At one o’clock this afternoon the family assembled in the drawing-room with all the preparations and formalities observed at the signing of a marriage contract. I could not attend this ceremony, and I blessed my broken arm for sparing me the trial. About three I was writing to little Hélène, and taking care to assure her more strongly than ever of my complete devotion to her, when M. Laubépin and Mlle. de Porhoët came into my room. In his frequent visits to Laroque, M. Laubépin has learnt to appreciate my venerable friend, and the two old people have formed a respectful and Platonic attachment, which Dr. Desmarets tries in vain to misrepresent. After an exchange of ceremonies, of interminable bows and courtesies, they took the chairs I offered them, and both set about considering me with an air of grave beatitude. "Well," I said, "it’s over?" "Yes," they replied in chorus, "it’s over." "It went off well?" "Very well," said Mlle. de Porhoët. "Wonderfully well," said M. Laubépin. After a pause he added: "Bévallan’s gone to the devil!" "And the young Hélouin after him!" continued Mlle. de Porhoët. I exclaimed in surprise: "Good God! what has happened?" "My friend," said M. Laubépin, "the contemplated union had every possible advantage, and it would have without doubt insured the common happiness of both the parties concerned, if marriage were a purely commercial partnership; but it is nothing of the sort. As my assistance had been asked, I thought it my duty to bear in mind the inclination of the hearts and the agreement of the character just as much as the relative proportions of the estates. Now, from the first, I had the impression that the contemplated marriage had one drawback. It pleased no one, neither my excellent friend Mme. Laroque, nor the amiable _fiancée_, nor their most sensible friends—no one, in fact, except perhaps the _fiancé_, about whom I trouble myself very slightly. It is true (I quote here from Mlle. de Porhoët), it is true, I say, that the _fiancé is *gentilhomme_...." "A _gentleman_, if you please," Mlle. de Porhoët interrupted severely. "A _gentleman_," continued M. Laubépin, accepting the correction, "but it is a kind of _gentleman_ I don’t care for." "Nor I," said Mlle. de Porhoët. "There are curious specimens of the kind. Dissipated stablemen, such as those whom we saw last century deserting their English stables under the direction of the Duc de Chartres to come over here and prepare the Revolution." "Oh, if they had only prepared the Revolution," said M. Laubépin, sententiously, "we should forgive them." "A million apologies, my dear sir; but—speak for yourself! Besides, that is not the question; will you go on?"