f it. His highly colored complexion and well-developed
corpulence might have made persons think, in spite of his actual
sobriety, that he cultivated Bacchus as well as Troplong and Toullier.
His half-extinct voice was the sign of an oppressive asthma. Perhaps
the dry air of Montegnac had contributed to fix him there. He lived in
a house arranged for him by a well-to-do cobbler to whom it belonged.
Clousier had already seen Veronique at church, and he had formed his
opinion of her without communicating it to any one, not even to Monsieur
Bonnet, with whom he was beginning to be intimate. For the first time
in his life the _juge de paix_ was to be thrown in with persons able to
appreciate him.

When the company were seated round a table handsomely appointed
(for Veronique had sent all her household belongings from Limoges to
Montegnac) the six guests felt a momentary embarrassment. The doctor,
the mayor and the _juge de paix_ knew nothing of Grossetete and Gerard.
But during the first course, old Grossetete's hearty good-humor broke
the ice of a first meeting. In addition to this, Madame Graslin's
cordiality led on Gerard, and encouraged Roubaud. Under her touch these
souls full of fine qualities recognized their relation, and felt they
had entered a sympathetic circle. So, by the time the dessert appeared
on the table, when the glass and china with gilded edges sparkled, and
the choicer wines were served by Aline and Champion and Grossetete's
valet, the conversation became sufficiently confidential to allow
these four choice minds, thus meeting by chance, to express their real
thoughts on matters of importance, such as men like to discuss when they
can do so and be sure of the discretion of their companions.

"Your furlough came just in time to let you witness the revolution of
July," said Grossetete to Gerard, with an air as if he asked an opinion
of him.

"Yes," replied the engineer. "I was in Paris during the three famous
days. I saw all; and I came to sad conclusions."

"What were they?" said the rector, eagerly.

"There is no longer any patriotism except under dirty shirts," replied
Gerard. "In that lies the ruin of France! July was the voluntary defeat
of all superiorities,--name, fortune, talent. The ardent, devoted masses
carried the day against the rich and the intelligent, to whom ardor and
devotion are repugnant."

"To judge by what has happened during the past year," said Monsieur
Clousier, "this chang