"Gaining time! Gaining time! And to what end? Can she expect a better match than the Marquis? Is he not, barring his obscure origin, an accomplished nobleman, and wealthy, besides? Is he not at home at court? Is he not, thanks to the favor that his father enjoys with the King, a colonel at the young age of twenty-five, and able to aspire even to a Marshal's baton? Think of it, Abbot--a Marshal's baton!" "Your niece snaps her fingers at Marshals' batons, and the wealth of the Marquis, to boot! Don't you yet know her? And, by the way of wealth, a certain occurrence comes to my mind. Did not Bertha, planting herself upon the custom of Brittany which insures to the daughters a part of the paternal and maternal inheritance, demand not only to know the amount of her share, but also to be put in possession, immediately, of her mother's jewels, which are valued at more than forty thousand ecus? Did she not, furthermore, cause the Count's intendant to deliver to her a thousand louis in advance, and does she not keep the money locked up in her casket together with the precious stones? These several proceedings have set my mind a-thinking." "Mere whims, to which we felt constrained to yield out of fear lest the brainless body decline the marriage!" "Well, Marchioness, what you consider the whims of a brainless body--in other words, this determination of having a considerable sum of money in her possession--is, in my opinion, on the part of your niece, an action that denotes thorough reflection, and the consequences of which may, perhaps, prove most disastrous, if, as I much fear, a thought that flashed through my mind last night has actually put me on the right track. That thought obsesses and pursues me." "What thought is that? Come, Abbot, be more explicit. Do not speak in riddles." "It is my opinion that Bertha is in love--crazily smitten!" "Bertha in love! Crazily smitten! Come, your mind is wandering!" "Oh, Marchioness! In that, I hold, lies the mystery. You may ask who the object is of her love--" The conversation between Madam Tremblay and the Abbot was interrupted by the blustering arrival of the Count of Plouernel.