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+The Project Gutenberg EBook of Cosmopolis, Complete, by Paul Bourget
+
+This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with
+almost no restrictions whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away or
+re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included
+with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org
+
+
+Title: Cosmopolis, Complete
+
+Author: Paul Bourget
+
+Release Date: October 4, 2006 [EBook #3967]
+Last Updated: August 23, 2016
+
+Language: English
+
+Character set encoding: UTF-8
+
+*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK COSMOPOLIS, COMPLETE ***
+
+
+
+Produced by David Widger
+
+
+
+
+
+COSMOPOLIS
+
+By Paul Bourget
+
+
+
+With a Preface by JULES LEMAITRE, of the French academy,
+
+
+
+
+PAUL BOURGET
+
+Born in Amiens, September 2, 1852, Paul Bourget was a pupil at the
+Lycee Louis le Grand, and then followed a course at the Ecole des Hautes
+Etudes, intending to devote himself to Greek philology. He, however,
+soon gave up linguistics for poetry, literary criticism, and fiction.
+When yet a very young man, he became a contributor to various journals
+and reviews, among others to the ‘Revue des deux Mondes, La Renaissance,
+Le Parlement, La Nouvelle Revue’, etc. He has since given himself up
+almost exclusively to novels and fiction, but it is necessary to mention
+here that he also wrote poetry. His poetical works comprise: ‘Poesies
+(1872-876), La Vie Inquiete (1875), Edel (1878), and Les Aveux (1882)’.
+
+With riper mind and to far better advantage, he appeared a few years
+later in literary essays on the writers who had most influenced his
+own development--the philosophers Renan, Taine, and Amiel, the poets
+Baudelaire and Leconte de Lisle; the dramatist Dumas fils, and the
+novelists Turgenieff, the Goncourts, and Stendhal. Brunetiere says
+of Bourget that “no one knows more, has read more, read better, or
+meditated, more profoundly upon what he has read, or assimilated it
+more completely.” So much “reading” and so much “meditation,” even when
+accompanied by strong assimilative powers, are not, perhaps, the most
+desirable and necessary tendencies in a writer of verse or of fiction.
+To the philosophic critic, however, they must evidently be invaluable;
+and thus it is that in a certain self-allotted domain of literary
+appreciation allied to semi-scientific thought, Bourget stands to-day
+without a rival. His ‘Essais de Psychologie Contemporaine (1883),
+Nouveaux Essais (1885), and Etudes et Portraits (1888)’ are certainly
+not the work of a week, but rather the outcome of years of self-culture
+and of protracted determined endeavor upon the sternest lines. In fact,
+for a long time, Bourget rose at 3 a.m. and elaborated anxiously study
+after study, and sketch after sketch, well satisfied when he sometimes
+noticed his articles in the theatrical ‘feuilleton’ of the ‘Globe’ and
+the ‘Parlement’, until he finally contributed to the great ‘Debats’
+itself. A period of long, hard, and painful probation must always be
+laid down, so to speak, as the foundation of subsequent literary fame.
+But France, fortunately for Bourget, is not one of those places where
+the foundation is likely to be laid in vain, or the period of probation
+to endure for ever and ever.
+
+In fiction, Bourget carries realistic observation beyond the externals
+(which fixed the attention of Zola and Maupassant) to states of the
+mind: he unites the method of Stendhal to that of Balzac. He is always
+interesting and amusing. He takes himself seriously and persists in
+regarding the art of writing fiction as a science. He has wit, humor,
+charm, and lightness of touch, and ardently strives after philosophy and
+intellectuality--qualities that are rarely found in fiction. It may well
+be said of M. Bourget that he is innocent of the creation of a single
+stupid character. The men and women we read of in Bourget’s novels are
+so intellectual that their wills never interfere with their hearts.
+
+The list of his novels and romances is a long one, considering the fact
+that his first novel, ‘L’Irreparable,’ appeared as late as 1884. It
+was followed by ‘Cruelle Enigme (1885); Un Crime d’Amour (1886); Andre
+Cornelis and Mensonges (1887); Le Disciple (1889); La Terre promise;
+Cosmopolis (1892), crowned by the Academy; Drames de Famille (1899);
+Monique (1902)’; his romances are ‘Une Idylle tragique (1896); La
+Duchesse Bleue (1898); Le Fantome (1901); and L’Etape (1902)’.
+
+‘Le Disciple’ and ‘Cosmopolis’ are certainly notable books. The latter
+marks the cardinal point in Bourget’s fiction. Up to that time he had
+seen environment more than characters; here the dominant interest is
+psychic, and, from this point on, his characters become more and more
+like Stendhal’s, “different from normal clay.” Cosmopolis is perfectly
+charming. Bourget is, indeed, the past-master of “psychological”
+ fiction.
+
+To sum up: Bourget is in the realm of fiction what Frederic Amiel is
+in the realm of thinkers and philosophers--a subtle, ingenious, highly
+gifted student of his time. With a wonderful dexterity of pen, a very
+acute, almost womanly intuition, and a rare diffusion of grace about all
+his writings, it is probable that Bourget will remain less known as a
+critic than as a romancer. Though he neither feels like Loti nor sees
+like Maupassant--he reflects.
+
+                  JULES LEMAITRE
+               de l’Academie Francaise.
+
+
+
+
+AUTHOR’S INTRODUCTION
+
+I send you, my dear Primoli, from beyond the Alps, the romance of
+international life, begun in Italy almost under your eyes, to which I
+have given for a frame that ancient and noble Rome of which you are so
+ardent an admirer.
+
+To be sure, the drama of passion which this book depicts has no
+particularly Roman features, and nothing was farther from my thoughts
+than to trace a picture of the society so local, so traditional, which
+exists between the Quirinal and the Vatican. The drama is not even
+Italian, for the scene might have been laid, with as much truth, at
+Venice, Florence, Nice, St. Moritz, even Paris or London, the various
+cities which are like quarters scattered over Europe of the fluctuating
+‘Cosmopolis,’ christened by Beyle: ‘Vengo adesso da Cosmopoli’. It is
+the contrast between the rather incoherent ways of the rovers of high
+life and the character of perennity impressed everywhere in the great
+city of the Caesars and of the Popes which has caused me to choose the
+spot where even the corners speak of a secular past, there to evoke some
+representatives of the most modern, as well as the most arbitrary and
+the most momentary, life. You, who know better than any one the motley
+world of cosmopolites, understand why I have confined myself to painting
+here only a fragment of it. That world, indeed, does not exist, it can
+have neither defined customs nor a general character. It is composed
+of exceptions and of singularities. We are so naturally creatures of
+custom, our continual mobility has such a need of gravitating around one
+fixed axis, that motives of a personal order alone can determine us upon
+an habitual and voluntary exile from our native land. It is so, now in
+the case of an artist, a person seeking for instruction and change; now
+in the case of a business man who desires to escape the consequences of
+some scandalous error; now in the case of a man of pleasure in search
+of new adventures; in the case of another, who cherishes prejudices
+from birth, it is the longing to find the “happy mean;” in the case of
+another, flight from distasteful memories. The life of the cosmopolite
+can conceal all beneath the vulgarity of its whims, from snobbery
+in quest of higher connections to swindling in quest of easier prey,
+submitting to the brilliant frivolities of the sport, the sombre
+intrigues of policy, or the sadness of a life which has been a failure.
+Such a variety of causes renders at once very attractive and almost
+impracticable the task of the author who takes as a model that
+ever-changing society so like unto itself in the exterior rites
+and fashions, so really, so intimately complex and composite in its
+fundamental elements. The writer is compelled to take from it a series
+of leading facts, as I have done, essaying to deduce a law which governs
+them. That law, in the present instance, is the permanence of race.
+Contradictory as may appear this result, the more one studies the
+cosmopolites, the more one ascertains that the most irreducible idea
+within them is that special strength of heredity which slumbers beneath
+the monotonous uniform of superficial relations, ready to reawaken as
+soon as love stirs the depths of the temperament. But there again a
+difficulty, almost insurmountable, is met with. Obliged to concentrate
+his action to a limited number of personages, the novelist can not
+pretend to incarnate in them the confused whole of characters which the
+vague word race sums up. Again, taking this book as an example, you and
+I, my dear Primoli, know a number of Venetians and of English women,
+of Poles and of Romans, of Americans and of French who have nothing
+in common with Madame Steno, Maud and Boleslas Gorka, Prince d’Ardea,
+Marquis Cibo, Lincoln Maitland, his brother-in-law, and the Marquis de
+Montfanon, while Justus Hafner only represents one phase out of twenty
+of the European adventurer, of whom one knows neither his religion,
+his family, his education, his point of setting out, nor his point of
+arriving, for he has been through various ways and means. My ambition
+would be satisfied were I to succeed in creating here a group of
+individuals not representative of the entire race to which they belong,
+but only as possibly existing in that race--or those races. For several
+of them, Justus Hafner and his daughter Fanny, Alba Steno, Florent
+Chapron, Lydia Maitland, have mixed blood in their veins. May these
+personages interest you, my dear friend, and become to you as real as
+they have been to me for some time, and may you receive them in your
+palace of Tor di Nona as faithful messengers of the grateful affection
+felt for you by your companion of last winter.
+
+                       PAUL BOURGET.
+
+PARIS, November 16, 1892.
+
+
+
+
+COSMOPOLIS
+
+
+
+
+BOOK 1.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER I. A DILETTANTE AND A BELIEVER
+
+Although the narrow stall, flooded with heaped-up books and papers, left
+the visitor just room enough to stir, and although that visitor was one
+of his regular customers, the old bookseller did not deign to move from
+the stool upon which he was seated, while writing on an unsteady desk.
+His odd head, with its long, white hair, peeping from beneath a once
+black felt hat with a broad brim, was hardly raised at the sound of
+the opening and shutting of the door. The newcomer saw an emaciated,
+shriveled face, in which, from behind spectacles, two brown eyes
+twinkled slyly. Then the hat again shaded the paper, which the knotty
+fingers, with their dirty nails, covered with uneven lines traced in
+a handwriting belonging to another age, and from the thin, tall form,
+enveloped in a greenish, worn-out coat, came a faint voice, the voice of
+a man afflicted with chronic laryngitis, uttering as an apology, with a
+strong Italian accent, this phrase in French:
+
+“One moment, Marquis, the muse will not wait.”
+
+“Very well, I will; I am no muse. Listen to your inspiration
+comfortably, Ribalta,” replied, with a laugh, he whom the vendor of
+old books received with such original unconstraint. He was evidently
+accustomed to the eccentricities of the strange merchant. In Rome--for
+this scene took place in a shop at the end of one of the most ancient
+streets of the Eternal City, a few paces from the Place d’Espagne, so
+well known to tourists--in the city which serves as a confluent for so
+many from all points of the world, has not that sense of the odd been
+obliterated by the multiplicity of singular and anomalous types stranded
+and sheltering there? You will find there revolutionists like boorish
+Ribalta, who is ending in a curiosity-shop a life more eventful than the
+most eventful of the sixteenth century.
+
+Descended from a Corsican family, this personage came to Rome when very
+young, about 1835, and at first became a seminarist. On the point of
+being ordained a priest, he disappeared only to return, in 1849,
+so rabid a republican that he was outlawed at the time of the
+reestablishment of the pontifical government. He then served as
+secretary to Mazzini, with whom he disagreed for reasons which clashed
+with Ribalta’s honor. Would passion for a woman have involved him in
+such extravagance? In 1870 Ribalta returned to Rome, where he opened,
+if one may apply such a term to such a hole, a book-shop. But he is an
+amateur bookseller, and will refuse you admission if you displease him.
+Having inherited a small income, he sells or he does not, following his
+fancy or the requirements of his own purchases, to-day asking you twenty
+francs for a wretched engraving for which he paid ten sous, to-morrow
+giving you at a low price a costly book, the value of which he knows.
+Rabid Gallophobe, he never pardoned his old general the campaign of
+Dijon any more than he forgave Victor Emmanuel for having left the
+Vatican to Pius IX. “The house of Savoy and the papacy,” said he, when
+he was confidential, “are two eggs which we must not eat on the same
+dish.” And he would tell of a certain pillar of St. Peter’s hollowed
+into a staircase by Bernin, where a cartouch of dynamite was placed.
+If you were to ask him why he became a book collector, he would bid you
+step over a pile of papers, of boarding and of folios. Then he would
+show you an immense chamber, or rather a shed, where thousands of
+pamphlets were piled up along the walls: “These are the rules of all
+the convents suppressed by Italy. I shall write their history.” Then he
+would stare at you, for he would fear that you might be a spy sent
+by the king with the sole object of learning the plans of his most
+dangerous enemy--one of those spies of whom he has been so much in awe
+that for twenty years no one has known where he slept, where he ate,
+where he hid when the shutters of his shop in the Rue Borgognona were
+closed. He expected, on account of his past, and his secret manner,
+to be arrested at the time of the outrage of Passanante as one of the
+members of those Circoli Barsanti, to whom a refractory corporal gave
+his name.
+
+But, on examining the dusty cartoons of the old book-stall, the police
+discovered nothing except a prodigious quantity of grotesque verses
+directed against the Piedmontese and the French, against the Germans and
+the Triple Alliance, against the Italian republicans and the ministers,
+against Cavour and Signor Crispi, against the University of Rome and the
+Inquisition, against the monks and the capitalists! It was, no doubt,
+one of those pasquinades which his customers watched him at work upon,
+thinking, as he did so, how Rome abounded in paradoxical meetings.
+
+For, in 1867, that same old Garibaldian exchanged shots at Mentana with
+the Pope’s Zouaves, among whom was Marquis de Montfanon, for so was
+called the visitor awaiting Ribalta’s pleasure. Twenty-three years had
+sufficed to make of the two impassioned soldiers of former days two
+inoffensive men, one of whom sold old volumes to the other! And there
+is a figure such as you will not find anywhere else--the French nobleman
+who has come to die near St. Peter’s.
+
+Would you believe, to see him with his coarse boots, dressed in a simple
+coat somewhat threadbare, a round hat covering his gray head, that you
+have before you one of the famous Parisian dandies of 1864? Listen
+to this other history. Scruples of devoutness coming in the wake of a
+serious illness cast at one blow the frequenter of the ‘Cafe Anglais’
+and gay suppers into the ranks of the pontifical zouaves. A first
+sojourn in Rome during the last four years of the government of Pius IX,
+in that incomparable city to which the presentiment of the approaching
+termination of a secular rule, the advent of the Council, and the French
+occupation gave a still more peculiar character, was enchantment. All
+the germs of piety instilled in the nobleman by the education of the
+Jesuits of Brughetti ended by reviving a harvest of noble virtues,
+in the days of trial which came only too quickly. Montfanon made the
+campaign of France with the other zouaves, and the empty sleeve which
+was turned up in place of his left arm attested with what courage he
+fought at Patay, at the time of that sublime charge when the heroic
+General de Sonis unfurled the banner of the Sacred Heart. He had been a
+duelist, sportsman, gambler, lover, but to those of his old companions
+of pleasure whom chance brought to Rome he was only a devotee who lived
+economically, notwithstanding the fact that he had saved the remnants of
+a large fortune for alms, for reading and for collecting.
+
+Every one has that vice, more or less, in Rome, which is in itself the
+most surprising museum of history and of art. Montfanon is collecting
+documents in order to write the history of the French nobility and of
+the Church. His mistresses of the time when he was the rival of the
+Gramont-Caderousses and the Demidoffs would surely not recognize him
+any more than he would them. But are they as happy as he seems to have
+remained through his life of sacrifice? There is laughter in his blue
+eyes, which attest his pure Germanic origin, and which light up his
+face, one of those feudal faces such as one sees in the portraits hung
+upon the walls of the priories of Malta, where plainness has race. A
+thick, white moustache, in which glimmers a vague reflection of gold,
+partly hides a scar which would give to that red face a terrible look
+were it not for the expression of those eyes, in which there is fervor
+mingled with merriment. For Montfanon is as fanatical on certain
+subjects as he is genial and jovial on others. If he had the power he
+would undoubtedly have Ribalta arrested, tried, and condemned within
+twenty-four hours for the crime of free-thinking. Not having it, he
+amused himself with him, so much the more so as the vanquished Catholic
+and the discontented Socialists have several common hatreds. Even on
+this particular morning we have seen with what indulgence he bore the
+brusqueness of the old bookseller, at whom he gazed for ten minutes
+without disconcerting him in the least. At length the revolutionist
+seemed to have finished his epigram, for with a quiet smile he carefully
+folded the sheet of paper, put it in a wooden box which he locked. Then
+he turned around.
+
+“What do you desire, Marquis?” he asked, without any further
+preliminary.
+
+“First of all, you will have to read me your poem, old redshirt,” said
+Montfanon, “which will only be my recompense for having awaited your
+good pleasure more patiently than an ambassador. Let us see whom are you
+abusing in those verses? Is it Don Ciccio or His Majesty? You will not
+reply? Are you afraid that I shall denounce you at the Quirinal?”
+
+“No flies enter a closed mouth,” replied the old conspirator, justifying
+the proverb by the manner in which he shut his toothless mouth, into
+which, indeed, at that moment, neither a fly nor the tiniest grain of
+dust could enter.
+
+“An excellent saying,” returned the Marquis, with a laugh, “and one I
+should like to see engraved on the facade of all the modern parliaments.
+But between your poetry and your adages have you taken the time to
+write for me to that bookseller at Vienna, who owns the last copy of the
+pamphlet on the trial of the bandit Hafner?”
+
+“Patience,” said the merchant. “I will write.”
+
+“And my document on the siege of Rome, by Bourbon, those three notarial
+deeds which you promised me, have you dislodged them?”
+
+“Patience, patience,” repeated the merchant, adding, as he pointed with
+a comical mixture of irony and of despair to the disorder in his shop,
+“How can you expect me to know where I am in the midst of all this?”
+
+“Patience, patience,” repeated Montfanon. “For a month you have been
+singing that old refrain. If, instead of composing wretched verses,
+you would attend to your correspondence, and, if, instead of buying
+continually, you would classify this confused mass.... But,” said he,
+more seriously, with a brusque gesture, “I am wrong to reproach you for
+your purchases, since I have come to speak to you of one of the last.
+Cardinal Guerillot told me that you showed him, the other day, an
+interesting prayer-book, although in very bad condition, which you found
+in Tuscany. Where is it?”
+
+“Here it is,” said Ribalta, who, leaping over several piles of volumes
+and thrusting aside with his foot an enormous heap of cartoons, opened
+the drawer of a tottering press. In that drawer he rummaged among an
+accumulation of odd, incongruous objects: old medals and old nails,
+bookbindings and discolored engravings, a large leather box gnawed by
+insects, on the outside of which could be distinguished a partly effaced
+coat-of-arms. He opened that box and extended toward Montfanon a volume
+covered with leather and studded. One of the clasps was broken, and when
+the Marquis began to turn over the pages, he could see that the interior
+had not been better taken care of than the exterior. Colored prints had
+originally ornamented the precious work; they were almost effaced. The
+yellow parchment had been torn in places. Indeed, it was a shapeless
+ruin which the curious nobleman examined, however, with the greatest
+care, while Ribalta made up his mind to speak.
+
+“A widow of Montalcino, in Tuscany, sold it to me. She asked me an
+enormous price, and it is worth it, although it is slightly damaged. For
+those are miniatures by Matteo da Siena, who made them for Pope Pius
+II Piccolomini. Look at the one which represents Saint Blaise, who is
+blessing the lions and panthers. It is the best preserved. Is it not
+fine?”
+
+“Why try to deceive me, Ribalta?” interrupted Montfanon, with a gesture
+of impatience. “You know as well as I that these miniatures are very
+mediocre, and that they do not in the least resemble Matteo’s compact
+work; and another proof is that the prayerbook is dated 1554. See!”
+ and, with his remaining hand, very adroitly he showed the merchant the
+figures; “and as I have quite a memory for dates, and as I am interested
+in Siena, I have not forgotten that Matteo died before 1500. I did not
+go to college with Machiavelli,” continued he, with some brusqueness,
+“but I will tell you that which the Cardinal would have told you if you
+had not deceived him by your finesse, as you tried to deceive me just
+now. Look at this partly effaced signature, which you have not been able
+to read. I will decipher it for you. Blaise de Mo, and then a c, with
+several letters missing, just three, and that makes Montluc in the
+orthography of the time, and the b is in a handwriting which you might
+have examined in the archives of that same Siena, since you come from
+there. Now, with regard to this coat-of-arms,” and he closed the book to
+detail to his stupefied companion the arms hardly visible on the cover,
+“do you see a wolf, which was originally of gold, and turtles of gales?
+Those are the arms which Montluc has borne since the year 1554, when he
+was made a citizen of Siena for having defended it so bravely against
+the terrible Marquis de Marignan. As for the box,” he took it in its
+turn to study it, “these are really the half-moons of the Piccolominis.
+But what does that prove? That after the siege, and just as it was
+necessary to retire to Montalcino, Montluc gave his prayer-book, as a
+souvenir, to some of that family. The volume was either lost or stolen,
+and finally reduced to the state in which it now is. This book, too, is
+proof that a little French blood was shed in the service of Italy. But
+those who have sold it have forgotten that, like Magenta and Solferino,
+you have only memory for hatred. Now that you know why I want your
+prayer-book, will you sell it to me for five hundred francs?”
+
+The bookseller listened to that discourse with twenty contradictory
+expressions upon his face. From force of habit he felt for Montfanon a
+sort of respect mingled with animosity, which evidently rendered it very
+painful for him to have been surprised in the act of telling an untruth.
+It is necessary, to be just, to add that in speaking of the great
+painter Matteo and of Pope Pius II in connection with that unfortunate
+volume, he had not thought that the Marquis, ordinarily very economical
+and who limited his purchases to the strict domain of ecclesiastical
+history, would have the least desire for that prayer-book. He had
+magnified the subject with a view to forming a legend and to taking
+advantage of some rich, unversed amateur.
+
+On the other hand, if the name of Montluc meant absolutely nothing to
+him, it was not the same with the direct and brutal allusion which his
+interlocutor had made to the war of 1859. It is always a thorn in the
+flesh of those of our neighbors from beyond the Alps who do not love us.
+The pride of the Garibaldian was not far behind the generosity of the
+former zouave. With an abruptness equal to that of Montfanon, he took
+up the volume and grumbled as he turned it over and over in his inky
+fingers:
+
+“I would not sell it for six hundred francs. No, I would not sell it for
+six hundred francs.”
+
+“It is a very large sum,” said Montfanon.
+
+“No,” continued the good man, “I would not sell it.” Then extending it
+to the Marquis, in evident excitement, he cried: “But to you I will sell
+it for four hundred francs.”
+
+“But I have offered you five hundred francs for it,” said the nonplussed
+purchaser. “You know that is a small sum for such a curiosity.”
+
+“Take it for four,” insisted Ribalta, growing more and more eager, “not
+a sou less, not a sou more. It is what it cost me. And you shall have
+your documents in two days and the Hafner papers this week. But was
+that Bourbon who sacked Rome a Frenchman?” he continued. “And Charles
+d’Anjou, who fell upon us to make himself King of the two Sicilies? And
+Charles VIII, who entered by the Porte du Peuple? Were they Frenchmen?
+Why did they come to meddle in our affairs? Ah, if we were to calculate
+closely, how much you owe us! Was it not we who gave you Mazarin,
+Massena, Bonaparte and many others who have gone to die in your army in
+Russia, in Spain and elsewhere? And at Dijon? Did not Garibaldi stupidly
+fight for you, who would have taken from him his country? We are quits
+on the score of service.... But take your prayer-book-good-evening,
+good-evening. You can pay me later.”
+
+And he literally pushed the Marquis out of the stall, gesticulating and
+throwing down books on all sides. Montfanon found himself in the street
+before having been able to draw from his pocket the money he had got
+ready.
+
+“What a madman! My God, what a madman!” said he to himself, with a
+laugh. He left the shop at a brisk pace, with the precious book under
+his arm. He understood, from having frequently come in contact with
+them, those southern natures, in which swindling and chivalry elbow
+without harming one another--Don Quixotes who set their own windmills in
+motion. He asked himself:
+
+“How much would he still make after playing the magnamimous with me?”
+ His question was never to be answered, nor was he to know that Ribalta
+had bought the rare volume among a heap of papers, engravings, and old
+books, paying twenty-five francs for all. Moreover, two encounters which
+followed one upon the other on leaving the shop, prevented him from
+meditating on that problem of commercial psychology. He paused for a
+moment at the end of the street to cast a glance at the Place d’Espagne,
+which he loved as one of those corners unchanged for the last thirty
+years. On that morning in the early days of May, the square, with its
+sinuous edge, was indeed charming with bustle and light, with the
+houses which gave it a proper contour, with the double staircase of La
+Trinite-des-Monts lined with idlers, with the water which gushed from
+a large fountain in the form of a bark placed in the centre-one of
+the innumerable caprices in which the fancy of Bernin, that illusive
+decorator, delighted to indulge. Indeed, at that hour and in that light,
+the fountain was as natural in effect as were the nimble hawkers who
+held in their extended arms baskets filled with roses, narcissus, red
+anemones, fragile cyclamens and dark pansies. Barefooted, with sparkling
+eyes, entreaties upon their lips, they glided among the carriages which
+passed along rapidly, fewer than in the height of the season, still
+quite numerous, for spring was very late this year, and it came
+with delightful freshness. The flower-sellers besieged the hurried
+passers-by, as well as those who paused at the shop-windows, and, devout
+Catholic as Montfanon was, he tasted, in the face of the picturesque
+scene of a beautiful morning in his favorite city, the pleasure of
+crowning that impression of a bright moment by a dream of eternity.
+He had only to turn his eyes to the right, toward the College de la
+Propagande, a seminary from which all the missions of the world set out.
+
+But it was decreed that the impassioned nobleman should not enjoy
+undisturbed the bibliographical trifle obtained so cheaply and which he
+carried under his arm, nor that feeling so thoroughly Roman; a sudden
+apparition surprised him at the corner of a street, at an angle of the
+sidewalk. His bright eyes lost their serenity when a carriage passed by
+him, a carriage, perfectly appointed, drawn by two black horses, and
+in which, notwithstanding the early hour, sat two ladies. The one was
+evidently an inferior, a companion who acted as chaperon to the other,
+a young girl of almost sublime beauty, with large black eyes, which
+contrasted strongly with a pale complexion, but a pallor in which there
+was warmth and life. Her profile, of an Oriental purity, was so much
+on the order of the Jewish type that it left scarcely a doubt as to the
+Hebrew origin of the creature, a veritable vision of loveliness, who
+seemed created, as the poets say, “To draw all hearts in her wake.”
+ But no! The jovial, kindly face of the Marquis suddenly darkened as he
+watched the girl about to turn the corner of the street, and who
+bowed to a very fashionable young man, who undoubtedly knew the late
+pontifical zouave, for he approached him familiarly, saying, in a
+mocking tone and in a French which came direct from France:
+
+“Well! Now I have caught you, Marquis Claude-Francois de Montfanon!...
+She has come, you have seen her, you have been conquered. Have your eyes
+feasted upon divine Fanny Hafner? Tremble! I shall denounce you to his
+Eminence, Cardinal Guerillot; and if you malign his charming catechist
+I will be there to testify that I saw you hypnotized as she passed, as
+were the people of Troy by Helen. And I know very positively that Helen
+had not so modern a grace, so beautiful a mind, so ideal a profile, so
+deep a glance, so dreamy a mouth and such a smile. Ah, how lovely she
+is! When shall you call?”
+
+“If Monsieur Julien Dorsenne,” replied Montfanon, in the same mocking
+tone, “does not pay more attention to his new novel than he is doing
+at this moment, I pity his publisher. Come here,” he added, brusquely,
+dragging the young man to the angle of Rue Borgognona. “Did you see the
+victoria stop at No. 13, and the divine Fanny, as you call her, alight?
+.... She has entered the shop of that old rascal, Ribalta. She will not
+remain there long. She will come out, and she will drive away in her
+carriage. It is a pity she will not pass by us again. We should have
+had the pleasure of seeing her disappointed air. This is what she is in
+search of,” added he, with a gay laugh, exhibiting his purchase, “but
+which she could not have were she to offer all the millions which her
+honest father has stolen in Vienna. Ha, ha!” he concluded, laughing
+still more heartily, “Monsieur de Montfanon rose first; this morning
+has not been lost, and you, Monsieur, can see what I obtained at the
+curiosity-shop of that old fellow who will not make a plaything of this
+object, at least,” he added, extending the book to his interlocutor, at
+whom he glanced with a comical expression of triumph.
+
+“I do not wish to look at it,” responded Dorsenne. “But, yes,” he
+continued, as Montfanon shrugged his shoulders, “in my capacity of
+novelist and observer, since you cast it at my head, I know already what
+it is. What do you bet?... It is a prayer-book which bears the signature
+of Marshal de Montluc, and which Cardinal Guerillot discovered. Is that
+true? He spoke to Mademoiselle Hafner about it, and he thought he would
+mitigate your animosity toward her by telling you she was an enthusiast
+and wished to buy it. Is that true as well? And you, wretched man, had
+only one thought, to deprive that poor little thing of the trifle.
+Is that true? We spent the evening before last together at Countess
+Steno’s; she talked to me of nothing but her desire to have the book on
+which the illustrious soldier, the great believer, had prayed. She told
+me of all her heroic resolutions. Later she went to buy it. But the
+shop was closed; I noticed it on passing, and you certainly went there,
+too.... Is that true?... And, now that I have detailed to you the story,
+explain to me, you who are so just, why you cherish an antipathy so
+bitter and so childish--excuse the word!--for an innocent, young girl,
+who has never speculated on ‘Change, who is as charitable as a whole
+convent, and who is fast becoming as devout as yourself. Were it not
+for her father, who will not listen to the thought of conversion before
+marriage, she would already be a Catholic, and--Protestants as they are
+for the moment--she would never go anywhere but to church... When she is
+altogether a Catholic, and under the protection of a Sainte-Claudine and
+a Sainte-Francoise, as you are under the protection of Saint-Claude and
+Saint-Francois, you will have to lay down your arms, old leaguer, and
+acknowledge the sincerity of the religious sentiments of that child who
+has never harmed you.”
+
+“What! She has done nothing to me?”... interrupted Montfanon. “But it is
+quite natural that a sceptic should not comprehend what she has done to
+me, what she does to me daily, not to me personally, but to my opinions.
+When one has, like you, learned intellectual athletics in the circus of
+the Sainte-Beuves and Renans, one must think it fine that Catholicism,
+that grand thing, should serve as a plaything for the daughter of a
+pirate who aims at an aristocratic marriage. It may, too, amuse you
+that my holy friend, Cardinal Guerillot, should be the dupe of that
+intriguer. But I, Monsieur, who have received the sacrament by the side
+of a Sonis, I can not admit that one should make use of what was the
+faith of that hero to thrust one’s self into the world. I do not admit
+that one should play the role of dupe and accomplice to an old man whom
+I venerate and whom I shall enlighten, I give you my word.”
+
+“And as for this ancient relic,” he continued, again showing the
+volume, “you may think it childish that I do not wish it mixed up in the
+shameful comedy. But no, it shall not be. They shall not exhibit with
+words of emotion, with tearful eyes, this breviary on which once prayed
+that grand soldier; yes, Monsieur, that great believer. She has done
+nothing to me,” he repeated, growing more and more excited, his red
+face becoming purple with rage, “but they are the quintessence of what
+I detest the most, people like her and her father. They are the
+incarnation of the modern world, in which there is nothing more
+despicable than these cosmopolitan adventurers, who play at grand
+seigneur with the millions filibustered in some stroke on the Bourse.
+First, they have no country. What is this Baron Justus Hafner--German,
+Austrian, Italian? Do you know? They have no religion. The name, the
+father’s face, that of the daughter, proclaim them Jews, and they are
+Protestants--for the moment, as you have too truthfully said, while they
+prepare themselves to become Mussulmen or what not. For the moment,
+when it is a question of God!... They have no family. Where was this man
+reared? What did his father, his mother, his brothers, his sisters do?
+Where did he grow up? Where are his traditions? Where is his past, all
+that constitutes, all that establishes the moral man?... Just look. All
+is mystery in this personage, excepting this, which is very clear: if he
+had received his due in Vienna, at the time of the suit of the ‘Credit
+Austro-Dalmate’, in 1880, he would be in the galleys, instead of in
+Rome. The facts were these: there were innumerable failures. I know
+something about it. My poor cousin De Saint-Remy, who was with the Comte
+de Chambord, lost the bread of his old age and his daughter’s dowry.
+There were suicides and deeds of violence, notably that of a certain
+Schroeder, who went mad on account of that crash, and who killed
+himself, after murdering his wife and his two children. And the Baron
+came out of it unsullied. It is not ten years since the occurrence, and
+it is forgotten. When he settled in Rome he found open doors, extended
+hands, as he would have found them in Madrid, London, Paris, or
+elsewhere. People go to his house; they receive him! And you wish me
+to believe in the devoutness of that man’s daughter!... No, a thousand
+times no; and you yourself, Dorsenne, with your mania for paradoxes and
+sophisms, you have the right spirit in you, and these people horrify you
+in reality, as they do me.”
+
+“Not the least in the world,” replied the writer, who had listened to
+the Marquis’s tirade; with an unconvinced smile, he repeated: “Not
+the least in the world.... You have spoken of me as an acrobat or an
+athlete. I am not offended, because it is you, and because I know that
+you love me dearly. Let me at least have the suppleness of one. First,
+before passing judgment on a financial affair I shall wait until I
+understand it. Hafner was acquitted. That is enough, for one thing. Were
+he even the greatest rogue in the universe, that would not prevent his
+daughter from being an angel, for another. As for that cosmopolitanism
+for which you censure him, we do not agree there; it is just that which
+interests me in him. Thirdly,... I should not consider that I had lost
+the six months spent in Rome, if I had met only him. Do not look at
+me as if I were one of the patrons of the circus, Uncle Beuve, or poor
+Monsieur Renan himself,” he continued, tapping the Marquis’s shoulder.
+“I swear to you that I am very serious. Nothing interests me more than
+these exceptions to the general rule--than those who have passed through
+two, three, four phases of existence. Those individuals are my
+museum, and you wish me to sacrifice to your scruples one of my finest
+subjects.... Moreover,”--and the malice of the remark he was about to
+make caused the young man’s eyes to sparkle “revile Baron Hafner as much
+as you like,” he continued; “call him a thief and a snob, an intriguer
+and a knave, if it pleases you. But as for being a person who does not
+know where his ancestors lived, I reply, as did Bonhomet when he
+reached heaven and the Lord said to him: ‘Still a chimney-doctor,
+Bonhomet?’--‘And you, Lord?’. For you were born in Bourgogne, Monsieur
+de Montfanon, of an ancient family, related to all the nobility-upon
+which I congratulate you--and you have lived here in Rome for almost
+twenty-four years, in the Cosmopolis which you revile.”
+
+“First of all,” replied the Pope’s former soldier, holding up his
+mutilated arm, “I might say that I no longer count, I do not live. And
+then,” his face became inspired, and the depths of that narrow mind,
+often blinded but very exalted, suddenly appeared, “and then, my Rome
+to me, Monsieur, has nothing in common with that of Monsieur Hafner nor
+with yours, since you are come, it seems, to pursue studies of moral
+teratology. Rome to me is not Cosmopolis, as you say, it is Metropolis,
+it is the mother of cities.... You forget that I am a Catholic in every
+fibre, and that I am at home here. I am here because I am a monarchist,
+because I believe in old France as you believe in the modern world; and
+I serve her in my fashion, which is not very efficacious, but which is
+one way, nevertheless.... The post of trustee of Saint Louis, which I
+accepted from Corcelle, is to me my duty, and I will sustain it in the
+best way in my power.... Ah! that ancient France, how one feels her
+grandeur here, and what a part she is known to have had in Christianity!
+It is that chord which I should like to have heard vibrate in a fluent
+writer like you, and not eternally those paradoxes, those sophisms. But
+what matters it to you who date from yesterday and who boast of it,”
+ he added, almost sadly, “that in the most insignificant corners of this
+city centuries of history abound? Does your heart blush at the sight of
+the facade of the church of Saint-Louis, the salamander of Francois I
+and the lilies? Do you know why the Rue Bargognona is called thus,
+and that near by is Saint-Claudedes-Bourguignons, our church? Have
+you visited, you who are from the Vosges, that of your province,
+Saint-Nicolas-des-Lorrains? Do you know Saint-Yves-des-Bretons?”
+
+“But,” and here his voice assumed a gay accent, “I have thoroughly
+charged into that rascal of a Hafner. I have laid him before you without
+any hesitation. I have spoken to you as I feel, with all the fervor of
+my heart, although it may seem sport to you. You will be punished, for
+I shall not allow you to escape. I will take you to the France of other
+days. You shall dine with me at noon, and between this and then we will
+make the tour of those churches I have just named. During that time we
+will go back one hundred and fifty years in the past, into that world
+in which there were neither cosmopolites nor dilettantes. It is the old
+world, but it is hardy, and the proof is that it has endured; while your
+society-look where it is after one hundred years in France, in Italy, in
+England--thanks to that detestable Gladstone, of whom pride has made a
+second Nebuchadnezzar. It is like Russia, your society; according to the
+only decent words of the obscene Diderot, ‘rotten before mature!’ Come,
+will you go?”
+
+“You are mistaken,” replied the writer, “in thinking that. I do not love
+your old France, but that does not prevent me from enjoying the new. One
+can like wine and champagne at the same time. But I am not at liberty. I
+must visit the exposition at Palais Castagna this morning.”
+
+“You will not do that,” exclaimed impetuous Montfanon, whose severe face
+again expressed one of those contrarieties which caused it to brighten
+when he was with one of whom he was fond as he was of Dorsenne. “You
+would not have gone to see the King assassinated in ‘93? The selling at
+auction of the old dwelling of Pope Urban VII is almost as tragical! It
+is the beginning of the agony of what was Roman nobility. I know. They
+deserve it all, since they were not killed to the last man on the steps
+of the Vatican when the Italians took the city. We should have done
+it, we who had no popes among our grand-uncles, if we had not been busy
+fighting elsewhere. But it is none the less pitiful to see the hammer of
+the appraisers raised above a palace with which is connected centuries
+of history. Upon my life, if I were Prince d’Ardea--if I had inherited
+the blood, the house, the titles of the Castagnas, and if I thought I
+should leave nothing behind me of that which my fathers had amassed--I
+swear to you, Dorsenne, I should die of grief. And if you recall the
+fact that the unhappy youth is a spoiled child of eight-and-twenty,
+surrounded by flatterers, without parents, without friends, without
+counsellors, that he risked his patrimony on the Bourse among thieves of
+the integrity of Monsieur Hafner, that all the wealth collected by that
+succession of popes, of cardinals, of warriors, of diplomatists,
+has served to enrich ignoble men, you would think the occurrence too
+lamentable to have any share in it, even as a spectator. Come, I will
+take you to Saint-Claude.”
+
+“I assure you I am expected,” replied Dorsenne, disengaging his arm,
+which his despotic friend had already seized. “It is very strange that I
+should meet you on the way, having the rendezvous I have. I, who dote
+on contrasts, shall not have lost my morning. Have you the patience to
+listen to the enumeration of the persons whom I shall join immediately?
+It will not be very long, but do not interrupt me. You will be angry if
+you will survive the blow I am about to give you. Ah, you do not wish
+to call your Rome a Cosmopolis; then what do you say to the party with
+which, in twenty minutes, I shall visit the ancient palace of Urban
+VII? First of all, we have your beautiful enemy, Fanny Hafner, and
+her father, the Baron, representing a little of Germany, a little of
+Austria, a little of Italy and a little of Holland. For it seems the
+Baron’s mother was from Rotterdam. Do not interrupt. We shall have
+Countess Steno to represent Venice, and her charming daughter, Alba, to
+represent a small corner of Russia, for the Chronicle claims that she
+was the child, not of the defunct Steno, but of Werekiew-Andre, you
+know, the one who killed himself in Paris five or six years ago, by
+casting himself into the Seine, not at all aristocratically, from the
+Pont de la Concorde. We shall have the painter, the celebrated Lincoln
+Maitland, to represent America. He is the lover of Steno, whom he
+stole from Gorka during the latter’s trip to Poland. We shall have the
+painter’s wife, Lydia Maitland, and her brother, Florent Chapron, to
+represent a little of France, a little of America, and a little of
+Africa; for their grandfather was the famous Colonel Chapron mentioned
+in the Memorial, who, after 1815, became a planter in Alabama. That old
+soldier, without any prejudices, had, by a mulattress, a son whom he
+recognized and to whom he left--I do not know how many dollars. ‘Inde’
+Lydia and Florent. Do not interrupt, it is almost finished. We shall
+have, to represent England, a Catholic wedded to a Pole, Madame Gorka,
+the wife of Boleslas, and, lastly, Paris, in the form of your servant.
+It is now I who will essay to drag you away, for were you to join our
+party, you, the feudal, it would be complete.... Will you come?”
+
+“Has the blow satisfied you?” asked Montfanon. “And the unhappy man has
+talent,” he exclaimed, talking of Dorsenne as if the latter were not
+present, “and he has written ten pages on Rhodes which are worthy of
+Chateaubriand, and he has received from God the noblest gifts--poetry,
+wit, the sense of history; and in what society does he delight! But,
+come, once for all, explain to me the pleasure which a man of your
+genius can find in frequenting that international Bohemia, more or less
+gilded, in which there is not one being who has standing or a history.
+I no longer allude to that scoundrel Hafner and his daughter, since you
+have for her, novelist that you are, the eyes of Monsieur Guerillot.
+But that Countess Steno, who must be at least forty, who has a grown
+daughter, should she not remain quietly in her palace at Venice,
+respectably, bravely, instead of holding here that species of salon for
+transients, through which pass all the libertines of Europe, instead of
+having lover after lover, a Pole after a Russian, an American after a
+Pole? And that Maitland, why did he not obey the only good sentiment
+with which his compatriots are inspired, the aversion to negro blood,
+an aversion which would prevent them from doing what he has done--from
+marrying an octoroon? If the young woman knows of it, it is terrible,
+and if she does not it is still more terrible. And Madame Gorka, that
+honest creature, for I believe she is, and truly pious as well, who has
+not observed for the past two years that her husband was the Countess’s
+lover, and who does not see, moreover, that it is now Maitland’s turn.
+And that poor Alba Steno, that child of twenty, whom they drag through
+these improper intrigues! Why does not Florent Chapron put an end to
+the adultery of her sister’s husband? I know him. He once came to see me
+with regard to a monument he was raising in Saint-Louis in memory of his
+cousin. He respects the dead, that pleased me. But he is a dupe in this
+sinister comedy at which you are assisting, you, who know all, while
+your heart does not revolt.”
+
+“Pardon, pardon!” interrupted Dorsenne, “it is not a question of that.
+You wander on and you forget what you have just asked me.... What
+pleasure do I find in the human mosaic which I have detailed to you? I
+will tell you, and we will not talk of the morals, if you please, when
+we are simply dealing with the intellect. I do not pride myself on being
+a judge of human nature, sir leaguer; I like to watch and to study it,
+and among all the scenes it can present I know of none more suggestive,
+more peculiar, and more modern than this: You are in a salon, at a
+dining-table, at a party like that to which I am going this morning. You
+are with ten persons who all speak the same language, are dressed by the
+same tailor, have read the same morning paper, think the same thoughts
+and feel the same sentiments.... But these persons are like those I
+have just enumerated to you, creatures from very different points of
+the world and of history. You study them with all that you know of their
+origin and their heredity, and little by little beneath the varnish of
+cosmopolitanism you discover their race, irresistible, indestructible
+race! In the mistress of the house, very elegant, very cultured, for
+example, a Madame Steno, you discover the descendant of the Doges, the
+patrician of the fifteenth century, with the form of a queen, strength
+in her passion and frankness in her incomparable immorality; while in a
+Florent Chapron or a Lydia you discover the primitive slave, the black
+hypnotized by the white, the unfreed being produced by centuries of
+servitude; while in a Madame Gorka you recognize beneath her smiling
+amiability the fanaticism of truth of the Puritans; beneath the artistic
+refinement of a Lincoln Maitland you find the squatter, invincibly
+coarse and robust; in Boleslas Gorka all the nervous irritability of
+the Slav, which has ruined Poland. These lineaments of race are hardly
+visible in the civilized person, who speaks three or four languages
+fluently, who has lived in Paris, Nice, Florence, here, that same
+fashionable, monotonous life. But when passion strikes its blow, when
+the man is stirred to his inmost depths, then occurs the conflict of
+characteristics, more surprising when the people thus brought together
+have come from afar: And that is why,” he concluded with a laugh, “I
+have spent six months in Rome without hardly having seen a Roman, busy,
+observing the little clan which is so revolting to you. It is probably
+the twentieth I have studied, and I shall no doubt study twenty more,
+for not one resembles another. Are you indulgently inclined toward
+me, now that you have got even with me in making me hold forth at this
+corner, like the hero of a Russian novel? Well, now adieu.”
