"Mon dieu, Monsieur de Fontane, what has happened?" cried the lady beside whom he took his seat; "your neckcloth and ruffles are covered with blood!"
"A mere trifle, Madame de Rochevert," laughed the young officer, holding up his hand, round which a handkerchief was bound; "a tussle with a wolf, who would fain have supped off of your humble servant, instead of suffering him to occupy this chair by your side—voilà tout!"
"How horrible!" exclaimed several ladies.
Madame de Peyrelade turned pale, and murmured a prayer of thanks to Heaven.
Healths went round again. Everyone drank to the Chevalier, and congratulated him upon his victory. Then the conversation turned upon the Baron de Pradines.
"It is now too late to hope for his arrival," said Marguerite. "I trust he has met with no wolves on the road."
"Let us drink to him," said the Commander, "and perhaps, like my cousin Eugène, he may come upon us at the very moment. The health of M. le Baron de Pradines!"
"The health of M. le Baron de Pradines!" cried all the voices.
"I denounce M. l'Abbé of high treason," exclaimed a lady. "He never opened his lips, and put down his glass untasted!"
The Curé was dumb with consternation.