went to Paris, and was absent for nearly a week.

Pierre Graslin was, as can readily be imagined, not much of a talker;
he went straight and rapidly to deeds. A thing decided on was a thing
done. In February, 1822, a strange piece of news burst like a
thunderbolt on the town of Limoges. The hotel Graslin was being
handsomely furnished; carriers' carts came day after day from Paris,
and their contents were unpacked in the courtyard. Rumors flew about
the town as to the beauty and good taste of the modern or the antique
furniture as it was seen to arrive. The great firm of Odiot and
Company sent down a magnificent service of plate by the mail-coach.
Three carriages, a caleche, a coupe, and a cabriolet arrived, wrapped
in straw with as much care as if they were jewels.

"Monsieur Graslin is going to be married!"

These words were said by every pair of lips in Limoges in the course
of a single evening,--in the salons of the upper classes, in the
kitchens, in the shops, in the streets, in the suburbs, and before
long throughout the whole surrounding country. But to whom? No one
could answer. Limoges had a mystery.



III

MARRIAGE

On the return of old Sauviat Graslin paid his first evening visit at
half-past nine o'clock. Veronique was expecting him, dressed in her