“And it was to prevent your attention being distracted so that you might receive some gentlemen who are coming from Paris to see you, that we sent little Louise to Montfermeil,” said Gérondif with a smile. “What? the accident to Nicole’s son----” “Was all a joke.” Before Chérubin had time to reply, Monsieur d’Hurbain came up and bowed low to him. The notary’s solemn manner made an impression on the young man, who faltered a few words in reply to the flattering remarks that were addressed to him. They walked toward the nurse’s house, and for the first time Chérubin had a feeling of something like shame when the notary said: “What, monsieur le marquis, is this where you are studying? You are sixteen and a half years old, you belong to a noble family, you have a handsome fortune, and you pass your life beneath the roof of these village folk! I honor the laboring man, I esteem all honest persons, but everyone should keep to his own rank, monsieur le marquis, otherwise society would fall into confusion and anarchy; and there would no longer be that desire to rise, to succeed, which, by implanting in men’s hearts a praiseworthy ambition, makes them capable of noble efforts to attain the end at which they are eager to arrive.” “Bravo! _recte dicis!_” cried Monsieur Gérondif, smiling at the notary; “monsieur talks now as I used to talk.” Chérubin blushed and did not know what to reply. Monsieur d’Hurbain continued his efforts to make the young man listen to reason, displaying the utmost amiability and suavity in his arguments. He was careful, however, to dwell on the marquis’s rank and wealth, and he always ended with these words: “You agree with me now, do you not, and you are coming back to Paris with me?” But Chérubin, although he seemed to listen with great deference to the notary’s speeches, replied in a very mild tone: “No, monsieur, I prefer to stay here.” “It certainly isn’t my fault!” cried Monsieur Gérondif, raising his eyes heavenward. “Every day I say to my pupil the same things that you have said, monsieur; but I reinforce them by example from history, ancient and modern; it’s as if I were teaching a blind man to draw!” Monsieur d’Hurbain was beginning to doubt the success of his visit, when they heard a horse’s footsteps. They ran to the door to see what it was, and discovered a very stylishly dressed gentleman in a dainty tilbury, accompanied by his groom only. It was Edouard de Monfréville, who was driving himself. He stopped, jumped lightly to the ground and approached the party, bowing courteously to Chérubin, to whom the notary said: “Allow me to introduce the son of one of your father’s old friends, Monsieur de Monfréville, who has come to add his entreaties to mine, to induce you to go to Paris.” Monfréville took Chérubin’s hand and pressed it; and after scrutinizing the young man for some time, he said: