One felt that nothing less than a long line of ancestors could have produced that combination of pure and noble features, all those almost regal graces, which revealed themselves one by one, like those of a swan basking in the sunshine with majestic languor.

Bénédict descended from his post at the foot of the cross, and, despite the mutterings of the good women of the village, a score of other young men succeeded one another on that desirable elevation, which enabled them to see and be seen. An hour later, Bénédict found himself being led towards Mesdames de Raimbault. His uncle, who had been talking to them hat in hand, having noticed him at a little distance, had taken him by the arm and presented him to them.

Valentine was sitting on the turf, between her mother, the Comtesse de Raimbault, and her grandmother, the Marquise de Raimbault. Bénédict did not know either of the three ladies, but he had so often heard them spoken of at the farm that he was prepared for the icy and contemptuous nod of the countess and the familiar and affable greeting of the marchioness. It was as if the latter intended, by effusive demonstrations, to make up for her daughter-in-law’s disdainful silence. But in that affectation of popular manners there were traces of a habit of patronizing that was truly feudal.

“What! is that Bénédict ?” she cried ; “is that the little fellow I saw at his mother’s breast ? Good-day, my lad! I am delighted to see you so tall and so well dressed. You look so like your mother that it’s enough to frighten one. By the way, do you know we’re old acquaintances ? You’re the godson of my poor son, the general, who was killed at Waterloo. It was I who gave you your first frock; but you can hardly remember that. How long ago was it ? You must be at least eighteen ?”

“I am twenty-two, madame,” Bénédict replied.

“Sangodémi!” cried the marchioness; “twenty-two already ! How time flies ! I thought you were about my granddaughter’s age. You dont’t know my granddaughter do you ? Here she is ; look at her. We know how to get children too, you see! Valentine, say good-evening to Bénédict; he’s honest Lhéry’s nephew, and engaged to your little playmate Athénaïs. Speak to him, my child.”

This apostrophe might be translated thus : “ Inheritress of my name, imitate me ; make yourself popular, in order to carry your head safely through future revolutions, as I was shrewd enough to do in past revolutions.”—Nevertheless, Mademoiselle de Raimbault, whether by tact, breeding or sincerity, effaced by her glance and smile all the wrath that the marchioness’s impertinent affability had aroused in Bénédict’s breast. He had looked at her with bold and mocking eyes, for his wounded pride had banished for an instant the natural shyness of his years. But the expression of that lovely face was so gentle and serene, the tones of that voice so melodious and soothing, that the young man lowered his eyes and blushed like a girl.

“Ah ! monsieur,” she said, “I can say nothing to you more sincerely than that I love Athénaïs as if she were my sister. Have the kindness to bring her to me ; I have been looking for her a long while, but cannot find her. I would like very much to embrace her.”

Bénédict bowed low, and soon returned with his cousin. Athénaïs walked about amid the merry-making, arm-inarm with the nobly-born daughter of the Comtes de Raimbault. Although she pretended to consider it a perfectly natural thing, and although Valentine so understood it, it was impossible for her to conceal the joyful triumph of her pride in the presence of those other women, who envied her while exerting themselves to disparage her. Meanwhile the viol gave the signal for the bourrée. Athénaïs was engaged to dance it with the young man who had stopped her on the road. She begged Mademoiselle de Raimbault to be her vis-à-vis.

“I will wait till I have an invitation,” Valentine replied, with a smile.

“Well, Bénédict,” cried Athénaïs, eagerly, “go and invite mademoiselle.”

The awestruck Bénédict consulted Valentine’s face with his eyes. He read in its sweet and innocent expression a wish to accept his invitation. Thereupon he stepped toward her. But the countess, her mother, abruptly seized her arm, saying to her in so loud a tone that Bénédict could hear her :

“My child, I forbid you to dance the bourrée with anyone but Monsieur de Lansac.”

Thereupon, Bénédict noticed for the first time a tall young man with an exceedingly handsome face, on whose arm the countess was leaning, and he remembered that that was the name of Mademoiselle de Raimbault’s fiancé.

He soon understood the cause of her mother’s alarm. At a certain trill executed by the viol before beginning the bourrée, every dancer must, in accordance with immemorial custom, kiss his partner. The Comte de Lansac, being too well bred to take that liberty in public, compromised with the custom of Berri by kissing Valentine’s hand respectfully.

He then tried a few steps forward and back ; but realizing at once that he could not catch the rhythm of that dance, in which no stranger to the province can ever acquit himself with credit, he stopped and said to Valentine :

“Now I have done my duty, I have established you here in accordance with your mother’s wish ; but I will not spoil your pleasure by my awkwardness. You had a partner all ready just now, allow me to cede my rights to him.—Will you kindly take my place, monsieur ?” he said, turning to Bénédict, in a tone of the utmost courtesy. “You will act my part much better than I.”

And as Bénédict, torn between shyness and pride, hesitated to take that place, the most valuable privilege of which had been taken from him, Monsieur de Lansac graciously added :

“You will be sufficiently repaid for the favor I ask you ; perhaps, indeed, it is your place to thank me.”

Bénédict did not require much urging ; Valentine’s hand was placed with no sign of repugnance in his trembling one. The countess was satisfied with the diplomatic way in which her future son-in-law had arranged the affair.