ought; for one saw
it white, the other saw it black. Then, when they were both off their
horses, they saw it was white one side and black the other. A third
knight coming along declared it red.

When the chevalier went home that night, he made many reflections, as
follows:--

"It is high time now to spread a rumor of my marriage with Mademoiselle
Cormon. It will leak out from the d'Esgrignon salon, and go straight
to the bishop at Seez, and so get round through the grand vicars to the
curate of Saint-Leonard's, who will be certain to tell it to the Abbe
Couturier; and Mademoiselle Cormon will get the shot in her upper works.
The old Marquis d'Esgrignon shall invite the Abbe de Sponde to dinner,
so as to stop all gossip about Mademoiselle Cormon if I decide against
her, or about me if she refuses me. The abbe shall be well cajoled; and
Mademoiselle Cormon will certainly not hold out against a visit from
Mademoiselle Armande, who will show her the grandeur and future chances
of such an alliance. The abbe's property is undoubtedly as much as three
hundred thousand; her own savings must amount to more than two hundred
thousand; she has her house and Prebaudet and fifteen thousand francs a
year. A word to my friend the Comte de Fontaine, and I should be
mayor of Alencon to-morrow, and deputy. Then, once seated on the Right
benches, we shall reach the peerage, shouting, 'Cloture!' 'Ordre!'"

As soon as she reached home Madame Granson had a lively argument with
her son, who could not be made to see the connection which existed
between his love and his political opinions. It was the first quarrel
that had ever troubled that poor household.

CHAPTER VI. FINAL DISAPPOINTMENT AND ITS FIRST RESULT

The next day, Mademoiselle Cormon, packed into the old carriole with
Josette, and looking like a pyramid on a vast sea of parcels, drove up
the rue Saint-Blaise on her way to Prebaudet, where she was overtaken by
an event which hurried on her marriage,--an event entirely unlooked
for by either Madame Granson, du Bousquier, Monsieur de Valois, or
Mademoiselle Cormon himself. Chance is the greatest of all artificers.

The day after her arrival at Prebaudet, she was innocently employed,
about eight o'clock in the morning, in listening, as she breakfasted, to
the various reports of her keeper and her gardener, when Jacquelin made
a violent irruption into the dining-room.

"Mademoiselle," he cried, out of breath, "Monsieur l'ab