“Monsieur Brazier, the judge intrusted with the sale, desired silence, and the bailiff of the court offered the four lots together for 2,150,000 or 2,160,000 francs, I don’t remember which.  A murmur passed through the assembly.  ‘No one will bid’ was heard on all sides.  But little Gibert, the solicitor, who was seated in the first row, and till then had given no sign of life, rose and said calmly, ’I have a purchaser for the four lots together at 2,200,000 francs.’  This was like a thunderbolt.  A tremendous clamor arose, followed by a dead silence.  The hall was filled with farmers and laborers from the neighborhood.  Two million francs!  So much money for the land threw them into a sort of respectful stupor.  However, Monsieur Gallard, bending toward Sandrier, the solicitor who had bid for him, whispered something in his ear.  The struggle began between Gibert and Sandrier.  The bids rose to 2,500,000 francs.  Monsieur Gallard hesitated for a moment—­decided—­continued up to 3,000,000.  Then he stopped and the whole went to Gibert.  Every one rushed on him, they surrounded—­they crushed him:  ‘The name, the name of the purchaser?’ ’It is an American,’ replied Gibert, ‘Mrs. Scott.’”

“Mrs. Scott!” cried Paul de Lavardens.

“You know her?” asked Madame de Lavardens.

“Do I know her?—­do I—­not at all.  But I was at a ball at her house six weeks ago.”

“At a ball at her house! and you don’t know her!  What sort of woman is she, then?”

“Charming, delightful, ideal, a miracle!”

“And is there a Mr. Scott?”

“Certainly, a tall, fair man.  He was at his ball.  They pointed him out to me.  He bowed at random right and left.  He was not much amused, I will answer for it.  He looked at us as if he were thinking, ’Who are all these people?  What are they doing at my house?’ We went to see Mrs. Scott and Miss Percival, her sister.  And certainly it was well worth the trouble.”

“These Scotts,” said Madame de Lavardens, addressing M. de Larnac, “do you know who they are?”

“Yes, Madame, I know.  Mr. Scott is an American, possessing a colossal fortune, who settled himself in Paris last year.  As soon as their name was mentioned, I understood that the victory had never been doubtful.  Gallard was beaten beforehand.  The Scotts began by buying a house in Paris for 2,000,000 francs, it is near the Parc Monceau.”

“Yes, Rue Murillo,” said Paul; “I tell you I went to a ball there.  It was—­”

“Let Monsieur de Larnac speak.  You can tell us presently about the ball at Mrs. Scott’s.”

“Well, now, imagine my Americans established in Paris,” continued M. de Larnac, “and the showers of gold begun.  In the orthodox parvenu style they amuse themselves with throwing handfuls of gold out of window.  Their great wealth is quite recent, they say; ten years ago Mrs. Scott begged in the streets of New York.”

“Begged!”

“They say so.  Then she married this Scott, the son of a New York banker, and all at once a successful lawsuit put into their hands not millions, but tens of millions.  Somewhere in America they have a silver mine, but a genuine mine, a real mine—­a mine with silver in it.  Ah! we shall see what luxury will reign at Longueval!  We shall all look like paupers beside them!  It is said that they have 100,000 francs a day to spend.”