En province comme en province, and here we are simple folk--" "Simple folk ?" she interrupted, gasping.

"By God, am I married to a ploughman?
Am I Vicomtesse of Lavedan, or the wife of a boor of the countryside?
And is the honour of your daughter a matter--" "The honour of my daughter is not in question, madame," he interrupted in his turn, and with a sudden sternness that spent the fire of her indignation as a spark that is trampled underfoot.

Then, in a calm, level voice: "Ah, here are the servants," said he.
"Permit them, madame, to take charge of Monsieur de Saint-Eustache.
Anatole, you had better order the carriage for Monsieur le Chevalier.

I do not think that he will be able to ride home." Anatole peered at the pale young gentleman on the ground, then he turned his little wizened face upon me, and grinned in a singularly solemn fashion.

Monsieur de Saint-Eustache was little loved, it seemed.
Leaning heavily upon the arm of one of the lacqueys, the Chevalier moved painfully towards the courtyard, where the carriage was being prepared for him.