+
+Montfanon had listened to the discourse with an inpenetrable air. In the
+religious solitude in which he was awaiting the end, as he said, nothing
+afforded him greater pleasure than the discussion of ideas. But he was
+inspired by the enthusiasm of a man who feels with extreme ardor, and
+when he was met by the partly ironical dilettanteism of Dorsenne he was
+almost pained by it, so much the more so as the author and he had some
+common theories, notably an extreme fancy for heredity and race. A sort
+of discontented grimace distorted his expressive face. He clicked his
+tongue in ill-humor, and said:
+
+“One more question!... And the result of all that, the object? To what
+end does all this observation lead you?”
+
+“To what should it lead me? To comprehend, as I have told you,” replied
+Dorsenne.
+
+“And then?”
+
+“There is no then,” answered the young man, “one debauchery is like
+another.”
+
+“But among the people whom you see living thus,” said Montfanon, after
+a pause, “there are some surely whom you like and whom you dislike, for
+whom you entertain esteem and for whom you feel contempt? Have you not
+thought that you have some duties toward them, that you can aid them in
+leading better lives?”
+
+“That,” said Dorsenne, “is another subject which we will treat of some
+other day, for I am afraid now of being late.... Adieu.”
+
+“Adieu,” said the Marquis, with evident regret at parting. Then,
+brusquely: “I do not know why I like you so much, for in the main you
+incarnate one of those vices of mind which inspire me with the most
+horror, that dilettanteism set in vogue by the disciples of Monsieur
+Renan, and which is the very foundation of the decline. You will recover
+from it, I hope. You are so young!” Then becoming again jovial and
+mocking: “May you enjoy yourself in your descent of Courtille; I
+almost forgot that I had a message to give to you for one of the
+supernumeraries of your troop. Will you tell Gorka that I have dislodged
+the book for which he asked me before his departure?”
+
+“Gorka,” replied Julien, “has been in Poland three months on family
+business. I just told you how that trip cost him his mistress.”
+
+“What,” said Montfanon, “in Poland? I saw him this morning as plainly as
+I see you. He passed the Fountain du Triton in a cab. If I had not been
+in such haste to reach Ribalta’s in time to save the Montluc, I could
+have stopped him, but we were both in too great a hurry.”
+
+“You are sure that Gorka is in Rome--Boleslas Gorka?” insisted Dorsenne.
+
+“What is there surprising in that?” said Montfanon. “It is quite natural
+that he should not wish to remain away long from a city where he has
+left a wife and a mistress. I suppose your Slav and your Anglo-Saxon
+have no prejudices, and that they share their Venetian with a
+dilettanteism quite modern. It is cosmopolitan, indeed.... Well, once
+more, adieu.... Deliver my message to him if you see him, and,” his face
+again expressed a childish malice, “do not fail to tell Mademoiselle
+Hafner that her father’s daughter will never, never have this volume. It
+is not for intriguers!” And, laughing like a mischievous schoolboy, he
+pressed the book more tightly under his arm, repeating: “She shall not
+have it. Listen.... And tell her plainly. She shall not have it!”
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER II. THE BEGINNING OF A DRAMA
+
+“There is an intelligent man, who never questions his ideas,” said
+Dorsenne to himself, when the Marquis had left him. “He is like the
+Socialists. What vigor of mind in that old wornout machine!” And for a
+brief moment he watched, with a glance in which there was at least as
+much admiration as pity, the Marquis, who was disappearing down the Rue
+de la Propagande, and who walked at the rapid pace characteristic of
+monomaniacs. They follow their thoughts instead of heeding objects.
+However, the care he exercised in avoiding the sun’s line for the shade
+attested the instincts of an old Roman, who knew the danger of the first
+rays of spring beneath that blue sky. For a moment Montfanon paused
+to give alms to one of the numerous mendicants who abound in the
+neighborhood of the Place d’Espagne, meritorious in him, for with his
+one arm and burdened with the prayer-book it required a veritable effort
+to search in his pocket. Dorsenne was well enough acquainted with that
+original personage to know that he had never been able to say “no”
+ to any one who asked charity, great or small, of him. Thanks to that
+system, the enemy of beautiful Fanny Hafner was always short of cash
+with forty thousand francs’ income and leading a simple existence.
+The costly purchase of the relic of Montluc proved that the antipathy
+conceived for Baron Justus’s charming daughter had become a species of
+passion. Under any other circumstances, the novelist, who delighted
+in such cases, would not have failed to meditate ironically on that
+feeling, easy enough of explanation. There was much more irrational
+instinct in it than Montfanon himself suspected. The old leaguer would
+not have been logical if he had not had in point of race an inquisition
+partiality, and the mere suspicion of Jewish origin should have
+prejudiced him against Fanny. But he was just, as Dorsenne had told him,
+and if the young girl had been an avowed Jewess, living up zealously to
+her religion, he would have respected but have avoided her, and he never
+would have spoken of her with such bitterness.
+
+The true motive of his antipathy was that he loved Cardinal Guerillot,
+as was his habit in all things, with passion and with jealousy, and he
+could not forgive Mademoiselle Hafner for having formed an intimacy with
+the holy prelate in spite of him, Montfanon, who had vainly warned the
+old Bishop de Clermont against her whom he considered the most wily of
+intriguers. For months vainly did she furnish proofs of her sincerity
+of heart, the Cardinal reporting them in due season to the Marquis, who
+persisted in discrediting them, and each fresh good deed of his enemy
+augmented his hatred by aggravating the uneasiness which was caused him,
+notwithstanding all, by a vague sense of his iniquity.
+
+But Dorsenne no sooner turned toward the direction of the Palais
+Castagna than he quickly forgot both Mademoiselle Hafner’s and
+Montfanon’s prejudices, in thinking only of one sentence uttered by the
+latter that which related to the return of Boleslas Gorka. The news was
+unexpected, and it awakened in the writer such grave fears that he
+did not even glance at the shop-window of the French bookseller at
+the corner of the Corso to see if the label of the “Fortieth thousand”
+ flamed upon the yellow cover of his last book, the Eclogue Mondaine,
+brought out in the autumn, with a success which his absence of six
+months from Paris, had, however, detracted from. He did not even think
+of ascertaining if the regimen he practised, in imitation of Lord Byron,
+against embonpoint, would preserve his elegant form, of which he was so
+proud, and yet mirrors were numerous on the way from the Place d’Espagne
+to the Palais Castagna, which rears its sombre mass on the margin of the
+Tiber, at the extremity of the Via Giulia, like a pendant of the Palais
+Sacchetti, the masterwork of Sangallo. Dorsenne did not indulge in his
+usual pastime of examining the souvenirs along the streets which met his
+eye, and yet he passed in the twenty minutes which it took him to
+reach his rendezvous a number of buildings teeming with centuries
+of historical reminiscences. There was first of all the vast Palais
+Borghese--the piano of the Borghese, as it has been called, from the
+form of a clavecin adopted by the architect--a monument of splendor,
+which was, less than two years later, to serve as the scene of a
+situation more melancholy than that of the Palais Castagna.
+
+Dorsenne had not an absent glance for the sumptuous building--he passed
+unheeding the facade of St.-Louis, the object of Montfanon’s admiration.
+If the writer did not profess for that relic of ancient France the
+piety of the Marquis, he never failed to enter there to pay his literary
+respects to the tomb of Madame de Beaumont, to that ‘quia non sunt’ of
+an epitaph which Chateaubriand inscribed upon her tombstone, with more
+vanity, alas, than tenderness. For the first time Dorsenne forgot it; he
+forgot also to gaze with delight upon the rococo fountain on the Place
+Navonne, that square upon which Domitian had his circus, and which
+recalls the cruel pageantries of imperial Rome. He forgot, too, the
+mutilated statue which forms the angle of the Palais Braschi, two
+paces farther--two paces still farther, the grand artery of the Corso
+Victor-Emmanuel demonstrated the effort at regeneration of present Rome;
+two paces farther yet, the Palais Farnese recalls the grandeur of modern
+art, and the tragedy of contemporary monarchies. Does not the thought of
+Michelangelo seem to be still imprinted on the sombre cross-beam of that
+immense sarcophagus, which was the refuge of the last King of Naples?
+But it requires a mind entirely free to give one’s self up to the charm
+of historical dilettanteism which cities built upon the past conjure up,
+and although Julien prided himself, not without reason, on being above
+emotion, he was not possessed of his usual independence of mind during
+the walk which took him to his “human mosaic,” as he picturesquely
+expressed it, and he pondered and repondered the following questions:
+
+“Boleslas Gorka returned? And two days ago I saw his wife, who did not
+expect him until next month. Montfanon is not, however, imaginative.
+Boleslas Gorka returned? At the moment when Madame Steno is mad over
+Maitland--for she is mad! The night before last, at her house at dinner,
+she looked at him--it was scandalous. Gorka had a presentiment of it
+this winter. When the American attempted to take Alba’s portrait the
+first time, the Pole put a stop to it. It was fine for Montfanon to talk
+of division between these two men. When Boleslas left here, Maitland and
+the Countess were barely acquainted and now----If he has returned it
+is because he has discovered that he has a rival. Some one has warned
+him--an enemy of the Countess, a confrere of Maitland. Such pieces of
+infamy occur among good friends. If Gorka, who is a shot like Casal,
+kills Maitland in a duel, it will make one deceiver less. If he avenges
+himself upon his mistress for that treason, it would be a matter of
+indifference to me, for Catherine Steno is a great rogue.... But my
+little friend, my poor, charming Alba, what would become of her if there
+should be a scandal, bloodshed, perhaps, on account of her mother’s
+folly? Gorka returned? And he did not write it to me, to me who have
+received several letters from him since he went away; to me, whom he
+selected last autumn as the confidant of his jealousies, under the
+pretext that I knew women, and, with the vain hope of inspiring me....
+His silence and return no longer seem like a romance; they savor rather
+of a drama, and with a Slav, as much a Slav as he is, one may expect
+anything. I know not what to think of it, for he will be at the Palais
+Castagna. Poor, charming Alba!”
+
+The monologue did not differ much from a monologue uttered under similar
+circumstances by any young man interested in a young girl whose mother
+does not conduct herself becomingly. It was a touching situation, but
+a very common one, and there was no necessity for the author to come to
+Rome to study it, one entire winter and spring. If that interest went
+beyond a study, Dorsenne possessed a very simple means of preventing his
+little friend, as he said, from being rendered unhappy by the conduct of
+that mother whom age did not conquer. Why not propose for her hand? He
+had inherited a fortune, and his success as an author had augmented
+it. For, since the first book which had established his reputation, the
+‘Etudes de Femmes,’ published in 1879, not a single one of the fifteen
+novels or selections from novels had remained unnoticed. His personal
+celebrity could, strictly speaking, combine with it family celebrity,
+for he boasted that his grandfather was a cousin of that brave General
+Dorsenne whom Napoleon could only replace at the head of his guard by
+Friant. All can be told in a word. Although the heirs of the hero of the
+Empire had never recognized the relationship, Julien believed in it,
+and when he said, in reply to compliments on his books, “At my age
+my grand-uncle, the Colonel of the Guard, did greater things,” he
+was sincere in his belief. But it was unnecessary to mention it, for,
+situated as he was, Countess Steno would gladly have accepted him as a
+son-in-law. As for gaining the love of the young girl, with his handsome
+face, intelligent and refined, and his elegant form, which he had
+retained intact in spite of his thirty-seven years, he might have done
+so. Nothing, however, was farther from his thoughts than such a project,
+for, as he ascended the steps of the staircase of the palace formerly
+occupied by Urban VII, he continued, in very different terms,
+his monologue, a species of involuntary “copy” which is written
+instinctively in the brain of the man of letters when he is particularly
+fond of literature.
+
+At times it assumes a written form, and it is the most marked of
+professional distortions, the most unintelligible to the illiterate, who
+think waveringly and who do not, happily for them, suffer the continual
+servitude to precision of word and to too conscientious thought.
+
+“Yes; poor, charming Alba!” he repeated to himself. “How unfortunate
+that the marriage with Countess Gorka’s brother could not have been
+arranged four months ago. Connection with the family of her mother’s
+lover would be tolerably immoral! But she would at least have had less
+chance of ever knowing it; and the convenient combination by which the
+mother has caused her to form a friendship with that wife in order the
+better to blind the two, would have bordered a little more on propriety.
+To-day Alba would be Lady Ardrahan, leading a prosaic English life,
+instead of being united to some imbecile whom they will find for her
+here or elsewhere. She will then deceive him as her mother deceived the
+late Steno--with me, perhaps, in remembrance of our pure intimacy of
+to-day. That would be too sad! Do not let us think of it! It is the
+future, of the existence of which we are ignorant, while we do know that
+the present exists and that it has all rights. I owe to the Contessina
+my best impressions of Rome, to the vision of her loveliness in this
+scene of so grand a past. And this is a sensation which is enjoyable; to
+visit the Palais Castagna with the adorable creature upon whom rests the
+menace of a drama. To enjoy the Countess Steno’s kindness, otherwise
+the house would not have that tone and I would never have obtained the
+little one’s friendship. To rejoice that Ardea is a fool, that he has
+lost his fortune on the Bourse, and that the syndicate of his creditors,
+presided over by Monsieur Ancona, has laid hands upon his palace. For,
+otherwise, I should not have ascended the steps of this papal staircase,
+nor have seen this debris of Grecian sarcophagi fitted into the walls,
+and this garden of so intense a green. As for Gorka, he may have
+returned for thirty-six other reasons than jealousy, and Montfanon is
+right: Caterina is cunning enough to inveigle both the painter and him.
+She will make Maitland believe that she received Gorka for the sake of
+Madame Gorka, and to prevent him from ruining that excellent woman at
+gaming. She will tell Boleslas that there was nothing more between her
+and Maitland than Platonic discussions on the merits of Raphael and
+Perugino.... And I should be more of a dupe than the other two for
+missing the visit. It is not every day that one has a chance to see
+auctioned, like a simple Bohemian, the grand-nephew of a pope.”
+
+The second suite of reflections resembled more than the first the real
+Dorsenne, who was often incomprehensible even to his best friends. The
+young man with the large, black eyes, the face with delicate features,
+the olive complexion of a Spanish monk, had never had but one passion,
+too exceptional not to baffle the ordinary observer, and developed in
+a sense so singular that to the most charitable it assumed either an
+attitude almost outrageous or else that of an abominable egotism and
+profound corruption.
+
+Dorsenne had spoken truly, he loved to comprehend--to comprehend as the
+gamester loves to game, the miser to accumulate money, the ambitious to
+obtain position--there was within him that appetite, that taste, that
+mania for ideas which makes the scholar and the philosopher. But a
+philosopher united by a caprice of nature to an artist, and by that of
+fortune and of education to a worldly man and a traveller. The abstract
+speculations of the metaphysician would not have sufficed for him, nor
+would the continuous and simple creation of the narrator who narrates
+to amuse himself, nor would the ardor of the semi-animal of the
+man-of-pleasure who abandons himself to the frenzy of vice. He invented
+for himself, partly from instinct, partly from method, a compromise
+between his contradictory tendencies, which he formulated in a
+fashion slightly pedantic, when he said that his sole aim was to
+“intellectualize the forcible sensations;” in clearer terms, he dreamed
+of meeting with, in human life, the greatest number of impressions it
+could give and to think of them after having met them.
+
+He thought, with or without reason, to discover in his two favorite
+writers, Goethe and Stendhal, a constant application of a similar
+principle. His studies had, for the past fourteen years when he had
+begun to live and to write, passed through the most varied spheres
+possible to him. But he had passed through them, lending his presence
+without giving himself to them, with this idea always present in his
+mind: that he existed to become familiar with other customs, to watch
+other characters, to clothe other personages and the sensations which
+vibrated within them. The period of his revival was marked by the
+achievement of each one of his books which he composed then, persuaded
+that, once written and construed, a sentimental or social experience
+was not worth the trouble of being dwelt upon. Thus is explained the
+incoherence of custom and the atmospheric contact, if one may so express
+it, which are the characteristics of his work. Take, for example, his
+first collection of novels, the ‘Etudes de Femmes,’ which made him
+famous. They are about a sentimental woman who loved unwisely, and who
+spent hours from excess of the romantic studying the avowed or disguised
+demi-monde. By the side of that, ‘Sans Dieu,’ the story of a drama
+of scientific consciousness, attests a continuous frequenting of the
+Museum, the Sorbonne and the College of France, while ‘Monsieur de
+Premier’ presents one of the most striking pictures of the contemporary
+political world, which could only have been traced by a familiar of the
+Palais Bourbon.
+
+On the other hand, the three books of travel pretentiously named
+‘Tourisime,’ ‘Les Profils d’Etrangeres’ and the ‘Eclogue Mondaine,’
+which fluctuated between Florence and London, St.-Moritz and Bayreuth,
+revealed long sojourns out of France; a clever analysis of the Italian,
+English, and German worlds; a superficial but true knowledge of the
+languages, the history and literature, which in no way accords with
+‘l’odor di femina’, exhale from every page. These contrasts are brought
+out by a mind endowed with strangely complex qualities, dominated by a
+firm will and, it must be said, a very mediocre sensibility. The last
+point will appear irreconcilable with the extreme and almost morbid
+delicacy of certain of Dorsenne’s works. It is thus however. He had very
+little heart. But, on the other hand, he had an abundance of nerves
+and nerves, and their irritability suffice for him who desires to paint
+human passions, above all, love, with its joys and its sorrows, of
+which one does not speak to a certain extent when one experiences them.
+Success had come to Julien too early not to have afforded him occasion
+for several adventures. In each of the centres traversed in the course
+of his sentimental vagabondage he tried to find a woman in whom was
+embodied all the scattered charms of the district. He had formed
+innumerable intimacies. Some had been frankly affectionate. The
+majority were Platonic. Others had consisted of the simple coquetry of
+friendship, as was the case with Mademoiselle Steno. The young man had
+never employed more vanity than enthusiasm. Every woman, mistress or
+friend, had been to him, nine times out of ten, a curiosity, then a
+model. But, as he held that the model could not be recognized by any
+exterior sign, he did not think that he was wrong in making use of his
+prestige as a writer, for what he called his “culture.” He was capable
+of justice, the defense which he made of Fanny Hafner to Montfanon
+proved it; of admiration, his respect for the noble qualities of that
+same Montfanon testify to it; of compassion, for without it he would
+not have apprehended at once with so much sympathy the result which the
+return of Count Gorka would have on the destiny of innocent Alba Steno.
+
+On reaching the staircase of the Palais Castagna, instead of hastening,
+as was natural, to find out at least what meant the return to Rome
+of the lover whom Madame Steno deceived, he collected his startled
+sensibilities before meeting Alba, and, pausing, he scribbled in a
+note-book which he drew from his pocket, with a pencil always within
+reach of his fingers, in a firm hand, precise and clear, this note
+savoring somewhat of sentimentalism:
+
+“25 April, ‘90. Palais Castagna.--Marvellous staircase constructed by
+Balthazar Peruzzi; so broad and long, with double rows of stairs, like
+those of Santa Colomba, near Siena. Enjoyed above all the sight of
+an interior garden so arranged, so designed that the red flowers, the
+regularity of the green shrubs, the neat lines of the graveled walks
+resemble the features of a face. The idea of the Latin garden, opposed
+to the Germanic or Anglo-Saxon, the latter respecting the irregularity
+of nature, the other all in order, humanizing and administering even to
+the flower-garden.”
+
+“Subject the complexity of life to a thought harmonious and clear, a
+constant mark of the Latin genus, for a group of trees as well as an
+entire nation, an entire religion--Catholicism. It is the contrary
+in the races of the North. Significance of the word: the forests have
+taught man liberty.”
+
+He had hardly finished writing that oddly interpreted memorandum, and
+was closing his note-book, when the sound of a familiar voice caused
+him to turn suddenly. He had not heard ascend the stairs a personage who
+waited until he finished writing, and who was no other than one of the
+actors in his “troupe” to use his expression, one of the persons of the
+party of that morning organized the day before at Madame Steno’s, and
+just the one whom the intolerable marquis had defamed with so much
+ardor, the father of beautiful Fanny Hafner, Baron Justus himself. The
+renowned founder of the ‘Credit Austro-Dalmate’ was a small, thin
+man, with blue eyes of an acuteness almost insupportable, in a face of
+neutral color. His ever-courteous manner, his attire, simple and neat,
+his speech serious and discreet, gave to him that species of distinction
+so common to old diplomatists. But the dangerous adventurer was betrayed
+by the glance which Hafner could not succeed in veiling with indifferent
+amiability. The man-of-the-world, which he prided himself upon having
+become, was visible through all by certain indefinable trifles, and
+above all by those eyes, of a restlessness so singular in so wealthy a
+man, indicating an enigmatical and obscure past of dark and contrasting
+struggles, of covetous sharpness, of cold calculation and indomitable
+energy. Fanatical Montfanon, who abused the daughter with such
+unjustness, judged the father justly. The son of a Jew of Berlin and
+of a Dutch Protestant, Justus Hafner was inscribed on the civil state
+registers as belonging to his mother’s faith. But the latter died when
+Justus was very young, and he was not reared in any other liturgy than
+that of money. From his father, a persevering and skilful jeweller, but
+too prudent to risk or gain much, he learned the business of precious
+stones, to which he added that of laces, paintings, old materials,
+tapestries, rare furniture.
+
+An infallible eye, the patience of a German united with his Israelitish
+and Dutch extraction, soon amassed for him a small capital, which his
+father’s bequest augmented. At twenty-seven Justus had not less than
+five hundred thousand marks. Two imprudent operations on the Bourse,
+enterprises to force fortune and to obtain the first million, ruined the
+too-audacious courtier, who began again the building up of his fortune
+by becoming a diamond broker.
+
+He went to Paris, and there, in a wretched little room on the Rue
+Montmartre, in three years, he made his second capital. He then managed
+it so well that in 1870, at the time of the war, he had made good his
+losses. The armistice found him in England, where he had married the
+daughter of a Viennese agent, in London, for the purpose of starting
+a vast enterprise of revictualing the belligerent armies. The enormous
+profits made by the father-in-law and the son-in-law during that year
+determined them to found a banking-house which should have its principal
+seat in Vienna and a branch in Berlin. Justus Hafner, a passionate
+admirer of Herr von Bismarck, controlled, besides, a newspaper. He tried
+to gain the favor of the great statesman, who refused to aid the former
+diamond merchant in gratifying political ambitions cherished from an
+early age.
+
+It was a bitter disappointment to the persevering man, who, having tried
+his luck in Prussia, emigrated definitively to Vienna. The establishment
+of the ‘Credit Austro-Dalmate,’ launched with extraordinary claims,
+permitted him at length to realize at least one of his chimeras. His
+wealth, while not equaling that of the mighty financiers of the epoch,
+increased with a rapidity almost magical to a cipher high enough to
+permit him, from 1879, to indulge in the luxurious life which can not
+be led by any one with an income short of five hundred thousand francs.
+Contrary to the custom of speculators of his genus, Hafner in time
+invested his earnings safely. He provided against the coming demolition
+of the structure so laboriously built up. The ‘Credit Austro-Dalmate’
+had suffered in great measure owing to innumerable public and private
+disasters and scandals, such as the suicide and murder in the Schroeder
+family.
+
+Suits were begun against a number of the founders, among them Justus
+Hafner. He was acquitted, but with such damage to his financial
+integrity and in the face of such public indignation that he abandoned
+Austria for Italy and Vienna for Rome. There, heedless of first rebuffs,
+he undertook to realize the third great object of his life, the gaining
+of social position. To the period of avidity had succeeded, as it
+frequently does with those formidable handlers of money, the period of
+vanity. Being now a widower, he aimed at his daughter’s marriage with a
+strength of will and a complication of combinations equal to his former
+efforts, and that struggle for connection with high life was disguised
+beneath the cloak of the most systematically adopted politeness of
+deportment. How had he found the means, in the midst of struggles and
+hardships, to refine himself so that the primitive broker and speculator
+were almost unrecognizable in the baron of fifty-four, decorated with
+several orders, installed in a magnificent palace, the father of
+a charming daughter, and himself an agreeable conversationalist, a
+courteous gentleman, an ardent sportsman? It is the secret of those
+natures created for social conquest, like a Napoleon for war and
+a Talleyrand for diplomacy. Dorsenne asked himself the question
+frequently, and he could not solve it. Although he boasted of watching
+the Baron with an intellectual curiosity, he could not restrain a
+shudder of antipathy each time he met the eyes of the man.
+
+And on this particular morning it was especially disagreeable to him
+that those eyes had seen him making his unoffending notes, although
+there was scarcely a shade of gentle condescension--that of a great lord
+who patronizes a great artist--in the manner in which Hafner addressed
+him.
+
+“Do not inconvenience yourself for me, dear sir,” said he to Dorsenne.
+“You work from nature, and you are right. I see that your next novel
+will touch upon the ruin of our poor Prince d’Ardea. Do not be too hard
+on him, nor on us.”
+
+The artist could not help coloring at that benign pleasantry. It was
+all the more painful to him because it was at once true and untrue. How
+should he explain the sort of literary alchemy, thanks to which he was
+enabled to affirm that he never drew portraits, although not a line
+of his fifteen volumes was traced without a living model? He replied,
+therefore, with a touch of ill-humor:
+
+“You are mistaken, my dear Baron. I do not make notes on persons.”
+
+“All authors say that,” answered the Baron, shrugging his shoulders
+with the assumed good-nature which so rarely forsook him, “and they are
+right.... At any rate, it is fortunate that you had something to write,
+for we shall both be late in arriving at a rendezvous where there are
+ladies.... It is almost a quarter past eleven, and we should have been
+there at eleven precisely.... But I have one excuse, I waited for my
+daughter.”
+
+“And she has not come?” asked Dorsenne.
+
+“No,” replied Hafner, “at the last moment she could not make up her
+mind. She had a slight annoyance this morning--I do not know what old
+book she had set her heart on. Some rascal found out that she wanted
+it, and he obtained it first.... But that is not the true cause of her
+absence. The true cause is that she is too sensitive, and she finds it
+so sad that there should be a sale of the possessions of this ancient
+family.... I did not insist. What would she have experienced had she
+known the late Princess Nicoletta, Pepino’s mother? When I came to Rome
+on a visit for the first time, in ‘75, what a salon that was and what a
+Princess!... She was a Condolmieri, of the family of Eugene IV.”
+
+“How absurd vanity renders the most refined man,” thought Julien,
+suiting his pace to the Baron’s. “He would have me believe that he was
+received at the house of that woman who was politically the blackest
+of the black, the most difficult to please in the recruiting of her
+salon.... Life is more complex than the Montfanons even know of! This
+girl feels by instinct that which the chouan of a marquis feels by
+doctrine, the absurdity of this striving after nobility, with a father
+who forgets the broker and who talks of the popes of the Middle Ages
+as of a trinket!... While we are alone, I must ask this old fox what he
+knows of Boleslas Gorka’s return. He is the confidant of Madame Steno.
+He should be informed of the doings and whereabouts of the Pole.”
+
+The friendship of Baron Hafner for the Countess, whose financial adviser
+he was, should have been for Dorsenne a reason for avoiding such a
+subject, the more so as he was convinced of the man’s dislike for him.
+The Baron could, by a single word perfidiously repeated, injure him very
+much with Alba’s mother. But the novelist, similar on that point to the
+majority of professional observers, had only the power of analysis of a
+retrospective order. Never had his keen intelligence served him to avoid
+one of those slight errors of conversation which are important mistakes
+on the pitiful checker-board of life. Happily for him, he cherished no
+ambition except for his pleasure and his art, without which he would
+have found the means of making for himself, gratuitously, enough enemies
+to clear all the academies.
+
+He, therefore, chose the moment when the Baron arrived at the landing on
+the first floor, pausing somewhat out of breath, and after the agent had
+verified their passes, to say to his companion:
+
+“Have you seen Gorka since his arrival?”
+
+“What? Is Boleslas here?” asked Justus Hafner, who manifested his
+astonishment in no other manner than by adding: “I thought he was still
+in Poland.”
+
+“I have not seen him myself,” said Dorsenne. He already regretted having
+spoken too hastily. It is always more prudent not to spread the first
+report. But the ignorance of that return of Countess Steno’s best
+friend, who saw her daily, struck the young man with such surprise that
+he could not resist adding: “Some one, whose veracity I can not doubt,
+met him this morning.” Then, brusquely: “Does not this sudden return
+make you fearful?”
+
+“Fearful?” repeated the Baron. “Why so?” As he uttered those words
+he glanced at the writer with his usual impassive expression, which,
+however, a very slight sign, significant to those who knew him, belied.
+In exchanging those few words the two men had passed into the first room
+of “objects of art,” having belonged to the apartment of “His Eminence
+Prince d’Ardea,” as the catalogue said, and the Baron did not raise the
+gold glass which he held at the end of his nose when near the smallest
+display of bric-a-brac, as was his custom. As he walked slowly through
+the collection of busts and statues of that first room, called “Marbles”
+ on the catalogue, without glancing with the eye of a practised judge
+at the Gobelin tapestry upon the walls, it must have been that he
+considered as very grave the novelist’s revelation. The latter had said
+too much not to continue:
+
+“Well, I who have not been connected with Madame Steno for years, like
+you, trembled for her when that return was announced to me. She does not
+know what Gorka is when he is jealous, or of what he is capable.”
+
+“Jealous? Of whom?” interrupted Hafner. “It is not the first time I have
+heard the name of Boleslas uttered in connection with the Countess. I
+confess I have never taken those words seriously, and I should not have
+thought that you, a frequenter of her salon, one of her friends, would
+hesitate on that subject. Rest assured, Gorka is in love with his
+charming wife, and he could not make a better choice. Countess Caterina
+is an excellent person, very Italian. She is interested in him, as in
+you, as in Maitland, as in me; in you because you write such admirable
+books, in Maitland because he paints like our best masters, in Boleslas
+on account of the sorrow he had in the death of his first child, in
+me because I have so delicate a charge. She is more than an excellent
+person, she is a truly superior woman, very superior.” He uttered his
+hypocritical speech with such perfect ease that Dorsenne was surprised
+and irritated. That Hafner did not believe one treacherous word of what
+he said the novelist was sure, he who, from the indiscreet confidences
+of Gorka, knew what to think of the Venetian’s manner, and he; too,
+understood the Baron’s glance! At any other time he would have admired
+the policy of the old stager. At that moment the novelist was vexed
+by it, for it caused him to play a role, very common but not very
+elevating, that of a calumniator, who has spoken ill of a woman with
+whom he dined the day before. He, therefore, quickened his pace as much
+as politeness would permit, in order not to remain tete-a-tete with the
+Baron, and also to rejoin the persons of their party already arrived.
+
+They emerged from the first room to enter a second, marked “Porcelain;”
+ then a third, “Frescoes of Perino del Vaga,” on account of the ceiling
+upon which the master painted a companion to his vigorous piece at
+Genoa--“Jupiter crushing the Giants”--and, lastly, into a fourth, called
+“The Arazzi,” from the wonderful panels with which it was decorated.
+
+A few visitors were lounging there, for the season was somewhat
+advanced, and the date which M. Ancona had chosen for the execution
+proved either the calculation of profound hatred or else the adroit ruse
+of a syndicate of retailers. All the magnificent objects in the palace
+were adjudged at half the value they would have brought a few months
+sooner or later. The small group of curios stood out in contrast to the
+profusion of furniture, materials, objects of art of all kinds, which
+filled the vast rooms. It was the residence of five hundred years of
+power and of luxury, where masterpieces, worthy of the great Medicis,
+and executed in their time, alternated with the gewgaws of the
+eighteenth century and bronzes of the First Empire, with silver trinkets
+ordered but yesterday in London. Baron Justus could not resist these. He
+raised his glass and called Dorsenne to show him a curious armchair,
+the carving of a cartel, the embroidery on some material. One glance
+sufficed for him to judge.... If the novelist had been capable of
+observing, he would have perceived in the detailed knowledge the banker
+had of the catalogue the trace of a study too deep not to accord with
+some mysterious project.
+
+“There are treasures here,” said he. “See these two Chinese vases with
+convex lids, with the orange ground decorated with gilding. Those are
+pieces no longer made in China. It is a lost art. And this tete-a-tete
+decorated with flowers; and this pluvial cope in this case. What a
+marvel! It is as good as the one of Pius Second, which was at Pienza and
+which has been stolen. I could have bought it at one time for fifteen
+hundred francs. It is worth fifteen thousand, twenty thousand, all of
+that. Here is some faience. It was brought from Spain when Cardinal
+Castagna came from Madrid, when he took the place of Pius Fifth as
+sponsor of Infanta Isabella. Ah, what treasures! But you go like the
+wind,” he added, “and perhaps it is better, for I would stop, and
+Cavalier Fossati, the auctioneer, to whom those terrible creditors of
+Peppino have given charge of the sale, has spies everywhere. You notice
+an object, you are marked as a solid man, as they say in Germany.
+You are noted. I shall be down on his list. I have been caught by him
+enough. Ha! He is a very shrewd man! But come, I see the ladies.
+We should have remembered that they were here,” and smiling--but at
+whom?--at Fossati, at himself or his companion?--he made the latter
+read the notice hung on the door of a transversal room, which bore this
+inscription: “Salon of marriage-chests.”
+
+There were, indeed, ranged along the walls about fifteen of those
+wooden cases painted and carved, of those ‘cassoni’ in which it was the
+fashion, in grand Italian families, to keep the trousseaux destined for
+the brides. Those of the Castagnas proved, by their escutcheons, what
+alliances the last of the grand-nephews of Urban VII, the actual Prince
+d’Ardea, entered into. Three very elegant ladies were examining the
+chests; in them Dorsenne recognized at once fair and delicate Alba
+Steno, Madame Gorka, with her tall form, her fair hair, too, and her
+strong English profile, and pretty Madame Maitland, with her olive
+complexion, who did not seem to have inherited any more negro blood than
+just enough to tint her delicate face. Florent Chapron, the painter’s
+brother-in-law, was the only man with those three ladies. Countess Steno
+and Lincoln Maitland were not there, and one could hear the musical
+voice of Alba spelling the heraldry carved on the coffers, formerly
+opened with tender curiosity by young girls, laughing and dreaming by
+turns like her.
+
+“Look, Maud,” said she to Madame Gorka, “there is the oak of the Della
+Rovere, and there the stars of the Altieri.”
+
+“And I have found the column of the Colonna,” replied Maud Gorka.
+
+“And you, Lydia?” said Mademoiselle Steno to Madame Maitland.
+
+“And I, the bees of the Barberini.”
+
+“And I, the lilies of the Farnese,” said in his turn Florent Chapron,
+who, having raised his head first, perceived the newcomers. He greeted
+them with a pleasant smile, which was reflected in his eyes and which
+showed his white teeth. “We no longer expected you, sirs. Every one has
+disappointed us. Lincoln did not wish to leave his atelier. It seems
+that Mademoiselle Hafner excused herself yesterday to these ladies.
+Countess Steno has a headache. We did not even count on the Baron, who
+is usually promptness personified.”
+
+“I was sure Dorsenne would not fail us,” said Alba, gazing at the young
+man with her large eyes, of a blue as clear as those of Madame Gorka
+were dark. “Only that I expected we should meet him on the staircase as
+we were leaving, and that he would say to us, in surprise: ‘What, I am
+not on time?’ Ah,” she continued, “do not excuse yourself, but reply
+to the examination in Roman history we are about to put you through. We
+have to follow here a veritable course studying all these old chests.
+What are the arms of this family?” she asked, leaning with Dorsenne over
+one of the cassoni. “You do not know? The Carafa, famous man! And
+what Pope did they have? You do not know that either? Paul Fourth, sir
+novelist. If ever you visit us in Venice, you will be surprised at the
+Doges.”
+
+She employed so affectionate a grace in that speech, and she was so
+apparently in one of her moods--so rare, alas! of childish joyousness,
+that Dorsenne, preoccupied as he was, felt his heart contract on her
+account. The simultaneous absence of Madame Steno and Lincoln Maitland
+could only be fortuitous. But persuaded that the Countess loved
+Maitland, and not doubting that she was his mistress, the absence of
+both appeared singularly suspicious to him. Such a thought sufficed
+to render the young girl’s innocent gayety painful to him. That gayety
+would become tragical if it were true that the Countess’s other lover
+had returned unexpectedly, warned by some one. Dorsenne experienced
+genuine agitation on asking Madame Gorka:
+
+“How is Boleslas?”
+
+“Very well, I suppose,” said his wife. “I have not had a letter to-day.
+Does not one of your proverbs say, ‘No news is good news?’”
+
+Baron Hafner was beside Maud Gorka when she uttered that sentence.
+Involuntarily Dorsenne looked at him, and involuntarily, master as he
+was of himself, he looked at Dorsenne. It was no longer a question of a
+simple hypothesis. That Boleslas Gorka had returned to Rome unknown to
+his wife constituted, for any one who knew of his relations with Madame
+Steno, and of the infidelity of the latter, an event full of formidable
+consequences. Both men were possessed by the same thought. Was
+there still time to prevent a catastrophe? But each of them in this
+circumstance, as is so often the case in important matters of life, was
+to show the deepness of his character. Not a muscle of Hafner’s face
+quivered. It was a question, perhaps, of rendering a service to a woman
+in danger, whom he loved with all the feeling of which he was capable.
+That woman was the mainspring of his social position in Rome. She was
+still more. A plan for Fanny’s marriage, as yet secret, but on the
+point of being consummated, depended upon Madame Steno. But he felt it
+impossible to attempt to render her any service before having spent half
+an hour in the rooms of the Palais Castagna, and he began to employ that
+half hour in a manner which would be most profitable to his possible
+purchases, for he turned to Madame Gorka and said to her, with the
+rather exaggerated politeness habitual to him:
+
+“Countess, if you will permit me to advise you, do not pause so long
+before these coffers, interesting as they may be. First, as I have just
+told Dorsenne, Cavalier Fossati, the agent, has his spies everywhere
+here. Your position has already been remarked, you may be sure, so that
+if you take a fancy for one, he will know it in advance, and he will
+manage to make you pay double, triple, and more for it. And then we
+have to see so much, notably a cartoon of twelve designs by old
+masters, which Ardea did not even suspect he had, and which Fossati
+discovered--would you believe?--worm-eaten, in a cupboard in one of the
+granaries.”
+
+“There is some one whom your collection would interest,” said Florent,
+“my brother-in-law.”
+
+“Well,” replied Madame Gorka to Hafner with her habitual good-nature,
+“there are at least two of these coffers that I like and wish to have.
+I said it in so loud a tone that it is not worth the trouble of hoping
+that your Cavalier Fossati does not know it, if he really has that
+mode of espionage in practice. But forty or fifty pounds more make no
+difference--nor forty thousand even.”
+
+“Baron Hafner will warn you that your tone is not low enough,” laughed
+Alba Steno, “and he will add his great phrase: ‘You will never be
+diplomatic.’ But,” added the girl, turning toward Dorsenne, having drawn
+back from silent Lydia Maitland, and arranging to fall behind with the
+young man, “I am about to employ a little diplomacy in order to find
+out whether you have any trouble.” And here her mobile face changed its
+expression, looking into Julien’s with genuine anxiety. “Yes,” said she,
+“I have never seen you so preoccupied as you seem to be this morning.
+Do you not feel well? Have you received ill news from Paris? What ails
+you?”
+
+“I preoccupied?” replied Dorsenne. “You are mistaken. There is
+absolutely nothing, I assure you.” It was impossible to lie with more
+apparent awkwardness, and if any one merited the scorn of Baron Hafner,
+it was he. Hardly had Madame Gorka spoken, when he had, with the
+rapidity of men of vivid imagination, seen Countess Steno and Maitland
+surprised by Gorka, at that very moment, in some place of rendezvous,
+and that surprise followed by a challenge, perhaps an immediate murder.
+And, as Alba continued to laugh merrily, his presentiment of her sad
+fate became so vivid that his face actually clouded over. He felt
+impelled to ascertain, when she questioned him, how great a friendship
+she bore him. But his effort to hide his emotion rendered his voice so
+harsh that the young girl resumed:
+
+“I have vexed you by my questioning?”
+
+“Not the least in the world,” he replied, without being able to find a
+word of friendship. He felt at that moment incapable of talking, as
+they usually did, in that tone of familiarity, partly mocking, partly
+sentimental, and he added: “I simply think this exposition somewhat
+melancholy, that is all.” And, with a smile, “But we shall lose the
+opportunity of having it shown us by our incomparable cicerone,” and
+he obliged her, by quickening her pace, to rejoin the group piloted by
+Hafner through the magnificence of the almost deserted apartment.
+
+“See,” said the former broker of Berlin and of Paris, now an enlightened
+amateur--“see, how that charlatan of a Fossati has taken care not to
+increase the number of trinkets now that we are in the reception-rooms.
+These armchairs seem to await invited guests. They are known. They have
+been illustrated in a magazine of decorative art in Paris. And that
+dining-room through that door, with all the silver on the table, would
+you not think a fete had been prepared?”
+
+“Baron,” said Madame Gorka, “look at this material; it is of the
+eighteenth century, is it not?”
+
+“Baron,” asked Madame Maitland, “is this cup with the lid old Vienna or
+Capadimonte?”
+
+“Baron,” said Florent Chapron, “is this armor of Florentine or Milanese
+workmanship?”
+
+The eyeglass was raised to the Baron’s thin nose, his small eyes
+glittered, his lips were pursed up, and he replied, in words as exact
+as if he had studied all the details of the catalogue verbatim. Their
+thanks were soon followed by many other questions, in which two voices
+alone did not join, that of Alba Steno and that of Dorsenne. Under
+any other circumstances, the latter would have tried to dissipate the
+increasing sadness of the young girl, who said no more to him after
+he repulsed her amicable anxiety. In reality, he attached no great
+importance to it. Those transitions from excessive gayety to sudden
+depression were so habitual with the Contessina, above all when with
+him. Although they were the sign of a vivid sentiment, the young man
+saw in them only nervous unrest, for his mind was absorbed with other
+thoughts.
+
+He asked himself if, at any hazard, after the manner in which Madame
+Gorka had spoken, it would not be more prudent to acquaint Lincoln
+Maitland with the secret return of his rival. Perhaps the drama had not
+yet taken place, and if only the two persons threatened were warned, no
+doubt Hafner would put Countess Steno upon her guard. But when would
+he see her? What if he, Dorsenne, should at once tell Maitland’s
+brother-in-law of Gorka’s return, to that Florent Chapron whom he saw at
+the moment glancing at all the objects of the princely exposition? The
+step was an enormous undertaking, and would have appeared so to any
+one but Julien, who knew that the relations between Florent Chapron and
+Lincoln Maitland were of a very exceptional nature. Julien knew that
+Florent--sent when very young to the Jesuits of Beaumont, in England, by
+a father anxious to spare him the humiliation which his blood would call
+down upon him in America--had formed a friendship with Lincoln, a pupil
+in the same school. He knew that the friendship for the schoolmate had
+turned to enthusiasm for the artist, when the talent of his old comrade
+had begun to reveal itself. He knew that the marriage, which had placed
+the fortune of Lydia at the service of the development of the painter,
+had been the work of that enthusiasm at an epoch when Maitland, spoiled
+by the unwise government of his mother, and unappreciated by the public,
+was wrung by despair. The exceptional character of the marriage would
+have surprised a man less heeding of moral peculiarities than was
+Dorsenne, who had observed, all too frequently, the silence and reserve
+of that sister not to look upon her as a sacrifice. He fancied that
+admiration for his brother-in-law’s genius had blinded Florent to such a
+degree that he was the first cause of the sacrifice.
+
+“Drama for drama,” said he to himself, as the visit drew near its close,
+and after a long debate with himself. “I should prefer to have it one
+rather than the other in that family. I should reproach myself all my
+life for not having tried every means.” They were in the last room, and
+Baron Hafner was just fastening the strings of an album of drawings,
+when the conviction took possession of the young man in a definite
+manner. Alba Steno, who still maintained silence, looked at him again
+with eyes which revealed the struggle of her interest for him and of her
+wounded pride. She longed, without doubt, at the moment they were
+about to separate, to ask him, according to their intimate and charming
+custom, when they should meet again. He did not heed her--any more than
+he did the other pair of eyes which told him to be more prudent, and
+which were those of the Baron; any more than he did the observation of
+Madame Gorka, who, having remarked the ill-humor of Alba, was seeking
+the cause, which she had long since divined was the heart of the young
+girl; any more than the attitude of Madame Maitland, whose eyes at times
+shot fire equal to her brother’s gentleness. He took the latter by the
+arm, and said to him aloud:
+
+“I should like to have your opinion on a small portrait I have noticed
+in the other room, my dear Chapron.” Then, when they were before the
+canvas which had served as a pretext for the aside, he continued, in a
+low voice: “I heard very strange news this morning. Do you know Boleslas
+Gorka is in Rome unknown to his wife?”
+
+“That is indeed strange,” replied Maitland’s brother-in-law, adding
+simply, after a silence: “Are you certain of it?”
+
+“As certain as that we are here,” said Dorsenne. “One of my friends,
+Marquis de Montfanon, met him this morning.”
+
+A fresh silence ensued between the two, during which Julien felt that
+the arm upon which he rested trembled. Then they joined the party, while
+Florent said aloud: “It is an excellent piece of painting, which has,
+unfortunately, been revarnished too much.”
+
+“May I have done right!” thought Julien. “He understood me.”
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER III. BOLESLAS GORKA
+
+Hardly ten minutes had passed since Dorsenne had spoken as he had to
+Florent Chapron, and already the imprudent novelist began to wonder
+whether it would not have been wiser not to interfere in any way in an
+adventure in which his intervention was of the least importance.
+
+The apprehension of an immediate drama which had possessed him, for the
+first time, after the conversation with Montfanon, for the second time,
+in a stronger manner, by proving the ignorance of Madame Gorka on
+the subject of the husband’s return--that frightful and irresistible
+evocation in a clandestine chamber, suddenly deluged with blood, was
+banished by the simplest event. The six visitors exchanged their
+last impressions on the melancholy and magnificence of the Castagna
+apartments, and they ended by descending the grand staircase with the
+pillars, through the windows of which staircase smiled beneath the
+scorching sun the small garden which Dorsenne had compared to a face.
+The young man walked a little in advance, beside Alba Steno, whom he now
+tried, but in vain, to cheer. Suddenly, at the last turn of the broad
+steps which tempered the decline gradually, her face brightened with
+surprise and pleasure. She uttered a slight cry and said: “There is my
+mother!” And Julien saw the Madame Steno, whom he had seen, in an access
+of almost delirious anxiety, surprised, assassinated by a betrayed
+lover. She was standing upon the gray and black mosaic of the peristyle,
+dressed in the most charming morning toilette. Her golden hair was
+gathered up under a large hat of flowers, over which was a white veil;
+her hand toyed with the silver handle of a white parasol, and in the
+reflection of that whiteness, with her clear, fair complexion, with her
+lovely blue eyes in which sparkled passion and intelligence, with her
+faultless teeth which gleamed when she smiled, with her form still
+slender notwithstanding the fulness of her bust, she seemed to be a
+creature so youthful, so vigorous, so little touched by age that a
+stranger would never have taken her to be the mother of the tall young
+girl who was already beside her and who said to her--
+
+“What imprudence! Ill as you were this morning, to go out in this sun.
+Why did you do so?”
+
+“To fetch you and to take you home!” replied the Countess gayly. “I
+was ashamed of having indulged myself! I rose, and here I am. Good-day,
+Dorsenne. I hope you kept your eyes open up there. A story might be
+written on the Ardea affair. I will tell it to you. Good-day, Maud. How
+kind of you to make lazy Alba exercise a little! She would have quite a
+different color if she walked every morning. Goodday, Florent. Good-day,
+Lydia. The master is not here? And you, old friend, what have you done
+with Fanny?”
+
+She distributed these simple “good-days” with a grace so delicate, a
+smile so rare for each one--tender for her daughter, spirituelle for the
+author, grateful for Madame Gorka, amicably surprised for Chapron and
+Madame Maitland, familiar and confiding for her old friend, as she
+called the Baron. She was evidently the soul of the small party, for her
+mere presence seemed to have caused animation to sparkle in every eye.
+
+All talked at once, and she replied, as they walked toward the
+carriages, which waited in a court of honor capable of holding seventy
+gala chariots. One after the other these carriages advanced. The horses
+pawed the ground; the harnesses shone; the footmen and coachmen were
+dressed in perfect liveries; the porter of the Palais Castagna, with his
+long redingote, on the buttons of which were the symbolical chestnuts
+of the family, had beneath his laced hat such a dignified bearing that
+Julien suddenly found it absurd to have imagined an impassioned drama
+in connection with such people. The last one left, while watching the
+others depart, he once more experienced the sensation so common to those
+who are familiar with the worst side of the splendor of society and who
+perceive in them the moral misery and ironical gayety.
+
+“You are becoming a great simpleton, my friend, Dorsenne,” said he,
+seating himself more democratically in one of those open cabs called
+in Rome a botte. “To fear a tragical adventure for the woman who is
+mistress of herself to such a degree is something like casting one’s
+self into the water to prevent a shark from drowning. If she had
+not upon her lips Maitland’s kisses, and in her eyes the memory of
+happiness, I am very much mistaken. She came from a rendezvous. It was
+written for me, in her toilette, in the color upon her cheeks, in her
+tiny shoes, easy to remove, which had not taken thirty steps. And with
+what mastery she uttered her string of falsehoods! Her daughter, Madame
+Gorka, Madame Maitland, how quickly she included them all! That is why
+I do not like the theatre, where one finds the actress who employs that
+tone to utter her: ‘Is the master not here?’”
+
+He laughed aloud, then his thoughts, relieved of all anxiety, took a new
+course, and, using the word of German origin familiar to Cosmopolitans,
+to express an absurd action, he said: “I have made a pretty schlemylade,
+as Hafner would say, in relating to Florent Gorka’s unexpected arrival.
+It was just the same as telling him that Maitland was the Countess’s
+lover. That is a conversation at which I should like to assist, that
+which will take place between the two brothers-in-law. Should I be very
+much surprised to learn that this unattached negro is the confidant of
+his great friend? It is a subject to paint, which has never been well
+treated; the passionate friendships of a Tattet for a Musset, of an
+Eckermann for a Goethe, of an Asselineau for a Beaudelaire, the total
+absorption of the admirer in the admired. Florent found that the genius
+of the great painter had need of a fortune, and he gave him his sister.
+Were he to find that that genius required a passion in order to develop
+still more, he would not object. My word of honor! He glanced at the
+Countess just now with gratitude! Why not, after all? Lincoln is a
+colorist of the highest order, although his desire to be with the tide
+has led him into too many imitations. But it is his race. Young Madame
+Maitland has as much sense as the handle of a basket; and Madame Steno
+is one of those extraordinary women truly created to exalt the ideals of
+an artist. Never has he painted anything as he painted the portrait of
+Alba. I can hear this dialogue:
+
+“‘You know the Pole has returned? What Pole? The Countess’s. What? You
+believe those calumnies?’ Ah, what comedies here below! ‘Gad! The cabman
+has also committed his ‘schlemylade’. I told him Rue Sistina, near La
+Trinite-des-Monts, and here he is going through Place Barberini instead
+of cutting across Capo le Case. It is my fault as well. I should not
+have heeded it had there been an earthquake. Let us at least admire the
+Triton of Bernin. What a sculptor that man was! yet he never thought of
+nature except to falsify it.”
+
+These incoherent remarks were made with a good-nature decidedly
+optimistic, as could be seen, when the fiacre finally drew up at the
+given address. It was that of a very modest restaurant decorated with
+this signboard: ‘Trattoria al Marzocco.’ And the ‘Marzocco’, the lion
+symbolical of Florence, was represented above the door, resting his paw
+on the escutcheon ornamented with the national lys. The appearance of
+that front did not justify the choice which the elegant Dorsenne had
+made of the place at which to dine when he did not dine in society.
+But his dilettantism liked nothing better than those sudden leaps from
+society, and M. Egiste Brancadori, who kept the Marzocco, was one of
+those unconscious buffoons of whom he was continually in search in real
+life, one of those whom he called his “Thebans”, in reference to King
+Lear. “I’ll talk a word with this same learned Theban,” cried the mad
+king, one knows not why, when he meets “poor Tom” on the heath.
+
+That Dorsenne’s Parisian friends, the Casals, the Machaults, the De
+Vardes, those habitues of the club, might not judge him too severely, he
+explained that the Theban born in Florence was a cook of the first order
+and that the modest restaurant had its story. It amused so paradoxical
+an observer as Julien was. He often said, “Who will ever dare to write
+the truth of the history?” This, for example: Pope Pius IX, having asked
+the Emperor to send him some troops to protect his dominions, the latter
+agreed to do so--an occupation which bore two results: a Corsican hatred
+of the half of Italy against France and the founding of the Marzocco
+by Egiste Brancadori, says the Theban or the doctor. It was one of the
+pleasantries of the novelist to pretend to have cured his dyspepsia in
+Italy, thanks to the wise and wholesome cooking of the said Egiste. In
+reality, and more simply, Brancadori was the old cook of a Russian lord,
+one of the Werekiews, the cousin of pretty Alba Steno’s real father.
+That Werekiew, renowned in Rome for the daintiness of his dinners, died
+suddenly in 1866. Several of the frequenters of his house, advised by
+a French officer of the army of occupation, and tired of clubs, hotels,
+and ordinary restaurants, determined to form a syndicate and to employ
+his former cook. They, with his cooperation, established a sort of
+superior cafe, to which with some pride they gave the name of the
+Culinary Club. By assuring to each one a minimum of sixteen meals for
+seven francs, they kept for four years an excellent table, at which were
+to be found all the distinguished tourists in Rome. The year 1870 had
+disbanded that little society of connoisseurs and of conversationalists,
+and the club was metamorphosed into a restaurant, almost unknown,
+except to a few artists or diplomats who were attracted by the ancient
+splendors of the place, and, above all, by the knowledge of the
+“doctor’s” talents.
+
+It was not unusual at eight o’clock for the three small rooms which
+composed the establishment to be full of men in white cravats, white
+waistcoats and evening coats. To cosmopolitan Dorsenne this was a
+singularly interesting sight; a member of the English embassy here,
+of the Russian embassy farther on, two German attaches elsewhere,
+two French secretaries near at hand from St. Siege, another from the
+Quirinal. What interested the novelist still more was the conversation
+of the doctor himself, genial Brancadori, who could neither read nor
+write. But he had preserved a faithful remembrance of all his old
+customers, and when he felt confidential, standing erect upon the
+threshold of his kitchen, of the possession of which he was so
+insolently proud, he repeated curious stories of Rome in the days of
+his youth. His gestures, so conformable to the appearance of things, his
+mobile face and his Tuscan tongue, which softened into h all the harsh
+e’s between two vowels, gave a savor to his stories which delighted a
+seeker after local truths. It was in the morning especially, when there
+was no one in the restaurant, that he voluntarily left his ovens to
+chat, and if Dorsenne gave the address of the Marzocco to his cabman, it
+was in the hope that the old cook would in his manner sketch for him the
+story of the ruin of Ardea. Brancadori was standing by the bar where
+was enthroned his niece, Signorina Sabatina, with a charming Florentine
+face, chin a trifle long, forehead somewhat broad, nose somewhat short,
+a sinuous mouth, large, black eyes, an olive complexion and waving hair,
+which recalled in a forcible manner the favorite type of the first of
+the Ghirlandajos.
+
+“Uncle,” said the young girl, as soon as she perceived Dorsenne, “where
+have you put the letter brought for the Prince?”
+
+In Italy every foreigner is a prince or a count, and the profound
+good-nature which reigns in the habit gives to those titles, in
+the mouths of those who employ them, an amiability often free from
+calculation. There is no country in the world where there is a truer, a
+more charming familiarity of class for class, and Brancadori immediately
+gave a proof of it in addressing as “Carolei”--that is to say, “my
+dear”--him whom his daughter had blazoned with a coronet, and he cried,
+fumbling in the pockets of the alpaca waistcoat which he wore over his
+apron of office:
+
+“The brain is often lacking in a gray head. I put it in the pocket of my
+coat in order to be more sure of not forgetting it. I changed my coat,
+because it was warm, and left it with the letter in my apartments.”
+
+“You can look for it after lunch,” said Dorsenne.
+
+“No,” replied the young girl, rising, “it is not two steps from here; I
+will go. The concierge of the palace where your Excellency lives brought
+it himself, and said it must be delivered immediately.”
+
+“Very well, go and fetch it,” replied Julien, who could not suppress a
+smile at the honor paid his dwelling, “and I will remain here and
+talk with my doctor, while he gives me the prescription for this
+morning--that is to say, his bill of fare. Guess whence I come,
+Brancadori,” he added, assured of first stirring the cook’s curiosity,
+then his power of speech. “From the Palais Castagna, where they are
+selling everything.”
+
+“Ah! Per Bacco!” exclaimed the Tuscan, with evident sorrow upon his
+old parchment-like face, scorched from forty years of cooking. “If the
+deceased Prince Urban can see it in the other world, his heart will
+break, I assure you. The last time he came to dine here, about ten
+years ago, on Saint Joseph’s Day, he said to me: ‘Make me some fritters,
+Egiste, like those we used to have at Monsieur d’Epinag’s, Monsieur
+Clairin’s, Fortuny’s, and poor Henri Regnault’s.’ And he was happy!
+‘Egiste,’ said he to me, ‘I can die contented! I have only one son, but
+I shall leave him six millions and the palace. If it was Gigi I should
+be less easy, but Peppino!’ Gigi was the other one, the elder, who died,
+the gay one, who used to come here every day--a fine fellow, but bad!
+You should have heard him tell of his visit to Pius Ninth on the day
+upon which he converted an Englishman. Yes, Excellency, he converted
+him by lending him by mistake a pious book instead of a novel. The
+Englishman took the book, read it, read another, a third, and became a
+Catholic. Gigi, who was not in favor at the Vatican, hastened to tell
+the Holy Father of his good deed. ‘You see, my son,’ said Pius Ninth,
+‘what means our Lord God employs!’ Ah, he would have used those
+millions for his amusement, while Peppino! They were all squandered
+in signatures. Just think, the name of Prince d’Ardea meant money! He
+speculated, he lost, he won, he lost again, he drew up bills of exchange
+after bills of exchange. And every time he made a move such as I
+am making with my pencil--only I can not sign my name--it meant one
+hundred, two hundred thousand francs to go into the world. And now he
+must leave his house and Rome. What will he do, Excellency, I ask you?”
+ With a shake of his head he added: “He should reconstruct his fortune
+abroad. We have this saying: ‘He who squanders gold with his hands will
+search for it with his feet.’ But Sabatino is coming! She has been as
+nimble as a cat.”
+
+The good man’s invaluable mimetic art, his proverbs, the story of the
+fete of St. Joseph, the original evocation of the heir of the Castagnas
+continually signing and signing, the coarse explanation of his
+ruin--very true, however--everything in the recital had amused Dorsenne.
+He knew enough Italian to appreciate the untranslatable passages of
+the language of the man of the people. He was again on the verge of
+laughter, when the fresco madonna, as he sometimes designated the young
+girl, handed him an envelope the address upon which soon converted his
+smile into an undisguised expression of annoyance. He pushed aside
+the day’s bill of fare which the old cook presented to him and said,
+brusquely: “I fear I can not remain to breakfast.” Then, opening
+the letter: “No, I can not; adieu.” And he went out, in a manner so
+precipitate and troubled that the uncle and niece exchanged smiling
+glances. Those typical Southerners could not think of any other trouble
+in connection with so handsome a man as Dorsenne than that of the heart.
+
+“Chi ha l’amor nel petto,” said Signorina Sabatina.
+
+“Ha lo spron nei fianchi,” replied the uncle.
+
+That naive adage which compares the sharp sting which passion drives
+into our breasts to the spurring given the flanks of a horse, was not
+true of Dorsenne. The application of the proverb to the circumstance was
+not, however, entirely erroneous, and the novelist commented upon it in
+his passion, although in another form, by repeating to himself, as he
+went along the Rue Sistina: “No, no, I can not interfere in that affair,
+and I shall tell him so firmly.”
+
+He examined again the note, the perusal of which had rendered him more
+uneasy than he had been twice before that morning. He had not been
+mistaken in recognizing on the envelope the handwriting of Boleslas
+Gorka, and these were the terms, teeming with mystery under the
+circumstances, in which the brief message was worded:
+
+“I know you to be such a friend to me, dear Julien, and I have for
+your character, so chivalrous and so French, such esteem that I have
+determined to turn to you in an era of my life thoroughly tragical. I
+wish to see you immediately. I shall await you at your lodging. I have
+sent a similar note to the Cercle de la Chasse, another to the bookshop
+on the Corso, another to your antiquary’s. Wheresoever my appeal finds
+you, leave all and come at once. You will save more for me than life.
+For a reason which I will tell you, my return is a profound secret. No
+one, you understand, knows of it but you. I need not write more to a
+friend as sincere as you are, and whom I embrace with all my heart.”
+
+“It is unequalled!” said Dorsenne, crumpling the letter with rising
+anger. “He embraces me with all his heart. I am his most sincere friend!
+I am chivalrous, French, the only person he esteems! What disagreeable
+commission does he wish me to undertake for him? Into what scrape is he
+about to ask me to enter, if he has not already got me into it? I know
+that school of protestation. We are allied for life and death, are we
+not? Do me a favor! And they upset your habits, encroach upon your
+time, embark you in tragedies, and when you say ‘No’ to them-then they
+squarely accuse you of selfishness and of treason! It is my fault, too.
+Why did I listen to his confidences? Have I not known for years that a
+man who relates his love-affairs on so short an acquaintance as ours is
+a scoundrel and a fool? And with such people there can be no possible
+connection. He amused me at the beginning, when he told me his sly
+intrigue, without naming the person, as they all do at first. He amused
+me still more by the way he managed to name her without violating that
+which people in society call honor. And to think that the women believe
+in that honor and that discretion! And yet it was the surest means of
+entering Steno’s, and approaching Alba.... I believe I am about to pay
+for my Roman flirtation. If Gorka is a Pole, I am from Lorraine, and
+the heir of the Castellans will only make me do what I agree to, nothing
+more.”
+
+In such an ill-humor and with such a resolution, Julien reached the
+door of his house. If that dwelling was not the palace alluded to by
+Signorina Sabatina, it was neither the usually common house as common
+today in new Rome as in contemporary Paris, modern Berlin, and in
+certain streets of London opened of late in the neighborhood of Hyde
+Park. It was an old building on the Place de la Trinite-des-Monts, at an
+angle of the two streets Sistina and Gregoriana. Although reduced to the
+state of a simple pension, more or less bourgeoise, that house had its
+name marked in certain guide-books, and like all the corners of ancient
+Rome it preserved the traces of a glorious, artistic history. The
+small columns of the porch gave it the name of the tempietto, or little
+temple, while several personages dear to litterateurs had lived there,
+from the landscape painter Claude Lorrain to the poet Francois Coppee.
+A few paces distant, almost opposite, lived Poussin, and one of the
+greatest among modern English poets, Keats, died quite near by, the John
+Keats whose tomb is to be seen in Rome, with that melancholy epitaph
+upon it, written by himself:
+
+     Here lies one whose name was writ in water.
+
+It was seldom that Dorsenne returned home without repeating to himself
+the translation he had attempted of that beautiful ‘Ci-git un don’t le
+nom, jut ecrit sur de l’eau’.
+
+Sometimes he repeated, at evening, this delicious fragment:
+
+The sky was tinged with tender green and pink.
+
+This time he entered in a more prosaic manner; for he addressed the
+concierge in the tone of a jealous husband or a debtor hunted by
+creditors:
+
+“Have you given the key to any one, Tonino?” he asked.
+
+“Count Gorka said that your Excellency asked him to await you here,”
+ replied the man, with a timidity rendered all the more comical by the
+formidable cut of his gray moustache and his imperial, which made him a
+caricature of the late King Victor Emmanuel.
+
+He had served in ‘59 under the Galantuomo, and he paid the homage of a
+veteran of Solferino to that glorious memory. His large eyes rolled with
+fear at the least confusion, and he repeated:
+
+“Yes, he said that your Excellency asked him to wait,” while Dorsenne
+ascended the staircase, saying aloud: “More and more perfect. But this
+time the familiarity passes all bounds; and it is better so. I have been
+so surprised and annoyed from the first that I shall be easily able to
+refuse the imprudent fellow what he will ask of me.” In his anger the
+novelist sought to arm himself against his weakness, of which he
+was aware--not the weakness of insufficient will, but of a too vivid
+perception of the motives which the person with whom he was in conflict
+obeyed. He, however, was to learn that there is no greater dissolvent of
+rancor than intelligent curiosity. His was, indeed, aroused by a simple
+detail, which consisted in ascertaining under what conditions the Pole
+had travelled; his dressing-case, his overcoat and his hat, still white
+with the dust of travel, were lying upon the table in the antechamber.
+
+Evidently he had come direct from Warsaw to the Place de la
+Trinite-des-Monts. A prey to what delirium of passion? Dorsenne had
+not time to ask the question any more than he had presence of mind
+to compose his manner to such severity that it would cut short all
+familiarity on the part of his strange visitor. At the noise made by
+the opening of the antechamber door, Boleslas started up. He seized
+both hands of the man into whose apartments he had obtruded himself. He
+pressed them. He gazed at him with feverish eyes, with eyes which had
+not closed for hours, and he murmured, drawing the novelist into the
+tiny salon:
+
+“You have come, Julien, you are here! Ah, I thank you for having
+answered my call at once! Let me look at you, for I am sure I have
+a friend beside me, one in whom I can trust, with whom I can speak
+frankly, upon whom I can depend. If this solitude had lasted much longer
+I should have become mad.”
+
+Although Madame Steno’s lover belonged to the class of excitable,
+nervous people who exaggerate their feelings by an unconscious wildness
+of tone and of manner, his face bore the traces of a trouble too deep
+not to be startling.
+
+Julien, who had seen him set out, three months before, so radiantly
+handsome, was struck by the change which had taken place during such a
+brief absence. He was the same Boleslas Gorka, that handsome man, that
+admirable human animal, so refined and so strong, in which was embodied
+centuries of aristocracy--the Counts de Gorka belong to the ancient
+house of Lodzia, with which are connected so many illustrious
+Polish families, the Opalenice-Opalenskis, the Bnin-Bninskis, the
+Ponin-Poniniskis and many others--but his cheeks were sunken beneath his
+long, brown beard, in which were glints of gold; his eyes were heavy as
+if from wakeful nights, his nostrils were pinched and his face was pale.
+The travel-stains upon his face accentuated the alteration.
+
+Yet the native elegance of that face and form gave grace to his
+lassitude. Boleslas, in the vigorous and supple maturity of his
+thirty-four years, realized one of those types of manly beauty so
+perfect that they resist the strongest tests. The excesses of emotion,
+as those of libertinism, seem only to invest the man with a new
+prestige; the fact is that the novelist’s room, with its collection of
+books, photographs, engravings, paintings and moldings, invested that
+form, tortured by the bitter sufferings of passion, with a poesy to
+which Dorsenne could not remain altogether insensible. The atmosphere,
+impregnated with Russian tobacco and the bluish vapor which filled
+the room, revealed in what manner the betrayed lover had diverted
+his impatience, and in the centre of the writing-table a cup with a
+bacchanal painted in red on a black ground, of which Julien was very
+proud, contained the remains of about thirty cigarettes, thrown aside
+almost as soon as lighted. Their paper ends had been gnawed with a
+nervousness which betrayed the young man’s condition, while he repeated,
+in a tone so sad that it almost called forth a shudder:
+
+“Yes, I should have gone mad.”
+
+“Calm yourself, my dear Boleslas, I implore you,” replied Dorsenne. What
+had become of his ill-humor? How could he preserve it in the presence of
+a person so evidently beside himself? Julien continued, speaking to his
+companion as one speaks to a sick child: “Come, be seated. Be a little
+more tranquil, since I am here, and you have reason to count on my
+friendship. Speak to me. Explain to me what has happened. If there
+is any advice to give you, I am ready. I am prepared to render you a
+service. My God! In what a state you are!”
+
+“Is it not so?” said the other, with a sort of ironical pride. It was
+sufficient that he had a witness of his grief for him to display it with
+secret vanity. “Is it not so?” he continued. “Could you only know how
+I have suffered. This is nothing,” said he, alluding to his haggard
+appearance. “It is here that you should read,” he struck his breast,
+then passing his hands over his brow and his eyes, as if to exorcise a
+nightmare. “You are right. I must be calm, or I am lost.”
+
+After a prolonged silence, during which he seemed to have gathered
+together his thoughts and to collect his will, for his voice had become
+decided and sharp, he began: “You know that I am here unknown to any
+one, even to my wife.”
+
+“I know it,” replied Dorsenne. “I have just left the Countess. This
+morning I visited the Palais Castagna with her, Hafner, Madame Maitland,
+Florent Chapron.” He paused and added, thinking it better not to lie on
+minor points, “Madame Steno and Alba were there, too.”
+
+“Any one else?” asked Boleslas, with so keen a glance that the author
+had to employ all his strength to reply:
+
+“No one else.”
+
+There was a silence between the two men.
+
+Dorsenne anticipated from his question toward what subject the
+conversation was drifting. Gorka, now lying rather than sitting upon
+the divan in the small room, appeared like a beast that, at any moment,
+might bound. Evidently he had come to Julien’s a prey to the mad desire
+to find out something, which is to jealousy what thirst is to certain
+punishments. When one has tasted the bitter draught of certainty, one
+does not suffer less. Yet one walks toward it, barefooted, on the heated
+pavement, heedless of the heat. The motives which led Boleslas to choose
+the French novelist as the one from whom to obtain his information,
+demonstrated that the feline character of his physiognomy was not
+deceptive. He understood Dorsenne much better than Dorsenne understood
+him. He knew him to be nervous, on the one hand, and perspicacious on
+the other. If there was an intrigue between Maitland and Madame Steno,
+Julien had surely observed it, and, approached in a certain manner, he
+would surely betray it. Moreover--for that violent and crafty nature
+abounded in perplexities--Boleslas, who passionately admired the
+author’s talent, experienced a sort of indefinable attraction in
+exhibiting himself before him in the role of a frantic lover. He was one
+of the persons who would have his photograph taken on his deathbed, so
+much importance did he attach to his person. He would, no doubt, have
+been insulted, if the author of ‘Une Eglogue Mondaine’ had portrayed
+in a book himself and his love for Countess Steno, and yet he had only
+approached the author, had only chosen him as a confidant with the vague
+hope of impressing him. He had even thought of suggesting to him some
+creation resembling himself. Yes, Gorka was very complex, for he was not
+contented with deceiving his wife, he allowed the confiding creature to
+form a friendship with the daughter of her husband’s mistress. Still, he
+deceived her with remorse, and had never ceased bearing her an affection
+as sorrowful as it was respectful. But it required Dorsenne to admit
+the like anomalies, and the rare sensation of being observed in his
+passionate frenzy attracted the young man to some one who was at once
+a sure confidant, a possible portrayer, a moral accomplice. It was
+necessary now, but it would not be an easy matter, to make of him his
+involuntary detective.
+
+“You see,” resumed he suddenly, “to what miserable, detailed inquiries
+I have descended, I who always had a horror of espionage, as of some
+terrible degradation. I shall question you frankly, for you are my
+friend. And what a friend! I intended to use artifice with you at first,
+but I was ashamed. Passion takes possession of me and distorts me.
+No matter what infamy presents itself, I rush into it, and then I am
+afraid. Yes, I am afraid of myself! But I have suffered so much! You do
+not understand? Well! Listen,” continued he, covering Dorsenne with one
+of those glances so scrutinizing that not a gesture, not a quiver of his
+eyelids, escaped him, “and tell me if you have ever imagined for one of
+your romances a situation similar to mine. You remember the mortal fear
+in which I lived last winter, with the presence of my brother-in-law,
+and the danger of his denouncing me to my poor Maud, from stupidity,
+from a British sense of virtue, from hatred. You remember, also, what
+that voyage to Poland cost me, after those long months of anxiety? The
+press of affairs and the illness of my aunt coming just at the moment
+when I was freed from Ardrahan, inspired me with miserable forebodings.
+I have always believed in presentiments. I had one. I was not mistaken.
+From the first letter I received--from whom you can guess--I saw that
+there was taking place in Rome something which threatened me in what I
+held dearest on earth, in that love for which I sacrificed all, toward
+which I walked by trampling on the noblest of hearts. Was Catherine
+ceasing to love me? When one has spent two years of one’s life in a
+passion--and what years!--one clings to it with every fibre! I will
+spare you the recital of those first weeks spent in going here and
+there, in paying visits to relatives, in consulting lawyers, in caring
+for my sick aunt, in fulfilling my duty toward my son, since the
+greater part of the fortune will go to him. And always with this firm
+conviction: She no longer writes to me as formerly, she no longer loves
+me. Ah! if I could show you the letter she wrote when I was absent once
+before. You have a great deal of talent, Julien, but you have never
+composed anything more beautiful.”
+
+He paused, as if the part of the confession he was approaching cost him
+a great effort, while Dorsenne interpolated:
+
+“A change of tone in correspondence is not, however, sufficient to
+explain the fever in which I see you.”
+
+“No,” resumed Gorka, “but it was not merely a change of tone. I
+complained. For the first time my complaint found no echo. I threatened
+to cease writing. No reply. I wrote to ask forgiveness. I received a
+letter so cold that in my turn I wrote an angry one. Another silence!
+Ah! You can imagine the terrible effect produced upon me by an unsigned
+letter which I received fifteen days since. It arrived one morning. It
+bore the Roman postmark. I did not recognize the handwriting. I opened
+it. I saw two sheets of paper on which were pasted cuttings from a
+French journal. I repeat it was unsigned; it was an anonymous letter.”
+
+“And you read it?” interrupted Dorsenne. “What folly!”
+
+“I read it,” replied the Count. “It began with words of startling truth
+relative to my own situation. That our affairs are known to others we
+may be sure, since we know theirs. We should, consequently, remember
+that we are at the mercy of their indiscretion, as they are at ours.
+The beginning of the note served as a guarantee of the truth of the end,
+which was a detailed, minute recital of an intrigue which Madame Steno
+had been carrying on during my absence, and with whom? With the man
+whom I always mistrusted, that dauber who wanted to paint Alba’s
+portrait--but whose desires I nipped in the bud--with the fellow who
+degraded himself by a shameful marriage for money, and who calls himself
+an artist--with that American--with Lincoln Maitland!”
+
+Although the childish and unjust hatred of the jealous--the hatred which
+degrades us in lowering the one we love-had poisoned his discourse with
+its bitterness, he did not cease watching Dorsenne. He partly raised
+himself on the couch and thrust his head forward as he uttered the name
+of his rival, glancing keenly at the novelist meanwhile. The latter
+fortunately had been rendered indignant at the news of the anonymous
+letter, and he repeated, with an astonishment which in no way aided his
+interlocutor:
+
+“Wait,” resumed Boleslas; “that was merely a beginning. The next day I
+received another letter, written and sent under the same conditions; the
+day after, a third. I have twelve of them--do you hear? twelve--in my
+portfolio, and all composed with the same atrocious knowledge of the
+circle in which we move, as was the first. At the same time I was
+receiving letters from my poor wife, and all coincided, in the terrible
+series, in a frightful concordance. The anonymous letter told me:
+‘To-day they were together two hours and a quarter,’ while Maud wrote:
+‘I could not go out to-day, as agreed upon, with Madame Steno, for
+she had a headache.’ Then the portrait of Alba, of which they told
+me incidentally. The anonymous letters detailed to me the events, the
+prolongation of sitting, while my wife wrote: ‘We again went to see
+Alba’s portrait yesterday. The painter erased what he had done.’
+Finally it became impossible for me to endure it. With their abominable
+minuteness of detail, the anonymous letters gave me even the address of
+their rendezvous! I set out. I said to myself, ‘If I announce my arrival
+to my wife they will find it out, they will escape me.’ I intended to
+surprise them. I wanted--Do I know what I wanted? I wanted to suffer no
+longer the agony of uncertainty. I took the train. I stopped neither day
+nor night. I left my valet yesterday in Florence, and this morning I was
+in Rome.
+
+“My plan was made on the way. I would hire apartments near theirs, in
+the same street, perhaps in the same house. I would watch them, one, two
+days, a week. And then--would you believe it? It was in the cab which
+was bearing me directly toward that street that I saw suddenly, clearly
+within me, and that I was startled. I had my hand upon this revolver.”
+ He drew the weapon from his pocket and laid it upon the divan, as if he
+wished to repulse any new temptation. “I saw myself as plainly as I see
+you, killing those two beings like two animals, should I surprise them.
+At the same time I saw my son and my wife. Between murder and me there
+was, perhaps, just the distance which separated me from the street, and
+I felt that it was necessary to fly at once--to fly that street, to fly
+from the guilty ones, if they were really guilty; to fly from myself! I
+thought of you, and I have come to say to you, ‘My friend, this is how
+things are; I am drowning, I am lost; save me.’”
+
+“You have yourself found the salvation,” replied Dorsenne. “It is in
+your son and your wife. See them first, and if I can not promise you
+that you will not suffer any more, you will no longer be tempted by
+that horrible idea.” And he pointed to the pistol, which gleamed in the
+sunlight that entered through the casement. Then he added: “And you will
+have the idea still less when you will have been able to prove ‘de visu’
+what those anonymous letters were worth. Twelve letters in fifteen
+days, and cuttings from how many papers? And they claim that we invent
+heinousness in our books! If you like, we will search together for the
+person who can have elaborated that little piece of villany. It must be
+a Judas, a Rodin, an Iago--or Iaga. But this is not the moment to waste
+in hypotheses.
+
+“Are you sure of your valet? You must send him a despatch, and in that
+despatch the copy of another addressed to Madame Gorka, which your
+man will send this very evening. You will announce your arrival for
+tomorrow, making allusion to a letter written, so to speak, from Poland,
+and which was lost. This evening from here you will take the train for
+Florence, from which place you will set out again this very night. You
+will be in Rome again to-morrow morning. You will have avoided, not only
+the misfortune of having become a murderer, though you would not have
+surprised any one, I am sure, but the much more grave misfortune of
+awakening Madame Gorka’s suspicions. Is it a promise?”
+
+Dorsenne rose to prepare a pen and paper: “Come, write the despatch
+immediately, and render thanks to your good genius which led you to
+a friend whose business consists in imagining the means of solving
+insoluble situations.”
+
+“You are quite right,” Boleslas replied, after taking in his hand the
+pen which he offered to the other, “it is fortunate.” Then, casting
+aside the pen as he had the revolver, “I can not. No, I can not, as long
+as I have this doubt within me. Ah, it is too horrible! I can see them
+plainly. You speak to me of my wife; but you forget that she loves
+me, and at the first glance she would read me, as you did. You can not
+imagine what an effort it has cost me for two years never to arouse
+suspicion. I was happy, and it is easy to deceive when one has nothing
+to hide but happiness. To-day we should not be together five minutes
+before she would seek, and she would find. No, no; I can not. I need
+something more.”
+
+“Unfortunately,” replied Julien, “I cannot give it to you. There is no
+opium to lull asleep doubts such as those horrible anonymous letters
+have awakened. What I know is this, that if you do not follow my advice
+Madame Gorka will not have a suspicion, but certainty. It is now perhaps
+too late. Do you wish me to tell you what I concealed from you on seeing
+you so troubled? You did not lose much time in coming from the station
+hither, and probably you did not look out of your cab twice. But you
+were seen. By whom? By Montfanon. He told me so this morning almost on
+the threshold of the Palais Castagna. If I had not gathered from some
+words uttered by your wife that she was ignorant of your presence in
+Rome, I--do you hear?--I should have told her of it. Judge now of your
+situation!”
+
+He spoke with an agitation which was not assumed, so much was he
+troubled by the evidence of danger which Gorka’s obstinacy presented.
+The latter, who had begun to collect himself, had a strange light in his
+eyes. Without doubt his companion’s nervousness marked the moment he was
+awaiting to strike a decisive blow. He rose with so sudden a start that
+Dorsenne drew back. He seized both of his hands, but with such force
+that not a quiver of the muscles escaped him:
+
+“Yes, Julien, you have the means of consoling me, you have it,” said he
+in a voice again hoarse with emotion.
+
+“What is it?” asked the novelist.
+
+“What is it? You are an honest man, Dorsenne; you are a great artist;
+you are my friend, and a friend allied to me by a sacred bond, almost
+a brother-in-arms; you, the grandnephew of a hero who shed his blood by
+the side of my grandfather at Somo-Sierra. Give me your word of honor
+that you are absolutely certain Madame Steno is not Maitland’s mistress,
+that you never thought it, have never heard it said, and I will believe
+you, I will obey you! Come,” continued he, pressing the writer’s hand
+with more fervor, “I see you hesitate!”
+
+“No,” said Julien, disengaging himself from the wild grasp, “I do not
+hesitate. I am sorry for you. Were I to give you that word, would it
+have any weight with you for five minutes? Would you not be persuaded
+immediately that I was perjuring myself to avoid a misfortune?”
+
+“You hesitate,” interrupted Boleslas. Then, with a burst of wild
+laughter, he said, “It is then true! I like that better! It is frightful
+to know it, but one suffers less--To know it’ As if I did not know she
+had lovers before me, as if it were not written on Alba’s every feature
+that she is Werekiew’s child, as if I had not heard it said seventy
+times before knowing her that she had loved Branciforte, San Giobbe,
+Strabane, ten others. Before, during, or after, what difference does it
+make? Ah, I was sure on knocking at your door--at this door of honor--I
+should hear the truth, that I would touch it as I touch this object,”
+ and he laid his hand upon a marble bust on the table.
+
+“You see I hear it like a man. You can speak to me now. Who knows?
+Disgust is a great cure for passion. I will listen to you. Do not spare
+me!”
+
+“You are mistaken, Gorka,” replied Dorsenne. “What I have to say to you,
+I can say very simply. I was, and I am, convinced that in a quarter of
+an hour, in an hour, tomorrow, the day after, you will consider me a
+liar or an imbecile. But, since you misinterpreted my silence, it is my
+duty to speak, and I do so. I give you my word of honor I have never had
+the least suspicion of a connection between Madame Steno and Maitland,
+nor have their relations seemed changed to me for a second since your
+absence. I give you my word of honor that no one, do you hear, no
+one has spoken of it to me. And, now, act as you please, think as you
+please. I have said all I can say.”
+
+The novelist uttered those words with a feverish energy which was caused
+by the terrible strain he was making upon his conscience. But Gorka’s
+laugh had terrified him so much the more as at the same instant the
+jealous lover’s disengaged hand was voluntarily or involuntarily
+extended toward the weapon which gleamed upon the couch. The vision of
+an immediate catastrophe, this time inevitable, rose before Julien.
+His lips had spoken, as his arm would have been out stretched, by an
+irresistible instinct, to save several lives, and he had made the
+false statement, the first and no doubt the last in his life, without
+reflecting. He had no sooner uttered it than he experienced such an
+excess of anger that he would at that moment almost have preferred
+not to be believed. It would indeed have been a comfort to him if his
+visitor had replied by one of those insulting negations which permit one
+man to strike another, so great was his irritation. On the contrary,
+he saw the face of Madame Steno’s lover turned toward him with an
+expression of gratitude upon it. Boleslas’s lips quivered, his hands
+were clasped, two large tears gushed from his burning eyes and rolled
+down his cheeks. When he was able to speak, he moaned:
+
+“Ah, my friend, how much good you have done me! From what a nightmare
+you have relieved me. Ah! Now I am saved! I believe you, I believe you.
+You are intimate with them. You see them every day. If there had been
+anything between them you would know it. You would have heard it talked
+of. Ah! Thanks! Give me your hand that I may press it. Forget all I said
+to you just now, the slander I uttered in a moment of delirium. I know
+very well it was untrue. And now, let me embrace you as I would if you
+had really saved me from drowning. Ah, my friend, my only friend!”
+
+And he rushed up to clasp to his bosom the novelist, who replied with
+the words uttered at the beginning of this conversation: “Calm yourself,
+I beseech you, calm yourself!” and repeating to himself, brave and loyal
+man that he was: “I could not act differently, but it is hard!”
+
+
+
+
+BOOK 2.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER IV. APPROACHING DANGER
+
+“I could not act differently,” repeated Dorsenne on the evening of that
+eventful day. He had given his entire afternoon to caring for Gorka. He
+made him lunch. He made him lie down. He watched him. He took him in a
+closed carriage to Portonaccio, the first stopping-place on the Florence
+line. Indeed, he made every effort not to leave alone for a moment the
+man whose frenzy he had rather suspended than appeased, at the price,
+alas, of his own peace of mind! For, once left alone, in solitude and
+in the apartments on the Place de la Trinite, where twenty details
+testified to the visit of Gorka, the weight of the perjured word of
+honor became a heavy load to the novelist, so much the more heavy when
+he discovered the calculating plan followed by Boleslas. His tardy
+penetration permitted him to review the general outline of their
+conversation. He perceived that not one of his interlocutor’s sentences,
+not even the most agitated, had been uttered at random. From reply to
+reply, from confidence to confidence, he, Dorsenne, had become involved
+in the dilemma without being able to foresee or to avoid it; he would
+either have had to accuse a woman or to lie with one of those lies which
+a manly conscience does not easily pardon. He did not forgive himself
+for it.
+
+“It is so much worse,” said he to himself, “as it will prevent nothing.
+A person vile enough to pen anonymous letters will not stop there. She
+will find the means of again unchaining the madman.... But who
+wrote those letters? Gorka may have forged them in order to have an
+opportunity to ask me the question he did.... And yet, no.... There
+are two indisputable facts--his state of jealousy and his extraordinary
+return. Both would lead one to suppose a third, a warning. But given by
+whom?... He told me of twelve anonymous letters.... Let us assume that
+he received one or two.... But who is the author of those?”
+
+The immediate development of the drama in which Julien found himself
+involved was embodied in the answer to the question. It was not easy
+to formulate. The Italians have a proverb of singular depth which the
+novelist recalled at that moment. He had laughed a great deal when
+he heard sententious Egiste Brancadori repeat it. He repeated it to
+himself, and he understood its meaning. ‘Chi non sa fingersi amico, non
+sa essere nemico. “He who does not know how to disguise himself as
+a friend, does not know how to be an enemy.” In the little corner of
+society in which Countess Steno, the Gorkas and Lincoln Maitland moved,
+who was hypocritical and spiteful enough to practise that counsel?
+
+“It is not Madame Steno,” thought Julien; “she has related all herself
+to her lover. I knew a similar case. But it involved degraded Parisians,
+not a Dogesse of the sixteenth century found intact in the Venice of
+today, like a flower of that period preserved. Let us strike her off.
+Let us strike off, too, Madame Gorka, the truthful creature who could
+not even condescend to the smallest lie for a trinket which she desires.
+It is that which renders her so easily deceived. What irony!... Let us
+strike off Florent. He would allow himself to be killed, if necessary,
+like a Mameluke at the door of the room where his genial brother-in-law
+was dallying with the Countess.... Let us strike off the American
+himself. I have met such a case, a lover weary of a mistress, denouncing
+himself to her in order to be freed from his love-affair. But he was a
+roue, and had nothing in common with this booby, who has a talent
+for painting as an elephant has a trunk--what irony! He married this
+octoroon to have money. But it was a base act which freed him from
+commerce, and permitted him to paint all he wanted, as he wanted.
+He allows Steno to love him because she is diabolically pretty,
+notwithstanding her forty years, and then she is, in spite of all, a
+real noblewoman, which flattered him. He has not one dollar’s-worth of
+moral delicacy in his heart. But he has an abundance of knavery.... Let
+us, too, strike out his wife. She is such a veritable slave whom the
+mere presence of a white person annihilates to such a degree that she
+dares not look her husband in the face.... It is not Hafner. The sly
+fox is capable of doing anything by cunning, but is he capable of
+undertaking a useless and dangerous piece of rascality? Never.... Fanny
+is a saint escaped from the Golden Legend, no matter what Montfanon
+thinks! I have now reviewed the entire coterie.... I was about to forget
+Alba.... It is too absurd even to think of her.... Too absurd? Why?”
+
+Dorsenne was, on formulating that fantastic thought, upon the point of
+retiring. He took up, as was his habit, one of the books on his table,
+in order to read a few pages, when once in bed. He had thus within his
+reach the works by which he strengthened his doctrine of intransitive
+intellectuality; they were Goethe’s Memoirs; a volume of George Sand’s
+correspondence, in which were the letters to Flaubert; the ‘Discours de
+la Methode’ by Descartes, and the essay by Burckhart on the Renaissance.
+
+But, after turning over the leaves of one of those volumes, he closed it
+without having read twenty lines. He extinguished his lamp, but he could
+not sleep. The strange suspicion which crossed his mind had something
+monstrous about it, applied thus to a young girl. What a suspicion and
+what a young girl! The preferred friend of his entire winter, she on
+whose account he had prolonged his stay in Rome, for she was the most
+graceful vision of delicacy and of melancholy in the framework of
+a tragical and solemn past. Any other than Dorsenne would not have
+admitted such an idea without being inspired with horror. But Dorsenne,
+on the contrary, suddenly began to dive into that sinister hypothesis,
+to help it forward, to justify it. No one more than he suffered from a
+moral deformity which the abuse of a certain literary work inflicts
+on some writers. They are so much accustomed to combining artificial
+characters with creations of their imaginations that they constantly
+fulfil an analogous need with regard to the individuals they know best.
