Steps were heard outside in the hall as if of three or even four persons; but when the door opened, only Marsac entered. He wore a look of jaunty expectation, which seemed only to be increased by the startling spectacle before him,--Madame Fleury holding on to Monsieur Duval’s arm, the old man puffing, blowing, smiling, and frowning with alternate spasms of rage and delight; Claire clinging to Fontaine and in great distress; while Delphine, pale and defiant, stood alone in the centre of the group. It was one of the most delicious moments of Madame Fleury’s life. When Marsac, raising his eyebrows, inquired, “What is this I see?” Madame Fleury cut in before even Monsieur Duval could reply,-- “You see the betrothal between Monsieur Duval and me.” Marsac’s wide, handsome mouth came open as if it were on hinges. His enjoyment of the situation seemed intense; and Fontaine, Claire, and Delphine were all astounded at his heartless amusement over a catastrophe so ruinous to all of them. He only said, with a grin, after surveying the scene for a minute or two,-- “And are you quite certain, Madame, of carrying out your plan?” “Perfectly certain,” responded Monsieur Duval, pompously; “and she will find her good old Duval a better husband than that rascally count she married first and buried afterward.” “But did she bury him?” asked Marsac, and paused to get the whole effect of this. It was magical on Madame Fleury. She clenched her teeth; her eyes flashed fire; but she held on stoutly to Monsieur Duval, who grew white about the chops. Marsac, after coolly surveying his audience, announced,-- “I have the honour of presenting to you Madame Fleury’s husband!” With that, he threw the door open with a grand flourish, and in walked one of the most weazened, cadaverous little men who ever stepped, and behind him Madame Schmid’s rubicund countenance and rotund figure. [Illustration] Madame Fleury could not repress a cry of rage, and Monsieur Duval dropped her arm as if it was red-hot. Fleury, who seemed not at all abashed by his surroundings, looked calmly about. Monsieur Duval was the first to recover his voice, and his disgusted exclamation was,-- “That creature a count!” “I did not say he was a count,” corrected Marsac. “I merely said, by way of making things agreeable, that Madame Fleury was a countess.” Madame Fleury’s reply to this was one word, uttered in a tone of concentrated hatred, “Wretch!” “Is that all the thanks I get for restoring to you your long-lost husband?” said Marsac in an injured voice. “Oh, the ingratitude that is in this world!” Fleury, meanwhile, seemed determined to assert himself. “I’m not a count,” he said; “and that lady yonder,” indicating Madame Fleury, “always turned up her nose at me; but I am not as insignificant as she would have you believe. I have a standing offer from the medical school of seventy-five francs for my skeleton as soon as I peg out.”