses, on the size of the cattle grazing in the fields, on everything within sight.

They would call attention to the remarkable speed with which their horse trotted, surprising for an animal that did heavy work part of the year behind a plow; and they would anxiously await the opinion of the newcomer on their family domain, sensitive to the least word, and thankful for the slightest good intention.

Joseph Mouradour was invited, and he accepted the invitation.

Husband and wife had come to the train, delighted to welcome him to their home.  As soon as he saw them, Joseph Mouradour jumped from the train with a briskness which increased their satisfaction.  He shook their hands, congratulated them, overwhelmed them with compliments.

All the way home he was charming, remarking on the height of the trees, the goodness of the crops and the speed of the horse.

When he stepped on the porch of the house, Monsieur de Meroul said, with a certain friendly solemnity: