waiting till his soup was cool enough to swallow, and affecting to
give a romantic turn to his narrative, "one fine morning the mail
coach dropped at the Hotel National a gentleman from Paris, who, after
seeking apartments, made up his mind in favor of the first floor in
Mademoiselle Galard's house, Rue du Perron. Then the stranger went
straight to the Mairie, and had himself registered as a resident with
all political qualifications. Finally, he had his name entered on the
list of the barristers to the Court, showing his title in due form,
and he left his card on all his new colleagues, the Ministerial
officials, the Councillors of the Court, and the members of the bench,
with the name, 'ALBERT SAVARON.'"

"The name of Savaron is famous," said Mademoiselle de Watteville, who
was strong in heraldic information. "The Savarons of Savarus are one
of the oldest, noblest, and richest families in Belgium."

"He is a Frenchman, and no man's son," replied Amedee de Soulas. "If
he wishes to bear the arms of the Savarons of Savarus, he must add a
bar-sinister. There is no one left of the Brabant family but a
Mademoiselle de Savarus, a rich heiress, and unmarried."

"The bar-sinister is, of course, the badge of a bastard; but the
bastard of a Comte de Savarus is noble," answered Rosalie.

"Enough, that will do, mademoiselle!" said the Baroness.

"You insisted on her learning heraldry," said Monsieur de Watteville,
"and she knows it very well."

"Go on, I beg, Monsieur de Soulas."