*
At dessert, Ursule and her guardian were in the pretty dining-room decorated with Chinese paintings in lacquer, the ruin of Levrault-Levrault, when the justice of the peace called. The doctor offered him, as a great mark of intimacy, a cup of his Mocha coffee mixed with Bourbon and Martinique coffee, burnt, ground and made by himself in a silver coffee-pot à la Chaptal.
“Well!” said Bongrand, lifting his spectacles and looking slyly at the old man, “the whole town is astir! your appearance in church has upset your relations! You are leaving your fortune to the priests and the poor! You have stirred them up, and they are fidgeting, ah! I saw their first outbreak in the square, they were as busy as ants who had been robbed of their eggs.”
“What did I tell you, Ursule?” cried the old man. “At the risk of paining you, my child, ought I not to teach you to know the world, and to be on your guard against undeserved ill-will?”
“I should like to say a word to you on this subject,” rejoined Bongrand, seizing this opportunity of speaking to his old friend about Ursule’s future.
The doctor put a black velvet cap over his white head, the justice of the peace kept on his hat to protect himself from the cold, and both walked up