+They have some friend who is dear to them, whom they see almost daily,
+who hides nothing from them and from whom they hide nothing. But if they
+speak to you of him you are surprised to find that, while continuing to
+love that friend, they trace to you in him two contradictory portraits
+with the same sincerity and the same probability.
+
+They have a mistress, and that woman, even in the space sometimes of one
+day, sees them, with fear, change toward her, who has remained the same.
+It is that they have developed in them to a very intense degree the
+imagination of the human soul, and that to observe is to them only
+a pretext to construe. That infirmity had governed Julien from early
+maturity. It was rarely manifested in a manner more unexpected than in
+the case of charming Alba Steno, who was possibly dreaming of him at the
+very moment when, in the silence of the night, he was forcing himself to
+prove that she was capable of that species of epistolary parricide.
+
+“After all,” he said to himself, for there is iconoclasm in the
+excessively intellectual, and they delight in destroying their dearest
+moral or sentimental idols, the better to prove their strength, “after
+all, have I really understood her relations toward her mother? When I
+came to Rome in November, when I was to be presented to the Countess,
+what did not only one, but nine or ten persons tell me? That Madame
+Steno had a liaison with the husband of her daughter’s best friend, and
+that the little one was grieving about it. I went to the house. I saw
+the child. She was sad that evening. I had the curiosity to wish to read
+her heart.... It is six months since then. We have met almost daily,
+often twice a day. She is so hermetically sealed that I am no farther
+advanced than I was on the first day. I have seen her glance at her
+mother as she did this morning, with loving, admiring eyes. I have seen
+her turn pale at a word, a gesture, on her part. I have seen her
+embrace Maud Gorka, and play tennis with that same friend so gayly, so
+innocently. I have seen that she could not bear the presence of Maitland
+in a room, and yet she asked the American to take her portrait....
+Is she guileless?... Is she a hypocrite? Or is she tormented by
+doubt-divining, not divining-believing, not believing in-her mother? Is
+she underhand in any case, with her eyes the color of the sea? Has she
+the ambiguous mind at once of a Russian and an Italian?... This would be
+a solution of the problem, that she was a girl of extraordinary inward
+energy, who, both aware of her mother’s intrigues and detesting them
+with an equal hatred, had planned to precipitate the two men upon each
+other. For a young girl the undertaking is great. I will go to the
+Countess’s to-morrow night, and I will amuse myself by watching Alba, to
+see... If she is innocent, my deed will be inoffensive. If perchance she
+is not?”
+
+It is vain to profess to one’s own heart a complaisant dandyism of
+misanthropy. Such reflections leave behind them a tinge of a remorse,
+above all when they are, as these, absolutely whimsical and founded on a
+simple paradox of dilettantism. Dorsenne experienced a feeling of shame
+when he awoke the following morning, and, thinking of the mystery of
+the letters received by Gorka, he recalled the criminal romance he had
+constructed around the charming and tender form of his little friend;
+happily for his nerves, which were strained by the consideration of the
+formidable problem. If it is not some one in the Countess’s circle, who
+has written those letters? He received, on rising, a voluminous package
+of proofs with the inscription: “Urgent.” He was preparing to give
+to the public a collection of his first articles, under the title of
+‘Poussiere d’Idees.’
+
+Dorsenne was a faithful literary worker. Usually, involved titles
+serve to hide in a book-stall shop--made goods, and romance writers or
+dramatic authors who pride themselves on living to write, and who seek
+inspiration elsewhere than in regularity of habits and the work-table,
+have their efforts marked from the first by sterility. Obscure or
+famous, rich or poor, an artist must be an artisan and practise these
+fruitful virtues--patient application, conscientious technicality,
+absorption in work. When he seated himself at his table Dorsenne was
+heart and soul in his business. He closed his door, he opened no letters
+nor telegrams, and he spent ten hours without taking anything but two
+eggs and some black coffee, as he did on this particular day, when
+looking over the essays of his twenty-fifth year with the talent of
+his thirty-fifth, retouching here a word, rewriting an entire page,
+dissatisfied here, smiling there at his thought. The pen flew, carrying
+with it all the sensibility of the intellectual man who had completely
+forgotten Madame Steno, Gorka, Maitland, and the calumniated Contessina,
+until he should awake from his lucid intoxication at nightfall. As he
+counted, in arranging the slips, the number of articles prepared, he
+found there were twelve.
+
+“Like Gorka’s letters,” said he aloud, with a laugh. He now felt
+coursing through his veins the lightness which all writers of his kind
+feel when they have labored on a work they believe good. “I have earned
+my evening,” he added, still in a loud voice. “I must now dress and go
+to Madame Steno’s. A good dinner at the doctor’s. A half-hour’s walk.
+The night promises to be divine. I shall find out if they have news
+of the Palatine,”--the name he gave Gorka in his moments of gayety. “I
+shall talk in a loud voice of anonymous letters. If the author of
+those received by Boleslas is there, I shall be in the best position to
+discover him; provided that it is not Alba.... Decidedly--that would be
+sad!”
+
+It was ten o’clock in the evening, when the young man, faithful to his
+programme, arrived at the door of the large house on the Rue du Vingt
+Septembre occupied by Madame Steno. It was an immense modern structure,
+divided into two distinct parts; to the left a revenue building and
+to the right a house on the order of those which are to be seen on the
+borders of Park Monceau. The Villa Steno, as the inscription in gold
+upon the black marble door indicated, told the entire story of the
+Countess’s fortune--that fortune appraised by rumor, with its habitual
+exaggeration, now at twenty, now at thirty, millions. She had in reality
+two hundred and fifty thousand francs’ income. But as, in 1873, Count
+Michel Steno, her husband, died, leaving only debts, a partly ruined
+palace at Venice and much property heavily mortgaged, the amount of that
+income proved the truth of the title, “superior woman,” applied by her
+friends to Alba’s mother. Her friends likewise added: “She has been the
+mistress of Hafner, who has aided her with his financial advice,” an
+atrocious slander which was so much the more false as it was before ever
+knowing the Baron that she had begun to amass her wealth. This is how
+she managed it:
+
+At the close of 1873, when, as a young widow, living in retirement in
+the sumptuous and ruined dwelling on the Grand Canal, she was struggling
+with her creditors, one of the largest bankers in Rome came to propose
+to her a very advantageous scheme. It dealt with a large piece of land
+which belonged to the Steno estate, a piece of land in Rome, in one
+of the suburbs, between the Porta Salara and the Porta Pia, a sort of
+village which the deceased Cardinal Steno, Count Michel’s uncle, had
+begun to lay out. After his demise, the land had been rented in lots to
+kitchen-gardeners, and it was estimated that it was worth about forty
+centimes a square metre. The financier offered four francs for it, under
+the pretext of establishing a factory on the site. It was a large sum
+of money. The Countess required twenty-four hours in which to consider,
+and, at the end of that time, she refused the offer, which won for her
+the admiration of the men of business who knew of the refusal. In 1882,
+less than ten years later, she sold the same land for ninety francs
+a metre. She saw, on glancing at a plan of Rome, and in recalling the
+history of modern Italy, first, that the new masters of the Eternal City
+would centre all their ambition in rebuilding it, then that the portion
+comprised between the Quirinal and the two gates of Salara and Pia would
+be one of the principal points of development; finally, that if she
+waited she would obtain a much greater sum than the first offer. And
+she had waited, applying herself to watching the administration of her
+possessions like the severest of intendants, depriving herself, stopping
+up gaps with unhoped-for profits. In 1875, she sold to the National
+Gallery a suite of four panels by Carpaccio, found in one of her country
+houses, for one hundred and twenty thousand francs. She had been as
+active and practical in her material life as she had been light and
+audacious in her sentimental experiences. The story circulated of
+her infidelity to Steno with Werekiew at St. Petersburg, where the
+diplomatist was stationed, after one year of marriage, was confirmed
+by the wantonness of her conduct, of which she gave evidence as soon as
+free.
+
+At Rome, where she lived a portion of the year after the sale of her
+land, out of which she retained enough to build the double house, she
+continued to increase her fortune with the same intelligence. A very
+advantageous investment in Acqua Marcia enabled her to double in five
+years the enormous profits of her first operation. And what proved still
+more the exceptional good sense with which the woman was endowed, when
+love was not in the balance, she stopped on those two gains, just at
+the time when the Roman aristocracy, possessed by the delirium of
+speculation, had begun to buy stocks which had reached their highest
+value.
+
+To spend the evening at the Villa Steno, after spending all the morning
+of the day before at the Palais Castagna, was to realize one of those
+paradoxes of contradictory sensations such as Dorsenne loved, for poor
+Ardea had been ruined in having attempted to do a few years later that
+which Countess Catherine had done at the proper moment. He, too, had
+hoped for an increase in the value of property. Only he had bought the
+land at seventy francs a metre, and in ‘90 it was not worth more than
+twenty-five. He, too, had calculated that Rome would improve, and on
+the high-priced land he had begun to build entire streets, imagining he
+could become like the Dukes of Bedford and of Westminster in London,
+the owner of whole districts. His houses finished, they did not rent,
+however. To complete the rest he had to borrow. He speculated in order
+to pay his debts, lost, and contracted more debts in order to pay the
+difference. His signature, as the proprietor of the Marzocco had said,
+was put to innumerable bills of exchange. The result was that on all the
+walls of Rome, including that of the Rue Vingt Septembre on which was
+the Villa Steno, were posted multi-colored placards announcing the sale,
+under the management of Cavalier Fossati, of the collection of art and
+of furniture of the Palais Castagna.
+
+“To foresee is to possess power,” said Dorsenne to himself, ringing at
+Madame Steno’s door and summing up thus the invincible association of
+ideas which recalled to him the palace of the ruined Roman Prince at the
+door of the villa of the triumphant Venetian: “It is the real Alpha and
+Omega.”
+
+The comparison between the lot of Madame Steno and that of the heir of
+the Castagnas had almost caused the writer to forget his plan of inquiry
+as to the author of the anonymous letters. It was to be impressed upon
+him, however, when he entered the hall where the Countess received every
+evening. Ardea himself was there, the centre of a group composed of
+Alba Steno, Madame Maitland, Fanny Hafner and the wealthy Baron, who,
+standing aloof and erect, leaning against a console, seemed like a
+beneficent and venerable man in the act of blessing youth. Julien was
+not surprised on finding so few persons in the vast salon, any more than
+he was surprised at the aspect of the room filled with old tapestry,
+bric-a-brac, furniture, flowers, and divans with innumerable cushions.
+
+He had had the entire winter in which to observe the interior of that
+house, similar to hundreds of others in Vienna, Madrid, Florence,
+Berlin, anywhere, indeed, where the mistress of the house applies
+herself to realizing an ideal of Parisian luxury. He had amused himself
+many an evening in separating from the almost international framework
+local features, those which distinguished the room from others of the
+same kind. No human being succeeds in being absolutely factitious in his
+home or in his writings. The author had thus noted that the salon bore a
+date, that of the Countess’s last journey to Paris in 1880. It was to
+be seen in the plush and silk of the curtains. The general coloring,
+in which green predominated, a liberty egotistical in so brilliant a
+blonde, had too warm a tone and betrayed the Italian. Italy was also to
+be found in the painted ceiling and in the frieze which ran all around,
+as well as in several paintings scattered about. There were two panels
+by Moretti de Brescia in the second style of the master, called his
+silvery manner, on account of the delicate and transparent fluidity of
+the coloring; a ‘Souper chez le Pharisien’ and a ‘Jesus ressuscite sur
+le rivage’, which could only have come from one of the very old palaces
+of a very ancient family. Dorsenne knew all that, and he knew, too, for
+what reasons he found almost empty at that time of the year the hall so
+animated during the entire winter, the hall through which he had seen
+pass a veritable carnival of visitors: great lords, artists, political
+men, Russians and Austrians, English and French--pellmell. The
+Countess was far from occupying in Rome the social position which her
+intelligence, her fortune and her name should have assured her. For,
+having been born a Navagero, she combined on her escutcheon the cross of
+gold of the Sebastien Navagero who was the first to mount the walls of
+Lepante, with the star of the grand Doge Michel.
+
+But one particular trait of character had always prevented her from
+succeeding on that point. She could not bear ennui nor constraint, nor
+had she any vanity. She was positive and impassioned, in the manner of
+the men of wealth to whom their meditated--upon combinations serve
+to assure the conditions of their pleasures. Never had Madame Steno
+displayed diplomacy in the changes of her passions, and they had been
+numerous before the arrival of Gorka, to whom she had remained faithful
+two years, an almost incomprehensible thing! Never had she, save in her
+own home, observed the slightest bounds when there was a question of
+reaching the object of her desire. Moreover, she had not in Rome to
+support her any member of the family to which she belonged, and she had
+not joined either of the two sets into which, since 1870, the society of
+the city was divided. Of too modern a mind and of a manner too bold, she
+had not been received by the admirable woman who reigns at the Quirinal,
+and who had managed to gather around her an atmosphere of such noble
+elevation.
+
+These causes would have brought about a sort of semi-ostracism, had the
+Countess not applied herself to forming a salon of her own, the recruits
+for which were almost altogether foreigners. The sight of new faces,
+the variety of conversation, the freedom of manner, all in that moving
+world, pleased the thirst for diversion which, in that puissant,
+spontaneous, and almost manly immoral nature, was joined with very just
+clear-sightedness. If Julien paused for a moment surprised at the door
+of the hall, it was not, therefore, on finding it empty at the end of
+the season; it was on beholding there, among the inmates, Peppino Ardea,
+whom he had not met all winter. Truly, it was a strange time to appear
+in new scenes when the hammer of the appraiser was already raised above
+all which had been the pride and the splendor of his name. But the
+grand-nephew of Urban VII, seated between sublime Fanny Hafner, in pale
+blue, and pretty Alba Steno, in bright red, opposite Madame Maitland,
+so graceful in her mauve toilette, had in no manner the air of a man
+crushed by adversity.
+
+The subdued light revealed his proud manly face, which had lost none
+of its gay hauteur. His eyes, very black, very brilliant, and very
+unsteady, seemed almost in the same glance to scorn and to smile, while
+his mouth, beneath its brown moustache, wore an expression of disdain,
+disgust, and sensuality. The shaven chin displayed a bluish shade, which
+gave to the whole face a look of strength, belied by the slender and
+nervous form. The heir of the Castagnas was dressed with an affectation
+of the English style, peculiar to certain Italians. He wore too many
+rings on his fingers, too large a bouquet in his buttonhole, and above
+all he made too many gestures to allow for a moment, with his dark
+complexion, of any doubt as to his nationality. It was he who, of all
+the group, first perceived Julien, and he said to him, or rather called
+out familiarly:
+
+“Ah, Dorsenne! I thought you had gone away. We have not seen you at the
+club for fifteen days.”
+
+“He has been working,” replied Hafner, “at some new masterpiece, at a
+romance which is laid in Roman society, I am sure. Mistrust him, Prince,
+and you, ladies, disarm the portrayer.”
+
+“I,” resumed Ardea, laughing pleasantly, “will give him notes upon
+myself, if he wants them, as long as this, and I will illustrate his
+romance into the bargain with photographs which I once had a rage for
+taking.... See, Mademoiselle,” he added, turning to Fanny, “that is how
+one ruins one’s self. I had a mania for the instantaneous ones. It was
+very innocent, was it not? It cost me thirty thousand francs a year, for
+four years.”
+
+Dorsenne had heard that it was a watchword between Peppino Ardea and his
+friends to take lightly the disaster which came upon the Castagna family
+in its last and only scion. He was not expecting such a greeting. He was
+so disconcerted by it that he neglected to reply to the Baron’s remark,
+as he would have done at any other time. Never did the founder of the
+‘Credit Austyr-Dalmate’ fail to manifest in some such way his profound
+aversion for the novelist. Men of his species, profoundly cynical and
+calculating, fear and scorn at the same time a certain literature.
+Moreover, he had too much tact not to be aware of the instinctive
+repulsion with which he inspired Julien. But to Hafner, all social
+strength was tariffed, and literary success as much as any other. As he
+was afraid, as on the staircase of the Palais Castagna, that he had
+gone too far, he added, laying his hand with its long, supple fingers
+familiarly upon the author’s shoulder:
+
+“This is what I admire in him: It is that he allows profane persons,
+such as we are, to plague him, without ever growing angry. He is the
+only celebrated author who is so simple.... But he is better than an
+author; he is a veritable man-of-the-world.”
+
+“Is not the Countess here?” asked Dorsenne, addressing Alba Steno, and
+without replying any more to the action, so involuntarily insulting,
+of the Baron than he had to his sly malice or to the Prince’s
+facetious offer. Madame Steno’s absence had again inspired him with an
+apprehension which the young girl dissipated by replying:
+
+“My mother is on the terrace.... We were afraid it was too cool for
+Fanny.”.... It was a very simple phrase, which the Contessina uttered
+very simply, as she fanned herself with a large fan of white feathers.
+Each wave of it stirred the meshes of her fair hair, which she wore
+curled upon her rather high forehead. Julien understood her too well not
+to perceive that her voice, her gestures, her eyes, her entire being,
+betrayed a nervousness at that moment almost upon the verge of sadness.
+
+Was she still reserved from the day before, or was she a prey to one
+of those inexplicable transactions, which had led Dorsenne in his
+meditations of the night to such strange suspicions? Those suspicions
+returned to him with the feeling that, of all the persons present, Alba
+was the only one who seemed to be aware of the drama which undoubtedly
+was brewing. He resolved to seek once more for the solution of the
+living enigma which that singular girl was. How lovely she appeared to
+him that evening with, those two expressions which gave her an almost
+tragical look! The corners of her mouth drooped somewhat; her upper lip,
+almost too short, disclosed her teeth, and in the lower part of her pale
+face was a bitterness so prematurely sad! Why? It was not the time to
+ask the question. First of all, it was necessary for the young man to go
+in search of Madame Steno on the terrace, which terminated in a paradise
+of Italian voluptuousness, the salon furnished in imitation of Paris.
+Shrubs blossomed in large terra-cotta vases. Statuettes were to be
+seen on the balustrade, and, beyond, the pines of the Villa Bonaparte
+outlined their black umbrellas against a sky of blue velvet, strewn with
+large stars. A vague aroma of acacias, from a garden near by, floated
+in the air, which was light, caressing, and warm. The soft atmosphere
+sufficed to convict of falsehood the Contessina, who had evidently
+wished to justify the tete-a-tete of her mother and of Maitland. The two
+lovers were indeed together in the perfume, the mystery and the solitude
+of the obscure and quiet terrace.
+
+It took Dorsenne, who came from the bright glare of the salon, a moment
+to distinguish in the darkness the features of the Countess who, dressed
+all in white, was lying upon a willow couch with soft cushions of silk.
+She was smoking a cigarette, the lighted end of which, at each breath
+she drew, gave sufficient light to show that, notwithstanding the
+coolness of the night, her lovely neck, so long and flexible, about
+which was clasped a collar of pearls, was bare, as well as her fair
+shoulders and her perfect arms, laden with bracelets, which were visible
+through her wide, flowing sleeves. On advancing, Julien recognized,
+through the vegetable odors of that spring night, the strong scent of
+the Virginian tobacco which Madame Steno had used since she had fallen
+in love with Maitland, instead of the Russian “papyrus” to which Gorka
+had accustomed her. It is by such insignificant traits that amorous
+women recognize a love profoundly, insatiably sensual, the only one
+of which the Venetian was capable. Their passionate desire to give
+themselves up still more leads them to espouse, so to speak, the
+slightest habits of the men whom they love in that way. Thus are
+explained those metamorphoses of tastes, of thoughts, even of
+appearance, so complete, that in six months, in three months of
+separation they become like different people. By the side of that
+graceful and supple vision, Lincoln Maitland was seated on a low
+chair. But his broad shoulders, which his evening coat set off in their
+amplitude, attested that before having studied “Art”--and even while
+studying it--he had not ceased to practise the athletic sports of his
+English education. As soon as he was mentioned, the term “large” was
+evoked. Indeed, above the large frame was a large face, somewhat red,
+with a large, red moustache, which disclosed, in broad smiles, his
+large, strong teeth.
+
+Large rings glistened on his large fingers. He presented a type exactly
+opposite to that of Boleslas Gorka. If the grandson of the Polish
+Castellan recalled the dangerous finesse of a feline, of a slender and
+beautiful panther, Maitland could be compared to one of those mastiffs
+in the legends, with a jaw and muscles strong enough to strangle lions.
+The painter in him was only in the eye and in the hand, in consequence
+of a gift as physical as the voice to a tenor. But that instinct, almost
+abnormal, had been developed, cultivated to excess, by the energy of
+will in refinement, a trait so marked in the Anglo-Saxons of the New
+World when they like Europe, instead of detesting it. For the time
+being, the longing for refinement seemed reduced to the passionate
+inhalations of that divine, fair rose of love which was Madame Steno,
+a rose almost too full-blown, and which the autumn of forty years had
+begun to fade. But she was still charming. And how little Maitland
+heeded the fact that his wife was in the room near by, the windows of
+which cast forth a light which caused to stand out more prominently the
+shadow of the voluptuous terrace! He held his mistress’s hand within his
+own, but abandoned it when he perceived Dorsenne, who took particular
+pains to move a chair noisily on approaching the couple, and to say, in
+a loud voice, with a merry laugh:
+
+“I should have made a poor gallant abbe of the last century, for at
+night I can really see nothing. If your cigarette had not served me as a
+beacon-light I should have run against the balustrade.”
+
+“Ah, it is you, Dorsenne,” replied Madame Steno, with a sharpness
+contrary to her habitual amiability, which proved to the novelist that
+first of all he was the “inconvenient third” of the classical comedies,
+then that Hafner had reported his imprudent remarks of the day before.
+
+“So much the better,” thought he, “I shall have forewarned her. On
+reflection she will be pleased. It is true that at this moment there is
+no question of reflection.” As he said those words to himself, he talked
+aloud of the temperature of the day, of the probabilities of the weather
+for the morrow, of Ardea’s good-humor. He made, indeed, twenty trifling
+remarks, in order to manage to leave the terrace and to leave the
+lovers to their tete-a-tete, without causing his withdrawal to become
+noticeable by indiscreet haste, as disagreeable as suggestive.
+
+“When may we come to your atelier to see the portrait finished,
+Maitland?” he asked, still standing, in order the better to manage his
+retreat.
+
+“Finished?” exclaimed the Countess, who added, employing a diminutive
+which she had used for several weeks: “Do you then not know that Linco
+has again effaced the head?”
+
+“Not the entire head,” said the painter, “but the face is to be
+done over. You remember, Dorsenne, those two canvases by Pier delta
+Francesca, which are at Florence, Duc Federigo d’Urbino and his wife
+Battista Sforza. Did you not see them in the same room with La Calomnie
+by Botticelli, with a landscape in the background? It is drawn like
+this,” and he made a gesture with his thumb, “and that is what I am
+trying to obtain, the necessary curve on which all faces depend. There
+is no better painter in Italy.”
+
+“And Titian and Raphael?” interrupted Madame Steno.
+
+“And the Sienese and the Lorenzetti, of whom you once raved? You
+wrote to me of them, with regard to my article on your exposition of
+‘eighty-six; do you remember?” inquired the writer.
+
+“Raphael?” replied Maitland.... “Do you wish me to tell you what Raphael
+really was? A sublime builder. And Titian? A sublime upholsterer. It
+is true, I admired the Sienese very much,” he added, turning toward
+Dorsenne. “I spent three months in copying the Simone Martini of the
+municipality, the Guido Riccio, who rides between two strongholds on
+a gray heath, where there is not a sign of a tree or a house, but only
+lances and towers. Do I remember Lorenzetti? Above all, the fresco at
+San Francesco, in which Saint Francois presents his order to the Pope,
+that was his best work.... Then, there is a cardinal, with his fingers
+on his lips, thus!” another gesture. “Well, I remember it, you see,
+because there is an anecdote. It is portrayed on a wall--oh, a grand
+portrayal, but without the subject, flutt!”.... and he made a
+hissing sound with his lips, “while Pier della Francesca, Carnevale,
+Melozzo,”.... he paused to find a word which would express the very
+complicated thought in his head, and he concluded: “That is painting.”
+
+“But the Assumption by Titian, and the Transfiguration by Raphael,”
+ resumed the Countess, who added in Italian, with an accent of
+enthusiasm: “Ah, the bellezza!”
+
+“Do not worry, Countess,” said Dorsenne, laughing heartily, “those are
+an artist’s opinions. Ten years ago, I said that Victor Hugo was an
+amateur and Alfred de Musset a bourgeois. But,” he added, “as I am not
+descended from the Doges nor the Pilgrim Fathers, I, a poor, degenerate
+Gallo-Roman, fear the dampness on account of my rheumatism, and ask your
+permission to reenter the house.” Then, as he passed through the door
+of the salon: “Raphael, a builder! Titian, an upholsterer! Lorenzetti,
+a reproducer!” he repeated to himself. “And the descendant of the Doges,
+who listened seriously to those speeches, her ideal should be a madonna
+en chromo! Of the first order! As for Gorka, if he had not made me lose
+my entire day yesterday, I should think I had been dreaming, so little
+is there any question of him.... And Ardea, who continues to laugh at
+his ruin. He is not bad for an Italian. But he talks too much about his
+affairs, and it is in bad taste!”.... Indeed, as he turned toward the
+group assembled in a corner of the salon, he heard the Prince relating
+a story about Cavalier Fossati, to whom was entrusted the charge of the
+sale:
+
+“How much do you think will be realized on all?” I asked him, finally.
+“Oh,” he replied, “very little.... But a little and a little more end
+by making a great deal. With what an air he added: ‘E gia il moschino e
+conte’--Already the gnat is a count.’ The gnat was himself. ‘A few more
+sales like yours, my Prince, and my son, the Count of Fossati, will have
+half a million. He will enter the club and address you with the familiar
+‘thou’ when playing ‘goffo’ against you. That is what there is in this
+gia (already).... On my honor, I have not been happier than since I
+have, not a sou.”
+
+“You are an optimist, Prince,” said Hafner, “and whatsoever our friend
+Dorsenne here present may claim, it is necessary to be optimistic.”
+
+“You are attacking him again, father,” interrupted Fanny, in a tone of
+respectful reproach.
+
+“Not the man,” returned the Baron, “but his ideas--yes, and above all
+those of his school.... Yes, yes,” he continued, either wishing to
+change the conversation, which Ardea persisted in turning upon his ruin,
+or finding very well organized a world in which strokes like that of the
+Credit Austro-Dalmate are possible, he really felt a deep aversion to
+the melancholy and pessimism with which Julien’s works were tinged. And
+he continued: “On listening to you, Ardea, just now, and on seeing this
+great writer enter, I am reminded by contrast of the fashion now in
+vogue of seeing life in a gloomy light.”
+
+“Do you find it very gay?” asked Alba, brusquely.
+
+“Good,” said Hafner; “I was sure that, in talking against pessimism, I
+should make the Contessina talk.... Very gay?” he continued. “No. But
+when I think of the misfortunes which might have come to all of us here,
+for instance, I find it very tolerable. Better than living in another
+epoch, for example. One hundred and fifty years ago, Contessina, in
+Venice, you would have been liable to arrest any day under a warrant of
+the Council of Ten.... And you, Dorsenne, would have been exposed to the
+cudgel like Monsieur de Voltaire, by some jealous lord.... And Prince
+d’Ardea would have run the risk of being assassinated or beheaded at
+each change of Pope. And I, in my quality of Protestant, should have
+been driven from France, persecuted in Austria, molested in Italy,
+burned in Spain.”
+
+As can be seen, he took care to choose between his two inheritances. He
+had done so with an enigmatical good-nature which was almost ironical.
+He paused, in order not to mention what might have come to Madame
+Maitland before the suppression of slavery. He knew that the very pretty
+and elegant young lady shared the prejudices of her American compatriots
+against negro blood, and that she made every effort to hide the blemish
+upon her birth to the point of never removing her gloves. It may,
+however, in justice be added, that the slightly olive tinge in her
+complexion, her wavy hair, and a vague bluish reflection in the whites
+of her eyes would scarcely have betrayed the mixture of race. She did
+not seem to have heeded the Baron’s pause, but she arranged, with an
+absent air, the folds of her mauve gown, while Dorsenne replied: “It
+is a fine and specious argument.... Its only fault is that it has no
+foundation. For I defy you to imagine yourself what you would have been
+in the epoch of which you speak. We say frequently, ‘If I had lived a
+hundred years ago.’ We forget that a hundred years ago we should not
+have been the same; that we should not have had the same ideas, the same
+tastes, nor the same requirements. It is almost the same as imagining
+that you could think like a bird or a serpent.”
+
+“One could very well imagine what it would be never to have been born,”
+ interrupted. Alba Steno.
+
+She uttered the sentence in so peculiar a manner that the discussion
+begun by Hafner was nipped in the bud.
+
+The words produced their effect upon the chatter of the idlers who only
+partly believed in the ideas they put forth. Although there is always a
+paradox in condemning life amid a scene of luxury when one is not more
+than twenty, the Contessina was evidently sincere. Whence came that
+sincerity? From what corner of her youthful heart, wounded almost to
+death? Dorsenne was the only person who asked himself the question, for
+the conversation turned at once, Lydia Maitland having touched with
+her fan the sleeve of Alba, who was two seats from her, to ask her this
+question with an irony as charming, after the young girl’s words, as it
+was involuntary:
+
+“It is silk muslin, is it not?”
+
+“Yes,” replied the Contessina, who rose and leaned over, to offer to
+the curious gaze of her pretty neighbor her arm, which gleamed frail,
+nervous, and softly fair through the transparent red material, with a
+bow of ribbon of the same color tied at her slender shoulder and her
+graceful wrist, while Ardea, by the side of Fanny, could be heard saying
+to the daughter of Baron Justus, more beautiful than ever that evening,
+in her pallor slightly tinged with pink by some secret agitation:
+
+“You visited my palace yesterday, Mademoiselle?”
+
+“No,” she replied.
+
+“Ask her why not, Prince,” said Hafner.
+
+“Father!” cried Fanny, with a supplication in her black eyes which Ardea
+had the delicacy to obey, as he resumed:
+
+“It is a pity. Everything there is very ordinary. But you would have
+been interested in the chapel. Indeed, I regret that the most, those
+objects before which my ancestors have prayed so long and which end by
+being listed in a catalogue.... They even took the reliquary from me,
+because it was by Ugolina da Siena. I will buy it back as soon as I can.
+Your father applauds my courage. I could not part from those objects
+without real sorrow.”
+
+“But it is the feeling she has for the entire palace,” said the Baron.
+
+“Father!” again implored Fanny.
+
+“Come, compose yourself, I will not betray you,” said Hafner, while
+Alba, taking advantage of having risen, left the group. She walked
+toward a table at the other extremity of the room, set in the style
+of an English table, with tea and iced drinks, saying to Julien, who
+followed her:
+
+“Shall I prepare your brandy and soda, Dorsenne?”
+
+“What ails you, Contessina?” asked the young man, in a whisper, when
+they were alone near the plateau of crystal and the collection of
+silver, which gleamed so brightly in the dimly lighted part of the room.
+
+“Yes,” he persisted, “what ails you? Are you still vexed with me?”
+
+“With you?” said she. “I have never been. Why should I be?” she
+repeated. “You have done nothing to me.”
+
+“Some one has wounded you?” asked Julien.
+
+He saw that she was sincere, and that she scarcely remembered the
+ill-humor of the preceding day. “You can not deceive a friend such as I
+am,” he continued. “On seeing you fan yourself, I knew that you had some
+annoyance. I know you so well.”
+
+“I have no annoyance,” she replied, with an impatient frown. “I can not
+bear to hear lies of a certain kind. That is all!”
+
+“And who has lied?” resumed Dorsenne.
+
+“Did you not hear Ardea speak of his chapel just now, he who believes in
+God as little as Hafner, of whom no one knows whether he is a Jew or a
+Gentile!... Did you not see poor Fanny look at him the while? And
+did you not remark with what tact the Baron made the allusion to the
+delicacy which had prevented his daughter from visiting the Palais
+Castagna with us? And did that comedy enacted between the two men give
+you no food for thought?”
+
+“Is that why Peppino is here?” asked Julien. “Is there a plan on foot
+for the marriage of the heiress of Papa Hafner’s millions and the
+grand-nephew of Pope Urban VII? That will furnish me with a fine subject
+of conversation with some one of my acquaintance!”.... And the mere
+thought of Montfanon learning such news caused him to laugh heartily,
+while he continued, “Do not look at me so indignantly, dear Contessina.
+But I see nothing so sad in the story. Fanny to marry Peppino? Why not?
+You yourself have told me that she is partly Catholic, and that her
+father is only awaiting her marriage to have her baptized. She will be
+happy then. Ardea will keep the magnificent palace we saw yesterday, and
+the Baron will crown his career in giving to a man ruined on the Bourse,
+in the form of a dowry, that which he has taken from others.”
+
+“Be silent,” said the young girl, in a very grave voice, “you inspire
+me with horror. That Ardea should have lost all scruples, and that he
+should wish to sell his title of a Roman prince at as high a price as
+possible, to no matter what bidder, is so much the more a matter of
+indifference, for we Venetians do not allow ourselves to be imposed upon
+by the Roman nobility. We all had Doges in our families when the fathers
+of these people were bandits in the country, waiting for some poor monk
+of their name to become Pope. That Baron Hafner sells his daughter as he
+once sold her jewels is also a matter of indifference to me. But you
+do not know her. You do not know what a creature, charming and
+enthusiastic, simple and sincere, she is, and who will never, never
+mistrust that, first of all, her father is a thief, and, then, that he
+is selling her like a trinket in order to have grand-children who shall
+be at the same time grandnephews of the Pope, and, finally, that Peppino
+does not love her, that he wants her dowry, and that he will have for
+her as little feeling as they have for her.” She glanced at Madame
+Maitland. “It is worse than I can tell you,” she said, enigmatically, as
+if vexed by her own words, and almost frightened by them.
+
+“Yes,” said Julien, “it would be very sad; but are you sure that you do
+not exaggerate the situation? There is not so much calculation in life.
+It is more mediocre and more facile. Perhaps the Prince and the Baron
+have a vague project.”
+
+“A vague project?” interrupted Alba, shrugging her shoulders. “There is
+never anything vague with a Hafner, you may depend. What if I were to
+tell you that I am positive--do you hear--positive that it is he who
+holds between his fingers the largest part of the Prince’s debts, and
+that he caused the sale by Ancona to obtain the bargain?”
+
+“It is impossible!” exclaimed Dorsenne. “You saw him yourself yesterday
+thinking of buying this and that object.”
+
+“Do not make me say any more,” said Alba, passing over her brow and
+her eyes two or three times her hand, upon which no ring sparkled--that
+hand, very supple and white, whose movements betrayed extreme
+nervousness. “I have already said too much. It is not my business, and
+poor Fanny is only to me a recent friend, although I think her very
+attractive and affectionate.... When I think that she is on the point of
+pledging herself for life, and that there is no one, that there can be
+no one, to cry: They lie to you! I am filled with compassion. That is
+all. It is childish!”
+
+It is always painful to observe in a young person the exact perception
+of the sinister dealings of life, which, once entered into the mind,
+never allows of the carelessness so natural at the age of twenty.
+
+The impression of premature disenchantment Alba Steno had many times
+given to Dorsenne, and it had indeed been the principal attraction to
+the curious observer of the feminine character, who still was struck by
+the terrible absence of illusion which such a view of the projects of
+Fanny’s father revealed. Whence did she know them? Evidently from Madame
+Steno herself. Either the Baron and the Countess had talked of them
+before the young girl too openly to leave her in any doubt, or she
+had divined what they did not tell her, through their conversation. On
+seeing her thus, with her bitter mouth, her bright eyes, so visibly a
+prey to the fever of suppressed loathing, Dorsenne again was impressed
+by the thought of her perfect perspicacity. It was probable that she had
+applied the same force of thought to her mother’s conduct. It seemed
+to him that on raising, as she was doing, the wick of the silver lamp
+beneath the large teakettle, that she was glancing sidewise at the
+terrace, where the end of the Countess’s white robe could be seen
+through the shadow. Suddenly the mad thoughts which had so greatly
+agitated him on the previous day possessed him again, and the plan he
+had formed of imitating his model, Hamlet, in playing in Madame Steno’s
+salon the role of the Danish prince before his uncle occurred to him.
+Absently, with his customary air of indifference, he continued:
+
+“Rest assured, Ardea does not lack enemies. Hafner, too, has plenty of
+them. Some one will be found to denounce their plot, if there is a plot,
+to lovely Fanny. An anonymous letter is so quickly written.”
+
+He had no sooner uttered those words than he interrupted himself with
+the start of a man who handles a weapon which he thinks unloaded and
+which suddenly discharges.
+
+It was, really, to discharge a duty in the face of his own scepticism
+that he had spoken thus, and he did not expect to see another shade of
+sadness flit across Alba’s mobile and proud face.
+
+There was in the corners of her mouth more disgust, her eyes expressed
+more scorn, while her hands, busy preparing the tea, trembled as she
+said, with an accent so agitated that her friend regretted his cruel
+plan:
+
+“Ah! Do not speak of it! It would be still worse than her present
+ignorance. At least, now she knows nothing, and if some miserable person
+were to do as you say she would know in part without being sure.... How
+could you smile at such a supposition?... No! Poor, gentle Fanny! I hope
+she will receive no anonymous letters. They are so cowardly and make so
+much trouble!”
+
+“I ask your pardon if I have wounded you,” replied Dorsenne. He had
+touched, he felt it, a tender spot in that heart, and perceived with
+grief that not only had Alba Steno not written the anonymous letters
+addressed to Gorka, but that, on the contrary, she had received some
+herself. From whom? Who was the mysterious denunciator who had warned
+in that abominable manner the daughter of Madame Steno after the lover?
+Julien shuddered as he continued: “If I smiled, it was because I believe
+Mademoiselle Hafner, in case the misfortune should come to her, sensible
+enough to treat such advice as it merits. An anonymous letter does not
+deserve to be read. Any one infamous enough to make use of weapons of
+that sort does not deserve that one should do him the honor even to
+glance at what he has written.”
+
+“Is it not so?” said the girl. There was in her eyes, the pupils of
+which suddenly dilated, a gleam of genuine gratitude which convinced her
+companion that he had seen correctly. He had uttered just the words
+of which she had need. In the face of that proof, he was suddenly
+overwhelmed by an access of shame and of pity--of shame, because in his
+thoughts he had insulted the unhappy girl--of pity, because she had to
+suffer a blow so cruel, if, indeed, her mother had been exposed to her.
+It must have been on the preceding afternoon or that very morning that
+she had received the horrible letter, for, during the visit to the
+Palais Castagna, she had been, by turns, gay and quiet, but so childish,
+while on that particular evening it was no longer the child who
+suffered, but the woman. Dorsenne resumed:
+
+“You see, we writers are exposed to those abominations. A book which
+succeeds, a piece which pleases, an article which is extolled, calls
+forth from the envious unsigned letters which wound us or those whom we
+love. In such cases, I repeat, I burn them unread, and if ever in your
+life such come to you, listen to me, little Countess, and follow the
+advice of your friend, Dorsenne, for he is your friend; you know it, do
+you not, your true friend?”
+
+“Why should I receive anonymous letters?” asked the girl, quickly. “I
+have neither fame, beauty, nor wealth, and am not to be envied.”
+
+As Dorsenne looked at her, regretting that he had said so much, she
+forced her sad lips to smile, and added: “If you are really my friend,
+instead of making me lose time by your advice, of which I shall probably
+never have need, for I shall never become a great authoress, help me
+to serve the tea, will you? It should be ready.” And with her slender
+fingers she raised the lid of the kettle, saying: “Go and ask Madame
+Maitland if she will take some tea this evening, and Fanny, too....
+Ardea takes whiskey and the Baron mineral water.... You can ring for
+his glass of vichy.... There.... You have delayed me.... There are more
+callers and nothing is ready.... Ah,” she cried, “it is Maud!”--then,
+with surprise, “and her husband!”
+
+Indeed, the folding doors of the hall opened to admit Maud Gorka, a
+robust British beauty, radiant with happiness, attired in a gown of
+black crepe de Chine with orange ribbons, which set off to advantage
+her fresh color. Behind her came Boleslas. But he was no longer the
+traveller who, thirty-six hours before, had arrived at the Place de la
+Trinite-des-Monts, mad with anxiety, wild with jealousy, soiled by the
+dust of travel, his hair disordered, his hands and face dirty. It
+was, though somewhat thinner, the elegant Gorka whom Dorsenne had
+known--tall, slender, and perfumed, in full dress, a bouquet in his
+buttonhole, his lips smiling. To the novelist, knowing what he knew,
+the smile and the composure had something in them more terrible than the
+frenzy of the day before. He comprehended it by the manner in which the
+Pole gave him his hand. One night and a day of reflection had undermined
+his work, and if Boleslas had enacted the comedy to the point of lulling
+his wife’s suspicions and of deciding on the visit of that evening, it
+was because he had resolved not to consult any one and to lead his own
+inquiry. He was succeeding in the beginning; he had certainly perceived
+Madame Steno’s white gown upon the terrace, while radiant Maud explained
+his unexpected return with her usual ingenuousness.
+
+“This is what comes of sending to a doting father accounts of our boy’s
+health.... I wrote him the other day that Luc had a little fever. He
+wrote to ask about its progress. I did not receive his letter. He became
+uneasy, and here he is.”
+
+“I will tell mamma,” said Alba, passing out upon the terrace, but her
+haste seemed too slow to Dorsenne. He had such a presentiment of danger
+that he did not think of smiling, as he would have done on any other
+occasion, at the absolute success of the deception which he and Boleslas
+had planned on the preceding day, and of which the Count had said, with
+a fatuity now proven: “Maud will be so happy to see me that she will
+believe all.”
+
+It was a scene both simple and tragical--of that order in which in
+society the most horrible incidents occur without a sound, without a
+gesture, amid phrases of conventionality and in a festal framework!
+Two of the spectators, at least, besides Julien, understood its
+importance-Ardea and Hafner. For neither the one nor the other had
+failed to notice the relations between Madame Steno and Maitland, much
+less her position with regard to Gorka. The writer, the grand seigneur,
+and the business man had, notwithstanding the differences of age and of
+position, a large experience of analogous circumstances.
+
+They knew of what presence of mind a courageous woman was capable, when
+surprised, as was the Venetian. All these have declared since that they
+had never imagined more admirable self-possession, a composure more
+superbly audacious, than that displayed by Madame Steno, at that
+decisive moment. She appeared on the threshold of the French window,
+surprised and delighted, just in the measure she conformably should be.
+Her fair complexion, which the slightest emotion tinged with carmine,
+was bewitchingly pink. Not a quiver of her long lashes veiled her deep
+blue eyes, which gleamed brightly. With her smile, which exhibited her
+lovely teeth, the color of the large pearls which were twined about
+her neck, with the emeralds in her fair hair, with her fine shoulders
+displayed by the slope of her white corsage, with her delicate waist,
+with the splendor of her arms from which she had removed the gloves
+to yield them to the caresses of Maitland, and which gleamed with more
+emeralds, with her carriage marked by a certain haughtiness, she was
+truly a woman of another age, the sister of those radiant princesses
+whom the painters of Venice evoke beneath the marble porticoes, among
+apostles and martyrs. She advanced to Maud Gorka, whom she embraced
+affectionately, then, pressing Boleslas’s hand, she said in a voice so
+warm, in which at times there were deep tones, softened by the habitual
+use of the caressing dialect of the lagoon:
+
+“What a surprise! And you could not come to dine with us? Well, sit
+down, both of you, and relate to me the Odyssey of the traveller,” and,
+turning toward Maitland, who had followed her into the salon with the
+insolent composure of a giant and of a lover:
+
+“Be kind, my little Linco, and fetch me my fan and my gloves, which I
+left on the couch.”
+
+At that moment Dorsenne, who had only one fear, that of meeting Gorka’s
+eyes--he could not have borne their glance--was again by the side of
+Alba Steno. The young girl’s face, just now so troubled, was radiant. It
+seemed as if a great weight had been lifted from the pretty Contessina’s
+mind.
+
+“Poor child,” thought the writer, “she would not think her mother could
+be so calm were she guilty. The Countess’s manner is the reply to the
+anonymous letter. Have they written all to her? My God! Who can it be?”
+
+And he fell into a deep revery, interrupted only by the hum of the
+conversation, in which he did not participate. It would have satisfied
+him had he observed, instead of meditated, that the truth with regard to
+the author of the anonymous letters might have become clear to him, as
+clear as the courage of Madame Steno in meeting danger--as the blind
+confidence of Madame Gorka--as the disdainful imperturbability of
+Maitland before his rival and the suppressed rage of that rival--as
+the finesse of Hafner in sustaining the general conversation--as the
+assiduous attentions of Ardea to Fanny--as the emotion of the latter--as
+clear as Alba’s sense of relief. All those faces, on Boleslas’s
+entrance, had expressed different feelings. Only one had, for several
+minutes, expressed the joy of crime and the avidity of ultimately
+satisfied hatred. But as it was that of little Madame Maitland,
+the silent creature, considered so constantly by him as stupid and
+insignificant, Dorsenne had not paid more attention to it than had the
+other witnesses the surprising reappearance of the betrayed lover.
+
+Every country has a metaphor to express the idea that there is no
+worse water than that which is stagnant. Still waters run deep, say the
+English, and the Italians, Still waters ruin bridges.
+
+These adages would not be accurate if one did not forget them in
+practise, and the professional analyst of the feminine heart had
+entirely forgotten them on that evening.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER V. COUNTESS STENO
+
+A woman less courageous than the Countess, less capable of looking a
+situation in the face and of advancing to it, such an evening would
+have marked the prelude to one of those nights of insomnia when the mind
+exhausts in advance all the agonies of probable danger. Countess Steno
+did not know what weakness and fear were.
+
+A creature of energy and of action, who felt herself to be above all
+danger, she attached no meaning to the word uneasiness. So she slept,
+on the night which followed that soiree, a sleep as profound, as
+refreshing, as if Gorka had never returned with vengeance in his heart,
+with threats in his eyes. Toward ten o’clock the following morning,
+she was in the tiny salon, or rather, the office adjoining her bedroom,
+examining several accounts brought by one of her men of business. Rising
+at seven o’clock, according to her custom, she had taken the cold bath
+in which, in summer as well as winter, she daily quickened her blood.
+She had breakfasted, ‘a l’anglaise’, following the rule to which she
+claimed to owe the preservation of her digestion, upon eggs, cold meat,
+and tea. She had made her complicated toilette, had visited her daughter
+to ascertain how she had slept, had written five letters, for her
+cosmopolitan salon compelled her to carry on an immense correspondence,
+which radiated between Cairo and New York, St. Petersburg and Bombay,
+taking in Munich, London, and Madeira, and she was as faithful in
+friendship as she was inconstant in love. Her large handwriting, so
+elegant in its composition, had covered pages and pages before she said:
+“I have a rendezvous at eleven o’clock with Maitland. Ardea will be here
+at ten to talk of his marriage. I have accounts from Finoli to examine.
+I hope that Gorka will not come, too, this morning.”.... Persons in whom
+the feeling of love is very complete, but very physical, are thus.
+They give themselves and take themselves back altogether. The Countess
+experienced no more pity than fear in thinking of her betrayed lover.
+She had determined to say to him, “I no longer love you,” frankly,
+openly, and to offer him his choice between a final rupture or a firm
+friendship.
+
+The only annoyance depended upon the word of explanation, which she
+desired to see postponed until afternoon, when she would be free, an
+annoyance which, however, did not prevent her from examining with her
+usual accuracy the additions and multiplications of her intendant, who
+stood near her with a face such as Bonifagio gave to his Pharisees. He
+managed the seven hundred hectares of Piove, near Padua, Madame Steno’s
+favorite estate. She had increased the revenue from it tenfold, by the
+draining of a sterile and often malignant lagoon, which, situated a
+metre below the water-level, had proved of surprising fertility; and
+she calculated the probable operations for weeks in advance with
+the detailed and precise knowledge of rural cultivation which is the
+characteristic of the Italian aristocracy and the permanent cause of its
+vitality.
+
+“Then you estimate the gain from the silkworms at about fifty kilos of
+cocoons to an ounce?”
+
+“Yes, Excellency,” replied the intendant.
+
+“One hundred ounces of yellow; one hundred times fifty makes five
+thousand,” resumed the Countess. “At four francs fifty?”
+
+“Perhaps five, Excellency,” said the intendant.
+
+“Let us say twenty-two thousand five hundred,” said the Countess,
+“and as much for the Japanese.... That will bring us in our outlay for
+building.”
+
+“Yes, Excellency. And about the wine?”
+
+“I am of the opinion, after what you have told me of the vineyard, that
+you should sell as quickly as possible to Kauffmann’s agent all that
+remains of the last crop, but not at less than six francs. You know it
+is necessary that our casks be emptied and cleaned after the month of
+August.... If we were to fail this time, for the first year that we
+manufacture our wine with the new machine, it would be too bad.”
+
+“Yes, Excellency. And the horses?”
+
+“I think that is an opportunity we should not let escape. My advice is
+that you take the express to Florence to-day at two o’clock. You will
+reach Verona to-morrow morning. You will conclude the bargain. The
+horses will be sent to Piove the same evening....
+
+“We have finished just in time,” she continued, arranging the
+intendant’s papers. She put them herself in their envelope, which she
+gave him. She had an extremely delicate sense of hearing, and she
+knew that the door of the antechamber opened. It seemed that the
+administrator took away in his portfolio all the preoccupation of this
+extraordinary woman. For, after concluding that dry conversation, or
+rather that monologue, she had her clearest and brightest smile with
+which to receive the new arrival, who was, fortunately, Prince d’Ardea.
+She said to the servant:
+
+“I wish to speak with the Prince. If any one asks for me, do not admit
+him and do not send any one hither. Bring me the card.” Then, turning
+toward the young man, “Well, Simpaticone,” it was the nickname she gave
+him, “how did you finish your evening?”
+
+“You would not believe me,” replied Peppino Ardea, laughing; “I, who
+no longer have anything, not even my bed. I went to the club and I
+played.... For the first time in my life I won.”
+
+He was so gay in relating his childish prank, he jested so merrily about
+his ruin, that the Countess looked at him in surprise, as he had looked
+at her on entering.... We understand ourselves so little, and we know
+so little about our own singularities of character, that each one was
+surprised at finding the other so calm. Ardea could not comprehend that
+Madame Steno should not be at least uneasy about Gorka’s return and
+the consequences which might result therefrom. She, on the other hand,
+admired the strange youth who, in his misfortune, could find such
+joviality at his command. He had evidently expended as much care upon
+his toilette as if he had not to take some immediate steps to assure
+his future, and his waistcoat, the color of his shirt, his cravat, his
+yellow shoes, the flower in his buttonhole, all united to make of him an
+amiable and incorrigibly frivolous dandy. She felt the need which strong
+characters have in the presence of weak ones; that of acting for the
+youth, of aiding him in spite of himself, and she attacked at once the
+question of marriage with Fanny Hafner. With her usual common-sense, and
+with her instinct of arranging everything, Madame Steno perceived in the
+union so many advantages for every one that she was in haste to conclude
+it as quickly as if it involved a personal affair.
+
+The marriage was earnestly desired by the Baron, who had spoken of it to
+her for months. It suited Fanny, who would be converted to Catholicism
+with the consent of her father. It suited the Prince, who at one stroke
+would be freed from his embarrassment. Finally, it suited the name of
+Castagna. Although Peppino was its only representative at that time,
+and as, by an old family tradition, he bore a title different from the
+patronymic title of Pope Urban VII, the sale of the celebrated palace
+had called forth a scandal to which it was essential to put an end. The
+Countess had forgotten that she had assisted, without a protestation, in
+that sale. Had she not known through Hafner that he had bought at a low
+price an enormous heap of the Prince’s bills of exchange? Did she not
+know the Baron well enough to be sure that M. Noe Ancona, the implacable
+creditor who sold the palace, was only the catspaw of this terrible
+friend? In a fit of ill-humor at the Baron, had she not herself accused
+him in Alba’s presence of this very simple plan, to bring Ardea to a
+final catastrophe in order to offer him salvation in the form of
+the union with Fanny, and to execute at the same time an excellent
+operation? For, once freed from the mortgages which burdened them, the
+Prince’s lands and buildings would regain their true value, and the
+imprudent speculator would find himself again as rich, perhaps richer.
+
+“Come,” said Madame Steno to the Prince, after a moment’s silence and
+without any preamble, “it is now time to talk business. You dined by the
+side of my little friend yesterday; you had the entire evening in which
+to study her. Answer me frankly, would she not make the prettiest little
+Roman princess who could kneel in her wedding-gown at the tomb of
+the apostles? Can you not see her in her white gown, under her veil,
+alighting at the staircase of Saint Peter’s from the carriage with the
+superb horses which her father has given her? Close your eyes and see
+her in your thoughts. Would she not be pretty? Would she not?”
+
+“Very pretty,” replied Ardea, smiling at the tempting vision Madame
+Steno had conjured up, “but she is not fair. And you know, to me, a
+woman who is not fair--ah, Countess! What a pity that in Venice, five
+years ago, on a certain evening--do you remember?”
+
+“How much like you that is!” interrupted she, laughing her deep, clear
+laugh. “You came to see me this morning to talk to me of a marriage,
+unhoped for with your reputation of gamester, of supper-giver, of
+‘mauvais sujet’; of a marriage which fulfils conditions most improbable,
+so perfect are they--beauty, youth, intelligence, fortune, and even, if
+I have read my little friend aright, the beginning of an interest, of a
+very deep interest. And, for a little, you would make a declaration to
+me. Come, come!” and she extended to him for a kiss her beautiful hand,
+on which gleamed large emeralds. “You are forgiven. But answer--yes or
+no. Shall I make the proposal? If it is yes, I will go to the Palace
+Savorelli at two o’clock. I will speak to my friend Hafner. He will
+speak to his daughter, and it will not depend upon me if you have not
+their reply this evening or to-morrow morning. Is it yes? Is it no?”
+
+“This evening? To-morrow?” exclaimed the Prince, shaking his head with
+a most comical gesture. “I can not decide like that. It is an ambush! I
+come to talk, to consult you.”
+
+“And on what?” asked Madame Steno, with a vivacity almost impatient.
+“Can I tell you anything you do not already know? In twenty-four hours,
+in forty-eight, in six months, what difference will there be, I pray
+you? We must look at things as they are, however. To-morrow, the day
+after, the following days, will you be less embarrassed?”
+
+“No,” said the Prince, “but--”
+
+“There is no but,” she resumed, allowing him to say no more than she had
+allowed her intendant. The despotism natural to puissant personalities
+scorned to be disguised in her, when there were practical decisions in
+which she was to take part. “The only serious objection you made to me
+when I spoke to you of this marriage six months ago was that Fanny
+was not a Catholic. I know today that she has only to be asked to be
+converted. So do not let us speak of that.”
+
+“No,” said the Prince, “but--”
+
+“As for Hafner,” continued the Countess, “you will say he is my friend
+and that I am partial, but that partiality even is an opinion. He is
+precisely the father-in-law you need. Do not shake your head. He will
+repair all that needs repairing in your fortune. You have been robbed,
+my poor Peppino. You told me so yourself.... Become the Baron’s
+son-in-law, and you will have news of your robbers. I know.... There
+is the Baron’s origin and the suit of ten years ago with all the
+‘pettogolezzi’ to which it gave rise. All that has not the common
+meaning. The Baron began life in a small way. He was from a family
+of Jewish origin--you see, I do not deceive you--but converted two
+generations back, so that the story of his change of religion since his
+stay in Italy is a calumny, like the rest. He had a suit in which he was
+acquitted. You would not require more than the law, would you?”
+
+“No, but--”
+
+“For what are you waiting, then?” concluded Madame Steno. “That it may
+be too late? How about your lands?”
+
+“Ah! let me breathe, let me fan myself,” said Ardea, who, indeed, took
+one of the Countess’s fans from the desk. “I, who have never known in
+the morning what I would do in the evening, I, who have always lived
+according to my pleasure, you ask me to take in five minutes the
+resolution to bind myself forever!”
+
+“I ask you to decide what you wish to do,” returned the Countess. “It is
+very amusing to travel at one’s pleasure. But when it is a question of
+arranging one’s life, this childishness is too absurd. I know of only
+one way: to see one’s aim and to march directly to it. Yours is very
+clear--to get out of this dilemma. The way is not less clear; it is
+marriage with a girl who has five millions dowry. Yes or no, will you
+have her?... Ah,” said she, suddenly interrupting herself, “I shall
+not have a moment to myself this morning, and I have an appointment at
+eleven o’clock!”.... She looked at the timepiece on her table, which
+indicated twenty-five minutes past ten. She had heard the door open.
+The footman was already before her and presented to her a card upon a
+salver. She took the card, looked at it, frowned, glanced again at the
+clock, seemed to hesitate, then: “Let him wait in the small salon,
+and say that I will be there immediately,” said she, and turning again
+toward Ardea: “You think you have escaped. You have not. I do not give
+you permission to go before I return. I shall return in fifteen minutes.
+Would you like some newspapers? There are some. Books? There are some.
+Tobacco? This box is filled with cigars.... In a quarter of an hour I
+shall be here and I will have your reply. I wish it, do you hear? I wish
+it”.... And on the threshold with another smile, using that time a term
+of patois common in Northern Italy and which is only a corruption of
+‘schiavo’ or servant: ‘Ciao Simpaticone.’
+
+“What a woman!” said Peppino Ardea, when the door was closed upon the
+Countess. “Yes, what a pity that five years ago in Venice I was not
+free! Who knows? If I had dared, when she took me to my hotel in her
+gondola. She was about to leave San Giobbe. She had not yet accepted
+Boleslas. She would have advised--have directed me. I should have
+speculated on the Bourse, as she did, with Hafner’s counsel. But not in
+the quality of son-in-law. I should not have been obliged to marry. And
+she would not now have such bad tobacco.”.... He was on the point of
+lighting one of the Virginian cigarettes, a present from Maitland. He
+threw it away, making a grimace with his air of a spoiled child, at the
+risk of scorching the rug which lay upon the marble floor; and he passed
+into the antechamber in order to fetch his own case in the pocket of the
+light overcoat he had prudently taken on coming out after eight o’clock.
+
+As he lighted one of the cigarettes in that case, filled with so-called
+Egyptian tobacco, mixed with opium and saltpetre, which he preferred to
+the tobacco of the American, he mechanically glanced at the card which
+the servant had left on going from the room-the card of the unknown
+visitor for whom Madame Steno had left him.
+
+Ardea read upon it, with astonishment, these words:
+
+Count Boleslas Gorka.
+
+“She is better than I thought her,” said he, on reentering the deserted
+office. “She had no need to bid me not to go. I think I should wait to
+see her return from that conversation.”
+
+It was indeed Boleslas whom the Countess found in the salon, which she
+had chosen as the room the most convenient for the stormy explanation
+she anticipated. It was isolated at the end of the hall, and was like
+a pendant to the terrace. It formed, with the dining-room, the entire
+ground-floor, or, rather, the entresol of the house. Madame Steno’s
+apartments, as well as the other small salon in which Peppino was, were
+on the first floor, together with the rooms set apart for the Contessina
+and her German governess, Fraulein Weber, for the time being on a
+journey.
+
+The Countess had not been mistaken. At the first glance exchanged on the
+preceding day with Gorka, she had divined that he knew all. She would
+have suspected it, nevertheless, since Hafner had told her the few words
+indiscreetly uttered by Dorsenne on the clandestine return of the
+Pole to Rome. She had not at that time been mistaken in Boleslas’s
+intentions, and she had no sooner looked in his face than she felt
+herself to be in peril. When a man has been the lover of a woman as
+that man had been hers, with the vibrating communion of a voluptuousness
+unbroken for two years, that woman maintains a sort of physiological,
+quasi-animal instinct. A gesture, the accent of a word, a sigh, a
+blush, a pallor, are signs for her that her intuition interprets with
+infallible certainty. How and why is that instinct accompanied by
+absolute oblivion of former caresses? It is a particular case of that
+insoluble and melancholy problem of the birth and death of love. Madame
+Steno had no taste for reflection of that order. Like all vigorous and
+simple creatures, she acknowledged and accepted it. As on the previous
+day, she became aware that the presence of her former lover no longer
+touched in her being the chord which had rendered her so weak to him
+during twenty-five months, so indulgent to his slightest caprices. It
+left her as cold as the marble of the bas-relief by Mino da Fiesole
+fitted into the wall just above the high chair upon which he leaned.
+
+Boleslas, notwithstanding the paroxysm of lucid fury which he suffered
+at that moment, and which rendered him capable of the worst violence,
+had on his part a knowledge of the complete insensibility in which his
+presence left her. He had seen her so often, in the course of their long
+liaison, arrive at their morning rendezvous at that hour, in similar
+toilettes, so fresh, so supple, so youthful in her maturity, so eager
+for kisses, tender and ardent. She had now in her blue eyes, in her
+smile, in her entire person, some thing at once so gracious and so
+inaccessible, which gives to an abandoned lover the mad longing to
+strike, to murder, a woman who smiles at him with such a smile. At the
+same time she was so beautiful in the morning light, subdued by the
+lowered blinds, that she inspired him with an equal desire to clasp her
+in his arms whether she would or no. He had recognized, when she entered
+the room, the aroma of a preparation which she had used in her bath, and
+that trifle alone had aroused his passion far more than when the servant
+told him Madame Steno was engaged, and he wondered whether she was
+not alone with Maitland. Those impassioned, but suppressed, feelings
+trembled in the accent of the very simple phrase with which he greeted
+her. At certain moments, words are nothing; it is the tone in which they
+are uttered. And to the Countess that of the young man was terrible.
+
+“I am disturbing you?” he asked, bowing and barely touching with the
+tips of his fingers the hand she had extended to him on entering.
+“Excuse me, I thought you alone. Will you be pleased to name another
+time for the conversation which I take the liberty of demanding?”
+
+“No, no,” she replied, not permitting him to finish his sentence. “I was
+with Peppino Ardea, who will await me,” said she, gently. “Moreover,
+you know I am in all things for the immediate. When one has something to
+say, it should be said, one, two, three?... First, there is not much to
+say, and then it is better said.... There is nothing that will sooner
+render difficult easy explanations and embroil the best of friends than
+delay and maintaining silence.”
+
+“I am very happy to find you in such a mind,” replied Boleslas, with
+a sarcasm which distorted his handsome face into a smile of atrocious
+hatred. The good-nature displayed by her cut him to the heart, and he
+continued, already less self-possessed: “It is indeed an explanation
+which I think I have the right to ask of you, and which I have come to
+claim.”
+
+“To claim, my dear?” said the Countess, looking him fixedly in the face
+without lowering her proud eyes, in which those imperative words had
+kindled a flame.
+
+If she had been admirable the preceding evening in facing as she had
+done the return of her discarded lover, on coming direct from the
+tete-a-tete with her new one, perhaps, at that moment, she was doubly
+so, when she did not have her group of intimate friends to support her.
+She was not sure that the madman who confronted her was not armed, and
+she believed him perfectly capable of killing her, while she could not
+defend herself. But a part had to be played sooner or later, and she
+played it without flinching. She had not spoken an untruth in saying
+to Peppino Ardea: “I know only one way: to see one’s aim and to march
+directly to it.” She wanted a definitive rupture with Boleslas. Why
+should she hesitate as to the means?
+
+She was silent, seeking for words. He continued:
+
+“Will you permit me to go back three months, although that is, it seems,
+a long space of time for a woman’s memory? I do not know whether you
+recall our last meeting? Pardon, I meant to say the last but one, since
+we met last night. Do you concede that the manner in which we parted
+then did not presage the manner in which we met?”
+
+“I concede it,” said the Countess, with a gleam of angry pride in her
+eyes, “although I do not very much like your style of expression. It is
+the second time you have addressed me as an accuser, and if you assume
+that attitude it will be useless to continue.”
+
+“Catherine!”.... That cry of the young man, whose anger was increasing,
+decided her whom he thus addressed to precipitate the issue of a
+conversation in which each reply was to be a fresh burst of rancor.
+
+“Well?” she inquired, crossing her arms in a manner so imperious that
+he paused in his menace, and she continued: “Listen, Boleslas, we have
+talked ten minutes without saying anything, because neither of us has
+the courage to put the question such as we know and feel it to be.
+Instead of writing to me, as you did, letters which rendered replies
+impossible to me; instead of returning to Rome and hiding yourself
+like a malefactor; instead of coming to my home last night with that
+threatening face; instead of approaching me this morning with the
+solemnity of a judge, why did you not question me simply, frankly, as
+one who knows that I have loved him very, very much?... Having been
+lovers, is that a reason for detesting each other when we cease those
+relations?”
+
+“‘When we cease those relations!’” replied Gorka. “So you no longer
+love me? Ah, I knew it; I guessed it after the first week of that fatal
+absence! But to think that you should tell it to me some day like that,
+in that calm voice which is a horrible blasphemy for our entire
+past. No, I do not believe it. I do not yet believe it. Ah, it is too
+infamous.”
+
+“Why?” interrupted the Countess, raising her head with still more
+haughtiness.... “There is only one thing infamous in love, and that is
+a falsehood. Ah, I know it. You men are not accustomed to meeting true
+women, who have the respect, the religion of their sentiment. I have
+that respect; I practise that religion. I repeat that I loved you a
+great deal, Boleslas. I did not hide it from you formerly. I was as
+loyal to you as truth itself. I have the consciousness of being so
+still, in offering you, as I do, a firm friendship, the friendship
+of man for man, who only asks to prove to you the sincerity of his
+devotion.”
+
+“I, a friendship with you, I--I--I?” exclaimed Boleslas. “Have I had
+enough patience in listening to you as I have listened? I heard you lie
+to me and scented the lie in the same breath. Why do you not ask me as
+well to form a friendship for him with whom you have replaced me? Ah,
+so you think I am blind, and you fancy I did not see that Maitland
+near you, and that I did not know at the first glance what part he was
+playing in your life? You did not think I might have good reasons for
+returning as I did? You did not know that one does not dally with one
+whom one loves as I love you?... It is not true.... You have not been
+loyal to me, since you took this man for a lover while you were still my
+mistress. You had not the right, no, no, no, you had not the right!...
+And what a man!... If it had been Ardea, Dorsenne, no matter whom,
+that I might not blush for you.... But that brute, that idiot, who has
+nothing in his favor, neither good looks, birth, elegance, mind nor
+talent, for he has none--he has nothing but his neck and shoulders of a
+bull.... It is as if you had deceived me with a lackey.... No..... it is
+too terrible.... Ah, Catherine, swear to me that it is not true. Tell me
+that you no longer love me, I will submit, I will go away, I will accept
+all, provided that you swear to me you do not love that man--swear,
+swear!”... he added, grasping her hands with such violence that she
+uttered a slight exclamation, and, disengaging herself, said to him:
+
+“Cease; you pain me. You are mad, Gorka; that can be your sole
+excuse.... I have nothing to swear to you. What I feel, what I think,
+what I do no longer concerns you after what I have told you.... Believe
+what it pleases you to believe.... But,” and the irritation of an
+enamored woman, wounded in the man she adores, possessed her, “you shall
+not speak twice of one of my friends as you have just spoken. You
+have deeply offended me, and I will not pardon you. In place of
+the friendship I offered you so honestly, we will have no further
+connections excepting those of society. That is what you desired.... Try
+not to render them impossible to yourself. Be correct at least in form.
+Remember you have a wife, I have a daughter, and that we owe it to
+them to spare them the knowledge of this unhappy rupture.... God is my
+witness, I wished to have it otherwise.”
+
+“My wife! Your daughter!” cried Boleslas with bitterness. “This is
+indeed the hour to remember them and to put them between you and my just
+vengeance! They never troubled you formerly, the two poor creatures,
+when you began to win my love?... It was convenient for you that
+they should be friends! And I lent myself to it!... I accepted
+such baseness--that to-day you might take shelter behind the two
+innocents!... No, it shall not be.... you shall not escape me thus.
+Since it is the only point on which I can strike you, I will strike
+you there. I hold you by that means, do you hear, and I will keep you.
+Either you dismiss that man, or I will no longer respect anything. My
+wife shall know all! Her! So much the better! For some time I have been
+stifled by my lies.... Your daughter, too, shall know all. She shall
+judge you now as she would judge you one day.”
+
+As he spoke he advanced to her with a manner so cruel that she recoiled.
+A few more moments and the man would have carried out his threat. He
+was about to strike her, to break objects around him, to call forth
+a terrible scandal. She had the presence of mind of an audacity more
+courageous still. An electric bell was near at hand. She pressed it,
+while Gorka said to her, with a scornful laugh, “That was the only
+affront left you to offer me--to summon your servants to defend you.”
+
+“You are mistaken,” she replied. “I am not afraid. I repeat you are mad,
+and I simply wish to prove it to you by recalling you to the reality
+of your situation.... Bid Mademoiselle Alba come down,” said she to the
+footman whom her ring had summoned. That phrase was the drop of cold
+water which suddenly broke the furious jet of vapor. She had found the
+only means of putting an end to the terrible scene. For, notwithstanding
+his menace, she knew that Maud’s husband always recoiled before the
+young girl, the friend of his wife, of whose delicacy and sensibility he
+was aware.
+
+Gorka was capable of the most dangerous and most cruel deeds, in an
+excess of passion augmented by vanity.
+
+He had in him a chivalrous element which would paralyze his frenzy
+before Alba. As for the immorality of that combination of defence
+which involved her daughter in her rupture with a vindictive lover, the
+Countess did not think of that. She often said: “She is my comrade, she
+is my friend.”.... And she thought so. To lean upon her in that critical
+moment was only natural to her. In the tempest of indignation which
+shook Gorka, the sudden appeal to innocent Alba appeared to him the last
+degree of cynicism. During the short space of time which elapsed between
+the departure of the footman and the arrival of the young girl, he only
+uttered these words, repeating them as he paced the floor, while his
+former mistress defied him with her bold gaze:
+
+“I scorn you, I scorn you; ah, how I scorn you!” Then, when he heard the
+door open: “We will resume our conversation, Madame.”
+
+“When you wish,” replied Countess Steno, and to her daughter, who
+entered, she said: “You know the carriage is to come at ten minutes to
+eleven, and it is now the quarter. Are you ready?”
+
+“You can see,” replied the young girl, displaying her pearl-gray gloves,
+which she was just buttoning, while on her head a large hat of black
+tulle made a dark and transparent aureole around her fair head. Her
+delicate bust was displayed to advantage in the corsage Maitland had
+chosen for her portrait, a sort of cuirass of a dark-blue material,
+finished at the neck and wrists with bands of velvet of a darker shade.
+The fine lines of cuffs and a collar gave to that pure face a grace of
+youth younger than her age.
+
+She had evidently come at her mother’s call, with the haste and the
+smile of that age. Then, to see Gorka’s expression and the feverish
+brilliance of the Countess’s eyes had given her what she called, in an
+odd but very appropriate way, the sensation of “a needle in the heart,”
+ of a sharp, fine point, which entered her breast to the left. She had
+slept a sleep so profound, after the soiree of the day before, on which
+she had thought she perceived in her mother’s attitude between the
+Polish count and the American painter a proof of certain innocence.
+
+She admired her mother so much, she thought her so intelligent, so
+beautiful, so good, that to doubt her was a thought not to be borne!
+There were times when she doubted her. A terrible conversation about the
+Countess, overheard in a ballroom, a conversation between two men, who
+did not know Alba to be behind them, had formed the principal part of
+the doubt, which, by turns, had increased and diminished, which had
+abandoned and tortured her, according to the signs, as little decisive
+as Madame Steno’s tranquillity of the preceding day or her confusion
+that morning. It was only an impression, very rapid, instantaneous, the
+prick of a needle, which merely leaves after it a drop of blood, and yet
+she had a smile with which to say to Boleslas:
+
+“How did Maud rest? How is she this morning? And my little friend Luc?”
+
+“They are very well,” replied Gorka. The last stage of his fury,
+suddenly arrested by the presence of the young girl, was manifested,
+but only to the Countess, by the simple phrase to which his eyes and his
+voice lent an extreme bitterness: “I found them as I left them.... Ah!
+They love me dearly.... I leave you to Peppino, Countess,” added
+he, walking toward the door. “Mademoiselle, I will bear your love to
+Maud.”....He had regained all the courtesy which a long line of savage
+‘grands seigneurs’, but ‘grands seigneurs’ nevertheless, had instilled
+in him. If his bow to Madame Steno was very ceremonious, he put a
+special grace in the low bow with which he took leave of the Contessina.
+It was merely a trifle, but the Countess was keen enough to perceive it.
+She was touched by it, she whom despair, fury, and threats had found
+so impassive. For an instant she was vaguely humiliated by the success
+which she had gained over the man whom she would, voluntarily, five
+minutes before, have had cast out of doors by her servants. She was
+silent, oblivious even of her daughter’s presence, until the latter
+recalled her to herself by saying:
+
+“Shall I put on my veil and fetch my parasol?”
+
+“You can join me in the office, whither I am going to talk with Ardea,”
+ replied her mother; adding, “I shall perhaps have some news to tell you
+in the carriage which will give you pleasure!”.... She had again
+her bright smile, and she did not mistrust while she resumed her
+conversation with Peppino that poor Alba, on reentering her chamber,
+wiped from her pale cheeks two large tears, and that she opened, to
+re-read it, the infamous anonymous letter received the day before. She
+knew by heart all the perfidious phrases. Must it not have been that the
+mind which had composed them was blinded by vengeance to such a degree
+that it had no scruples about laying before the innocent child a
+denunciation which ran thus:
+
+   “A true friend of Mademoiselle Steno warns her that she is
+   compromised, more than a marriageable young girl should be, in
+   playing, with regard to M. Maitland the role she has already played
+   with regard to M. Goyka. There are conditions of blindness so
+   voluntary that they become complicity.”
+
+Those words, enigmatical to any one else, but to the Contessina horribly
+clear, had been, like the letters of which Boleslas had told Dorsenne,
+cut from a journal and pasted on a sheet of paper. How had Alba trembled
+on reading that note for the first time, with an emotion increased
+by the horror of feeling hovering over her and her mother a hatred
+so relentless! Later in the day how much had the words exchanged with
+Dorsenne comforted her, and how reassured had she been by the Countess’s
+imperturbability on the entrance of Boleslas Gorka! Fragile peace, which
+had vanished when she saw her mother and the husband of her best friend
+face to face, with traces in their eyes, in their gestures, upon their
+countenances, of an angry scene! The thought “Why were they thus!
+What had they said?” again occurred to her to sadden her. Suddenly she
+crushed in her hand with violence the anonymous letter, which gave a
+concrete form to her sorrow and her suspicion, and, lighting a taper,
+she held it to the paper, which the flames soon reduced to ashes. She
+ran her fingers through the debris until there was very little left, and
+then, opening the window, she cast it to the winds.
+
+She looked at her glove after doing this--her glove, a few moments
+before, of so delicate a gray, now stained by the smoky dust. It was
+symbolical of the stain which the letter, even when destroyed, had left
+upon her mind. The gloves, too, inspired her with horror. She hastily
+drew them off, and, when she descended to rejoin Madame Steno, it was
+not any more possible to perceive on those hands, freshly gloved, the
+traces of that tragical childishness, than it was possible to discern,
+beneath the large veil which she had tied over her hat, the traces of
+tears. She found the mother for whom she was suffering so much, wearing,
+too, a large sun-hat, but a white one with a white veil, beneath which
+could be seen her fair hair, her sparkling blue eyes and pink-and-white
+complexion; her form was enveloped in a gown of a material and cut more
+youthful than her daughter’s, while, radiant with delight, she said to
+Peppino Ardea:
+
+“Well, I congratulate you on having made up your mind. The step shall be
+taken to-day, and you will be grateful to me all your life!”
+
+“Yet,” replied the young man, “I understand myself. I shall regret my
+decision all the afternoon. It is true,” he added, philosophically,
+“that I should regret it just as much if I had not made it.”
+
+“You have guessed that we were talking of Fanny’s marriage,” said Madame
+Steno to her daughter several minutes later, when they were seated side
+by side, like two sisters, in the victoria which was bearing them toward
+Maitland’s studio.
+
+“Then,” asked the Contessina, “you think it will be arranged?”
+
+“It is arranged,” gayly replied Madame Steno. “I am commissioned to make
+the proposition.... How happy all three will be!... Hafner has aimed at
+it this long time! I remember how, in 1880, after his suit, he came to
+see me in Venice--you and Fanny played on the balcony of the palace--he
+questioned me about the Quirinal, the Vatican and society.... Then he
+concluded, pointing to his daughter, ‘I shall make a Roman princess of
+the little one!”
+
+The ‘dogaresse’ was so delighted at the thought of the success of her
+negotiations, so delighted, too, to go, as she was going, to Maitland’s
+studio, behind her two English cobs, which trotted so briskly, that she
+did not see on the sidewalk Boleslas Gorka, who watched her pass.
+
+Alba was so troubled by that fresh proof of her mother’s lack of
+conscience that she did not notice Maud’s husband either. Baron Hafner’s
+and Prince d’Ardea’s manner toward Fanny had inspired her the day before
+with a dolorous analogy between the atmosphere of falsehood in which
+that poor girl lived and the atmosphere in which she at times thought
+she herself lived. That analogy again possessed her, and she again felt
+the “needle in the heart” as she recalled what she had heard before from
+the Countess of the intrigue by which Baron Justus Hafner had, indeed,
+ensnared his future son-in-law. She was overcome by infinite sadness,
+and she lapsed into one of her usual silent moods, while the Countess
+related to her Peppino’s indecision. What cared she for Boleslas’s anger
+at that moment? What could he do to her? Gorka was fully aware of her
+utter carelessness of the scene which had taken place between them, as
+soon as he saw the victoria pass. For some time he remained standing,
+watching the large white and black hats disappear down the Rue du Vingt
+Septembre.
+
+This thought took possession of him at once. Madame Steno and her
+daughter were going to Maitland’s atelier.... He had no sooner conceived
+that bitter suspicion than he felt the necessity of proving it at once.
+He entered a passing cab, just as Ardea, having left the Villa, Steno
+after him, sauntered up, saying:
+
+“Where are you going? May I go with you that we may have a few moments’
+conversation?”
+
+“Impossible,” replied Gorka. “I have a very urgent appointment, but in
+an hour I shall perhaps have occasion to ask a service of you. Where
+shall I find you?”
+
+“At home,” said Peppino, “lunching.”
+
+“Very well,” replied Boleslas, and, raising himself, he whispered in the
+cabman’s ear, in a voice too low for his friend to hear what he said:
+“Ten francs for you if in five minutes you drive me to the corner of the
+Rue Napoleon III and the Place de la Victor-Emmanuel.”
+
+The man gathered up his reins, and, by some sleight-of-hand, the jaded
+horse which drew the botte was suddenly transformed into a fine Roman
+steed, the botte itself into a light carriage as swift as the Tuscan
+carrozzelle, and the whole disappeared in a cross street, while Peppino
+said to himself:
+
+“There is a fine fellow who would do so much better to remain with his
+friend Ardea than to go whither he is going. This affair will end in a
+duel. If I had not to liquidate that folly,” and he pointed out with
+the end of his cane a placard relative to the sale of his own palace,
+“I would amuse myself by taking Caterina from both of them. But those
+little amusements must wait until after my marriage.”
+
+As we have seen, the cunning Prince had not been mistaken as to the
+course taken by the cab Gorka had hailed. It was indeed into the
+neighborhood of the atelier occupied by Maitland that the discarded
+lover hastened, but not to the atelier. The madman wished to prove to
+himself that the exhibition of his despair had availed him nothing, and
+that, scarcely rid of him, Madame Steno had repaired to the other. What
+would it avail him to know it and what would the evidence prove? Had
+the Countess concealed those sittings--those convenient sittings--as
+the jealous lover had told Dorsenne? The very thought of them caused the
+blood to flow in his veins much more feverishly than did the thoughts of
+the other meetings. For those he could still doubt, notwithstanding
+the anonymous letters, notwithstanding the tete-a-tete on the terrace,
+notwithstanding the insolent “Linco,” whom she had addressed thus before
+him, while of the long intimacies of the studio he was certain. They
+maddened him, and, at the same time, by that strange contradiction which
+is characteristic of all jealousy, he hungered and thirsted to prove
+them.
+
+He alighted from his cab at the corner he had named to his cabman,
+and from which point he could watch the Rue Leopardi, in which was his
+rival’s house. It was a large structure in the Moorish style, built by
+the celebrated Spanish artist, Juan Santigosa, who had been obliged to
+sell all five years before--house, studio, horses, completed paintings,
+sketches begun--in order to pay immense losses at gaming. Florent
+Chapron had at the time bought the sort of counterfeit Alhambra, a
+portion of which he rented to his brother-in-law. During the few moments
+that he stood at the corner, Boleslas Gorka recalled having visited that
+house the previous year, while taking, in the company of Madame Steno,
+Alba, Maud, and Hafner, one of those walks of which fashionable women
+are so fond in Rome as well as in Paris. An irrational instinct had
+rendered the painter and his paintings antipathetic to him at their
+first meeting. Had he had sufficient cause? Suddenly, on leaning forward
+in such a manner as to see without being seen, he perceived a victoria
+which entered the Rue Leopardi, and in that victoria the black hat of
+Mademoiselle Steno and the light one of her mother. In two minutes more
+the elegant carriage drew up at the Moorish structure, which gleamed
+among the other buildings in that street, for the most part unfinished,
+with a sort of insolent, sumptuousness.
+
+The two ladies alighted and disappeared through the door, which closed
+upon them, while the coachman started up his horses at the pace of
+animals which are returning to their stable. He checked them that they
+might not become overheated, and the fine cobs trembled impatiently in
+their harnesses. Evidently the Countess and Alba were in the studio for
+a long sitting. What had Boleslas learned that he did not already know?
+Was he not ridiculous, standing upon the sidewalk of the square in the
+centre of which rose the ruin of an antique reservoir, called, for a
+reason more than doubtful, the trophy of Marius. With one glance the
+young man took in this scene--the empty victoria turning in the opposite
+direction, the large square, the ruin, the row of high houses, his cab.
+He appeared to himself so absurd for being there to spy out that of
+which he was only too sure, that he burst into a nervous laugh and
+reentered his cab, giving his own address to the cabman: Palazzetto
+Doria, Place de Venise. The cab that time started off leisurely, for
+the man comprehended that the mad desire to arrive hastily no longer
+possessed his fare. By a sudden metamorphosis, the swift Roman steed
+became a common nag, and the vehicle a heavy machine which rumbled along
+the streets. Boleslas yielded to depression, the inevitable reaction
+of an excess of violence such as he had just experienced. His composure
+could not last. The studio, in which was Madame Steno, began to take a
+clear form in the jealous lover’s mind in proportion as he drove farther
+from it. In his thoughts he saw his former mistress walking about in the
+framework of tapestry, armor, studies begun, as he had frequently seen
+her walking in his smoking-room, with the smile upon her lips of an
+amorous woman, touching the objects among which her lover lives. He
+saw impassive Alba, who served as chaperon in the new intrigue of her
+mother’s with the same naivete she had formerly employed in shielding
+their liaison. He saw Maitland with his indifferent glance of the day
+before, the glance of a preferred lover, so sure of his triumph that he
+did not even feel jealous of the former lover.
+
+The absolute tranquillity of one who replaces us in an unfaithful
+mistress’s affections augments our fury still more if we have the
+misfortune to be placed in a position similar to Gorka’s. In a moment
+his rival’s evocation became to him impossible to bear. He was very near
+his own home, for he was just at that admirable square encumbered with
+the debris of basilica, the Forum of Trajan, which the statue of St.
+Peter at the summit of the column overlooks. Around the base of the
+sculptured marble, legends attest the triumph of the humble Galilean
+fisherman who landed at the port of the Tiber 1800 years ago, unknown,
+persecuted, a beggar. What a symbol and what counsel to say with the
+apostle: “Whither shall we go, Lord? Thou alone hast the words of
+eternal life!”
+
+But Gorka was neither a Montfanon nor a Dorsenne to hear within his
+heart or his mind the echo of such precepts. He was a man of passion and
+of action, who only saw his passion and his actions in the position
+in which fortune threw him. A fresh access of fury recalled to him
+Maitland’s attitude of the preceding day. This time he would no longer
+control himself. He violently pulled the surprised coachman’s sleeve,
+and called out to him the address of the Rue Leopardi in so imperative
+a tone that the horse began again to trot as he had done before, and the
+cab to go quickly through the labyrinth of streets. A wave of tragical
+desire rolled into the young man’s heart. No, he would not bear that
+affront. He was too bitterly wounded in the most sensitive chords of his
+being, in his love as well as his pride. Both struggled within him, and
+another instinct as well, urging him to the mad step he was about to
+take. The ancient blood of the Palatines, with regard to which Dorsenne
+always jested, boiled in his veins. If the Poles have furnished many
+heroes for dramas and modern romances, they have remained, through their
+faults, so dearly atoned for, the race the most chivalrously, the most
+madly brave in Europe. When men of so intemperate and so complex an
+excitability are touched to a certain depth, they think of a duel as
+naturally as the descendants of a line of suicides think of killing
+themselves.
+
+Joyous Ardea, with his Italian keenness, had seen at a glance the end to
+which Gorka’s nature would lead him. The betrayed lover required a duel
+to enable him to bear the treason. He might wound, he might, perhaps,
+kill his rival, and his passion would be satisfied, or else he would
+risk being killed himself, and the courage he would display braving
+death would suffice to raise him in his own estimation. A mad thought
+possessed him and caused him to hasten toward the Rue Leopardi, to
+provoke his rival suddenly and before Madame Steno! Ah, what pleasure it
+would give him to see her tremble, for she surely would tremble when
+she saw him enter the studio! But he would be correct, as she had so
+insolently asked him to be. He would go, so to speak, to see Alba’s
+portrait. He would dissemble, then he would be better able to find
+a pretext for an argument. It is so easy to find one in the simplest
+conversation, and from an argument a quarrel is soon born. He would
+speak in such a manner that Maitland would have to answer him. The rest
+would follow. But would Alba Steno be present? Ha, so much the better!
+He would be so much more at ease, if the altercation arose before her,
+to deceive his own wife as to the veritable reason of the duel. Ah,
+he would have his dispute at any price, and from the moment that the
+seconds had exchanged visits the American’s fate would be decided. He
+knew how to render it impossible for the fellow to remain longer
+in Rome. The young man was greatly wrought up by the romance of the
+provocation and the duel.
+
+“How it refreshes the blood to be avenged upon two fools,” said he
+to himself, descending from his cab and inquiring at the door of the
+Moorish house.
+
+“Monsieur Maitland?” he asked the footman, who at one blow dissipated
+his excitement by replying with this simple phrase, the only one of
+which he had not thought in his frenzy:
+
+“Monsieur is not at home.”
+
+“He will be at home to me,” replied Boleslas. “I have an appointment
+with Madame and Mademoiselle Steno, who are awaiting me.”
+
+“Monsieur’s orders are strict,” replied the servant.
+
+Accustomed, as are all servants entrusted with the defence of an
+artist’s work, to a certain rigor of orders, he yet hesitated, in the
+face of the untruth which Gorka had invented on the spur of the moment,
+and he was about to yield to his importunity when some one appeared on
+the staircase of the hall. That some one was none other than Florent
+Chapron. Chance decreed that the latter should send for a carriage in
+which to go to lunch, and that the carriage should be late. At the sound
+of wheels stopping at the door, he looked out of one of the windows
+of his apartment, which faced the street. He saw Gorka alight. Such a
+visit, at such an hour, with the persons who were in the atelier, seemed
+to him so dangerous that he ran downstairs immediately. He took up
+his hat and his cane, to justify his presence in the hall by the very
+natural excuse that he was going out. He reached the middle of the
+staircase just in time to stop the servant, who had decided to “go and
+see,” and, bowing to Boleslas with more formality than usual:
+
+“My brother-in-law is not there, Monsieur,” said he; and he added,
+turning to the footman, in order to dispose of him in case an
+altercation should arise between the importunate visitor and himself,
+“Nero, fetch me a handkerchief from my room. I have forgotten mine.”
+
+“That order could not be meant for me, Monsieur,” insisted Boleslas.
+“Monsieur Maitland has made an appointment with me, with Madame Steno,
+in order to show us Alba’s portrait.”
+
+“It is no order,” replied Florent. “I repeat to you that my
+brother-in-law has gone out. The studio is closed, and it is impossible
+for me to undertake to open it to show you the picture, since I have not
+the key. As for Madame and Mademoiselle Steno, they have not been here
+for several days; the sittings have been interrupted.”
+
+“What is still more extraordinary, Monsieur,” replied the other, “is
+that I saw them with my own eyes, five minutes ago, enter this house and
+I, too, saw their carriage drive away.”.... He felt his anger increase
+and direct itself altogether against the watch-dog so suddenly raised
+upon the threshold of his rival’s house.
