d. He twisted
the little roll of papers between his fingers, and seemed to be in doubt
whether to open it and give it to Madame Rapally to read or not. In the
end, however, he put it in his pocket, rose, and approaching his cousin,
said--

"I beg your pardon, this news completely changes my opinion. From the
moment Maitre Quennebert becomes your husband I shall not have a word to
say against him. My suspicions were unjust, I confess it frankly, and
I hope that in consideration of the motives which prompted me you will
forget the warmth of my attacks. I shall make no protestations, but
shall let the future show how sincere is my devotion to your interests."

Madame Rapally was too happy, too certain of being loved, not to pardon
easily. With the self-complacency and factitious generosity of a woman
who feels herself the object of two violent passions, she was so good as
to feel pity for the lover who was left out in the cold, and offered him
her hand. Trumeau kissed it with every outward mark of respect, while
his lips curled unseen in a smite of mockery. The cousins parted,
apparently the best of friends, and on the understanding that Trumeau
would be present at the nuptial benediction, which was to be given in a
church beyond the town hall, near the house in which the newly-married
couple were to live; the house on the Pont Saint-Michel having lately
been sold to great advantage.

"On my word," said Trumeau, as he went off, "it would have been a great
mistake to have spoken. I have got that wretch of a Quennebert into my
clutches at last; and there is nobody but himself to blame. He is taking
the plunge of his own free will, there is no need for me to shove him
off the precipice."

The ceremony took place next day. Quennebert conducted his interesting
bride to the altar, she hung with ornaments like the shrine of a
saint, and, beaming all over with smiles, looked so ridiculous that the
handsome bridegroom reddened to the roots of his hair with shame. Just
as they entered the church, a coffin, on which lay a sword, and which
was followed by a single mourner, who from his manners and dress seemed
to belong to the class of nobles, was carried in by the same door. The
wedding guests drew back to let the funeral pass on, the living giving
precedence to the dead. The solitary mourner glanced by chance at
Quennebert, and started as if the sight of him was painful.

"What an unlucky meeting!" murmured Madame Rapally; "it