On the morrow, Mme. Camusot de Marville made a great resolution; the President likewise sanctioned the step now forced upon them by circumstances. It was determined that the estate of Marville should be settled upon Cecile at the time of her marriage, as well as the house in the Rue de Hanovre and a hundred thousand francs. In the course of the morning, the Presidente went to call upon the Comtesse Popinot; for she saw plainly that nothing but a settled marriage could enable them to recover after such a check. To the Comtesse Popinot she told the shocking story of Pons’ revenge, Pons’ hideous hoax. It all seemed probable enough when it came out that the marriage had been broken off simply on the pretext that Cecile was an only daughter. The Presidente next dwelt artfully upon the advantage of adding “de Marville” to the name of Popinot; and the immense dowry. At the present price fetched by land in Normandy, at two per cent, the property represented nine hundred thousand francs, and the house in the Rue de Hanovre about two hundred and fifty thousand. No reasonable family could refuse such an alliance. The Comte and Comtesse Popinot accepted; and as they were now touched by the honor of the family which they were about to enter, they promised to help explain away yesterday evening’s mishap. And now in the house of the elder Camusot, before the very persons who had heard Mme. de Marville singing Frederic Brunner’s praises but a few days ago, that lady, to whom nobody ventured to speak on the topic, plunged courageously into explanations. “Really, nowadays” (she said), “one could not be too careful if a marriage was in question, especially if one had to do with foreigners.” “And why, madame?” “What has happened to you?” asked Mme. Chiffreville. “Do you not know about our adventure with that Brunner, who had the audacity to aspire to marry Cecile? His father was a German that kept a wine-shop, and his uncle is a dealer in rabbit-skins!” “Is it possible? So clear-sighted as you are!...” murmured a lady. “These adventurers are so cunning. But we found out everything through Berthier. His friend is a beggar that plays the flute. He is friendly with a person who lets furnished lodgings in the Rue du Mail and some tailor or other.... We found out that he had led a most disreputable life, and no amount of fortune would be enough for a scamp that has run through his mother’s property.” “Why, Mlle. de Marville would have been wretched!” said Mme. Berthier. “How did he come to your house?” asked old Mme. Lebas. “It was M. Pons. Out of revenge, he introduced this fine gentleman to us, to make us ridiculous.... This Brunner (it is the same name as Fontaine in French)--this Brunner, that was made out to be such a grandee, has poor enough health, he is bald, and his teeth are bad. The first sight of him was enough for me; I distrusted him from the first.” “But how about the great fortune that you spoke of?” a young married woman asked shyly.