"Yes, indeed! oh, yes!" said Monsieur de Noirteuil; "in fact, he made a very absurd marriage—the daughter of a man who kept a shop; and it was his father, the old marquis, who insisted that the marriage should take place. It seems that there had been seduction, malediction, desertion—and a child with it all."
"Men renowned for their bonnes fortunes seem to have bad ones too, sometimes!" observed Monsieur de Santoval, smiling in a strange fashion.
"It seems to me, monsieur, that the crowd is less dense," said Valentine, "and that we might walk through the other rooms now."
"With pleasure, madame; I am at your service."
"Lovely woman! enchanting woman!" cried the little hunchback, as he watched the young marchioness move away on her husband's arm.
"Yes," said the Baron de Montrevert, leaning unceremoniously on the little man's shoulder; "but much too lovely for her husband—eh, Noirteuil?"
"Do not lean on me so, baron—you are heavy, you are extremely heavy, baron!"
"What do you mean by that, you crafty old man? Do you refer to my body or my mind?"
"Both."
"Is it true that Léodgard is here?"