“Yes,” said Madame Guibert. “You remember his first trip with the Lyons Exploration Company’s mission? He was struck by the wealth of the mines and the soil there, and told us also of the wild beauty of the country. He has settled with his wife at Along Bay. Isn’t that the name, Paule?” The girl assented, and her mother went on: “He is in charge of the coal-mines there. At the same time he is quite a farmer, and is growing rice and tomatoes. François has gone out to him, and also your cousin Charles, Marc’s son. They are doing well, with the blessing of God. Étienne helps us to live.” “Was his wife quite willing to go?” “Louise is as brave as she is quiet. They sailed eight days after their wedding. They have a boy now. I have never seen him, but yet I love him.” “When Louise was married,” Paule added, “there was quite an outcry at Chambéry. All the women pitied her mother. ‘How can you let your daughter go?’ they asked, and they accused her of an unpardonable lack of affection. Madame Saudet saw that Louise was happy, and that was enough for her. The others only thought about themselves and their own peace of mind. As M. Dulaurens says, ‘calm is the all-important thing.’” A name casually introduced into a conversation often seems to attract the person mentioned. Such chance coincidences have passed into a proverb. A carriage at this moment was passing through the open gate into the chestnut avenue, and Paule recognised the Dulaurens livery. “They had quite given us up,” observed Madame Guibert, turning very red. Brave as she was in her attitude towards life, she was timid towards society. “It is on account of our hero,” said Paule with a mocking glance at her brother. But they all rose and went to meet the visitors. The carriage had already emerged from the avenue and was crushing the gravel of the courtyard. Madame Dulaurens was the first to get out and began at once with an allusion to the Captain. She greeted Madame Guibert and said: “How proud you must be to have such a son!” Madame Dulaurens was by birth a De Vélincourt and never forgot the fact. On the strength of this she looked upon all her actions as great condescensions, and even deigned to bestow a kind of benevolent patronage on those meritorious exploits which it should be the privilege of the aristocracy to perform; or, if not, the aristocracy could at least claim the credit for them, by applauding them enthusiastically.