>From a side street there now emerged a gaily apparelled cavalcade.
At its head rode the Marquis de Bellecour, the Vicomte, and a
half-dozen other gentlemen, followed by, perhaps, a dozen lacqueys.
It was a hunting party that was making its way across the village
to the open country beyond. The bridal procession crossing their
path caused them to draw rein, and to wait until it should have
passed - which argued a very condescending humour, for it would not
have been out of keeping with their habits to have ridden headlong
through it. Their presence cast a restraint upon the peasants. The
jests were silenced, the laughter hushed, and like a flight of
pigeons under the eye of the hawk, they scurried past the Seigneurie,
and some of them prayed God that they might be suffered to pass
indeed.

Bellecour eyed them in cold disdain, until presently Charlot and his
bride were abreast of him. Then his eye seemed to take life and his
sallow face to kindle into expression. He leant lightly from the
saddle.

"Stay!" he commanded coldly, and as they came to a halt, daring not
to disobey him - "approach, girl," he added.

Charlot's brows grew black. He looked up at the Marquis, but if his
glance was sullen and threatening, it was also not free from fear.
Marie obeyed, with eyes downcast and a heightened colour. If she
conjectured at all why they had been stopped, it was but to conclude
that M. le Marquis was about to offer her some mark of appreciation.
Uneasiness, in her dear innocence, she knew none.

"What is your name, child?" inquired the Marquis more gently.