The salon was now full.

Mademoiselle Cormon's absence allowed the ladies present to discuss the tragi-comic scene--embellished, extended, historified, embroidered, wreathed, colored, and adorned--which had just taken place, and which, on the morrow, was destined to occupy all Alencon.
"That good Monsieur du Bousquier! how well he carried you!" said Josette to her mistress.

"He was really pale at the sight of you; he loves you still." That speech served as closure to this solemn and terrible evening.
Throughout the morning of the next day every circumstance of the late comedy was known in the household of Alencon, and--let us say it to the shame of that town,--they caused inextinguishable laughter.

But on that day Mademoiselle Cormon (much benefited by the bleeding) would have seemed sublime even to the boldest scoffers, had they witnessed the noble dignity, the splendid Christian resignation which influenced her as she gave her arm to her involuntary deceiver to go into breakfast.
Cruel jesters! why could you not have seen her as she said to the viscount,-- "Madame de Troisville will have difficulty in finding a suitable house; do me the favor, monsieur, of accepting the use of mine during the time you are in search of yours." "But, mademoiselle, I have two sons and two daughters; we should greatly inconvenience you." "Pray do not refuse me," she said earnestly.
"I made you the same offer in the answer I wrote to your letter," said the abbe; "but you did not receive it." "What, uncle! then you knew--" The poor woman stopped.

Josette sighed.