“Well, when a new sub-prefect was appointed here, eighteen months ago, he brought his private secretary with him.  He was a queer sort of fellow, who had lived in the Latin Quarter, it appears.  He saw Mademoiselle Fontanelle and fell in love with her, and when told of what occurred, he merely said: 

“’Bah!  That is just a guarantee for the future, and I would rather it should have happened before I married her than afterward.  I shall live tranquilly with that woman.’

“He paid his addresses to her, asked for her hand and married her, and then, not being deficient in assurance, he paid wedding calls, as if nothing had happened.  Some people returned them, others did not; but, at last, the affair began to be forgotten, and she took her proper place in society.

“She adored her husband as if he had been a god; for, you must remember, he had restored her to honor and to social life, had braved public opinion, faced insults, and, in a word, performed such a courageous act as few men would undertake, and she felt the most exalted and tender love for him.

“When she became enceinte, and it was known, the most particular people and the greatest sticklers opened their doors to her, as if she had been definitely purified by maternity.

“It is strange, but so it is, and thus everything was going on as well as possible until the other day, which was the feast of the patron saint of our town.  The prefect, surrounded by his staff and the authorities, presided at the musical competition, and when he had finished his speech the distribution of medals began, which Paul Hamot, his private secretary, handed to those who were entitled to them.

“As you know, there are always jealousies and rivalries, which make people forget all propriety.  All the ladies of the town were there on the platform, and, in his turn, the bandmaster from the village of Mourmillon came up.  This band was only to receive a second-class medal, for one cannot give first-class medals to everybody, can one?  But when the private secretary handed him his badge, the man threw it in his face and exclaimed: 

“’You may keep your medal for Baptiste.  You owe him a first-class one, also, just as you do me.’

“There were a number of people there who began to laugh.  The common herd are neither charitable nor refined, and every eye was turned toward that poor lady.  Have you ever seen a woman going mad, monsieur?  Well, we were present at the sight!  She got up and fell back on her chair three times in succession, as if she wished to make her escape, but saw that she could not make her way through the crowd, and then another voice in the crowd exclaimed: 

“‘Oh!  Oh!  Madame Baptiste!’

“And a great uproar, partly of laughter and partly of indignation, arose.  The word was repeated over and over again; people stood on tiptoe to see the unhappy woman’s face; husbands lifted their wives up in their arms, so that they might see her, and people asked: