"A profitable stake to win, in sooth," he observed, with a yawn. "Castellane! I hereby resign your empty title-deeds, having quite enough such foolish lumber of my own. Your part of the country is a caldron, mine is a furnace. Thank heaven, my wife's estates are in a land of peace, or, like many more, we should be beggars."
"It is not given to everyone to mate with a great heiress," remarked rueful Castellane, feeling in his empty pocket.
"You should look out for one," said the marquis, serenely smiling, "for you know that since the Third Estate has raised its ugly head, you don't dare to show your nose at Castellane. The tenants would growl of rights of man, and prod your silk stockings with their pitchforks."
"That's true enough," sighed the young scapegrace, with a puzzled air. "Though they deserve the galleys for their temerity, they are patted on the back by our too lenient sovereign--a mob of insolent ragamuffins! Last time I travelled south, I was worried to fiddle-strings by deputations whom I declined to see--a parcel of unpractical idiots, who, when I demanded rents, babbled of redress of grievances. Really, de Gauge, you may keep the title-deeds, for, since no one will lend a louis on them, they are no better than a musty mockery."
The butterflies enjoyed the jest and laughed in chorus. There was something delightfully whimsical about the fact that the acres for which heroes had bled, and which had been enjoyed in majestic fashion by a long line of noble ancestors, should--as in the fairy tale--be transmuted into heaps of dead and mouldy leaves.
After the laugh came silence, for were they not all in the same battered boat? No matter. Whate'er betide, they must sink or swim together.
"Awkward customers, the Third Estate," some one remarked presently. "That untoward matter of the Bastile may prove an evil precedent."
"Pooh!" yawned a stout old gentleman, whose weatherbeaten visage was round and of a bluish red. "A flash in the pan--a paltry riot--a piece of low impertinence which ministers, if they were not hopelessly idiotic, should have foreseen and smothered. Stick to the title-deeds, son-in-law. If you live long enough, they will be useful some day."
"No," replied de Gange, carelessly. "Thanks to you, maréchal, my nest's well feathered. Gabrielle has enough for both."
The wealthy old Maréchal de Brèze looked pleased. When you have hit on a suitable match for your heiress during an epidemic of impecuniosity, it is well to be assured that the fortunate spouse is not a greedy gold-seeker. "Clovis!" he cried heartily, "give me your hand. You are queer and dreamy, beyond my poor comprehension; but I believe--yes, I do!--that you are an upright and honest man!"