+
+Florent, on his part, had begun to lose patience. He had within him the
+violent irritability of the negro blood, which he did not acknowledge,
+but which slightly tinted his complexion. The manner of Madame Steno’s
+former lover seemed to him so outrageous that he replied very dryly, as
+he opened the door, in order to oblige the caller to leave:
+
+“You are mistaken,--Monsieur, that is all.”
+
+“You are aware, Monsieur,” replied Boleslas, “of the fact that you just
+addressed me in a tone which is not the one which I have a right to
+expect from you.... When one charges one’s self with a certain business,
+it is at least necessary to introduce a little form.”
+
+“And I, Monsieur,” replied Chapron, “would be very much obliged to you
+if, when you address me, you would not do so in enigmas. I do not know
+what you mean by ‘a certain business,’ but I know that it is unbefitting
+a gentleman to act as you have acted at the door of a house which is not
+yours and for reasons that I can not comprehend.”
+
+“You will comprehend them very soon, Monsieur,” said Boleslas, beside
+himself, “and you have not constituted yourself your brother’s slave
+without motives.”
+
+He had no sooner uttered that sentence than Florent, incapable any
+longer of controlling himself, raised his cane with a menacing gesture,
+which the Polish Count arrested just in time, by seizing it in his right
+hand. It was the work of a second, and the two men were again face to
+face, both pale with anger, ready to collar one another rudely, when
+the sound of a door closing above their heads recalled to them their
+dignity. The servant descended the stairs. It was Chapron who first
+regained his self-possession, and he said to Boleslas, in a voice too
+low to be heard by any one but him:
+
+“No scandal, Monsieur, eh? I shall have the honor of sending two of my
+friends to you.”
+
+“It is I, Monsieur,” replied Gorka, “who will send you two. You shall
+answer to me for your manner, I assure you.”
+
+“Ha! Whatsoever you like,” said the other. “I accept all your conditions
+in advance.... But one thing I ask of you,” he added, “that no names be
+mentioned. There would be too many persons involved. Let it appear
+that we had an argument on the street, that we disagreed, and that I
+threatened you.”
+
+“So be it,” said Boleslas, after a pause. “You have my word. There is a
+man,” said he to himself five minutes later, when again rolling through
+the streets in his cab, after giving the cabman the address of the
+Palais Castagna. “Yes, there is a man.... He was very insolent just now,
+and I lacked composure. I am too nervous. I should be sorry to injure
+the boy. But, patience, the other will lose nothing by waiting.”
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VI. THE INCONSISTENCY OF AN OLD CHOUAN
+
+While the madman, Boleslas, hastened to Ardea to ask his cooperation in
+the most unreasonable of encounters, with a species of savage delight,
+Florent Chapron was possessed by only one thought: at any price to
+prevent his brother-in-law from suspecting his quarrel with Madame
+Steno’s former lover and the duel which was to be the result. His
+passionate friendship for Lincoln was so strong that it prevented the
+nervousness which usually precedes a first duel, above all when he who
+appears upon the ground has all his life neglected practising with
+the sword or pistol. To a fencer, and to one accustomed to the use of
+firearms, a duel means a number of details which remove the thought of
+danger. The man conceives the possibilities of the struggle, of a deed
+to be bravely accomplished. That is sufficient to inspire him with
+a composure which absolute ignorance can not inspire, unless it is
+supported by one of those deep attachments often so strong within us.
+Such was the case with Florent.
+
+Dorsenne’s instinct, which could so easily read the heart, was not
+mistaken there; the painter had in his wife’s brother a friend of
+self-sacrificing devotion. He could exact anything of the Mameluke,
+or, rather, of that slave, for it was the blood of the slaves, of his
+ancestors, which manifested itself in Chapron by so total an absorption
+of his personality. The atavism of servitude has these two effects
+which are apparently contradictory: it produces fathomless capacities
+of sacrifice or of perfidy. Both of these qualities were embodied in
+the brother and in the sister. As happens, sometimes, the two
+characteristics of their race were divided between them; one had
+inherited all the virtue of self-sacrifice, the other all the puissance
+of hypocrisy.
+
+But the drama called forth by Madame Steno’s infidelity, and finally by
+Gorka’s rashness, would only expose to light the moral conditions which
+Dorsenne had foreseen without comprehending. He was completely ignorant
+of the circumstances under which Florent had developed, of those under
+which Maitland and he had met, of how Maitland had decided to marry
+Lydia; finally an exceptional and lengthy history which it is necessary
+to sketch here at least, in order to render clear the singular relations
+of those three beings.
+
+As we have seen, the allusion coarsely made by Boleslas to negro blood
+marked the moment when Florent lost all self-control, to the point even
+of raising his cane to his insolent interlocutor. That blemish, hidden
+with the most jealous care, represented to the young man what it had
+represented to his father, the vital point of self-love, secret and
+constant humiliation. It was very faint, the trace of negro blood which
+flowed in their veins, so faint that it was necessary to be told of
+it, but it was sufficient to render a stay in America so much the more
+intolerable to both, as they had inherited all the pride of their name,
+a name which the Emperor mentioned at St. Helena as that of one of his
+bravest officers. Florent’s grandfather was no other, indeed, than the
+Colonel Chapron who, as Napoleon desired information, swam the Dnieper
+on horseback, followed a Cossack on the opposite shore, hunted him like
+a stag, laid him across his saddle and took him back to the French
+camp. When the Empire fell, that hero, who had compromised himself in
+an irreparable manner in the army of the Loire, left his country and,
+accompanied by a handful of his old comrades, went to found in the
+southern part of the United States, in Alabama, a sort of agricultural
+colony, to which they gave the name--which it still preserves--of
+Arcola, a naive and melancholy tribute to the fabulous epoch which,
+however, had been dear to them.
+
+Who would have recognized the brilliant colonel, who penetrated by the
+side of Montbrun the heart of the Grande Redoute, in the planter of
+forty-five, busy with his cotton and his sugar-cane, who made a fortune
+in a short time by dint of energy and good sense? His success, told of
+in France, was the indirect cause of another emigration to Texas, led by
+General Lallemand, and which terminated so disastrously. Colonel Chapron
+had not, as can be believed, acquired in roaming through Europe very
+scrupulous notions an the relations of the two sexes. Having made the
+mother of his child a pretty and sweet-tempered mulattress whom he met
+on a short trip to New Orleans, and whom he brought back to Arcola, he
+became deeply attached to the charming creature and to his son, so much
+the more so as, with a simple difference of complexion and of hair,
+the child was the image of him. Indeed, the old warrior, who had no
+relatives in his native land, on dying, left his entire fortune to that
+son, whom he had christened Napoleon. While he lived, not one of his
+neighbors dared to treat the young man differently from the way in which
+his father treated him.
+
+But it was not the same when the prestige of the Emperor’s soldier was
+not there to protect the boy against that aversion to race which is
+morally a prejudice, but socially interprets an instinct of preservation
+of infallible surety. The United States has grown only on that
+condition.
+
+   [Those familiar with the works of Bourget will recognize here again
+   his well known antipathy for the United States of America. Mark
+   Twain in the late 1800’s felt obliged to rebut some of Bourget’s
+   prejudice: “What Paul Bourget Thinks of Us.”  D.W.]
+
+The mixture of blood would there have dissolved the admirable
+Anglo-Saxon energy which the struggle against a nature at once very rich
+and very mutinous has exalted to such surprising splendor. It is not
+necessary to ask those who are the victims of such an instinct to
+comprehend the legal injustice. They only feel its ferocity. Napoleon
+Chapron, rejected in several offers of marriage, thwarted in his plans,
+humiliated under twenty trifling circumstances by the Colonel’s former
+companions, became a species of misanthrope. He lived, sustained by
+a twofold desire, on the one hand to increase his fortune, and on
+the other to wed a white woman. It was not until 1857, at the age of
+thirty-five, that he realized the second of his two projects. In the
+course of a trip to Europe, he became interested on the steamer in a
+young English governess, who was returning from Canada, summoned home
+by family troubles. He met her again in London. He helped her with such
+delicacy in her distress, that he won her heart, and she consented to
+become his wife. From that union were born, one year apart, Florent and
+Lydia.
+
+Lydia had cost her mother her life, at the moment when the War of
+Secession jeoparded the fortune of Chapron, who, fortunately for him,
+had, in his desire to enrich himself quickly, invested his money a
+little on all sides. He was only partly ruined, but that semi-ruin
+prevented him from returning to Europe, as he had intended. He
+was compelled to remain in Alabama to repair that disaster, and he
+succeeded, for at his death, in 1880, his children inherited more than
+four hundred thousand dollars each. The incomparable father’s devotion
+had not limited itself to the building up of a large fortune. He had
+the courage to deprive himself of the presence of the two beings whom he
+adored, to spare them the humiliation of an American school, and he
+sent them after their twelfth year to England, the boy to the Jesuits
+of Beaumont, the girl to the convent of the Sacred Heart, at Roehampton.
+After four years there, he sent them to Paris, Florent to Vaugirard,
+Lydia to the Rue de Varenne, and just at the time that he had realized
+the amount he considered requisite, when he was preparing to return to
+live near them in a country without prejudices, a stroke of apoplexy
+took him off suddenly. The double wear of toil and care had told upon
+one of those organisms which the mixture of the black and white races
+often produces, athletic in appearance, but of a very keen sensibility,
+in which the vital resistance is not in proportion to the muscular
+vigor.
+
+Whatever care the man, so deeply grieved by the blemish upon his birth,
+had taken to preserve his children from a similar experience, he had not
+been able to do so, and soon after his son entered Beaumont his trials
+began. The few boys with whom Florent was thrown in contact, in the
+hotels or in his walks, during his sojourn in America, had already made
+him feel that humiliation from which his father had suffered so much.
+The youth of twelve, silent and absurdly sensitive, who made his
+appearance on the lawn of the peaceful English college on an autumn
+morning, brought with him a self-love already bleeding, to whom it was
+a delightful surprise to find himself among comrades of his age who did
+not even seem to suspect that any difference separated them from him. It
+required the perception of a Yankee to discern, beneath the nails of the
+handsome boy with the dark complexion, the tiny drops of negro blood, so
+far removed. Between an octoroon and a creole a European can never tell
+the difference. Florent had been represented as what he really was, the
+grandson of one of the Emperor’s best officers. His father had taken
+particular pains to designate him as French, and his companions only
+saw in him a pupil like themselves, coming from Alabama--that is to say,
+from a country almost as chimerical as Japan or China.
+
+All who in early youth have known the torture of apprehension will be
+able to judge of the poor child’s agony when, after four months of a
+life amid the warmth of sympathy, one of the Jesuit fathers who directed
+the college announced to him, thinking it would afford him pleasure, the
+expected arrival of an American, of young Lincoln Maitland. This was to
+Florent so violent a shock that he had a fever for forty-eight hours.
+In after years he could remember what thoughts possessed him on the day
+when he descended from his room to the common refectory, sure that as
+soon as he was brought face to face with the new pupil he would have
+to sustain the disdainful glance suffered so frequently in the United
+States. There was no doubt in his mind that, his origin once discovered,
+the atmosphere of kindness in which he moved with so much surprise would
+soon be changed to hostility. He could again see himself crossing the
+yard; could hear himself called by Father Roberts--the master who had
+told him of the expected new arrival--and his surprise when Lincoln
+Maitland had given him the hearty handshake of one demi-compatriot
+who meets another. He was to learn later that that reception was quite
+natural, coming from the son of an Englishman, educated altogether by
+his mother, and taken from New York to Europe before his fifth year,
+there to live in a circle as little American as possible. Chapron did
+not reason in that manner. He had an infinitely tender heart. Gratitude
+entered it--gratitude as impassioned as had been his fear. One week
+later Lincoln Maitland and he were friends, and friends so intimate that
+they never parted.
+
+The affection, which was merely to the indifferent nature of Maitland
+a simple college episode, became to Florent the most serious, most
+complete sentiment of his life. Those fraternities of election, the
+loveliest and most delicate of the heart of man, usually dawn thus in
+youth. It is the ideal age of passionate friendship, that period
+between ten and sixteen, when the spirit is so pure, so fresh, still so
+virtuous, so fertile in generous projects for the future. One dreams
+of a companionship almost mystical with the friend from whom one has no
+secret, whose character one sees in such a noble light, on whose esteem
+one depends as upon the surest recompense, whom one innocently desires
+to resemble. Indeed, they are, between the innocent lads who work side
+by side on a problem of geometry or a lesson in history, veritable
+poems of tenderness at which the man will smile later, finding so far
+different from him in all his tastes, him whom he desired to have for
+a brother. It happens, however, in certain natures of a sensibility
+particularly precocious and faithful at the same time, that the
+awakening of effective life is so strong, so encroaching, that the
+impassioned friendship persists, first through the other awakening, that
+of sensuality, so fatal to all the senses of delicacy, then through the
+first tumult of social experience, not less fatal to our ideal of youth.
+
+That was the case with Florent Chapron, whether his character, at once
+somewhat wild and yet submissive, rendered him more qualified for that
+renunciation of his personality than friendship demands, whether, far
+from his father and his sister and not having any mother, his loving
+heart had need of attaching itself to some one who could fill the place
+of his relatives, or whether Maitland exercised over him a special
+prestige by his opposite qualities. Fragile and somewhat delicate, was
+he seduced by the strength and dexterity which his friend exhibited in
+all his exercises? Timid and naturally taciturn, was he governed by
+the assurance of that athlete with the loud laugh, with the invincible
+energy? Did the surprising tendency toward art which the other one
+showed conquer him, as well as sympathy for the misfortunes which were
+confided to him and which touched him more than they touched him who
+experienced them?
+
+Gordon Maitland, Lincoln’s father, of an excellent family of New York,
+had been killed at the battle of Chancellorsville, during the same
+war which had ruined Florent’s father in part. Mrs. Maitland, the poor
+daughter of a small rector of a Presbyterian church at Newport, and who
+had only married her husband for his money, had but one idea, when once
+a widow--to go abroad. Whither? To Europe, vague and fascinating spot,
+where she fancied she would be distinguished by her intelligence and her
+beauty. She was pretty, vain and silly, and that voyage in pursuit of a
+part to play in the Old World caused her to pass two years first in one
+hotel and then in another, after which she married the second son of
+a poor Irish peer, with the new chimera of entering that Olympus of
+British aristocracy of which she had dreamed so much. She became a
+Catholic, and her son with her, to obtain the result which cost her
+dear, for not only was the lord who had given her his name brutal, a
+drunkard and cruel, but he added to all those faults that of being
+one of the greatest gamblers in the entire United Kingdom. He kept
+his stepson away from home, beat his wife, and died toward 1880, after
+dissipating the poor creature’s fortune and almost all of Lincoln’s. At
+that time the latter, whom his stepfather had naturally left to develop
+in his own way, and who, since leaving Beaumont, had studied painting
+at Venice, Rome and Paris, was in the latter city and one of the first
+pupils in Bonnat’s studio. Seeing his mother ruined, without resources
+at forty-four years of age, persuaded himself of his glorious future, he
+had one of those magnificent impulses such as one has in youth and which
+prove much less the generosity than the pride of life. Of the fifteen
+thousand francs of income remaining to him, he gave up to his mother
+twelve thousand five hundred. It is expedient to add that in less than
+a year afterward he married the sister of his college friend and four
+hundred thousand dollars. He had seen poverty and he was afraid of it.
+His action with regard to his mother seemed to justify in his own eyes
+the purely interested character of the combination which freed his brush
+forever. There are, moreover, such artistic consciences. Maitland would
+not have pardoned himself a concession of art. He considered rascals the
+painters who begged success by compromise in their style, and he thought
+it quite natural to take the money of Mademoiselle Chapron, whom he
+did not love, and for whom, now that he had grown to manhood and knew
+several of her compatriots, he likewise felt the prejudice of race.
+“The glory of the colonel of the Empire and friendship for that good
+Florent,” as he said, “covered all.”
+
+Poor and good Florent! That marriage was to him the romance of his youth
+realized. He had desired it since the first week that Maitland had given
+him the cordial handshake which had bound them. To live in the shadow of
+his friend, become at once his brother-in-law and his ideal--he did not
+dream of any other solution of his own destiny. The faults of Maitland,
+developed by age, fortune, and success--we recall the triumph of his
+‘Femme en violet et en jeune’ in the Salon of 1884--found Florent as
+blind as at the epoch when they played cricket together in the fields at
+Beaumont. Dorsenne very justly diagnosed there one of those hypnotisms
+of admiration such as artists, great or small, often inspire around
+them. But the author, who always generalized too quickly, had not
+comprehended that the admirer with Florent was grafted on a friend
+worthy to be painted by La Fontaine or by Balzac, the two poets of
+friendship, the one in his sublime and tragic Cousin Pons, the other
+in that short but fine fable, in which is this verse, one of the most
+tender in the French language:
+
+     Vous metes, en dormant, un peu triste apparu.
+
+Florent did not love Lincoln because he admired him; he admired him
+because he loved him. He was not wrong in considering the painter as one
+of the most gifted who had appeared for thirty years. But Lincoln
+would have had neither the bold elegance of his drawing, nor the vivid
+strength of coloring, nor the ingenious finesse of imagination if the
+other had lent himself with less ardor to the service of the work and
+to the glory of the artist. When Lincoln wanted to travel he found his
+brother-in-law the most diligent of couriers. When he had need of a
+model he had only to say a word for Florent to set about finding one.
+Did Lincoln exhibit at Paris or London, Florent took charge of the
+entire proceeding--seeing the journalists and picture dealers, composing
+letters of thanks for the articles, in a handwriting so like that of the
+painter that the latter had only to sign it. Lincoln desired to return
+to Rome. Florent had discovered the house on the Rue Leopardi, and he
+settled it even before Maitland, then in Egypt, had finished a large
+study begun at the moment of the departure of the other.
+
+Florent had, by virtue of the affection felt for his brother-in-law,
+come to comprehend the paintings as well as the painter himself. These
+words will be clear to those who have been around artists and who know
+what a distance separates them from the most enlightened amateur.
+The amateur can judge and feel. The artist only, who has wielded the
+implements, knows, before a painting, how it is done, what stroke of the
+brush has been given, and why; in short, the trituration of the matter
+by the workman. Florent had watched Maitland work so much, he had
+rendered him so many effective little services in the studio, that each
+of his brother-in-law’s canvases became animated to him, even to the
+slightest details. When he saw them on the wall of the gallery they told
+him of an intimacy which was at once his greatest joy and his greatest
+pride. In short, the absorption of his personality in that of his former
+comrade was so complete that it had led to this anomaly, that Dorsenne
+himself, notwithstanding his indulgence for psychological singularities,
+had not been able to prevent himself from finding almost monstrous:
+Florent was Lincoln’s brother-in-law, and he seemed to find it perfectly
+natural that the latter should have adventures outside, if the emotion
+of those adventures could be useful to his talent!
+
+Perhaps this long and yet incomplete analysis will permit us the better
+to comprehend what emotions agitated the young man as he reascended the
+staircase of his house--of their house, Lincoln’s and his--after his
+unexpected dispute with Boleslas Gorka. It will attenuate, at least
+with respect to him, the severity of simple minds. All passion, when
+developed in the heart, has the effect of etiolating around it the vigor
+of other instincts. Chapron was too fanatical a friend to be a very
+equitable brother. It seemed to him very simple and very legitimate
+that his sister should be at the service of the genius of Lincoln, as he
+himself was. Moreover, if, since the marriage with her brother’s friend,
+his sister had been stirred by the tempest of a moral tragedy, Florent
+did not suspect it. When had he studied Lydia, the silent, reserved
+Lydia, of whom he had once for all formed an opinion, as is the almost
+invariable custom of relative with relative? Those who have seen us when
+young are like those who see us daily. The images which they trace of us
+always reproduce what we were at a certain moment--scarcely ever what
+we are. Florent considered his sister very good, because he had formerly
+found her so; very gentle, because she had never resisted him; not
+intelligent, because she did not seem sufficiently interested in
+the painter’s work; as for the suffering and secret rebellion of
+the oppressed creature, crushed between his blind partiality and the
+selfishness of a scornful husband, he did not even suspect them, much
+less the terrible resolution of which that apparent resignation was
+capable.
+
+If he had trembled when Madame Steno began to interest herself in
+Lincoln, it was solely for the work of the latter, so much the more
+as for a year he had perceived not a decline but a disturbance in the
+painting of that artist, too voluntary not to be unequal. Then Florent
+had seen, on the other hand, the nerve of Maitland reawakened in the
+warmth of that little intrigue.
+
+The portrait of Alba promised to be a magnificent study, worthy of being
+placed beside the famous ‘Femme en violet et en jaune,’ which those
+envious of Lincoln always remembered. Moreover, the painter had finished
+with unparalleled ardor two large compositions partly abandoned. In the
+face of that proof of a fever of production more and more active, how
+would not Florent have blessed Madame Steno, instead of cursing her, so
+much the more that it sufficed him to close his eyes and to know that
+his conscience was in repose when opposite his sister? He knew all,
+however. The proof of it was in his shudder when Dorsenne announced to
+him the clandestine arrival in Rome of Madame Steno’s other lover, and
+one proof still more certain, the impulse which had precipitated him
+upon Boleslas, who was parleying with the servant, and now it was he who
+had accepted the duel which an exasperated rival had certainly come to
+propose to his dear Lincoln, and he thought only of the latter.
+
+“He must know nothing until afterward. He would take the affair upon
+himself, and I have a chance to kill him, that Gorka--to wound him,
+at least. In any case, I will arrange it so that a second duel will be
+rendered difficult to that lunatic.... But, first of all, let us make
+sure that we have not spoken too loudly and that they have not heard
+upstairs the ill-bred fellow’s loud voice.”
+
+It was in such terms that he qualified his adversary of the morrow. For
+very little more he would have judged Gorka unpardonable not to thank
+Lincoln, who had done him the honor to supplant him in the Countess’s
+favor!
+
+In the meantime, let us cast a glance at the atelier! When the friend,
+devoted to complicity, but also to heroism, entered the vast room, he
+could see at the first glance that he had been mistaken and that no
+sound of voices had reached that peaceful retreat.
+
+The atelier of the American painter was furnished with a harmonious
+sumptuousness which real artists know how to gather around them. The
+large strip of sky seen through the windows looked down upon a corner
+veritably Roman--of the Rome of to-day, which attests an uninterrupted
+effort toward forming a new city by the side of the old one. One could
+see an angle of the old garden and the fragment of an antique building,
+with a church steeple beyond. It was on a background of azure, of
+verdure and of ruins, in a horizon larger and more distant, but composed
+of the same elements, that was to arise the face of the young girl,
+designed after the manner, so sharp and so modelled, of the ‘Pier della
+Francesca’, with whom Maitland had been preoccupied for six months.
+
+All great composers, of an originality more composite than genitive,
+have these infatuations.
+
+Maitland was at his easel, dressed with that correct elegance which
+is the almost certain mark of Anglo-Saxon artists. With his little
+varnished shoes, his fine black socks, spotted with red, his coat of
+quilted silk, his light cravat and the purity of his linen, he had the
+air of a gentleman who applied himself to an amateur effort, and not of
+the patient and laborious worker he really was. But his canvases and his
+studies, hung on all sides, among tapestries, arms and trinkets,
+bespoke patient labor. It was the history of an energy bent upon the
+acquisition of a personality constantly fleeting. Maitland manifested
+in a supreme degree the trait common to almost all his compatriots, even
+those who came in early youth to Europe, that intense desire not to
+lack civilization, which is explained by the fact that the American is a
+being entirely new, endowed with an activity incomparable, and deprived
+of traditional saturation. He is not born cultivated, matured, already
+fashioned virtually, if one may say so, like a child of the Old World.
+He can create himself at his will. With superior gifts, but gifts
+entirely physical, Maitland was a self-made man of art, as his grand
+father had been a self-made man of money, as his father had been a
+self-made man of war. He had in his eye and in his hand two marvellous
+implements for painting, and in his perseverence in developing a still
+more marvellous one. He lacked constantly the something necessary and
+local which gives to certain very inferior painters the inexpressible
+superiority of a savor of soil. It could not be said that he was not
+inventive and new, yet one experienced on seeing no matter which one of
+his paintings that he was a creature of culture and of acquisition. The
+scattered studies in the atelier first of all displayed the influence of
+his first master, of solid and simple Bonnat. Then he had been tempted
+by the English pre-Raphaelites, and a fine copy of the famous ‘Song of
+Love’, by Burne-Jones, attested that reaction on the side of an art more
+subtle, more impressed by that poetry which professional painters treat
+scornfully as literary. But Lincoln was too vigorous for the languors of
+such an ideal, and he quickly turned to other teachings. Spain conquered
+him, and Velasquez, the colorist of so peculiar a fancy that, after a
+visit to the Museum of the Prado, one carries away the idea that one has
+just seen the only painting worthy of the name.
+
+The spirit of the great Spaniard, that despotic stroke of the brush
+which seems to draw the color in the groundwork of the picture, to make
+it stand out in almost solid lights, his absolute absence of abstract
+intentions and his newness which affects entirely to ignore the past,
+all in that formula of art, suited Maitland’s temperament. To him, too,
+he owed his masterpiece, the ‘Femme en violet et en jaune’, but the
+restless seeker did not adhere to that style. Italy and the Florentines
+next influenced him, just those the most opposed to Velasquez; the
+Pollajuoli, Andrea del Castagna, Paolo Uccello and Pier delta Francesca.
+Never would one have believed that the same hand which had wielded with
+so free a brush the color of the ‘Femme en violet...’ could be that
+which sketched the contour of the portrait of Alba with so severe, so
+rigid a drawing.
+
+At the moment Florent entered the studio that work so completely
+absorbed the attention of the painter that he did not hear the door open
+any more than did Madame Steno, who was smoking cigarettes, reclining
+indolently and blissfully upon the divan, her half-closed eyes fixed
+upon the man she loved. Lincoln only divined another presence by a
+change in Alba’s face. God! How pale she was, seated in the immobility
+of her pose in a large, heraldic armchair, with a back of carved wood,
+her hands grasping the arms, her mouth so bitter, her eyes so deep in
+their fixed glance!... Did she divine that which she could not, however,
+know, that her fate was approaching with the visitor who entered, and
+who, having left the studio fifteen minutes before, had to justify his
+return by an excuse.
+
+“It is I,” said he. “I forgot to ask you, Lincoln, if you wish to buy
+Ardea’s three drawings at the price they offer.”
+
+“Why did you not tell me of it yesterday, my little Linco?” interrupted
+the Countess. “I saw Peppino again this morning.... I would have from
+him his lowest figure.”
+
+“That would only be lacking,” replied Maitland, laughing his large
+laugh. “He does not acknowledge those drawings, dear dogaresse.... They
+are a part of the series of trinkets he carefully subtracted from his
+creditor’s inventory and put in different places. There are some at
+seven or eight antiquaries’, and we may expect that for the next ten
+years all the cockneys of my country will be allured by this phrase,
+‘This is from the Palais Castagna. I have it by a little arrangement.’”
+
+His eyes sparkled as he imitated one of the most celebrated bric-a-brac
+dealers in Rome, with the incomparable art of imitation which
+distinguishes all the old habitues of Parisian studios.
+
+“At present these three drawings are at an antiquary’s of Babuino, and
+very authentic.”
+
+“Except when they are represented as Vincis,” said Florent, “when
+Leonardo was left-handed, and their hatchings are made from left to
+right.”
+
+“And you think Ardea would not agree with me in it?” resumed the
+Countess.
+
+“Not even with you,” said the painter. “He had the assurance last night,
+when I mentioned them before him, to ask me the address in order to go
+to see them.”
+
+“How did you learn their production?” questioned Madame Steno.
+
+“Ask him,” said Maitland, pointing to Chapron with the end of his brush.
+“When there is a question of enriching his old Maitland’s collection, he
+becomes more of a merchant than the merchants themselves. They tell him
+all.... Vinci or no Vinci, it is the pure Lombard style. Buy them. I
+want them.”
+
+“I will go, then,” replied Florent. “Countess.... Contessina.”
+
+He bowed to Madame Steno and her daughter. The mother bestowed upon him
+her pleasantest smile. She was not one of those mistresses to whom
+their lovers’ intimate friends are always enemies. On the contrary, she
+enveloped them in the abundant and blissful sympathy which love awoke in
+her. Besides, she was too cunning not to feel that Florent approved of
+her love. But, on the other hand, the intense aversion which Alba at
+that moment felt toward her mother’s suspected intrigues was expressed
+by the formality with which she inclined her head in response to the
+farewell of the young man, who was too happy to have found that the
+dispute had not been heard.
+
+“From now until to-morrow,” thought he, on redescending the staircase,
+“there will be no one to warn Lincoln.... The purchase of the drawings
+was an invention to demonstrate my tranquillity....Now I must find two
+discreet seconds.”
+
+Florent was a very deliberate man, and a man who had at his command
+perfect evenness of temperament whenever it was not a question of his
+enthusiastic attachment to his brother-in-law. He had the power of
+observation habitual to persons whose sensitive amour propre has
+frequently been wounded. He therefore deferred until later his difficult
+choice and went to luncheon, as if nothing had happened, at the
+restaurant where he was expected. Certainly the proprietor did not
+mistrust, in replying to the questions of his guest relative to the most
+recent portraits of Lenbach, that the young man, so calm, so smiling,
+had on hand a duel which might cost him his life. It was only on leaving
+the restaurant that Florent, after mentally reviewing ten of his older
+acquaintances, resolved to make a first attempt upon Dorsenne. He
+recalled the mysterious intelligence given him by the novelist, whose
+sympathy for Maitland had been publicly manifested by an eloquent
+article. Moreover, he believed him to be madly in love with Alba Steno.
+That was one probability more in favor of his discretion.
+
+Dorsenne would surely maintain silence with regard to a meeting in
+connection with which, if it were known, the cause of the contest would
+surely be mentioned. It was only too clear that Gorka and Chapron had no
+real reason to quarrel and fight a duel. But at ten-thirty, that is to
+say, three hours after the unreasonable altercation in the vestibule,
+Florent rang at the door of Julien’s apartments. The latter was at home,
+busy upon the last correction of the proofs of ‘Poussiere d’Idees’. His
+visitor’s confidence upset him to such a degree that his hands trembled
+as he arranged his scattered papers. He remembered the presence of
+Boleslas on that same couch, at the same time of the day, forty-eight
+hours before. How the drama would progress if that madman went away in
+that mood! He knew only too well that Maitland’s brother-in-law had not
+told him all.
+
+“It is absurd,” he cried, “it is madness, it is folly!... You are not
+going to fight about an argument such as you have related to me? You
+talked at the corner of the street, you exchanged a few angry words, and
+then, suddenly, seconds, a duel.... Ah, it is absurd.”
+
+“You forget that I offered him a violent insult in raising my cane to
+him,” interrupted Florent, “and since he demands satisfaction I must
+give it to him.”
+
+“Do you believe,” said the writer, “that the public will be contented
+with those reasons? Do you think they will not look for the secret
+motives of the duel? Do I know the story of a woman?... You see, I ask
+no questions. I rely upon what you confide in me. But the world is the
+world, and you will not escape its remarks.”
+
+“It is precisely for that reason that I ask absolute discretion of you,”
+ replied Florent, “and for that reason that I have come to ask you to
+serve me as a second.... There is no one in whom I trust as implicitly
+as I do in you.... It is the only excuse for my step.”
+
+“I thank you,” said Dorsenne. He hesitated a moment. Then the image of
+Alba, which had haunted him since the previous day, suddenly presented
+itself to his mind. He recalled the sombre anguish he had surprised in
+the young girl’s eyes, then her comforted glance when her mother smiled
+at once upon Gorka and Maitland. He recalled the anonymous letter and
+the mysterious hatred which impended over Madame Steno. If the quarrel
+between Boleslas and Florent became known, there was no doubt that it
+would be said generally that Florent was fighting for his brother-in-law
+on account of the Countess. No doubt, too, that the report would reach
+the poor Contessina. It was sufficient to cause the writer to reply:
+“Very well! I accept. I will serve you. Do not thank me. We are losing
+valuable time. You will require another second. Of whom have you
+thought?”
+
+“Of no one,” returned Florent. “I confess I have counted on you to aid
+me.”
+
+“Let us make a list,” said Julien. “It is the best way, and then cross
+off the names.”
+
+Dorsenne wrote down a number of their acquaintances, and they indeed
+crossed them off, according to his expression, so effectually that after
+a minute examination they had rejected all of them. They were then as
+much perplexed as ever, when suddenly Dorsenne’s eyes brightened, he
+uttered a slight exclamation, and said brusquely:
+
+“What an idea! But it is an idea!... Do you know the Marquis de
+Montfanon?” he asked Florent.
+
+“He with one arm?” replied the latter. “I saw him once with reference to
+a monument I put up at Saint Louis des Francais.”
+
+“He told me of it,” said Dorsenne. “For one of your relatives, was it
+not?”
+
+“Oh, a distant cousin,” replied Florent; “one Captain Chapron, killed in
+‘forty-nine in the trenches before Rome.”
+
+“Now, to our business,” cried Dorsenne, rubbing his hands. “It is
+Montfanon who must be your second. First of all, he is an experienced
+duellist, while I have never been on the ground. That is very important.
+You know the celebrated saying: ‘It is neither swords nor pistols which
+kill; it is the seconds.’.... And then if the matter has to be arranged,
+he will have more prestige than your servant.”
+
+“It is impossible,” said Florent; “Marquis de Montfanon.... He will
+never consent. I do not exist for him.”
+
+“That is my affair,” cried Dorsenne. “Let me take the necessary steps in
+my own name, and then if he agrees you can make it in yours.... Only we
+have no time to lose. Do not leave your house until six o’clock. By that
+time I shall know upon what to depend.”
+
+If, at first, the novelist had felt great confidence in the issue of
+his strange attempt with reference to his old friend, that confidence
+changed to absolute apprehension when he found himself, half an hour
+later, at the house which Marquis Claude Francois occupied in one of the
+oldest parts of Rome, from which location he could obtain an admirable
+view of the Forum. How many times had Julien come, in the past six
+months, to that Marquis who dived constantly in the sentiment of the
+past, to gaze upon the tragical and grand panorama of the historical
+scene! At the voice of the recluse, the broken columns rose, the ruined
+temples were rebuilt, the triumphal view was cleared from its mist.
+He talked, and the formidable epopee of the Roman legend was evoked,
+interpreted by the fervent Christian in that mystical and providential
+sense, which all, indeed, proclaims in that spot, where the Mamertine
+prison relates the trial of St. Peter, where the portico of the temple
+of Faustine serves as a pediment to the Church of St. Laurent,
+where Ste.-Marie-Liberatrice rises upon the site of the Temple of
+Vesta--‘Sancta Maria, libera nos a poenis inferni’--Montfanon always
+added when he spoke of it, and he pointed out the Arch of Titus, which
+tells of the fulfilment of the prophecies of Our Lord against Jerusalem,
+while, opposite, the groves reveal the out lines of a nunnery upon the
+ruins of the dwellings of the Caesars. And, at the extreme end, the
+Coliseum recalls to mind the ninety thousand spectators come to see the
+martyrs suffer.
+
+Such were the sights where lived the former pontifical zouave, and, on
+ringing the bell of the third etage, Julien said to himself: “I am a
+simpleton to come to propose to such a man what I have to propose. Yet
+it is not to be a second in an ordinary duel, but simply to prevent an
+adventure which might cost the lives of two men in the first place,
+then the honor of Madame Steno, and, lastly, the peace of mind of three
+innocent persons, Madame Gorka, Madame Maitland and my little friend
+Alba.... He alone has sufficient authority to arrange all. It will be an
+act of charity, like any other.... I hope he is at home,” he concluded,
+hearing the footstep of the servant, who recognized the visitor and who
+anticipated all questions.
+
+“The Marquis went out this morning before eight o’clock. He will not
+return until dinner-time.”
+
+“Do you know where he has gone?”
+
+“To hear mass in a catacomb, and to be present at a procession,” replied
+the footman, who took Dorsenne’s card, adding: “The Trappists of Saint
+Calixtus certainly know where the Marquis is.... He lunched with them.”
+
+“We shall see,” said the young man to himself, somewhat disappointed.
+His carriage rolled in the direction of Porte St. Sebastien, near which
+was the catacomb and the humble dwelling contiguous to it--the last
+morsel of the Papal domains kept by the poor monks. “Montfanon will have
+taken communion this morning,” thought he, “and at the very word duel
+he will listen to nothing more. However, the matter must be arranged; it
+must be.... What would I not give to know the truth of the scene between
+Gorka and Florent? By what strange and diabolical ricochet did
+the Palatine hit upon the latter when his business was with the
+brother-in-law?... Will he be angry that I am his adversary’s second?...
+Bah!... After our conversation of the other day our friendship is
+ended.... Good, I am already at the little church of ‘Domine, quo
+vadis.’--[“Lord, whither art thou going?”]--I might say to myself:
+‘Juliane, quo vadis?’ ‘To perform an act a little better than the
+majority of my actions,’ I might reply.”
+
+That impressionable soul which vibrated at the slightest contact was
+touched by the souvenir of one of the innumerable pious legends which
+nineteen centuries of Catholicism have suspended at all the corners of
+Rome and its surrounding districts. He recalled the touching story of
+St. Peter flying from persecution and meeting our Lord: “Lord, whither
+art thou going?” asked the apostle. “To be crucified a second time,”
+ replied the Saviour, and Peter was ashamed of his weakness and returned
+to martyrdom. Montfanon himself had related that episode to the
+novelist, who again began to reflect upon the Marquis’s character and
+the best means of approaching him. He forgot to glance at the vast
+solitude of the Roman suburbs before him, and so deep was his reverie
+that he almost passed unheeded the object of his search. Another
+disappointment awaited him at the first point in his voyage of
+exploration.
+
+The monk who came at his ring to open the door of the inclosure
+contiguous to St. Calixtus, informed him that he of whom he was in
+search had left half an hour before.
+
+“You will find him at the Basilica of Saint Neree and Saint Achilles,”
+ added the Trappist; “it is the fete of those two saints, and at five
+o’clock there will be a procession in their catacombs.... It is a
+fifteen minutes’ ride from here, near the tower Marancia, on the Via
+Ardeatina.”
+
+“Shall I miss him a third time?” thought Dorsenne, alighting from the
+carriage finally, and proceeding on foot to the opening which leads to
+the subterranean Necropolis dedicated to the two saints who were the
+eunuchs of Domitilla, the niece of Emperor Vespasian. A few ruins and
+a dilapidated house alone mark the spot where once stood the pious
+Princess’s magnificent villa. The gate was open, and, meeting no one who
+could direct him, the young man took several steps in the subterranean
+passage. He perceived that the long gallery was lighted. He entered
+there, saying to himself that the row of tapers, lighted every ten
+paces, assuredly marked the line which the procession would follow, and
+which led to the central basilica. Although his anxiety as to the issue
+of his undertaking was extreme, he could not help being impressed by the
+grandeur of the sight presented by the catacomb thus illuminated. The
+uneven niches reserved for the dead, asleep in the peace of the Lord for
+so many centuries, made recesses in the corridors and gave them a solemn
+and tragical aspect. Inscriptions were to be seen there, traced on the
+stone, and all spoke of the great hope which those first Christians had
+cherished, the same which believers of our day cherish.
+
+Julien knew enough of symbols to understand the significance of the
+images between which the persecuted of the primitive church had laid
+their fathers. They are so touching and so simple! The anchor represents
+safety in the storm; the gentle dove and the ewe, symbols of the soul,
+which flies away and seeks its shepherd; the phoenix, whose wings
+announce the resurrection. Then there were the bread and the wine, the
+branches of the olive and the palm. The silent cemetery was filled with
+a faint aroma of incense, noticed by Dorsenne on entering. High mass,
+celebrated in the morning, left the sacred perfume diffused among those
+bones, once the forms of human beings who kneeled there amid the same
+holy aroma. The contrast was strong between that spot, where everything
+spoke of things eternal, and the drama of passion, worldly and culpable,
+the progress of which agitated even Dorsenne. At that moment he appeared
+to himself in the light of a profaner, although he was obeying generous
+and humane instincts. He experienced a sense of relief when, at a bend
+in one of the corridors which he had selected from among many others, he
+found himself face to face with a priest, who held in his hand a
+basket filled with the petals of flowers, destined, no doubt, for the
+procession. Dorsenne inquired of him the way to the Basilica in Italian,
+while the reply was given in perfect French.
+
+“Perhaps you know the Marquis de Montfanon, father?” asked the novelist.
+
+“I am one of the chaplains of Saint Louis,” said the priest, with a
+smile, adding: “You will find him in the Basilica.”
+
+“Now, the moment has come,” thought Dorsenne, “I must be subtle....
+After all, it is charity I am about to ask him to do.... Here I am. I
+recognize the staircase and the opening above.”
+
+A corner of the sky, indeed, was to be seen, and a ray of light entered
+which permitted the writer to distinguish him whom he was seeking among
+the few persons assembled in the ruined chapel, the most venerable
+of all those which encircle Rome with a hidden girdle of sanctuaries.
+Montfanon, too recognizable, alas! by the empty sleeve of his black
+redingote, was seated on a chair, not very far from the altar, on which
+burned enormous tapers. Priests and monks were arranging baskets filled
+with petals, like those of the chaplain, whom Dorsenne had just met.
+A group of three curious visitors commented in whispers upon the
+paintings, scarcely visible on the discolored stucco of the ceiling.
+Montfanon was entirely absorbed in the book which he held in his one
+hand. The large features of his face, ennobled and almost transfigured
+by the ardor of devotion, gave him the admirable expression of an old
+Christian soldier. ‘Bonus miles Christi’--a good soldier of Christ--had
+been inscribed upon the tomb of the chief under whom he had been wounded
+at Patay. One would have taken him for a guardian layman of the tombs
+of the martyrs, capable of confessing his faith like them, even to the
+death. And when Julien determined to approach and to touch him lightly
+on the shoulder, he saw that, in the nobleman’s clear, blue eyes,
+ordinarily so gay, and sometimes so choleric, sparkled unshed tears. His
+voice, too, naturally sharp, was softened by the emotion of the thought
+which his reading, the place, the time, the occupation of his day had
+awakened within him.
+
+“Ah, you here?” said he to his young friend, without any astonishment.
+“You have come for the procession. That is well. You will hear sung the
+lovely lines: ‘Hi sunt quos fatue mundus abhorruit.” He pronounced ou as
+u, ‘a l’Italienne’; for his liturgic training had been received in Rome.
+“The season is favorable for the ceremonies. The tourists have gone.
+There will only be people here who pray and who feel, like you.... And
+to feel is half of prayer. The other half is to believe. You will become
+one of us. I have always predicted it. There is no peace but here.”
+
+“I would gladly have come only for the procession,” replied Dorsenne,
+“but my visit has another motive, dear friend,” said he, in a still
+lower tone. “I have been seeking for you for more than an hour, that
+you might aid me in rendering a great service to several people, in
+preventing a very great misfortune, perhaps.”
+
+“I can help you to prevent a very great misfortune?” repeated Montfanon.
+
+“Yes,” replied Dorsenne, “but this is not the place in which to explain
+to you the details of the long and terrible adventure.... At what hour
+is the ceremony? I will wait for you, and tell it to you on leaving
+here.”
+
+“It does not begin until five o’clock-five-thirty,” said Montfanon,
+looking at his watch, “and it is now fifteen minutes past four. Let us
+leave the catacomb, if you wish, and you can repeat your story to me up
+above. A very great misfortune? Well,” he added, pressing the hand of
+the young man whom, personally, he liked as much as he detested his
+views, “rest assured, my dear child, we will prevent it!”
+
+There was in the manner in which he uttered those words the tranquillity
+of a mind which knows not uneasiness, that of a believer who feels sure
+of always accomplishing all that he wishes to do. It would not have been
+Montfanon, that is to say, a species of visionary, who loved to argue
+with Dorsenne, because he knew that in spite of all he was understood,
+if he had not continued, as they walked along the lighted corridor,
+while remounting toward daylight:
+
+“If it is all the same to you, sir apologist of the modern world, I
+should like to pause here and ask you frankly: Do you not feel yourself
+more contemporary with all the dead who slumber within these walls than
+with a radical elector or a free-mason deputy? Do you not feel that if
+these martyrs had not come to pray beneath these vaults eighteen hundred
+years ago, the best part of your soul would not exist? Where will you
+find a poetry more touching than that of these symbols and of these
+epitaphs? That admirable De Rossi showed me one at Saint Calixtus last
+year. My tears flow as I recall it. ‘Pete pro Phoebe et pro virginio
+ejus’. Pray for Phoebus and for--How do you translate the word
+‘virginius’, the husband who has known only one wife, the virgin husband
+of a virgin spouse? Your youth will pass, Dorsenne. You will one day
+feel what I feel, the happiness which is wanting on account of bygone
+errors, and you will comprehend that it is only to be found in Christian
+marriage, whose entire sublimity is summed up in thus prayer: ‘Pro
+virginio ejus’.... You will be like me then, and you will find in this
+book,” he held up ‘l’Eucologe’, which he clasped in his hand, “something
+through which to offer up to God your remorse and your regrets. Do you
+know the hymn of the Holy Sacrament, ‘Adoro te, devote’? No. Yet you are
+capable of feeling what is contained in these lines. Listen. It is this
+idea: That on the cross one sees only the man, not the God; that in the
+host one does not even see the man, and that yet one believes in the
+real presence.
