“That is the Duke of Champdoce, you know, who has married a princess of Mussidan.  Quite an original.”

M. de Brevan, however, had remained perfectly impassive, and now said,—­

“At all events, I suppose it was not altogether a question of interest which made Miss Brandon marry the count.”

“Why not?”

“Because she is immensely rich.”

“Pshaw!”

An old gentleman came up, and said,—­

“She must needs be perfectly disinterested; for I have it from the count himself that none of the property is to be settled upon Miss Brandon.”

“That certainly is marvellously disinterested.”

Having said what he meant to say, the duke had entered the church; and the old beau now took the word.

“The only thing that is clear to me in this matter is, that I think I know the person whom this wedding will not please particularly.”

“Whom do you mean?”

“Count Ville-Handry’s daughter, a young girl, eighteen years old, and wondrously pretty.  Just imagine!  Besides, I have looked for her all over the church, and she is not there.”

“She is not present at the wedding,” replied the old gentleman, the friend of Count Ville-Handry, “because she was suddenly taken ill.”

“So they say,” interposed the young man; “but the fact is, that a friend of mine has just seen her driving out in her carriage in full dress.”

“That can hardly be so.”

“My friend was positive.  She intended this pretty piece of scandal as a wedding-present for her stepmother.”

M. de Brevan shrugged his shoulders, and said in an undertone,—­

“Upon my word, I should not like to stand in the count’s shoes.”

As a faithful echo of the gossip that was going on in society, this conversation, carried on in broken sentences, under the porch of St. Clothilda, made it quite clear that public opinion was decidedly in favor of Miss Brandon.  It would have been surprising if it should have been otherwise.  She triumphed; and the world is always on the side of the victor.  That Duke of Champdoce, an original, was the only one there who was disposed to remember the past; the others had forgotten it.  The brilliancy of her success was even reflected on those who belonged to her; and a young man who copied to exaggeration English fashions was just singing the praises of M. Thomas Elgin and Mrs. Brian, when a great commotion was noticed under the porch.

People came out, and said,—­

“It is all over.  The wedding-guests are in the vestry now to sign their names.”

The conversation stopped at once.  The old beau alone exclaimed,—­

“Gentlemen, if we wish to present our respects to the newly-married couple, we must make haste.”

And with these words he hurried into the church, followed by all the others, and soon reached the vestry, which was too small to hold all the guests invited by Count Ville-Handry.  The parish register had been placed upon a small table; and every one approached, as his turn came, taking off his gloves before seizing the pen.  Fronting the door, and leaning against one of the cupboards in which the holy vessels are kept, stood Miss Brandon, now Countess Ville-Handry, having at her side grim Mrs. Brian, and tall, stiff M. Elgin.