"Now, look here, Monsieur l'Abbe, you are wrong to take things in this
tragic manner. Stay, look at my little mare, how well she trots! what
good action she has! You have not seen her before? What do you think
I paid for her? Four hundred francs. I discovered her a fortnight ago,
between the shafts of a market gardener's cart. She is a treasure.
I assure you she can do sixteen miles an hour, and keep one's hands full
all the time. Just see how she pulls. Come, tot-tot-tot! You are not
in a hurry, Monsieur l'Abbe, I hope. Let us return through the wood; the
fresh air will do you good. Oh! Monsieur l'Abbe, if you only knew what a
regard I have for you, and respect, too. I did not talk too much
nonsense before you just now, did I? I should be so sorry--"

"No, my child, I heard nothing."

"Well, we will take the longest way round."

After having turned to the left in the wood, Paul resumed his
communications.

"I was saying, Monsieur l'Abbe," he went on, "that you are wrong to take
things so seriously. Shall I tell you what I think? This is a very
fortunate affair."

"Very fortunate?"

"Yes, very fortunate. I would rather see the Scotts at Longueval than
the Gallards. Did you not hear Monsieur de Larnac reproach these
Americans with spending their money foolishly. It is never foolish to
spend money. The folly lies in keeping it. Your poor for I am perfectly
sure that it is your poor of whom you are thinking--your poor have made a