+
+        In cruce latebat sola Deitas.
+        At hic latet simul et humanitas.
+        Ambo tamen credens atque confitens....
+
+“And now this last verse:
+
+        Peto quod petivit latro poenitens!
+
+     [I ask that which the penitent thief asked.]
+
+“What a cry! Ah, but it is beautiful! It is beautiful! What words to
+say in dying! And what did the poor thief ask, that Dixmas of whom the
+church has made a saint for that one appeal: ‘Remember me, Lord, in Thy
+kingdom!’ But we have arrived. Stoop, that you may not spoil your hat.
+Now, what do you want with me? You know the motto of the Montfanons:
+‘Excelsior et firmior’--Always higher and always firmer.... One can
+never do too many good deeds. If it be possible, ‘present’, as we said
+to the rollcall.”
+
+A singular mixture of fervor and of good-nature, of enthusiastic
+eloquence and of political or religious fanaticism, was Montfanon. But
+the good-nature rapidly vanished from his face, at once so haughty and
+so simple, in proportion as Dorsenne’s story proceeded. The writer,
+indeed, did not make the error of at once formulating his proposition.
+He felt that he could not argue with the pontifical zouave of bygone
+days. Either the latter would look upon it as monstrous and absurd,
+or he would see in it a charitable duty to be accomplished, and then,
+whatever annoyance the matter might occasion him, he would accept it,
+as he would bestow alms. It was that chord of generosity which Julien,
+diplomatic for once in his life, essayed to touch by his confidence.
+Gaining authority by their conversation of a few days before, he related
+all he could of Gorka’s visit, concealing the fact of that word of honor
+so falsely given, which still oppressed him with a mortal weight. He
+told how he had soothed the madman, how he conducted him to the station,
+then he described the meeting of the two rivals twenty-four hours later.
+He dwelt upon Alba’s manner that evening and the infamy of the anonymous
+letters written to Madame Steno’s discarded lover and to her daughter.
+And after he had reported the mysterious quarrel which had suddenly
+arisen between Gorka and Chapron:
+
+“I, therefore, promised to be his second,” he concluded, “because I
+believe it my absolute duty to do all I can to prevent the duel from
+taking place. Only think of it. If it should take place, and if one of
+them is killed or wounded, how can the affair be kept secret in this
+gossiping city of Rome? And what remarks it will call forth! It is
+evident that these two boys have quarrelled only on account of
+the relations between Madame Steno and Maitland. By what strange
+coincidence? Of that I know nothing.
+
+“But there will not be a doubt in public opinion. And can you not see
+additional anonymous letters written to Alba, Madame Gorka, Madame
+Maitland?... The men I do not care for.... Two out of three merit all
+that comes to them. But those innocent creatures--is it not frightful?”
+
+“Frightful, indeed,” replied Montfanon; “it is that which renders those
+adulterous adventures so hideous. There are many people who are affected
+by it besides the guilty ones.... You see that, you who thought
+that society so pleasant, so refined, so interesting, the day before
+yesterday? But it does no good to recriminate. I understand. You have
+come to ask me to advise you in your role of second. My follies of youth
+will enable me to direct you.... Correctness in the slightest detail and
+no nerves, when one has to arrange a duel. Oh! You will have trouble.
+Gorka is mad. I know the Poles. They have great faults, but they are
+brave. Lord, but they are brave! And little Chapron, I know him, too; he
+has one of those stubborn natures, which would allow their breasts to be
+pierced without saying ‘Ouf!’ And ‘amour propre’. He has good soldier’s
+blood in his veins, that child, notwithstanding the mixture. And with
+that mixture, do you not see what a hero the first of the three Dumas,
+the mulatto general, has been?... Yes. You have there a hard job, my
+good Dorsenne.... You will need another second to assist you, who will
+have the same views as you and--pardon me--more experience, perhaps.”
+
+“Marquis,” replied Julien, whose voice trembled with anxiety, “there is
+only one person in Rome who would be respected enough, venerated by
+all, so that his intervention in that delicate and dangerous matter be
+decisive, one person who could suggest excuses to Chapron, or obtain
+them from the other.... In short, there is only one person who has the
+authority of a hero before whom they will remain silent when he speaks
+of honor, and that person is you.”
+
+“I,” exclaimed Montfanon, “I, you wish me to be--”
+
+“One of Chapron’s seconds,” interrupted Dorsenne. “Yes. It is true. I
+come on his part and for that. Do not tell me what I already know, that
+your position will not allow of such a step. It is because it is what it
+is, that I thought of coming to you. Do not tell me that your religious
+principles are opposed to duels. It is that there may be no duel that I
+conjure you to accept.... It is essential that it does not take place. I
+swear to you, that the peace of too many innocent persons is concerned.”
+
+And he continued, calling into service at that moment all the
+intelligence and all the eloquence of which he was capable. He could
+follow on the face of the former duellist, who had become the most
+ardent of Catholics and the most monomaniacal of old bachelors, twenty
+diverse expressions. At length Montfanon laid his hand with veritable
+solemnity on his interlocutor’s arm and said to him:
+
+“Listen, Dorsenne, do not tell me any more.... I consent to what you ask
+of me, but on two conditions. They are these: The first is that Monsieur
+Chapron will trust absolutely to my judgment, whatsoever it may be; the
+second is that you will retire with me if these gentlemen persist in
+their childishness.... I promise to aid you in fulfilling a mission
+of charity, and not anything else; I repeat, not anything else. Before
+bringing Monsieur Chapron to me you will repeat to him what I have said,
+word for word.”
+
+“Word for word,” replied the other, adding: “He is at home awaiting the
+result of my undertaking.”
+
+“Then,” said the Marquis, “I will return to Rome with you at once. He
+has probably already received Gorka’s seconds, and if they really wish
+to arrange a duel the rule is not to put it off.... I shall not see my
+procession, but to prevent misfortune is to do a good deed, and it is
+one way of praying to God.”
+
+“Let me press your hand, my noble friend,” said Dorsenne; “never have I
+better understood what a truly brave man is.”
+
+When the writer alighted, three-quarters of an hour later, at the house
+on the Rue Leopardi, after having seen Montfanon home, he felt sustained
+by such moral support that was almost joyous. He found Florent in his
+species of salon-smoking-room, arranging his papers with methodical
+composure.
+
+“He accepts,” were the first words the young men uttered, almost
+simultaneously, while Dorsenne repeated Montfanon’s words.
+
+“I depend absolutely on you two,” replied the other. “I have no thirst
+for Monsieur de Gorka’s blood.... But that gentleman must not accuse the
+grandson of Colonel Chapron of cowardice.... For that I rely upon the
+relative of General Dorsenne and on the old soldier of Charette.”
+
+As he spoke, Florent handed a letter to Julien, who asked: “From whom is
+this?”
+
+“This,” said Florent, “is a letter addressed to you, on this very table
+half an hour ago by Baron Hafner.... There is some news. I have received
+my adversary’s seconds. The Baron is one, Ardea the other.”
+
+“Baron Hafner!” exclaimed Dorsenne. “What a singular choice!” He paused,
+and he and Florent exchanged glances. They understood one another
+without speaking. Boleslas could not have found a surer means of
+informing Madame Steno as to the plan he intended to employ in his
+vengeance. On the other hand, the known devotion of the Baron for the
+Countess gave one chance more for a pacific solution, at the same
+time that the fanaticism of Montfanon would be confronted with Fanny’s
+father, an episode of comedy suddenly cast across Gorka’s drama of
+jealousy.
+
+Julien resumed with a smile: “You must watch Montfanon’s face when we
+inform him of those two witnesses. He is a man of the fifteenth century,
+you know, a Montluc, a Duc d’Alba, a Philippe II. I do not know which
+he detests the most, the Freemasons, the Free-thinkers, the Protestants,
+the Jews, or the Germans. And as this obscure and tortuous Hafner is a
+little of everything, he has vowed hatred against him!... Leaving that
+out of the question, he suspects him of being a secret agent in the
+service of the Triple Alliance! But let us see the letter.”
+
+He opened and glanced through it. “This craftiness serves for something,
+it is equivalent almost to kindness. He, too, has felt that it is
+necessary to end our affair, were it only to avoid scandal. He appoints
+a meeting at his house between six and seven o’clock with me and your
+second. Come, time is flying. You must come to the Marquis to make your
+request officially. Begin this way. Obtain his promise before mentioning
+Hafner’s name. I know him. He will not retract his word. But it is
+just.”
+
+The two friends found Montfanon awaiting them in his office, a large
+room filled with books, from which could be obtained a fine view of the
+panorama of the Forum, more majestic still on that afternoon when the
+shadows of the columns and arches grew longer on the sidewalk. The room
+with its brick floor had no other comfort than a carpet under the large
+desk littered with papers--no doubt fragments of the famous work on the
+relations of the French nobility and the Church. A crucifix stood upon
+the desk. On the wall were two engravings, that of Monseigneur Pie, the
+holy Bishop of Poitiers, and that of General de Sonis, on foot, with his
+wooden leg, and a painting representing St. Francois, the patron of
+the house. Those were the only artistic decorations of the modest
+habitation. The nobleman often said: “I have freed myself from the
+tyranny of objects.” But with that marvellous background of grandiose
+ruins and that sky, the simple spot was an incomparable retreat in
+which to end in meditation and renouncement a life already shaken by the
+tempests of the senses and of the world.
+
+The hermit of that Thebaide rose to greet his two visitors, and pointing
+out to Chapron an open volume on his table, he said to him:
+
+“I was thinking of you. It is Chateauvillars’s book on duelling. It
+contains a code which is not very complete. I recommend it to you,
+however, if ever you have to fulfil a mission like ours,” and he pointed
+to Dorsenne and himself, with a gesture which constituted the most
+amicable of acceptations. “It seems you had too hasty a hand.... Ha!
+ha! Do not defend yourself. Such as you see me, at twenty-one I threw a
+plate in the face of a gentleman who bantered Comte de Chambord before
+a number of Jacobins at a table d’hote in the provinces. See,” continued
+he, raising his white moustache and disclosing a scar, “this is the
+souvenir. The fellow was once a dragoon; he proposed the sabre. I
+accepted, and this is what I got, while he lost two fingers.... That
+will not happen to us this time at least.... Dorsenne has told you our
+conditions.”
+
+“And I replied that I was sure I could not intrust my honor to better
+hands,” replied Florent.
+
+“Cease!” replied Montfanon, with a gesture of satisfaction. “No more
+phrases. It is well. Moreover, I judged you, sir, from the day on which
+you spoke to me at Saint Louis. You honor your dead. That is why I shall
+be happy, very happy, to be useful to you.”
+
+“Now tell me very clearly the recital you made to Dorsenne.”
+
+Then Florent related concisely that which had taken place between him
+and Gorka--that is to say, their argument and his passion, carefully
+omitting the details in which the name of his brother-in-law would be
+mixed.
+
+“The deuce!” said Montfanon, familiarly, “the affair looks bad, very
+bad.... You see, a second is a confessor. You have had a discussion in
+the street with Monsieur Gorka, but about what? You can not reply? What
+did he say to you to provoke you to the point of wishing to strike him?
+That is the first key to the position.”
+
+“I can not reply,” said Florent.
+
+“Then,” resumed the Marquis, after a silence, “there only remains to
+assert that the gesture on your part was--how shall I say? Unmeditated
+and unfinished. That is the second key to the position.... You have no
+special grudge against Monsieur Gorka?”
+
+“None.”
+
+“Nor he against you?”
+
+“None.”
+
+“The affair looks better,” said Montfanon, who was silent for a time,
+to resume, in the voice of a man who is talking to himself, “Count Gorka
+considers himself offended? But is there any offence? It is that which
+we should discuss.... An assault or the threat of an assault would
+afford occasion for an arrangement.... But a gesture restrained, since
+it was not carried into effect.... Do not interrupt me,” he continued.
+
+“I am trying to understand it clearly.... We must arrive at a solution.
+We shall have to express our regret, leaving the field open to another
+reparation, if Gorka requires it.... And he will not require it. The
+entire problem now rests on the choice of his seconds.... Whom will he
+select?”
+
+“I have already received visits from them,” said Florent. “Half an hour
+ago. One is Prince d’Ardea.”
+
+“He is a gentleman,” replied Montfanon. “I shall not be sorry to see him
+to tell him my feelings with regard to the public sale of his palace,
+to which he should never have allowed himself to be driven.... And the
+other?”
+
+“The other?” interrupted Dorsenne. “Prepare yourself for a blow.... I
+swear to you I did not know his name when I went in search of you at the
+catacomb. It is--in short--it is Baron Hafner.”
+
+“Baron Hafner!” exclaimed Montfanon. “Boleslas Gorka, the descendant of
+the Gorkas, of that grand Luc Gorka who was Palatine of Posen and Bishop
+of Cujavie, has chosen for his second Monsieur Justus Hafner, the thief,
+the scoundrel, who had the disgraceful suit!... No, Dorsenne, do not
+tell me that; it is not possible.” Then, with the air of a combatant:
+“We will challenge him; that is all, for his lack of honor. I take it
+upon myself, as well as to tell of his deeds to Boleslas. We will spend
+an enjoyable quarter of an hour there, I promise you.”
+
+“You will not do that,” said Dorsenne, quickly. “First, with regard
+to official honor, there is only one law, is there not? Hafner was
+acquitted and his adversaries condemned. You told me so the other
+day.... And then, you forget the conversation we just had.”
+
+“Pardon,” interrupted Florent, in his turn. “Monsieur de Montfanon, in
+promising to assist me, has done me a great honor, which I shall never
+forget. If there should result from it any annoyance to him I should be
+deeply grieved, and I am ready to release him from his promise.”
+
+“No,” said the Marquis, after another silence. “I will not take it
+back.”.... He was so magnanimous when his two or three hobbies were
+not involved that the slightest delicacy awoke an echo in him. He again
+extended his hand to Chapron and continued, but with an accent which
+betrayed suppressed irritation: “After all, it does not concern us if
+Monsieur Gorka has chosen to be represented in an affair of honor by one
+whom he should not even salute.... You will, then, give our two names
+to those two gentlemen.... and Dorsenne and I will await them, as is the
+rule.... It is their place to come, since they are the proxies of the
+person insulted.”
+
+“They have already arranged a meeting for this evening,” replied
+Chapron.
+
+“What’s arranged? With whom? For whom?” exclaimed Montfanon, a prey to a
+fresh access of choler. “With you?... For us?... Ah, I do not like such
+conduct where such grave matters are concerned.... The code is absolute
+on that subject.... Their challenge once made, to which you, Monsieur
+Chapron, have to reply by yes or no, these gentlemen should withdraw
+immediately.... It is not your fault, it is Ardea’s, who has allowed
+that dabbler in spurious dividends to perform his part of intriguer....
+But we will rectify all in the right way, which is the French.... And
+where is the rendezvous?”
+
+“I will read to you the letter which the Baron left for me with
+Florent,” said Dorsenne, who indeed read the very courteous note Hafner
+had written to him, in which he excused himself for choosing his own
+house as a rendezvous for the four witnesses. “One can not ignore so
+polite a note.”
+
+“There are too many dear sirs, and too many compliments,” said
+Montfanon, brusquely. “Sit here,” he continued, relinquishing his
+armchair to Florent, “and inform the two men of our names and address,
+adding that we are at their service and ignoring the first inaccuracy on
+their part. Let them return!... And you, Dorsenne, since you are afraid
+of wounding that gentleman, I will not prevent you from going to his
+house--personally, do you hear--to warn him that Monsieur Chapron, here
+present, has chosen for his first second a disagreeable person, an old
+duellist, anything you like, but who desires strict form, and, first of
+all, a correct call made upon us by them, in order to settle officially
+upon a rendezvous.”
+
+“What did I tell you?” asked Dorsenne, when he with Florent descended
+Montfanon’s staircase. “He is a different man since you mentioned the
+Baron to him. The discussion between them will be a hot one. I hope
+he will not spoil all by his folly. On my honor, if I had guessed whom
+Gorka would choose I should not have suggested to you the old leaguer,
+as I call him.”
+
+“And I, if Monsieur de Montfanon should make me fight at five paces,”
+ replied Chapron, with a laugh, “would be grateful to you for having
+brought me into relations with him. He is a whole-souled man, as was my
+poor father, as is Maitland. I adore such people.”
+
+“Is there no means of having at once heart and head?” said Julien to
+himself, on reaching the Palais Savorelli, where Hafner lived, and
+recalling the Marquis’s choler on the one hand, and on the other the
+egotism of Maitland, of which Florent’s last words reminded him. His
+apprehension of the afternoon returned in a greater degree, for he knew
+Montfanon to be very sensitive on certain points, and it was one of
+those points which would be wounded to the quick by the forced relations
+with Gorka’s witnesses. “I do not trust Hafner,” thought he; “if the
+cunning fellow has accepted the mission utterly contrary to his tastes,
+his habits, almost to his age, it must be to connive with his future
+son-in-law and to conciliate all. Perhaps even the marriage had been
+already settled? I hope not. The Marquis would be so furious he would
+require the duel to a letter.”
+
+The young man had guessed aright. Chance, which often brings one
+event upon another, decreed that Ardea, at the very moment that he was
+deliberating with Gorka as to the choice of another second, received a
+note from Madame Steno containing simply these words: “Your proposal
+has been made, and the answer is yes. May I be the first to embrace you,
+Simpaticone?”
+
+An ingenious idea occurred to him; to have arranged by his future
+father-in-law the quarrel which he considered at once absurd, useless,
+and dangerous. The eagerness with which Gorka had accepted Hafner’s
+name, proved, as Dorsenne and Florent had divined, his desire that his
+perfidious mistress should be informed of his doings. As for the Baron,
+he consented--oh, irony of coincidences!--by saying to Peppino Ardea
+words almost identical with those which Montfanon had uttered to
+Dorsenne:
+
+“We will draw up, in advance, an official plan of conciliation, and, if
+the matter can not be arranged, we will withdraw.”
+
+It was in such terms that the memorable conversation was concluded,
+a conversation truly worthy of the combinazione which poor Fanny’s
+marriage represented. There had been less question of the marriage
+itself than that of the services to be rendered to the infidelity of the
+woman who presided over the sorry traffic! Is it necessary to add that
+neither Ardea nor his future father-in-law had made the shadow of an
+allusion to the true side of the affair? Perhaps at any other time the
+excessive prudence innate to the Baron and his care never to compromise
+himself would have deterred him from the possible annoyances which
+might arise from an interference in the adventure of an exasperated and
+discarded lover. But his joy at the thought that his daughter was to
+become a Roman princess--and with what a name!--had really turned his
+brain.
+
+He had, however, the good sense to say to the stunned Ardea: “Madame
+Steno must know nothing of it, at least beforehand. She would not
+fail to inform Madame Gorka, and God knows of what the latter would be
+capable.”
+
+In reality, the two men were convinced that it was essential, directly
+or indirectly, to beware of warning Maitland. They employed the
+remainder of the afternoon in paying their visit to Florent, then in
+sending telegram after telegram to announce the betrothal, with which
+charming Fanny seemed more satisfied since Cardinal Guerillot had
+consented, at simply a word from her, to preside at her baptism. The
+Baron, in the face of that consent, could not restrain his joy. He loved
+his daughter, strange man, somewhat in the manner in which a breeder
+loves a favorite horse which has won the Grand Prix for him. When
+Dorsenne arrived, bearing Chapron’s note and Montfanon’s message, he was
+received with a cordiality and a complaisance which at once enlightened
+him upon the result of the matrimonial intrigue of which Alba had spoken
+to him.
+
+“Anything that your friend wishes, my dear sir.... Is it not so,
+Peppino?” said the Baron, seating himself at his table. “Will you
+dictate the letter yourself, Dorsenne?... See, is this all right? You
+will understand with what sentiments we have accepted this mission when
+you learn that Fanny is betrothed to Prince Ardea, here present. The
+news dates from three o’clock. So you are the first to know it, is he
+not, Peppino?” He had drawn up not less than two hundred despatches.
+“Return whenever you like with the Marquis.... I simply ask, under the
+circumstances, that the interview take place, if it be possible, between
+six and seven, or between nine and ten, in order not to interfere with
+our little family dinner.”
+
+“Let us say nine o’clock,” said Dorsenne. “Monsieur de Montfanon is
+somewhat formal. He would like to have your reply by letter.”
+
+“Prince Ardea to marry Mademoiselle Hafner!” That cry which the news
+brought by Julien wrested from Montfanon was so dolorous that the young
+man did not think of laughing. He had thought it wiser to prepare his
+irascible friend, lest the Baron might make some allusion to the grand
+event during the course of the conversation, and that the other might
+not make some impulsive remark.
+
+“Did I not tell you that the girl’s Catholicism was a farce? Did I not
+tell Monseigneur Guerillot? This was what she aimed at all those years,
+with such perfect hypocrisy? It was the Palais Castagna. And she will
+enter there as mistress!... She will bring there the dishonor of that
+pirated gold on which there are stains of blood! Warn them, that they do
+not speak to me of it, or I will not answer for myself.... The second
+of a Gorka, the father-in-law of an Ardea, he triumphs, the thief who
+should by rights be a convict!... But we shall see. Will not all the
+other Roman princes who have no blots upon their escutcheons,
+the Orsinis, the Colonnas, the Odeschalchis, the Borgheses, the
+Rospigliosis, not combine to prevent this monstrosity? Nobility is like
+love, those who buy those sacred things degrade them in paying for them,
+and those to whom they are given are no better than mire.... Princess
+d’Ardea! That creature! Ah, what a disgrace!... But we must remember
+our engagement relative to that brave young Chapron. The boy pleases me;
+first, because very probably he is going to fight for some one else and
+out of a devotion which I can not very well understand! It is devotion
+all the same, and it is chivalry!... He desires to prevent that
+miserable Gorka from calling forth a scandal which would have warned his
+sister.... And then, as I told him, he respects the dead.... Let us....
+I have my wits no longer about me, that intelligence has so greatly
+disturbed me.... Princess d’Ardea!... Well, write that we will be at
+Monsieur Hafner’s at nine o’clock.... I do not want any of those people
+at my house.... At yours it would not be proper; you are too young. And
+I prefer going to the father-in-law’s rather than to the son-inlaw’s.
+The rascal has made a good bargain in buying what he has bought with his
+stolen millions. But the other.... And his great-great-uncle might have
+been Jules Second, Pie Fifth, Hildebrand; he would have sold all just
+the same!... He can not deceive himself! He has heard the suit against
+that man spoken of! He knows whence come those millions! He has heard
+their family, their lives spoken of! And he has not been inspired with
+too great a horror to accept the gold of that adventurer. Does he
+not know what a name is? Our name! It is ourselves, our honor, in the
+mouths, in the thoughts, of others! How happy I am, Dorsenne, to have
+been fifty-two years of age last month. I shall be gone before having
+seen what you will see, the agony of all the aristocrats and royalties.
+It was only in blood that they fell! But they do not fall. Alas! They
+fix themselves upon the ground, which is the saddest of all. Still, what
+matters it? The monarchy, the nobility, and the Church are everlasting.
+The people who disregard them will die, that is all. Come, write your
+letter, which I will sign. Send it away, and you will dine with me. We
+must go into the den provided with an argument which will prevent
+this duel, and sustaining our part toward our client. There must be an
+arrangement which I would accept myself. I like him, I repeat.”
+
+The excitement which began to startle Dorsenne was only augmented during
+dinner, so much the more so as, on discussing the conditions of that
+arrangement he hoped to bring about, the recollection of his terrible
+youth filled the thoughts and the discourse of the former duellist. Was
+it, indeed, the same personage who recited the verses of a hymn in the
+catacombs a few hours before? It only required the feudal in him to be
+reawakened to transform him. The fire in his eyes and the color in his
+face betrayed that the duel in which he had thought best to engage,
+out of charity, intoxicated him on his own statement. It was the old
+amateur, the epicure of the sword, very ungovernable, which stirred
+within that man of faith, in whom passion had burned and who had loved
+all excitement, including that of danger, as to-day he loved his ideas,
+as he loved his flagi moderately. He no longer thought of the three
+women to be spared suspicion, nor of the good deed to be accomplished.
+He saw all his old friends and their talent for fighting, the thrusts of
+this one, the way another had of striking, the composure of a third, and
+then this refrain interrupted constantly his warlike anecdotes: “But
+why the deuce has Gorka chosen that Hafner for his second?... It is
+incomprehensible.”.... On entering the carriage which was to bear them
+to their interview, he heard Dorsenne say to the coachman: “Palais
+Savorelli.”
+
+“That is the final blow,” said he, raising his arm and clenching his
+fist. “The adventurer occupies the Pretender’s house, the house of the
+Stuarts.”.... He repeated: “The house of the Stuarts!” and then lapsed
+into a silence which the writer felt to be laden with more storminess
+than his last denunciation. He did not emerge from his meditations
+until ushered into the salon of the ci-devant jeweller, now a grand
+seigneur--into one of the salons, rather, for there were five. There
+Montfanon began to examine everything around him, with an air of such
+contempt and pride that, notwithstanding his anxiety, Dorsenne could not
+resist laughing and teasing him by saying:
+
+“You will not pretend to say that there are no pretty things here? These
+two paintings by Moroni, for example?”
+
+“Nothing that is appropriate,” replied Montfanon. “Yes, they are two
+magnificent portraits of ancestors, and this man has no ancestors!...
+There are some weapons in that cupboard, and he has never touched a
+sword! And there is a piece of tapestry representing the miracles of the
+loaves, which is a piece of audacity! You may not believe me, Dorsenne,
+but it is making me ill to be here.... I am reminded of the human toil,
+of the human soul in all these objects, and to end here, paid for how?
+Owned by whom? Close your eyes and think of Schroeder and of the others
+whom you do not know. Look into the hovels where there is neither
+furniture, fire, nor bread. Then, open your eyes and look at this.”
+
+“And you, my dear friend,” replied the novelist, “I conjure you to think
+of our conversation in the catacombs, to think of the three ladies in
+whose names I besought you to aid Florent.”
+
+“Thank you,” said Montfanon, passing his hand over his brow, “I promise
+you to be calm.”
+
+He had scarcely uttered those words when the door opened, disclosing
+to view another room, lighted also, and which, to judge by the sound
+of voices, contained several persons. No doubt Madame Steno and Alba,
+thought Julien; and the Baron entered, accompanied by Peppino Ardea.
+While going through the introductions, the writer was struck by the
+contrast offered between his three companions. Hafner and Ardea in
+evening dress, with buttonhole bouquets, had the open and happy faces of
+two citizens who had clear consciences. The usually sallow complexion
+of the business man was tinged with excitement, his eyes, as a rule so
+hard, were gentler. As for the Prince, the same childish carelessness
+lighted up his jovial face, while the hero of Patay, with his coarse
+boots, his immense form enveloped in a somewhat shabby redingote,
+exhibited a face so contracted that one would have thought him devoured
+by remorse. A dishonest intendant, forced to expose his accounts to
+generous and confiding masters, could not have had a face more gloomy
+or more anxious. He had, moreover, put his one arm behind his back in
+a manner so formal that neither of the two men who entered offered him
+their hands. That appearance was without doubt little in keeping with
+what the father and the fiance of Fanny had expected; for there was,
+when the four men were seated, a pause which the Baron was the first to
+break. He began in his measured tones, in a voice which handles words as
+the weight of a usurer weighs gold pieces to the milligramme:
+
+“Gentlemen, I believe I shall express our common sentiment in first of
+all establishing a point which shall govern our meeting.... We are here,
+it is understood, to bring about the work of reconciliation between two
+men, two gentlemen whom we know, whom we esteem--I might better
+say, whom we all love.”.... He turned, in pronouncing those words,
+successively to each of his three listeners, who all bowed, with the
+exception of the Marquis. Hafner examined the nobleman, with his
+glance accustomed to read the depths of the mind in order to divine
+the intentions. He saw that Chapron’s first witness was a troublesome
+customer, and he continued: “That done, I beg to read to you this little
+paper.” He drew from his pocket a sheet of folded paper and placed upon
+the end of his nose his famous gold ‘lorgnon’: “It is very trifling, one
+of those directives, as Monsieur de Moltke says, which serve to guide
+operations, a plan of action which we will modify after discussion. In
+short, it is a landmark that we may not launch into space.”
+
+“Pardon, sir,” interrupted Montfanon, whose brows contracted still
+more at the mention of the celebrated field-marshal, and, stopping by a
+gesture the reader, who, in his surprise, dropped his lorgnon upon the
+table on which his elbow rested. “I regret very much,” he continued, “to
+be obliged to tell you that Monsieur Dorsenne and I”--here he turned to
+Dorsenne, who made an equivocal gesture of vexation--“can not admit the
+point of view in which you place yourself.... You claim that we are here
+to arrange a reconciliation. That is possible.... I concede that it is
+desirable.... But I know nothing of it and, permit me to say, you do
+not know any more. I am here--we are here, Monsieur Dorsenne and I,
+to listen to the complaints which Count Gorka has commissioned you
+to formulate to Monsieur Florent Chapron’s proxies. Formulate those
+complaints, and we will discuss them. Formulate the reparation you
+claim in the name of your client and we will discuss it. The papers will
+follow, if they follow at all, and, once more, neither you nor we know
+what will be the issue of this conversation, nor should we know it,
+before establishing the facts.”
+
+“There is some misunderstanding, sir,” said Ardea, whom Montfanon’s
+words had irritated somewhat. He could not, any more than Hafner,
+understand the very simple, but very singular, character of the Marquis,
+and he added: “I have been concerned in several ‘rencontres’--four
+times as second, and once as principal--and I have seen employed without
+discussion the proceeding which Baron Hafner has just proposed to
+you, and which of itself is, perhaps, only a more expeditious means of
+arriving at what you very properly call the establishment of facts.”
+
+“I was not aware of the number of your affairs, sir,” replied Montfanon,
+still more nervous since Hafner’s future son-in-law joined in the
+conversation; “but since it has pleased you to tell us I will take the
+liberty of saying to you that I have fought seven times, and that I have
+been a second fourteen.... It is true that it was at an epoch when the
+head of your house was your father, if I remember right, the deceased
+Prince Urban, whom I had the honor of knowing when I served in the
+zouaves. He was a fine Roman nobleman, and did honor to his name. What
+I have told you is proof that I have some competence in the matter of
+a duel.... Well, we have always held that seconds were constituted to
+arrange affairs that could be arranged, but also to settle affairs,
+as well as they can, that seem incapable of being arranged. Let us now
+inquire into the matter; we are here for that, and for nothing else.”
+
+“Are these gentlemen of that opinion?” asked Hafner in a conciliatory
+voice, turning first to Dorsenne, then to Ardea: “I do not adhere to my
+method,” he continued, again folding his paper. He slipped it into his
+vest-pocket and continued: “Let us establish the facts, as you say.
+Count Gorka, our friend, considers himself seriously, very seriously,
+offended by Monsieur Florent Chapron in the course of the discussion in
+a public street. Monsieur Chapron was carried away, as you know,
+sirs, almost to--what shall I say?--hastiness, which, however, was not
+followed by consequences, thanks to the presence of mind of Monsieur
+Gorka.... But, accomplished or not, the act remains. Monsieur Gorka was
+insulted, and he requires satisfaction.... I do not believe there is any
+doubt upon that point which is the cause of the affair, or, rather, the
+whole affair.”
+
+“I again ask your pardon, sir,” said Montfanon, dryly, who no longer
+took pains to conceal his anger, “Monsieur Dorsenne and I can not accept
+your manner of putting the question.... You say that Monsieur Chapron’s
+hastiness was not followed by consequences by reason of Monsieur Gorka’s
+presence of mind. We claim that there was only on the part of Monsieur
+Chapron a scarcely indicated gesture, which he himself restrained. In
+consequence you attribute to Monsieur Gorka the quality of the insulted
+party; you are over-hasty. He is merely the plaintiff, up to this time.
+It is very different.”
+
+“But by rights he is the insulted party,” interrupted Ardea. “Restrained
+or not, it constitutes a threat of assault. I did not wish to claim to
+be a duellist by telling you of my engagements. But this is the A B C of
+the ‘codice cavalleresco’, if the insult be followed by an assault,
+he who receives the blow is the offended party, and the threat of an
+assault is equivalent to an actual assault. The offended party has the
+choice of a duel, weapons and conditions. Consult your authors and ours:
+Chateauvillars, Du Verger, Angelini and Gelli, all agree.”
+
+“I am sorry for their sakes,” said Montfanon, and he looked at the
+Prince with a contraction of the brows almost menacing, “but it is an
+opinion which does not hold good generally, nor in this particular case.
+The proof is that a duellist, as you have just said,” his voice trembled
+as he emphasized the insolence offered by the other, “a bravo, to use
+the expression of your country, would only have to commit a justifiable
+murder by first insulting him at whom he aims with rude words. The
+insulted person replies by a voluntary gesture, on the signification
+of which one may be mistaken, and you will admit that the bravo is the
+offended party, and that he has the choice of weapons.”
+
+“But, Marquis,” resumed Hafner, with evident disgust, so greatly did the
+cavilling and the ill-will of the nobleman irritate him, “where are you
+wandering to? What do you mean by bringing up chicanery of this sort?”
+
+“Chicanery!” exclaimed Montfanon, half rising.
+
+“Montfanon!” besought Dorsenne, rising in his turn and forcing the
+terrible man to be seated.
+
+“I retract the word,” said the Baron, “if it has insulted you. Nothing
+was farther from my thoughts.... I repeat that I apologize, Marquis....
+But, come, tell us what you want for your client, that is very
+simple.... And then we will do all we can to make your demands agree
+with those of our client.... It is a trifling matter to be adjusted.”
+
+“No, sir,” said Montfanon, with insolent severity, “it is justice to
+be rendered, which is very different. What we, Monsieur Dorsenne and
+I, desire,” he continued in a severe voice, “is this: Count Gorka has
+gravely insulted Monsieur Chapron. Let me finish,” he added upon a
+simultaneous gesture on the part of Ardea and of Hafner. “Yes, sirs,
+Monsieur Chapron, known to us all for his perfect courtesy, must have
+been very gravely insulted, even to make the improper gesture of which
+you just spoke. But it was agreed upon between these two gentlemen, for
+reasons of delicacy which we had to accept--it was agreed, I say, that
+the nature of the insult offered by Monsieur Gorka to Monsieur Chapron
+should not be divulged.... We have the right, however, and I may add
+the duty devolves upon us, to measure the gravity of that insult by the
+excess of anger aroused in Monsieur Chapron.... I conclude from it that,
+to be just, the plan of reconciliation, if we draw it up, should contain
+reciprocal concessions. Count Gorka will retract his words and Monsieur
+Chapron apologize for his hastiness.”
+
+“It is impossible,” exclaimed the Prince; “Gorka will never accept
+that.”
+
+“You, then, wish to have them fight the duel?” groaned Hafner.
+
+“And why not?” said Montfanon, exasperated. “It would be better than for
+the one to nurse his insults and the other his blow.”
+
+“Well, sirs,” replied the Baron, rising after the silence which followed
+that imprudent whim of a man beside himself, “we will confer again with
+our client. If you wish, we will resume this conversation tomorrow at
+ten o’clock, say here or in any place convenient to you.... You
+will excuse me, Marquis. Dorsenne has no doubt told you under what
+circumstances--”
+
+“Yes, he has told me,” interrupted Montfanon, who again glanced at the
+Prince, and in a manner so mournful that the latter felt himself blush
+beneath the strange glance, at which, however, it was impossible to feel
+angry. Dorsenne had only time to cut short all other explanations by
+replying to Justus Hafner himself.
+
+“Would you like the meeting at my house? We shall have more chance to
+escape remarks.”
+
+“You have done well to change the place,” said Montfanon, five minutes
+later, on entering the carriage with his young friend.
+
+They had descended the staircase without speaking, for the brave and
+unreasonable Marquis regretted his strangely provoking attitude of the
+moment before.
+
+“What would you have?” he added. “The profaned palace, the insolent
+luxury of that thief, the Prince who has sold his family, the Baron
+whose part is so sinister. I could no longer contain myself! That Baron,
+above all, with his directives! Words to repeat when one is German, to
+a French soldier who fought in 1870, like those words of Monsieur de
+Moltke! His terms, too, applied to honor and that abominable politeness
+in which there is servility and insolence!... Still, I am not satisfied
+with myself. I am not at all satisfied.”
+
+There was in his voice so much good-nature, such evident remorse at not
+having controlled himself in so grave a situation, that Dorsenne pressed
+his hand instead of reproaching him, as he said:
+
+“It will do to-morrow.... We will arrange all; it has only been
+postponed.”
+
+“You say that to console me,” said the Marquis, “but I know it was
+very badly managed. And it is my fault! Perhaps we shall have no other
+service to render our brave Chapron than to arrange a duel for him under
+the most dangerous conditions. Ah, but I became inopportunely
+angry!... But why the deuce did Gorka select such a second? It is
+incomprehensible!... Did you see what the cabalistic word gentleman
+means to those rascals: Steal, cheat, assassinate, but have carriages
+perfectly appointed, a magnificent mansion, well-served dinners, and
+fine clothes!... No, I have suffered too much! Ah, it is not right; and
+on what a day, too? God! That the old man might die!”.... he added, in a
+voice so low that his companion did not hear his words.
+
+
+
+
+BOOK 3.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VII. A LITTLE RELATIVE OF IAGO
+
+The remorse which Montfanon expressed so naively, once acknowledged to
+himself, increased rapidly in the honest man’s heart. He had reason to
+say from the beginning that the affair looked bad. A quarrel, together
+with assault, or an attempt at assault, would not be easily set right.
+It required a diplomatic miracle. The slightest lack of self-possession
+on the part of the seconds is equivalent to a catastrophe. As happens
+in such circumstances, events are hurried, and the pessimistic
+anticipations of the irritable Marquis were verified almost as soon as
+he uttered them. Dorsenne and he had barely left the Palais Savorelli
+when Gorka arrived. The energy with which he repulsed the proposition of
+an arrangement which would admit of excuses on his part, served prudent
+Hafner, and the not less prudent Ardea, as a signal for withdrawal. It
+was too evident to the two men that no reconciliation would result from
+a collision of such a madman with a personage so difficult as the most
+authorized of Florent’s proxies had shown himself to be. They then asked
+Gorka to relieve them from their duty. They had too plausible an excuse
+in Fanny’s betrothal for Boleslas to refuse to release them. That
+retirement was a second catastrophe. In his impatience to find other
+seconds who would be firm, Gorka hastened to the Cercle de la Chasse.
+Chance willed that he should meet with two of his comrades--a Marquis
+Cibo, Roman, and a Prince Pietrapertoso, Neapolitan, who were assuredly
+the best he could have chosen to hasten the simplest affair to its worst
+consequences.
+
+Those two young men of the best Italian families, both very intelligent,
+very loyal and very good, belonged to that particular class which is to
+be met with in Vienna, Madrid, St. Petersburg, as in Milan and in Rome,
+of foreign club-men hypnotized by Paris. And what a Paris! That of showy
+and noisy fetes, that which passes the morning in practising the sports
+in fashion, the afternoons in racing, in frequenting fencing-schools,
+the evening at the theatre and the night at the gaming-table! That Paris
+which emigrates by turns, according to the season, to Monte Carlo for
+the ‘Tir aux Pigeons’, to Deauville for the race week, to Aix-les-Bains
+for the baccarat season; that Paris which has its own customs, its
+own language, its own history, even its own cosmopolitanism, for it
+exercises over certain minds, throughout Europe, so despotic a rule that
+Cibo, for example, and his friend Pietrapertoso never opened a French
+journal that was not Parisian.
+
+They sought the short paragraphs in which were related, in detail,
+the doings of the demi-monde, the last supper given by some well-known
+viveur, the details of some large party in such and such a fashionable
+club, the result of a shooting match, or of a fencing match between
+celebrated fencers! There were between them subjects of conversation of
+which they never wearied; to know if spirituelle Gladys Harvey was more
+elegant than Leona d’Astri, if Machault made “counters” as rapid as
+those of General Garnier, if little Lautrec would adhere or would not
+adhere to the game he was playing. Imprisoned in Rome by the scantiness
+of their means, and also by the wishes, the one of his uncle, the other
+of his grandfather, whose heirs they were, their entire year was summed
+up in the months which they spent at Nice in the winter, and in the trip
+they took to Paris at the time of the Grand Prix for six weeks. Jealous
+one of the other, with the most comical rivalry, of the least occurrence
+at the ‘Cercle des Champs-Elysees’ or of the Rue Royale in the Eternal
+City, they affected, in the presence of their colleagues of la chasse,
+the impassive manner of augurs when the telegraph brought them the
+news of some Parisian scandal. That inoffensive mania which had made
+of stout, ruddy Cibo, and of thin, pale Pietrapertoso two delightful
+studies for Dorsenne during his Roman winter, made of them terrible
+proxies in the service of Gorka’s vengeance.
+
+With what joy and what gravity they accepted that mission all those who
+have studied swordsmen will understand after this simple sketch, and
+with what promptness they presented themselves to confer at nine o’clock
+in the morning with their client’s adversary! In short, at half-past
+twelve the duel was arranged in its slightest detail. The energy
+employed by Montfanon had only ended in somewhat tempering the
+conditions--four balls to be exchanged at twenty-five paces at the
+word of command. The duel was fixed for the following morning, in the
+inclosure which Cibo owned, with an inn adjoining, not very far distant
+from the classical tomb of Cecilia Metella. To obtain that distance and
+the use of new weapons it required the prestige with which the Marquis
+suddenly clothed himself in the eyes of Gorka’s seconds by pronouncing
+the name, still legendary in the provinces and to the foreigner,
+of Gramont-Caderousse--‘Sic transit gloria mundi’! On leaving that
+rendezvous the excellent man really had tears in his eyes.
+
+“It is my fault,” he moaned, “it is my fault. With that Hafner we should
+have obtained such a fine official plan by mixing in a little of ours.
+He offered it to us himself.... Brave Chapron! It is I who have brought
+him into this dilemma!... I owe it to him not to abandon him, but to
+follow him to the end.... Here I shall be assisting at a duel, at my
+age!... Did you see how those young snobs lowered their voices when I
+mentioned my encounter with poor Caderousse?... Fifty-two years and a
+month, and not to know yet how to conduct one’s self! Let us go to the
+Rue Leopardi. I wish to ask pardon of our client, and to give him some
+advice. We will take him to one of my old friends who has a garden
+near the Villa Pamphili, very secluded. We will spend the rest of the
+afternoon practising.... Ah! Accursed choler! Yes, it would have been so
+simple to accept the other’s plan yesterday. By the exchange of two or
+three words, I am sure it could have been arranged.”
+
+“Console yourself, Marquis,” replied Florent, when the unhappy nobleman
+had described to him the deplorable result of his negotiations. “I like
+that better. Monsieur Gorka needs correction. I have only one regret,
+that of not having given it to him more thoroughly.... Since I shall
+have to fight a duel, I would at least have had my money’s worth!”
+
+“And you have never used a pistol?” asked Montfanon.
+
+“Bah! I have hunted a great deal and I believe I can shoot.”
+
+“That is like night and day,” interrupted the Marquis. “Hold yourself
+in readiness. At three o’clock come for me and I will give you a lesson.
+And remember there is a merciful God for the brave!”
+
+Although Florent deserved praise for the cheerfulness of which his reply
+was proof, the first moments which he spent alone after the departure of
+his two witnesses were very painful.
+
+That which Chapron experienced during those few moments was simply very
+natural anxiety, the enervation caused by looking at the clock, and
+saying:
+
+“In twenty-four hours the hand will be on this point of the dial. And
+shall I still be living?”.... He was, however, manly, and knew how to
+control himself. He struggled against the feeling of weakness, and,
+while awaiting the time to rejoin his friends, he resolved to write
+his last wishes. For years his intention had been to leave his entire
+fortune to his brother-in-law. He, therefore, made a rough draft of
+his will in that sense, with a pen at first rather unsteady, then quite
+firm. His will completed, he had courage enough to write two letters,
+addressed the one to that brother-in-law, the other to his sister. When
+he had finished his work the hands of the clock pointed to ten minutes
+of three.
+
+“Still seventeen hours and a half to wait,” said he, “but I think I have
+conquered my nerves. A short walk, too, will benefit me.”
