One fine day Count Claudieuse had left for Paris; and, a few days later, his friends had been informed by letter that he had married the daughter of one of his former colleagues, Miss Genevieve de Tassar.  The amazement had been universal.  The count looked like a gentleman, and was very well preserved; but he was at least forty-seven years old, and Miss Genevieve was hardly twenty.  Now, if the bride had been poor, they would have understood the match, and approved it:  it is but natural that a poor girl should sacrifice her heart to her daily bread.  But here it was not so.  The Marquis de Tassar was considered wealthy; and report said that his daughter had brought her husband fifty thousand dollars.

Next they had it that the bride was fearfully ugly, infirm, or at least hunchback, perhaps idiotic, or, at all events, of frightful temper.

By no means.  She had come down; and everybody was amazed at her noble, quiet beauty.  She had conversed with them, and charmed everybody.

Was it really a love-match, as people called it at Sauveterre?  Perhaps so.  Nevertheless there was no lack of old ladies who shook their heads, and said twenty-seven years difference between husband and wife was too much, and such a match could not turn out well.

All these dark forebodings came to nought.  The fact was, that, for miles and miles around, there was not a happier couple to be found than the Count and the Countess Claudieuse; and two children, girls, who had appeared at an interval of four years, seemed to have secured the happiness of the house forever.

It is true the count retained somewhat of the haughty manners, the reserve, and the imperious tone, which he had acquired during the time that he controlled the destinies of certain important colonies.  He was, moreover, naturally so passionate, that the slightest excitement made him turn purple in his face.  But the countess was as gentle and as sweet as he was violent; and as she never failed to step in between her husband and the object of his wrath, as both he and she were naturally just, kind to excess, and generous to all, they were beloved by everybody.  There was only one point on which the count was rather unmanageable, and that was the game laws.  He was passionately fond of hunting, and watched all the year round with almost painful restlessness over his preserves, employing a number of keepers, and prosecuting poachers with such energy, that people said he would rather miss a hundred napoleons than a single bird.

The count and the countess lived quite retired, and gave their whole time, he to agricultural pursuits, and she to the education of her children.  They entertained but little, and did not come to Sauveterre more than four times a year, to visit the Misses Lavarande, or the old Baron de Chandore.  Every summer, towards the end of July, they went to Royan, where they had a cottage.  When the season opened, and the count went hunting, the countess paid a visit to her relatives in Paris, with whom she usually stayed a few weeks.