The storm was over. Tombarel rose. It was high time for him to get back to Creille.
“So you see, mon pauvre ami, what a desperate mess we’re in, Madame de Castelin and I. She is willing to give her consent, in spite of herself, to this dreadful mésalliance. But that is not enough for the villainous Mario. He must marry her, and become Seigneur d’Ecrabouilles. Otherwise scandal, and the end of poor Alcide Tombarel, Maire de Creille, who has falsified the registers of the Republic.”
“But the eminent Maître whom you consulted—what does he say?”
“What do lawyers ever say that can ease a soul in pain?” said Tombarel dramatically.
He swept his white mane and beard, and smiled.
“I’ve wearied you to death, my dear Fontenay, with my insignificant troubles. A thousand thanks. . . .”
He was all
