“Heaven grant you may be right! But so long as there is a woman in it I cannot be at rest concerning Marcel. Ah! if it were only you or I, there would be no danger. But this young madman!”
“The oldest are not always the wisest. Look at Trémont.”
“Well, well. It is all in God’s hands!”
Holding out his hand to his brother-in-law—
“We will have no more quarrels; they serve no useful purpose, and only cause us pain!”
“Ah! Speak to me as harshly as you like!” exclaimed Graff, greatly moved. “It does not hurt me, and it relieves you! But be careful to say nothing to your wife. There is no occasion that she should worry herself about the matter.”
They left the office, and, as they crossed the court they saw Baudoin, portmanteau in hand, starting off, with alert and happy step, for the station.
PART II
CHAPTER I
Ars is a small town of six thousand inhabitants, a distance of four leagues from Troyes. On the manly declivities to the South stretch miles upon miles of vineyards. The mineral springs of Ars are distant half a mile from the town, on the road to Lusigny, as is also the thermal establishment.