"The richest heiress in Alsace and Lorraine, Mademoiselle de Salves," was the answer.
"Ah, she suits me," said the clown.
"Bah, she is as proud as a peacock," growled an old peasant.
"It is all the same to me," said a second peasant; "she is going to be married to a gentleman in Paris, and there she fits better."
A heavy mail-coach, which halted at the Golden Sun, interrupted the conversation. Mr. Schwan ran to the door to receive the travellers, and at the same moment the man in the brown overcoat appeared at the threshold of the door. Hardly had he seen the mail-coach than he hurried to open the door, and in a cringing voice said:
"Welcome, Monsieur le Marquis; my letter arrived, then, opportunely?"
The occupant of the coach nodded, and leaning on the other's arm, he got out. It was the Marquis of Fougereuse. He looked like a man prematurely old, whose bent back and wrinkled features made him look like a man of seventy, while in reality he was hardly fifty.
In the marquis's company was a servant named Simon, who, in the course of years, had advanced from the post of valet to that of steward.
"What does the gentleman desire?" asked the host, politely.