As many another young man of that period, so was the Marquis Defrêne. Resolutely reckless in the gratification of every passing inclination, and the slave of his pleasures, he was nearly at the end of his resources when, as Fate would have it, he was thrown in the path of a young and lovely girl, Marie-Elizabeth Girard du Tillay, the daughter of the President of the Chamber of Accounts. M. du Tillay, having, as a careful father, satisfied himself as to the complete undesirability of the Marquis in the character of a son-in-law, sternly repelled every attempt of the young man to gain possession of Marie-Elizabeth’s affections. All M. du Tillay’s efforts notwithstanding, however, Defrêne succeeded in establishing the tenderest of relations with the girl and, ultimately, in persuading her to elope with him. But it was necessary for the Marquis to make sure of his prey as quickly as possible, lest Marie-Elizabeth’s scruples and her love for the father upon whom and whose house she was now turning her back, at his invitation, should gain the upper hand of her and so make her return to her home in order to obtain the parental blessing and consent to her union with him. No priest, as Defrêne well knew, would join them in marriage without the consent of the girl’s father. Marie-Elizabeth, however, was in ignorance of this fact; so that she was in no way surprised when her swain informed her that he had a priest in readiness to make them man and wife. This priest, indeed, was no other than Defrêne’s body-servant, who was to assume the sacerdotal character for the occasion; and thus between the two scoundrels, master and man, Marie-Elizabeth was deceived into going through a bogus ceremony of marriage with the blessing of the rascally valet. Having carried out this piece of villainy to the complete deception of Marie-Elizabeth, who now believed herself a marchioness for better or for worse, Defrêne hastened to put himself beyond the reach of French law by crossing the channel into England, together with his victim, since, in those days, the protection of foreign criminals—poisoners and coiners only excepted—was considered an especial attribute of the majesty of every Sovereign.