francs a year. Reluctant to sacrifice property
worth a hundred and fifty thousand francs
M. de Marcellange thought the best thing he
could do was to persuade his mother-in-law to
come and live with him. In an evil hour for all
parties, she consented.

Madame de Chamblas, then at Lyons, had
long been living there separate from her
husband, indulging in all the pleasures of a wealthy
city. Ostentatious and expensive in her habits
to an extent rarely seen in economical
Auvergne, she kept up a large establishment, and
gave herself airs of superiority to an extent
incredible to those unacquainted with French
provincial aristocrats. The Revolution has
altered the position of that class, but it can hardly
be said to have lowered their pride.

Soon after the arrival of Madame de Chamblas
her daughter felt her influence. The mother,
accustomed to the routine of aristocratic life, felt
ill at ease in her rustic home. Shepherds and
goatherds were all very well in a water-colour
landscape or in a ballet, but who could be
expected to take interest in their actions, to speak
their language, or enter into their thoughts?
The first time M. de Marcellange mentioned in
her presence that at the last fair his sheep fetched
eighteen francs a head, she raised her eyebrows
and lowered the corners of her mouth.

The ladies then made, or affected to make,
the discovery that M. de Marcellange's name
was plain Vilhardin, without any " de." Before
his marriage he had been a tax-collector—
something little better than a sort of clerk. Madame
de Marcellange lent only too ready an ear to
her mother's depreciation of her husband.

Meanwhile, a child was born; and in course
of time, Théodora became again enceinte. That
was no reason for her remaining at Chamblas,
which became more unendurably rustic every
day. Her mother decided that they would go and
live in the neighbouring town, Le Puy. There
at least they could receive decent company, and
the drawing-room would not smell of the stable.
Soon, M. de Marcellange himself was banished.
When he visited the house, he was put into a
smoky chamber, good enough, however, no
doubt, for him. They lived in grand style; the
frugal ways of Chamblas were mentioned only
with a disdainful smile. Nevertheless, their
showy way of life did not make them forget
their own private interests. The old lady
vigorously urged her pecuniary claims, and her
daughter, in the hope of pin-money, backed her
without compunction. They refused to board
M. de Marcellange's servants; then Madame
de Chamblas pleaded for a legal separation of
the married couple, and the husband was
refused admittance into the house of his wife.

M. de Marcellange gained his suit; the
court refused a separation. It was clear that
the lady's marriage portion was in no danger of
being dissipated. M. de Marcellange, who, in
spite of the manner in which she treated him,
always appeared much attached to his wife,
wrote to her, and got friends to speak to her
to bring about a reconciliation. His advances
were repelled. As those ladies affected great
religious zeal, and took pains to attract the
higher clergy especially, he made a friendly
proposition through the Archbishop of Lyons;
but all his overtures were in vain. M. de
Marcellange, they said, had ceased to belong to
their family. In the course of a few months,
he lost both his children. The natural ties,
which had been insufficient to prevent scandalous
divisions, were broken. The connexion of the
husband and wife was now merely nominal.
She did not even condescend to acquaint him
with the death of the second child;  he heard of
it by chance from the rnouth of a stranger. He
summoned his wife, by a bailiff's warrant, to
renew their conjugal union. After what had
already passed, he could hardly be surprised by
her refusing to obey the order.

                           II.

FOURTEEN months after the ladies had failed
to obtain a legal separation, a tragic event
suddenly afforded them the relief they had been so
ardently wishing for. On the first of September,
1840, at about half-past eight in the evening,
the farm servants of Chamblas were
assembled in the kitchen, situated on the
ground-floor of the château. According to the
custom of the country, their master, M. Louis
de Marcellange, was sitting with them beside
the hearth, on which an enormous log was
burning; for although it was only the beginning
of autumn, a chilly blast had been sweeping
down from the summit of the Velay mountains.

M. de Marcellange was chatting cheerfully,
with his back towards a large window looking
into the farmyard. Suddenly, there was a
flash, a report, a shattering of glass. M. de
Marcellange tottered an instant on his chair
and then fell forward into the ashes. There he
lay motionless; he was dead.

Then followed a moment of stupefaction. At
first, the persons present did not understand
what had happened. It was not till those
nearest had lifted the body, from whose mouth
the blood was slowly trickling, and had
ascertained that it gave no sign of life, that two or
three of them ran to the door and searched
the yard. It was too late; the murderer had
disappeared.

The night was dark; the wind howled and
whistled in the wayside chesnut-trees; they
went no further in pursuit. On re-entering the
house, all crowded round the body; the cook
vainly bathed the temples and the lips with
vinegar. Several of them wept; for M. de
Marcellange was a good master, simple, affable,
and ever ready to assist the necessitous.

"It's strange, all the same," said one of the
farm servants who watched a hound licking his
master's cold hand as the body lay stretched
upon the table. " The sporting dogs were here
when the shot was fired; yet they gave no
warning."

"It's stranger still," said a ploughman,
"that the yard-dog did not give tongue. It
must, have been somebody whom he knew."

"We must send to Le Puy for a doctor,"
said another.