The even tenour of _déjeuner_ was disturbed one morning by the announcement that a travelling berline was coming up the road, and that an old gentleman was looking from its window. A travelling berline, covered thick with dust, too! Not a neighbour, then. Who could it be that presumed to invade their monastic privacy? A messenger from Paris, perhaps. Had something awful happened? The abbé and the governess glanced at each other suspiciously, the same unspoken thought occurring to both. Was the crisis come before they were prepared? If so, the idea of ousting the other one must be abandoned, and a yet closer alliance formed. "Monsieur Galland," announced a servant. None of those present had ever heard the name. Who was he? Whence and from whom had he come? The gentleman entered, and bowed gravely to the company. A spare, tall old man, who, despite the march of fashion, wore his hair curled and powdered. He was clad in plain black cloth, with woollen stockings and black buckles. A most respectable person, evidently. Would he be good enough to state his business? He took a chair, accepted a cup of coffee, and, fixing his eyes on the portly Aglaé, in what she considered an offensive and marked manner, explained that he was a solicitor. A solicitor? There was no law suit pending that anyone was aware. What? The confidential man of business of Monsieur le Maréchal de Brèze, who was, unfortunately, ill in bed. The grave Gentleman trusted that the maréchal's daughter was not also indisposed. To his regret he perceived that she was absent from the morning meal of the family. Again Pharamond and Aglaé glanced at each other. What could the old man have to say which could not be communicated by letter? Clovis blushed, and looked for assistance to the abbé. It came upon him suddenly that what had grown to be quite natural to him, would be rather difficult to explain to a stranger. "Madame la Marquise is an angel of charity," demurely remarked the abbé, "who repudiates the innocent comforts of this life to give the more time to others. She grudges the hour we waste in dallying, and prefers to breakfast alone." "We all know that madame is an angel," agreed the grave stranger; "much too good for this world." The company looked one at another in growing uneasiness. There was something unpleasant coming. It was odd that the announcement of Gabrielle's being an angel should make them all feel guilty. The chevalier sighed and wheezed. Clovis's colour deepened. The abbé drummed his fingers on the cloth, annoyed. The governess scrutinised the stranger with lowering brow, for instinct whispered that something had been kept back from her, and that it was on her account he had come.