see--she is inexorable," said Albert, pointing to Francesca.

"You will marry Mademoiselle Sidonie de Chavoncourt," said the Abbe
calmly for the third time.

This time Albert understood. The Vicar-General would not be implicated
in a scheme which at last smiled on the despairing politician. A word
more would have compromised the priest's dignity and honor.

"To-morrow evening at the Hotel de Rupt you will meet Madame de
Chavoncourt and her second daughter. You can thank her beforehand for
what she is going to do for you, and tell her that your gratitude is
unbounded, that you are hers body and soul, that henceforth your future
is that of her family. You are quite disinterested, for you have so much
confidence in yourself that you regard the nomination as deputy as a
sufficient fortune.

"You will have a struggle with Madame de Chavoncourt; she will want you
to pledge your word. All your future life, my son, lies in that evening.
But, understand clearly, I have nothing to do with it. I am answerable
only for Legitimist voters; I have secured Madame de Watteville,
and that means all the aristocracy of Besancon. Amedee de Soulas and
Vauchelles, who will both vote for you, have won over the young men;
Madame de Watteville will get the old ones. As to my electors, they are
infallible."

"And who on earth has gained over Madame de Chavoncourt?" asked Savarus.

"Ask me no questions," replied the Abbe. "Monsieur de Chavoncourt, who
has three daughters to marry, is not capable of increasing his wealth.
Though Vauchelles marries the eldest without anything from her father,
because her old aunt is to settle something on her, what is to become
of the two others? Sidonie is sixteen, and your ambition is as good as
a gold mine. Some one has told Madame de Chavoncourt that she will do
better by getting her daughter married than by sending her husband to
waste his money in Paris. That some one manages Madame de Chavoncourt,
and Madame de Chavoncourt manages her husband."

"That is enough, my dear Abbe. I understand. When once I am returned as
deputy, I have somebody's fortune to make, and by making it large enough
I shall be released from my promise. In me you have a son, a man who
will owe his happiness to you. Great heavens! what have I done to
deserve so true a friend?"

"You won a triumph for the Chapter," said the Vicar-General, smiling.
"Now, as to all this, be as secret as the tomb. We are nothing, we have
done nothing.