“Well, my children,” exclaimed he, “you have set such an excellent example, that everybody seems disposed to copy you, and the mayor and the priest will be kept to their work rather tightly this year.”
His daughter tried to put on an appearance of interest at this speech.
“Yes,” continued M. de Puymandour, “I have just heard of a marriage that will come off almost directly after yours has been celebrated, and will make a stir, I can assure you.”
“And whose is that, pray?”
“You are acquainted, I presume,” returned the father, addressing himself to Norbert, “with the son of the Count de Mussidan?”
“What, the Viscount Octave?”
“The same.”
“He lives in Paris, does he not?”
“Yes, generally; but he has been staying at Mussidan, and in the short space of a week has managed to lose his heart here; and to whom do you think? Come, give a guess.”
“We cannot think who it can be, my dear father,” said Marie, “and we are devoured with curiosity.”