d look."

To please Paul de Lavardens the Abbe Constantin did lean over and look
at Niniche's action, but the old priest's thoughts were far away.

CHAPTER II. THE NEW CHATELAINE

This sub-lieutenant of artillery was called Jean Reynaud. He was the son
of a country doctor who slept in the churchyard of Longueval.

In 1846, when the Abbe' Constantin took possession of his little living,
the grandfather of Jean was residing in a pleasant cottage on the
road to Souvigny, between the picturesque old castles of Longueval and
Lavardens.

Marcel, the son of that Dr. Reynaud, was finishing his medical studies
in Paris. He possessed great industry, and an elevation of sentiment and
mind extremely rare. He passed his examinations with great distinction,
and had decided to fix his abode in Paris and tempt fortune there,
and everything seemed to promise him the most prosperous and brilliant
career, when, in 1852, he received the news of his father's death--he
had been struck down by a fit of apoplexy. Marcel hurried to Longueval,
overwhelmed with grief, for he adored his father. He spent a month with
his mother, and then spoke of the necessity of returning to Paris.

"That is true," said his mother; "you must go."

"What! I must go! We must go, you mean. Do you think that I would leave
you here alone? I shall take you with me."

"To live in Paris; to leave the place where I was born, where your
father lived, where he died? I could never do it, my child, never! Go
alone; your life, your future, are there. I know you; I know that you
will never forget me, that you will come and see me often, very often."

"No, mother," he answered; "I shall stay here."

And he stayed.

His hopes, his ambitions, all in one moment vanished. He saw only one
thing--duty--the duty of not abandoning his aged mother. In duty, simply
accepted and simply discharged, he found happiness. After all, it is
only thus that one does find happiness.

Marcel bowed with courage and good grace to his new existence. He
continued his father's life, entering the groove at the very spot where
he had left it. He devoted himself without regret to the obscure career
of a country doctor. His father had left him a little land and a little
money; he lived in the most simple manner possible, and one half of his
life belonged to the poor, from whom he would never receive a penny.

This was his only luxury.

He found in his way a young girl, charming, penniless