As they drove into a spacious courtyard shaded by tall lindens, Dubourg secretly felicitated himself on the chance meeting, and began to think that Madame Chambertin still possessed a very attractive figure and very bright eyes. As for Ménard, he had visions of a well-furnished kitchen, and he concluded that a man who owned such a charming estate deserved some consideration, although he was neither baron nor palatine. Madame Chambertin escorted the strangers into a pretty salon on the ground floor, which looked on a beautiful garden behind the house. Everything indicated wealth, profusion, and absence of taste. There were two clocks on the mantel, another on a console, a fourth on a desk. The furniture was costly, the floor covered with rich rugs, the walls overloaded with pictures, and three chandeliers hung from the ceiling. "This is my small summer salon," said Madame Chambertin, modestly. "If I had known that I was to have the honor of entertaining monsieur le baron, I would have had my large winter salon thrown open, where three sets can dance a quadrille without interfering with one another." "We have more room than we need, madame; and I should be very sorry to cause you any inconvenience; this salon is perfectly charming; everything here shows the touch of the goddess of this blest abode." "Ah! monsieur le baron--to be sure, I did arrange it. My husband wanted to put another clock in this corner, but he can do without it." "It would be very difficult not to know what time it is here." "This is rather a tasty rug, don't you think? I have a still finer one in my winter salon. You must use them a great deal in Poland, monsieur le baron?" "Oh! we have carpets six inches thick in Poland; you sink into them as you walk, just as you do into a feather-bed. I hope to have the honor of sending you a specimen." "Oh! monsieur le baron!" At that moment, Monsieur Chambertin appeared, with such guests as he had been able to collect in a hurry, to dine with a great noble at his table. He had found only four persons at liberty: a former village notary and his wife, who were just about to sit down to their own repast, when their neighbor rushed in, greatly excited, and told them of the acquaintances he had made, and that he was to have the honor of entertaining at his house the noble foreigner and the professor of belles-lettres. At that news, followed by an invitation to dine with the great man, Monsieur Bidault--such was the ex-notary's name--summoned his maid, and said: "Clear the table, Marianne; put the pâté in the sideboard, the chicken in the pantry, and the fish in the cellar, and keep them all for to-morrow; we dine with my neighbor." And Madame Bidault ran to her mirror, crying: "Quick, Marianne! my gown with orange blossoms, my straw hat, my lace collerette; I can't appear in négligé before those gentlemen.--Aren't you going to dress, Monsieur Bidault?"