“How! is Mademoiselle Lacheneur to be married?”
“Yes, Monsieur.”
“And to whom?”
“To Chanlouineau, the fellow whom the peasants wished to kill yesterday upon the square, because he was disrespectful to the duke. He is an avaricious man; and if Marie-Anne does not bring him a good round sum as a dowry, he will never marry her, no matter how beautiful she may be.”
“Are you sure of what you say?”
“It is true. My eldest son heard from Chanlouineau and from Lacheneur that the wedding would take place within a month.”
And turning to his son:
“Is it not true, boy?”
“Yes,” promptly replied the youth, who had heard nothing of the kind.
Martial was silent, ashamed, perhaps, of allowing himself to listen to the gossip, but glad to have been informed of such an important circumstance.