“A circus-rider!” cried Madame de Lavardens, “I should have preferred the beggar.”

“And while Roger was telling me this Family Herald romance, I saw approaching from the end of a gallery a wonderful cloud of lace and satin; it surrounded this rider from a wandering circus, and I admired those shoulders, those dazzling shoulders, on which undulated a necklace of diamonds as big as the stopper of a decanter.  They say that the Minister of Finance had sold secretly to Mrs. Scott half the crown diamonds, and that was how, the month before, he had been able to show a surplus of 1,500,000 francs in the budget.  Add to all this that the lady had a remarkably good air, and that the little acrobat seemed perfectly at home in the midst of all this splendor.”

Paul was going so far that his mother was obliged to stop him.  Before M. de Larnac, who was excessively annoyed and disappointed, he showed too plainly his delight at the prospect of having this marvellous American for a near neighbor.

The Abbe Constantin was preparing to return to Longueval, but Paul, seeing him ready to start, said: 

“No! no!  Monsieur le Cure, you must not think of walking back to Longueval in the heat of the day.  Allow me to drive you home.  I am really grieved to see you so cast down, and will try my best to amuse you.  Oh! if you were ten times a saint I would make you laugh at my stories.”

And half an hour after, the two—­the Cure and Paul—­drove side by side in the direction of the village.  Paul talked, talked, talked.  His mother was not there to check or moderate his transports, and his joy was overflowing.

“Now, look here, Monsieur l’Abbe, you are wrong to take things in this tragic manner.  Stay, look at my little mare, how well she trots! what good action she has!  You have not seen her before?  What do you think I paid for her?  Four hundred francs.  I discovered her a fortnight ago, between the shafts of a market gardener’s cart.  She is a treasure.  I assure you she can do sixteen miles an hour, and keep one’s hands full all the time.  Just see how she pulls.  Come, tot-tot-tot!  You are not in a hurry, Monsieur l’Abbe, I hope.  Let us return through the wood; the fresh air will do you good.  Oh!  Monsieur l’Abbe, if you only knew what a regard I have for you, and respect, too.  I did not talk too much nonsense before you just now, did I?  I should be so sorry—­”

“No, my child, I heard nothing.”

“Well, we will take the longest way round.”

After having turned to the left in the wood, Paul resumed his communications.

“I was saying, Monsieur l’Abbe,” he went on, “that you are wrong to take things so seriously.  Shall I tell you what I think?  This is a very fortunate affair.”

“Very fortunate?”