“Yes, very fortunate.  I would rather see the Scotts at Longueval than the Gallards.  Did you not hear Monsieur de Larnac reproach these Americans with spending their money foolishly.  It is never foolish to spend money.  The folly lies in keeping it.  Your poor for I am perfectly sure that it is your poor of whom you are thinking—­your poor have made a good thing of it to-day.  That is my opinion.  The religion?  Well, they will not go to mass, and that will be a grief to you, that is only natural; but they will send you money, plenty of money, and you will take it, and you will be quite right in doing so.  You will see that you will not say no.  There will be gold raining over the whole place; a movement, a bustle, carriages with four horses, postilions, powdered footmen, paper chases, hunting parties, balls, fireworks, and here in this very spot I shall perhaps find Paris again before long.  I shall see once more the two riders, and the two little grooms of whom I was speaking just now.  If you only knew how well those two sisters look on horseback!  One morning I went right round the Bois de Boulogne behind them; I fancy I can see them still.  They had high hats, and little black veils drawn very tightly over their faces, and long riding-habits made in the princess form, with a single seam right down the back; and a woman must be awfully well made to wear a riding-habit like that, because you see, Monsieur l’Abbe, with a habit of that cut no deception is possible.”

For some moments the Cure had not been listening to Paul’s discourse.  They had entered a long, perfectly straight avenue, and at the end of this avenue the Cure saw a horseman galloping along.

“Look,” said the Cure to Paul, “your eyes are better than mine.  Is not that Jean?”

“Yes, it is jean.  I know his gray mare.”

Paul loved horses, and before looking at the rider looked at the horse. 
It was indeed Jean, who, when he saw in the distance the Cure and Paul de
Lavardens, waved in the air his kepi adorned with two golden stripes. 
Jean was lieutenant in the regiment of artillery quartered at Souvigny.

Some moments after he stopped by the little carriage, and, addressing the Cure, said: 

“I have just been to your house, ‘mon parrain’.  Pauline told me that you had gone to Souvigny about the sale.  Well, who has bought the castle?”

“An American, Mrs. Scott.”

“And Blanche-Couronne?”

“The same, Mrs. Scott.”

“And La Rozeraie?”

“Mrs. Scott again.”

“And the forest?  Mrs. Scott again?”

“You have said it,” replied Paul, “and I know Mrs. Scott, and I can promise you that there will be something going on at Longueval.  I will introduce you.  Only it is distressing to Monsieur l’Abbe because she is an American—­a Protestant.”

“Ah! that is true,” said Jean, sympathizingly.  “However, we will talk about it to-morrow.  I am going to dine with you, godfather; I have warned Pauline of my visit; no time to stop to-day.  I am on duty, and must be in quarters at three o’clock.”