“Once a month,” replied Reybert. “She is never happy out of Paris. Last September she married her niece, Mademoiselle du Rouvre, on whom, since the death of her son, she spends all her affection, to a very rich young Pole, the Comte Laginski.”
“To whom,” asked Madame Clapart, “will Monsieur de Serizy’s property go?”
“To his wife, who will bury him,” replied Georges. “The countess is still fine-looking for a woman of fifty-four years of age. She is very elegant, and, at a little distance, gives one the illusion—”
“She will always be an illusion to you,” said Leger, who seemed inclined to revenge himself on his former hoaxer.
“I respect her,” said Georges. “But, by the bye, what became of that steward whom the count turned off?”
“Moreau?” said Leger; “why, he’s the deputy from the Oise.”
“Ha! the famous Centre man; Moreau de l’Oise?” cried Georges.
“Yes,” returned Leger, “Moreau de l’Oise. He did more than you for the revolution of July, and he has since then bought the beautiful estate of Pointel, between Presles and Beaumont.”
“Next to the count’s,” said Georges. “I call that very bad taste.”
“Don’t speak so loud,” said Monsieur de Reybert, “for Madame Moreau and her daughter, the Baronne de Canalis, and the Baron himself, the former minister, are in the coupe.”