"What sort of consolation?"
"Three sorts: vengeance, wisdom, a family."
"A family? Am I to be married, pray?"
"No; you will be a father!"
"Really?" cried the marquis, undisturbed by Monsieur de Beuvre's hearty laughter. "When shall I be a father?"
"Within three months, three weeks or three days. I have told everything about you, and I want to rest."
The sitting was suspended with a deluge of jests showered by Monsieur de Beuvre on the marquis.
In order that the predicted advent of an heir should take place within three months, three weeks or three days, three women must have "received the order."
The poor marquis was so well aware of the contrary that all his faith in magic was destroyed.
He submitted to be made fun of, protesting his innocence, but not over desirous that they should believe it to be so absolute as it really was.