He did the honors of the house, as if he were at home. Madame Tabourin had not lost any time! There were seldom so many people at Madame Passerat's in the month of June, for then the heat seems to concentrate in the valleys, and people begin to leave town for their country places near by,--shady Uriage, or stations farther on. M. Passerat, whose only passion was archæology, presented to society the frightened manner of a library rat, disturbed while gnawing old books: but on Thursday afternoons, he had less difficulty in appearing sociable, as a matter of gratitude to those guests who took only a glass of syrup or a cup of tea and a small cake, while at the evening functions, being very niggardly despite his wealth, he calculated the expense of the refreshments and grumbled about it. Not only was he not master in his own house, but, on the pretext that his ideas were old-fashioned, he was no longer consulted about anything; whereas M. Molay-Norrois, with his taste for traditions modified by an exact sense of modern requirements, enjoyed an influence which had given rise to the story of the unfastened turret window. Gossip about the two had been even more general since Mme. Passerat, surrounded by her enemies had to struggle at the same time against her years--forty-five in all--and a tendency to shrivel and grow thin, which, if it looked attractive with high-necked gowns, was most trying in evening dress. She was on a fattening diet, but missed the benefit of it because of her physical activity and her irritability of mind. She was a handsome brunette with a curved nose, a quick decisive manner and a loud voice. She loved to bestow pleasure after she had secured a goodly share for herself. Domineering and charitable, she treated life with an assumed frankness, which in reality she lacked, and her husband, naturally fussy, was carried away willy-nilly by these hussar tactics which paid no regard to his indecision. The two new-comers found the room full. People had gathered around Mme. Derize, congratulating, kissing, flattering her, until she did not know to whom to listen, swamped by the chorus of "dear creature," "poor little thing"--"these monsters of men," to all of which she passively submitted. Neither her mother, who had scarcely left her since her trouble, nor she herself had any idea of their lawyer's breach of trust. The two women had come to call unsuspectingly. "Society always considers the absent one to be in the wrong," Mme. Molay-Norrois had assured her daughter. "Preserve the dignity of your position, but be strong in your own right. Mme. Passerat is very influential and she is our friend."