+
+So he decided to go on foot to the rendezvous named by Montfanon. He
+carefully locked the three envelopes in the drawer of his desk. He saw,
+on passing, that Lincoln was not in his studio. He asked the footman
+if Madame Maitland was at home. The reply received was that she was
+dressing, and that she had ordered her carriage for three o’clock.
+
+“Good,” said he, “neither of them will have the slightest suspicion; I
+am saved.”
+
+How astonished he would have been could he, while walking leisurely
+toward his destination, have returned in thought to the smoking-room he
+had just left! He would have seen a woman glide noiselessly through the
+open door, with the precaution of a malefactor! He would have seen her
+examine, without disarranging, all the papers on the table. She
+frowned on seeing Dorsenne’s and the Marquis’s cards. She took from the
+blotting-case some loose leaves and held them in front of the glass,
+trying to read there the imprint left upon them. He would have seen
+finally the woman draw from her pocket a bunch of keys. She inserted one
+of them in the lock of the drawer which Florent had so carefully turned,
+and took from that drawer the three unsealed envelopes he had placed
+within it. And the woman who thus read, with a face contracted by
+anguish, the papers discovered in such a manner, thanks to a ruse
+the abominable indelicacy of which gave proof of shameful habits of
+espionage, was his own sister, the Lydia whom he believed so gentle and
+so simple, to whom he had penned an adieu so tender in case he should
+be killed--the Lydia who would have terrified him had he seen her thus,
+with passion distorting the face which was considered insignificant!
+She herself, the audacious spy, trembled as if she would fall, her
+eyes dilated, her bosom heaved, her teeth chattered, so greatly was she
+unnerved by what she had discovered, by the terrible consequences which
+she had brought about.
+
+Had she not written the anonymous letters to Gorka, denouncing to him
+the intrigue between Maitland and Madame Steno? Was it not she who had
+chosen, the better to poison those terrible letters, phrases the most
+likely to strike the betrayed lover in the most sensitive part of
+his ‘amour propre’? Was it not she who had hastened the return of the
+jealous man with the certain hope of drawing thus a tragical vengeance
+upon the hated heads of her husband and the Venetian? That vengeance,
+indeed, had broken. But upon whom? Upon the only person Lydia loved in
+the world, upon the brother whom she saw endangered through her fault;
+and that thought was to her so overwhelming that she sank into the
+armchair in which Florent had been seated fifteen minutes before,
+repeating, with an accent of despair: “He is going to fight a duel. He
+is going to fight instead of the other!”
+
+All the moral history of that obscure and violent soul was summed up in
+the cry in which passionate anxiety for her brother was coupled with a
+fierce hatred of her husband. That hatred was the result of a youth
+and a childhood without the story of which a duplicity so criminal in
+a being so young would be unintelligible. That youth and that childhood
+had presaged what Lydia would one day be. But who was there to train the
+nature in which the heredity of an oppressed race manifested itself,
+as has been already remarked, by the two most detestable
+characteristics--hypocrisy and perfidy? Who, moreover, observes in
+children the truth, as much neglected in practise as it is common
+in theory, that the defects of the tenth year become vices in the
+thirtieth? When quite a child Lydia invented falsehoods as naturally
+as her brother spoke the truth.... Whosoever observed her would have
+perceived that those lies were all told to paint herself in a favorable
+light. The germ, too, of another defect was springing up within her--a
+jealousy instinctive, irrational, almost wicked. She could not see a new
+plaything in Florent’s hands without sulking immediately. She could
+not bear to see her brother embrace her father without casting herself
+between them, nor could she see him amuse himself with other comrades.
+
+Had Napoleon Chapron been interested in the study of character as deeply
+as he was in his cotton and his sugarcane, he would have perceived, with
+affright, the early traces of a sinful nature. But, on that point, like
+his son, he was one of those trustful men who did not judge when they
+loved. Moreover, Lydia and Florent, to his wounded sensibility of a
+demi-pariah, formed the only pleasant corner in his life--were the fresh
+and youthful comforters of his widowerhood and of his misanthropy. He
+cherished them with the idolatry which all great workers entertain for
+their children, which is one of the most dangerous forms of paternal
+tenderness; Lydia’s incipient vices were to the planter delightful
+fancies! Did she lie? The excellent man exclaimed: What an imagination
+she has! Was she jealous? He would sigh, pressing to his broad breast
+the tiny form: How sensitive she is!... The result of that selfish
+blindness--for to love children thus is to love them for one’s self
+and not for them--was that the girl, at the time of her entrance at
+Roehampton, was spoiled in the essential traits of her character. But
+she was so pretty, she owed to the singular mixture of three races
+an originality of grace so seductive that only the keen glance of
+a governess of genius could have discerned, beneath that exquisite
+exterior, the already marked lines of her character. Such governesses
+are rare, still more so at convents than elsewhere. There was none at
+Roehampton when Lydia entered that pious haven which was to prove fatal
+to her, for a reason precisely contrary to that which transformed
+for Florent the lawns of peaceful Beaumont into a radiant paradise of
+friendship.
+
+Among the pupils with whom Lydia was to be educated were four young
+girls from Philadelphia, older than the newcomer by two years, and who,
+also, had left America for the first time. They brought with them the
+unconquerable aversion to negro blood and that wonderful keenness
+in discovering it, even in the most infinitesimal degree, which
+distinguishes real Yankees. Little Lydia Chapron, having been entered
+as French, they at first hesitated in the face of a suspicion speedily
+converted into a certainty and that certainty into an aversion, which
+they could not conceal. They would not have been children had they
+not been unfeeling. They, therefore, began to offer poor Lydia petty
+affronts. Convents and colleges resemble other society. There, too,
+unjust contempt is like that “ferret of the woods,” which runs from hand
+to hand and which always returns to its point of setting out. All the
+scornful are themselves scorned by some one--a merited punishment, which
+does not correct our pride any more than the other punishments
+which abound in life cure our other faults. Lydia’s persecutors were
+themselves the objects of outrages practised by their comrades born in
+England, on account of certain peculiarities in their language and for
+the nasal quality of their voices. The drama was limited, as we
+can imagine, to a series of insignificant episodes and of which the
+superintendents only surprised a demi-echo.
+
+Children nurse passions as strong as ours, but so much interrupted
+by playfulness that it is impossible to measure their exact strength.
+Lydia’s ‘amour propre’ was wounded in an incurable manner by that
+revelation of her own peculiarity. Certain incidents of her American
+life recurred to her, which she comprehended more clearly. She recalled
+the portrait of her grandmother, the complexion, the hands, the hair
+of her father, and she experienced that shame of her birth and of
+her family much more common with children than our optimism imagines.
+Parents of humble origin give their sons a liberal education, expose
+them to the demoralization which it brings with it in their positions,
+and what social hatreds date from the moment when the boy of twelve
+blushes in secret at the condition of his relatives! With Lydia,
+so instinctively jealous and untruthful, those first wounds induced
+falsehood and jealousy. The slightest superiority even, noticed in
+one of her companions, became to her a cause for suffering, and she
+undertook to compensate by personal triumphs the difference of blood,
+which, once discovered, wounds a vain nature. In order to assure herself
+those triumphs she tried to win all the persons who approached her,
+mistresses and comrades, and she began to practise that continued comedy
+of attitude and of sentiment to which the fatal desire to please, so
+quickly leads-that charming and dangerous tendency which borders much
+less on goodness than falseness. At eighteen, submitted to a sort of
+continual cabotinage, Lydia was, beneath the most attractive exterior,
+a being profoundly, though unconsciously, wicked, capable of very little
+affection--she loved no one truly but her brother--open to the invasion
+of the passions of hatred which are the natural products of proud and
+false minds. It was one of these passions, the most fatal of all, which
+marriage was to develop within her--envy.
+
+That hideous vice, one of those which govern the world, has been so
+little studied by moralists, as all too dishonorable for the heart
+of man, no doubt, that this statement may appear improbable. Madame
+Maitland, for years, had been envious of her husband, but envious as one
+of the rivals of an artist would be, envious as one pretty woman is
+of another, as one banker is of his opponent, as a politician of his
+adversary, with the fierce, implacable envy which writhes with physical
+pain in the face of success, which is transported with a sensual joy in
+the face of disaster. It is a great mistake to limit the ravages of that
+guilty passion to the domain of professional emulation. When it is deep,
+it does not alone attack the qualities of the person, but the person
+himself, and it was thus that Lydia envied Lincoln. Perhaps the analysis
+of this sentiment, very subtle in its ugliness, will explain to some
+a few of the antipathies against which they have struck in their
+relatives. For it is not only between husband and wife that these
+unavowed envies are met, it is between lover and mistress, friend and
+friend, brother and brother, sometimes, alas, father and son, mother and
+daughter! Lydia had married Lincoln Maitland partly out of obedience to
+her brother’s wishes, partly from vanity, because the young man was an
+American, and because it was a sort of victory over the prejudices of
+race, of which she thought constantly, but of which she never spoke.
+
+It required only three months of married life to perceive that Maitland
+could not forgive himself for that marriage. Although he affected to
+scorn his compatriots, and although at heart he did not share any of the
+views of the country in which he had not set foot since his fifth year,
+he could not hear remarks made in New York upon that marriage without a
+pang. He disliked Lydia for the humiliation, and she felt it. The birth
+of a child would no doubt have modified that feeling, and, if it would
+not have removed it, would at least have softened the embittered heart
+of the young wife. But no child was born to them. They had not returned
+from their wedding tour, upon which Florent accompanied them, before
+their lives rolled along in that silence which forms the base of all
+those households in which husband and wife, according to a simple and
+grand expression of the people, do not live heart against heart.
+
+After the journey through Spain, which should have been one continued
+enchantment, the wife became jealous of the evident preference which
+Florent showed for Maitland. For the first time she perceived the hold
+which that impassioned friendship had taken upon her brother’s heart.
+He loved her, too, but with a secondary love. The comparison annoyed her
+daily, hourly, and it did not fail to become a real wound. Returned to
+Paris, where they spent almost three years, that wound was increased by
+the sole fact that the puissant individuality of the painter speedily
+relegated to the shade the individuality of his wife, simply, almost
+mechanically, like a large tree which pushes a smaller one into the
+background. The composite society of artists, amateurs, and writers who
+visited Lincoln came there only for him. The house they had rented was
+rented only for him. The journeys they made were for him. In short,
+Lydia was borne away, like Florent, in the orbit of the most despotic
+force in the world--that of a celebrated talent. An entire book would be
+required to paint in their daily truth the continued humiliations which
+brought the young wife to detest that talent and that celebrity with as
+much ardor as Florent worshipped them. She remained, however, an honest
+woman, in the sense in which the word is construed by the world, which
+sums up woman’s entire dishonor in errors of love.
+
+But within Lydia’s breast grew a rooted aversion toward Lincoln. She
+detested him for the pure blood which made of that large, fair, and
+robust man so admirable a type of Anglo-Saxon beauty, by the side of
+her, so thin, so insignificant indeed, in spite of the grace of her
+pretty, dark face. She detested him for his taste, for the original
+elegance with which he understood how to adorn the places in which he
+lived, while she maintained within her a barbarous lack of taste for
+the least arrangement of materials and of colors. When she was forced
+to acknowledge progress in the painter, bitter hatred entered her heart.
+When he lamented over his work, and when she saw him a prey to the
+dolorous anxiety of an artist who doubts himself, she experienced a
+profound joy, marred only by the evident sadness into which Lincoln’s
+struggles plunged Florent. Never had she met the eyes of Chapron fixed
+upon Maitland with that look of a faithful dog which rejoices in the joy
+of its master, or which suffers in his sadness, without enduring, like
+Alba Steno, the sensation of a “needle in the heart.”
+
+The idolatrous worship of her brother for the painter caused her to
+suffer still more as she comprehended, with the infallible perspicacity
+of antipathy, the immense dupery. She read the very depths of the souls
+of the two old comrades of Beaumont. She knew that in that friendship,
+as is almost always the case, one alone gave all to receive in exchange
+only the most brutal recognition, that with which a huntsman or a master
+gratifies a faithful dog! As for enlightening Florent with regard to
+Lincoln’s character, she had vainly tried to do so by those fine and
+perfidious insinuations in which women excel. She only recognized her
+impotence, and myriads of hateful impressions were thus accumulated in
+her heart, to be summed up in one of those frenzies of taciturn rancor
+which bursts on the first opportunity with terrifying energy. Crime
+itself has its laws of development. Between the pretty little girl who
+wept on seeing a new toy in her brother’s hand and the Lydia Maitland,
+forcer of locks, author of anonymous letters, driven by the thirst for
+vengeance, even to villainy, no dramatic revolution of character had
+taken place. The logical succession of days had sufficed.
+
+The occasion to gratify that deep and mortal longing to touch Lincoln
+on some point truly sensitive, how often Lydia had sought it in vain,
+before Madame Steno obtained an ascendancy over the painter. She had
+been reduced by it to those meannesses of feminine animosity to manage,
+as if accidentally, that her husband might read all the disagreeable
+articles written about his paintings, innocently to praise before him
+the rivals who had given him offense, to repeat to him with an air
+of embarrassment the slightest criticisms pronounced on one of his
+exhibits--all the unpleasantnesses which had the result of irritating
+Florent, above all, for Maitland was one of those artists too well
+satisfied with the results of his own work for the opinion of others
+to annoy him very much. On the other hand, before the passion for the
+dogaresse had possessed him, he had never loved. Many painters are thus,
+satisfying with magnificent models an impetuosity of temperament which
+does not mount from the senses to the heart. Accustomed to regard the
+human form from a certain point, they find in beauty, which would
+appear to us simply animal, principles of plastic emotion which at
+times suffice for their amorous requirements. They are only more deeply
+touched by it, when to that rather coarse intoxication is joined, in
+the woman who inspires them, the refined graces of mind, the delicacy of
+elegance and the subtleties of sentiment.
+
+Such was Madame Steno, who at once inspired the painter with a passion
+as complete as a first love. It was really such. The Countess, who was
+possessed of the penetration of voluptuousness, was not mistaken there.
+Lydia, who was possessed of the penetration of hatred, was not mistaken
+either. She knew from the first day how matters stood in the beginning,
+because she was as observing as she was dissimulating; then, thanks
+to means less hypothetic, she had always had the habit of making those
+abominable inquiries which are natural, we venture to avow, to nine
+women out of ten! And how many men are women, too, on this point, as
+said the fabulist. At school Lydia was one of those who ascended to the
+dormitory, or who reentered the study to rummage in the cupboards and
+open trunks of her companions. When mature, never had a sealed letter
+passed through her hands without her having ingeniously managed to read
+through the envelope, or at least to guess from the postmark, the seal,
+the handwriting of the address, who was the author of it. The instinct
+of curiosity was so strong that she could not refrain, at a telegraph
+office, from glancing over the shoulders of the persons before her, to
+learn the contents of their despatches. She never had her hair dressed
+or made her toilette without minutely questioning her maid as to the
+goings-on in the pantry and the antechamber. It was through a story of
+that kind that she learned the altercation between Florent and Gorka in
+the vestibule, which proves, between parentheses, that these espionages
+by the aid of servants are often efficacious. But they reveal a native
+baseness, which will not recoil before any piece of villainy.
+
+When Madame Maitland suspected the liaison of Madame Steno and her
+husband, she no more hesitated to open the latter’s secretary than she
+later hesitated to open the desk of her brother. The correspondence
+which she read in that way was of a nature which exasperated her
+desire for vengeance almost to frenzy. For not only did she acquire the
+evidence of a happiness shared by them which humiliated in her the woman
+barren in all senses of the word, a stranger to voluptuousness as well
+as to maternity, but she gathered from it numerous proofs that the
+Countess cherished, with regard to her, a scorn of race as absolute
+as if Venice had been a city of the United States.... That part of the
+Adriatic abounds in prejudices of blood, as do all countries which serve
+as confluents for every nation. It is sufficient to convince one’s self
+of it, to have heard a Venetian treat of the Slavs as ‘Cziavoni’, and
+the Levantines as ‘Gregugni’.
+
+Madame Steno, in those letters she had written with all the familiarity
+and all the liberty of passion, never called Lydia anything but La
+Morettina, and by a very strange illogicalness never was the name of the
+brother of La Morettina mentioned without a formula of friendship.
+As the mistress treated Florent in that manner, it must be that she
+apprehended no hostility on the part of her lover’s brother-in-law.
+Lydia understood it only too well, as well as the fresh proof of
+Florent’s sentiments for Lincoln. Once more he gave precedence to the
+friend over the sister, and on what an occasion! The most secret wounds
+in her inmost being bled as she read. The success of Alba’s portrait,
+which promised to be a masterpiece, ended by precipitating her into a
+fierce and abominable action. She resolved to denounce Madame Steno’s
+new love to the betrayed lover, and she wrote the twelve letters, wisely
+calculated and graduated, which had indeed determined Gorka’s return.
+His return had even been delayed too long to suit the relative of Iago,
+who had decided to aim at Madame Steno through Alba by a still more
+criminal denunciation. Lydia was in that state of exasperation in which
+the vilest weapons seem the best, and she included innocent Alba in her
+hatred for Maitland, on account of the portrait, a turn of sentiment
+which will show that it was envy by which that soul was poisoned above
+all. Ah, what bitter delight the simultaneous success of that double
+infamy had procured for her! What savage joy, mingled with bitterness
+and ecstacy, had been hers the day before, on witnessing the nervousness
+of poor Alba and the suppressed fury of Boleslas!
+
+In her mind she had seen Maitland provoked by the rival whom she knew to
+be as adroit with the sword as with the pistol. She would not have been
+the great-grandchild of a slave of Louisiana, if she had not combined
+with the natural energy of her hatreds a considerable amount of
+superstition. A fortune-teller had once foretold, from the lines in her
+palm, that she would cause the violent death of some person. “It will be
+he,” she had thought, glancing at her husband with a horrible tremor
+of hope.... And now she had the proof, the indisputable proof, that her
+plot for vengeance was to terminate in the danger of another. Of what
+other?
+
+The letter and will made by Florent disclosed to her the threat of a
+fatal duel suspended over the head which was the dearest to her. So she
+had driven to a tragical encounter the only being whom she loved.... The
+disappointment of the heart in which palpitated the wild energies of a
+bestial atavism was so sudden, so acute, so dolorous, that she uttered
+an inarticulate cry, leaning upon her brother’s desk, and, in the face
+of those sheets of paper which had revealed so much, she repeated:
+
+“He is going to fight a duel! He!... And I am the cause!”.... Then,
+returning the letters and the will to the drawer, she closed it and
+rose, saying aloud:
+
+“No. It shall not be. I will prevent it, if I have to cast myself
+between them. I do not wish it! I do not wish it!”
+
+It was easy to utter such words. But the execution of them was less
+easy. Lydia knew it, for she had no sooner uttered that vow than she
+wrung her hands in despair--those weak hands which Madame Steno compared
+in one of her letters to the paws of a monkey, the fingers were so
+supple and so long--and she uttered this despairing cry: “But how?”....
+which so many criminals have uttered before the issue, unexpected and
+fatal to them, of their shrewdest calculations. The poet has sung it in
+the words which relate the story of all our faults, great and small:
+
+     “The gods are just, and of our pleasant vices
+     Make instruments to plague us.”
+
+It is necessary that the belief in the equity of an incomprehensible
+judge be well grounded in us, for the strongest minds are struck by a
+sinister apprehension when they have to brave the chance of a misfortune
+absolutely merited. The remembrance of the soothsayer’s prediction
+suddenly occurred to Lydia. She uttered another cry, rubbing her hands
+like a somnambulist. She saw her brother’s blood flowing.... No,
+the duel should not take place! But how to prevent it? How-how? she
+repeated. Florent was not at home. She could, therefore, not implore
+him. If he should return, would there still be time? Lincoln was not at
+home. Where was he? Perhaps at a rendezvous with Madame Steno.
+
+The image of that handsome idol of love clasped in the painter’s arms,
+plunged in the abyss of intoxication which her ardent letters described,
+was presented to the mind of the jealous wife. What irony to perceive
+thus those two lovers, whom she had wished to strike, with the ecstacy
+of bliss in their eyes! Lydia would have liked to tear out their eyes,
+his as well as hers, and to trample them beneath her heel. A fresh flood
+of hatred filled her heart. God! how she hated them, and with what
+a powerless hatred! But her time would come; another need pressed
+sorely--to prevent the meeting of the following day, to save her
+brother. To whom should she turn, however? To Dorsenne? To Montfanon?
+To Baron Hafner? To Peppino Ardea? She thought by turns of the four
+personages whose almost simultaneous visits had caused her to believe
+that they were the seconds of the two champions. She rejected them,
+one after the other, comprehending that none of them possessed enough
+authority to arrange the affair. Her thoughts finally reverted to
+Florent’s adversary, to Boleslas Gorka, whose wife was her friend and
+whom she had always found so courteous. What if she should ask him to
+spare her brother? It was not Florent against whom the discarded lover
+bore a grudge. Would he not be touched by her tears? Would he not tell
+her what had led to the quarrel and what she should ask of her brother
+that the quarrel might be conciliated? Could she not obtain from him
+the promise to discharge his weapon in the air, if the duel was with
+pistols, or, if it was with swords, simply to disarm his enemy?
+
+Like nearly all persons unversed in the art, she believed in infallible
+fencers, in marksmen who never missed their aim, and she had also ideas
+profoundly, absolutely inexact on the relations of one man with another
+in the matter of an insult. But how can women admit that inflexible
+rigor in certain cases, which forms the foundation of manly relations,
+when they themselves allow of a similar rigor neither in their arguments
+with men, nor in their discussions among themselves? Accustomed always
+to appeal from convention to instinct and from reason to sentiment, they
+are, in the face of certain laws, be they those of justice or of honor,
+in a state of incomprehension worse than ignorance. A duel, for example,
+appears to them like an arbitrary drama, which the wish of one of those
+concerned can change at his fancy. Ninety-nine women out of a hundred
+would think like Lydia Maitland of hastening to the adversary of the man
+they love, to demand, to beg for his life. Let us add, however, that the
+majority would not carry out that thought. They would confine
+themselves to sewing in the vest of their beloved some blessed medal,
+in recommending him to the Providence, which, for them, is still the
+favoritism of heaven. Lydia felt that if ever Florent should learn of
+her step with regard to Gorka, he would be very indignant. But who would
+tell him? She was agitated by one of those fevers of fear and of remorse
+which are too acute not to act, cost what it might. Her carriage was
+announced, and she entered it, giving the address of the Palazzetto
+Doria. In what terms should she approach the man to whom she was about
+to pay that audacious and absurd visit? Ah, what mattered it? The
+circumstances would inspire her. Her desire to cut short the duel was so
+strong that she did not doubt of success.
+
+She was greatly disappointed when the footman at the palace told
+her that the Count had gone out, while at the same moment a voice
+interrupted him with a gay laugh. It was Countess Maud Gorka, who,
+returning from her walk with her little boy, recognized Lydia’s coup,
+and who said to her:
+
+“What a lucky idea I had of returning a little sooner. I see you were
+afraid of a storm, as you drove out in a closed carriage. Will you come
+upstairs a moment?” And, perceiving that the young woman, whose hand she
+had taken, was trembling: “What ails you? I should think you were ill!
+You do not feel well? My God, what ails her! She is ill, Luc,” she
+added, turning to her son; “run to my room and bring me the large bottle
+of English salts; Rose knows which one. Go, go quickly.”
+
+“It is nothing,” replied Lydia, who had indeed closed her eyes as if on
+the point of swooning. “See, I am better already. I think I will return
+home; it will be wiser.”
+
+“I shall not leave you,” said Maud, seating herself, too, in the
+carriage; and, as they handed her the bottle of salts, she made Madame
+Maitland inhale it, talking to her the while as to a sick child: “Poor
+little thing!”
+
+“How her cheeks burn! And you pay visits in this state. It is very
+venturesome! Rue Leopardi,” she called to the coachman, “quickly.”
+
+The carriage rolled away, and Madame Gorka continued to press the tiny
+hands of Lydia, to whom she gave the tender name, so ironical under the
+circumstances, of “Poor little one!” Maud was one of those women like
+whom England produces many, for the honor of that healthy and robust
+British civilization, who are at once all energy and all goodness. As
+large and stout as Lydia was slender, she would rather have borne her to
+her bed in her vigorous arms than to have abandoned her in the troubled
+state in which she had surprised her. Not less practical and, as her
+compatriots say, as matter-of-fact as she was charitable, she began to
+question her friend on the symptoms which had preceded that attack, when
+with astonishment she saw that altered face contract, tears gushing from
+the closed eyes, and the fragile form convulsed by sobs. Lydia had
+a nervous attack caused by anxiety, by the fresh disappointment of
+Boleslas’s absence from home, and no doubt, too, by the gentleness with
+which Maud addressed her, and tearing her handkerchief with her white
+teeth, she moaned:
+
+“No, I am not ill. But it is that thought which I can not bear. No, I
+can not. Ah, it is maddening!” And turning toward her companion, she in
+her turn pressed her hands, saying: “But you know nothing! You suspect
+nothing! It is that which maddens me, when I see you tranquil, calm,
+happy, as if the minutes were not valuable, every one, to-day, to you as
+well as to me. For if one is my brother, the other is your husband; and
+you love him. You must love him, to have pardoned him for what you have
+pardoned him.”
+
+She had spoken in a sort of delirium, brought about by her extreme
+nervous excitement, and she had uttered, she, usually so dissembling,
+her very deepest thought. She did not think she was giving Madame Gorka
+any information by that allusion, so direct, to the liaison of Boleslas
+with Madame Steno. She was persuaded, as was entire Rome, that Maud knew
+of her husband’s infidelities, and that she tolerated them by one of
+those heroic sacrifices which maternity justifies. How many women have
+immolated thus their wifely pride to maintain the domestic relation
+which the father shall at least not desert officially! All Rome was
+mistaken, and Lydia Maitland was to have an unexpected proof. Not a
+suspicion that such an intrigue could unite her husband with the mother
+of her best friend had ever entered the thoughts of Boleslas’s wife.
+But to account for that, it is necessary to admit, as well, and
+to comprehend the depth of innocence of which, notwithstanding her
+twenty-six years, the beautiful and healthy Englishwoman, with her eyes
+so clear, so frank, was possessed.
+
+She was one of those persons who command the respect of the boldest of
+men, and before whom the most dissolute women exercised care. She might
+have seen the freedom of Madame Steno without being disillusioned. She
+had only a liking for acquaintances and positive conversation. She was
+very intellectual, but without any desire to study character.
+
+Dorsenne said of her, with more justness than he thought: “Madame
+Boleslas Gorka is married to a man who has never been presented to her,”
+ meaning by that, that first of all she had no idea of her husband’s
+character, and then of the treason of which she was the victim. However,
+the novelist was not altogether right. Boleslas’s infidelity was of too
+long standing for the woman passionately, religiously loyal, who was his
+wife, not to have suffered by it. But there was an abyss between such
+sufferings and the intuition of a determined fact such as that which
+Lydia had just mentioned, and such a suspicion was so far from Maud’s
+thoughts that her companion’s words only aroused in her astonishment
+at the mysterious danger of which Lydia’s troubles was a proof more
+eloquent still than her words.
+
+“Your brother? My husband?” she said. “I do not understand you.”
+
+“Naturally,” replied Lydia, “he has hidden all from you, as Florent
+hid all from me. Well! They are going to fight a duel, and to-morrow
+morning.... Do not tremble, in your turn,” she continued, twining her
+arms around Maud Gorka. “We shall be two to prevent the terrible affair,
+and we shall prevent it.”
+
+“A duel? To-morrow morning?” repeated Maud, in affright. “Boleslas
+fights to-morrow with your brother? No, it is impossible. Who told you
+so? How do you know it?”
+
+“I read the proof of it with my eyes,” replied Lydia. “I read Florent’s
+will. I read the letter which he prepared for Maitland and for me in
+case of accident....”
+
+“Should I be in the state in which you see me if it were not true?”
+
+“Oh, I believe you!” cried Maud, pressing her hands to her eyelids, as
+if to shut out a horrible sight. “But where can they be seen? Boleslas
+has been here scarcely any of the time for two days. What is there
+between them? What have they said to one another? One does not risk
+one’s life for nothing when he has, like Boleslas, a wife and a son.
+Answer me, I conjure you. Tell me all. I desire to know all. What is
+there at the bottom of this duel?”
+
+“What could there be but a woman?” interrupted Lydia, who put into
+the two last words more savage scorn than if she had publicly spit in
+Caterina Steno’s face. But that fresh access of anger fell before the
+surprise caused her by Madame Gorka’s reply.
+
+“What woman? I understand you still less than I did just now.”
+
+“When we are at home I will speak,”.... replied Lydia, after having
+looked at Maud with a surprised glance, which was in itself the most
+terrible reply. The two women were silent. It was Maud who now required
+the sympathy of friendship, so greatly had the words uttered by Lydia
+startled her. The companion whose arm rested upon hers in that carriage,
+and who had inspired her with such pity fifteen minutes before, now
+rendered her fearful. She seemed to be seated by the side of another
+person. In the creature whose thin nostrils were dilated with passion,
+whose mouth was distorted with bitterness, whose eyes sparkled with
+anger, she no longer recognized little Madame Maitland, so taciturn, so
+reserved that she was looked upon as insignificant. What had that voice,
+usually so musical, told her; that voice so suddenly become harsh,
+and which had already revealed to her the great danger suspended over
+Boleslas? To what woman had that voice alluded, and what meant that
+sudden reticence?
+
+Lydia was fully aware of the grief into which she would plunge Maud
+without the slightest premeditation. For a moment she thought it almost
+a crime to say more to a woman thus deluded. But at the same time she
+saw in the revelation two certain results. In undeceiving Madame Gorka
+she made a mortal enemy for Madame Steno, and, on the other hand, never
+would the woman so deeply in love with her husband allow him to fight
+for a former mistress. So, when they both entered the small salon of
+the Moorish mansion, Lydia’s resolution was taken. She was determined to
+conceal nothing of what she knew from unhappy Maud, who asked her, with
+a beating heart, and in a voice choked by emotion:
+
+“Now, will you explain to me what you want to say?”
+
+“Question me,” replied the other; “I will answer you. I have gone too
+far to draw back.”
+
+“You claimed that a woman was the cause of the duel between your brother
+and my husband?”
+
+“I am sure of it,” replied Lydia.
+
+“What is that woman’s name?”
+
+“Madame Steno.”
+
+“Madame Steno?” repeated Maud. “Catherine Steno is the cause of that
+duel? How?”
+
+“Because she is my husband’s mistress,” replied Lydia, brutally;
+“because she has been your husband’s, because Gorka came here, mad
+with jealousy, to provoke Lincoln, and because he met my brother, who
+prevented him from entering.... They quarrelled, I know not in what
+manner. But I know the cause of the duel.... Am I right, yes or no, in
+telling you they are to fight about that woman?”
+
+“My husband’s mistress?” cried Maud. “You say Madame Steno has been my
+husband’s mistress? It is not true. You lie! You lie! You lie! I do not
+believe it.”
+
+“You do not believe me?” said Lydia, shrugging her shoulders. “As if I
+had the least interest in deceiving you; as if one would lie when the
+life of the only being one loves in the world is in the balance! For
+I have only my brother, and perhaps to-morrow I shall no longer have
+him.... But you shall believe me. I desire that we both hate that woman,
+that we both be avenged upon her, as we both do not wish the duel to
+take place--the duel of which, I repeat, she is the cause, the sole
+cause.... You do not believe me? Do you know what caused your husband to
+return? You did not expect him; confess! It was I--I, do you hear--who
+wrote him what Steno and Lincoln were doing; day after day I wrote about
+their love, their meetings, their bliss. Ah, I was sure it would not be
+in vain, and he returned. Is that a proof?”
+
+“You did not do that?” cried Madame Gorka, recoiling with horror. “It
+was infamous.”
+
+“Yes, I did it,” replied Lydia, with savage pride, “and why not? It was
+my right when she took my husband from me. You have only to return and
+to look in the place where Gorka keeps his letters. You will certainly
+find those I wrote, and others, I assure you, from that woman. For she
+has a mania for letter-writing.... Do you believe me now, or will you
+repeat that I have lied?”
+
+“Never,” returned Maud, with sorrowful indignation upon her lovely,
+loyal face, “no, never will I descend to such baseness.”
+
+“Well, I will descend for you,” said Lydia. “What you do not dare to
+do, I will dare, and you will ask me to aid you in being avenged. Come,”
+ and, seizing the hand of her stupefied companion, she drew her into
+Lincoln’s studio, at that moment unoccupied. She approached one of those
+Spanish desks, called baygenos, and she touched two small panels, which
+disclosed, on opening, a secret drawer, in which were a package
+of letters, which she seized. Maud Gorka watched her with the same
+terrified horror with which she would have seen some one killed and
+robbed. That honorable soul revolted at the scene in which her mere
+presence made of her an accomplice. But at the same time she was a prey,
+as had been her husband several days before, to that maddening appetite
+to know the truth, which becomes, in certain forms of doubt, a physical
+need, as imperious as hunger and thirst, and she listened to Florent’s
+sister, who continued:
+
+“Will it be a proof when you have seen the affair written in her own
+hand? Yes,” she continued, with cruel irony, “she loves correspondence,
+our fortunate rival. Justice must be rendered her that she may make no
+more avowals. She writes as she feels. It seems that the successor was
+jealous of his predecessor.... See, is this a proof this time?”....
+And, after having glanced at the first letters as a person familiar with
+them, she handed one of those papers to Maud, who had not the courage to
+avert her eyes. What she saw written upon that sheet drew from her a cry
+of anguish. She had, however, only read ten lines, which proved how
+much mistaken psychological Dorsenne was in thinking that Maitland
+was ignorant of the former relations between his mistress and Gorka.
+Countess Steno’s grandeur, that which made a courageous woman almost a
+heroine in her passions, was an absolute sincerity and disgust for the
+usual pettiness of flirtations. She would have disdained to deny to a
+new lover the knowledge of her past, and the semiavowals, so common to
+women, would have seemed to her a cowardice still worse. She had not
+essayed to hide from Maitland what connection she had broken off for
+him, and it was upon one of those phrases, in which she spoke of it
+openly, that Madame Gorka’s eyes fell:
+
+“You will be pleased with me,” she wrote, “and I shall no longer see in
+your dear blue eyes which I kiss, as I love them, that gleam of mistrust
+which troubles me. I have stopped the correspondence with Gorka. If you
+require it, I will even break with Maud, notwithstanding the reason you
+know of and which will render it difficult for me. But how can you be
+jealous yet?... Is not my frankness with regard to that liaison the
+surest guarantee that it is ended? Come, do not be jealous. Listen to
+what I know so well, that I felt I loved, and that my life began only
+on the day when you took me in your arms. The woman you have awakened in
+me, no one has known--”
+
+“She writes well, does she not?” said Lydia, with a gleam of savage
+triumph in her eyes. “Do you believe me, now?... Do you see that we have
+the same interest to-day, a common affront to avenge? And we will avenge
+it.... Do you understand that you can not allow your husband to fight a
+duel with my brother? You owe that to me who have given you this weapon
+by which you hold him.... Threaten him with a divorce. Fortune is with
+you. The law will give you your child. I repeat, you hold him firmly.
+You will prevent the duel, will you not?”
+
+“Ah! What do you think it matters to me now if they fight or not?” said
+Maud. “From the moment he deceived me was I not widowed? Do not approach
+me,” she added, looking at Lydia with wild eyes, while a shudder of
+repulsion shook her entire frame.... “Do not speak to me.... I have as
+much horror of you as of him.... Let me go, let me leave here.... Even
+to feel myself in the same room with you fills me with horror.... Ah,
+what disgrace!”
+
+She retreated to the door, fixing upon her informant a gaze which the
+other sustained, notwithstanding the scorn in it, with the gloomy pride
+of defiance. She went out repeating: “Ah, what disgrace!” without Lydia
+having addressed her, so greatly had surprise at the unexpected result
+of all her attempts paralyzed her. But the formidable creature lost no
+time in regret and repentance. She paused a few moments to think. Then,
+crushing in her nervous hand the letter she had shown Maud, at the risk
+of being discovered by her husband later, she said aloud:
+
+“Coward! Lord, what a coward she is! She loves. She will pardon. Will
+there, then, be no one to aid me? No one to smite them in their insolent
+happiness.” After meditating awhile, her face still more contracted,
+she placed the letter in the drawer, which she closed again, and half
+an hour later she summoned a commissionaire, to whom she intrusted a
+letter, with the order to deliver it immediately, and that letter was
+addressed to the inspector of police of the district. She informed him
+of the intended duel, giving him the names of the two adversaries and of
+the four seconds. If she had not been afraid of her brother, she would
+even that time have signed her name.
+
+“I should have gone to work that way at first,” said she to herself,
+when the door of the small salon closed behind the messenger to whom
+she had given her order personally. “The police know how to prevent
+them from fighting, even if I do not succeed with Florent.... As for
+him?”.... and she looked at a portrait of Maitland upon the desk at
+which she had just been writing. “Were I to tell him what is taking
+place.... No, I will ask nothing of him.... I hate him too much.”....
+And she concluded with a fierce smile, which disclosed her teeth at the
+corners of her mouth:
+
+“It is all the same. It is necessary that Maud Gorka work with me
+against her. There is some one whom she will not pardon, and that
+is.... Madame Steno.” And, in spite of her uneasiness, the wicked woman
+trembled with delight at the thought of her work.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VIII. ON THE GROUND
+
+When Maud Gorka left the house on the Rue Leopardi she walked on at
+first rapidly, blindly, without seeing, without hearing anything, like
+a wounded animal which runs through the thicket to escape danger, to
+escape its wounds, to escape itself. It was a little more than half-past
+three o’clock when the unhappy woman hastened from the studio, unable to
+bear near her the presence of Lydia Maitland, of that sinister worker
+of vengeance who had so cruelly revealed to her, with such indisputable
+proofs, the atrocious affair, the long, the infamous, the inexpiable
+treason.
+
+It was almost six o’clock before Maud Gorka really regained
+consciousness. A very common occurrence aroused her from the
+somnambulism of suffering in which she had wandered for two hours. The
+storm which had threatened since noon at length broke. Maud, who had
+scarcely heeded the first large drops, was forced to seek shelter when
+the clouds suddenly burst, and she took refuge at the right extremity
+of the colonnade of St. Peter’s. How had she gone that far? She did not
+know herself precisely. She remembered vaguely that she had wandered
+through a labyrinth of small streets, had crossed the Tiber--no doubt by
+the Garibaldi bridge--had passed through a large garden--doubtless the
+Janicule, since she had walked along a portion of the ramparts. She
+had left the city by the Porte de Saint-Pancrace, to follow by that of
+Cavallegieri the sinuous line of the Urban walls.
+
+That corner of Rome, with a view of the pines of the Villa Pamfili on
+one side, and on the other the back part of the Vatican, serves as a
+promenade during the winter for the few cardinals who go in search of
+the afternoon sun, certain there of meeting only a few strangers. In the
+month of May it is a desert, scorched by the sun, which glows upon
+the brick, discolored by two centuries of that implacable heat which
+caresses the scales of the green and gray lizards about to crawl between
+the bees of Pope Urbain VIII’s escutcheon of the Barberini family.
+Madame Gorka’s instinct had at least served her in leading her upon a
+route on which she met no one. Now the sense of reality returned. She
+recognized the objects around her, and that framework, so familiar to
+her piety of fervent Catholicism, the enormous square, the obelisk of
+Sixte-Quint in the centre, the fountains, the circular portico crowned
+with bishops and martyrs, the palace of the Vatican at the corner, and
+yonder the facade of the large papal cathedral, with the Saviour and the
+apostles erect upon the august pediment.
+
+On any other occasion in life the pious young woman would have seen in
+the chance which led her thither, almost unconsciously, an influence
+from above, an invitation to enter the church, there to ask the strength
+to suffer of the God who said: “Let him who wishes follow me, let him
+renounce all, let him take up his cross and follow me!” But she was
+passing through that first bitter paroxysm of grief in which it is
+impossible to pray, so greatly does the revolt of nature cry out within
+us. Later, we may recognize the hand of Providence in the trial imposed
+upon us. We see at first only the terrible injustice of fate, and we
+tremble in the deepest recesses of our souls with rebellion at the blow
+from which we bleed. That which rendered the rebellion more invincible
+and more fierce in Maud, was the suddenness of the mortal blow.
+
+Daily some pure, honest woman, like her, acquires the proof of the
+treason of a husband whom she has not ceased to love. Ordinarily,
+the indisputable proof is preceded by a long period of suspicion. The
+faithless one neglects his hearth. A change takes place in his daily
+habits. Various hints reveal to the outraged wife the trace of a rival,
+which woman’s jealousy distinguishes with a scent as certain as that of
+a dog which finds a stranger in the house. And, finally, although there
+is in the transition from doubt to certainty a laceration of the heart,
+it is at least the laceration of a heart prepared. That preparation,
+that adaptation, so to speak, of her soul to the truth, Maud had been
+deprived of. The care taken by Madame Steno to strengthen the friendship
+between her and Alba had suppressed the slightest signs. Boleslas had
+no need to change his domestic life in order to see his mistress at
+his convenience and in an intimacy entertained, provoked, by his wife
+herself. The wife, too, had been totally, absolutely deceived. She
+had assisted in her husband’s adultery with one of those illusions so
+complete that it seemed improbable to the indifferent and to strangers.
+The awakening from such illusions is the most terrible. That man whom
+society considered a complaisant husband, that woman who seemed so
+indulgent a wife, suddenly find that they have committed a murder or
+a suicide, to the great astonishment of the world which, even then,
+hesitates to recognize in that access of folly the proof, the blow, more
+formidable, more instantaneous in its ravages, than those of love-sudden
+disillusion. When the disaster is not interrupted by acts of violence,
+it causes an irreparable destruction of the youthfulness of the soul, it
+is the idea instilled in us forever that all can betray, since we have
+been betrayed in that manner. It is for years, for life, sometimes, that
+powerlessness to be affected, to hope, to believe, which caused Maud
+Gorka to remain, on that afternoon, leaning against the pedestal of a
+column, watching the rain fall, instead of ascending to the Basilica,
+where the confessional offers pardon for all sins and the remedy for all
+sorrows. Alas! It was consolation simply to kneel there, and the poor
+woman was only in the first stage of Calvary.
+
+She watched the rain fall, and she found a savage comfort in the
+formidable character of the storm, which seemed like a cataclysm of
+nature, to such degree did the flash of the lightning and the roar of
+the thunder mingle with the echoes of the vast palace beneath the lash
+of the wind. Forms began to take shape in her mind, after the whirlwind
+of blind suffering in which she felt herself borne away after the first
+glance cast upon that fatal letter. Each word rose before her eyes, so
+feverish that she closed them with pain. The last two years of her life,
+those which had bound her to Countess Steno, returned to her thoughts,
+illuminated by a brilliance which drew from her constantly these words,
+uttered with a moan: How could he? She saw Venice and their sojourn in
+the villa to which Boleslas had conducted her after the death of their
+little girl, in order that there, in the restful atmosphere of the
+lagoon, she might overcome the keen paroxysm of pain.
+
+How very kind and delicate Madame Steno had been at that time; at least
+how kind she had seemed, and how delicate likewise, comprehending her
+grief and sympathizing with it.... Their superficial relations had
+gradually ripened into friendship. Then, no doubt, the treason had
+begun. The purloiner of love had introduced herself under cover of the
+pity in which Maud had believed. Seeing the Countess so generous, she
+had treated as calumny the slander of the world relative to a person
+capable of such touching kindness of heart. And it was at that moment
+that the false woman took Boleslas from her! A thousand details recurred
+to her which at the time she had not understood; the sails of the two
+lovers in the gondola, which she had not even thought of suspecting; a
+visit which Boleslas had made to Piove and from which he only returned
+the following day, giving as a pretext a missed train; words uttered
+aside on the balcony of the Palais Steno at night, while she talked with
+Alba. Yes, it was at Venice that their adultery began, before her who
+had divined nothing, her whose heart was filled with inconsolable
+regret for her lost darling! Ah, how could he? she moaned again, and the
+visions multiplied.
+
+In her mind were then opened all the windows which Gorka’s perfidity
+and the Countess’s as well, had sealed with such care. She saw again
+the months which followed their return to Rome, and that mode of life
+so convenient for both. How often had she walked out with Alba, thus
+freeing the mother and the husband from the only surveillance annoying
+to them. What did the lovers do during those hours? How many times on
+returning to the Palazzetto Doria had she found Catherine Steno in the
+library, seated on the divan beside Boleslas, and she had not mistrusted
+that the woman had come, during her absence, to embrace that man, to
+talk to him of love, to give herself to him, without doubt, with the
+charm of villainy and of danger! She remembered the episode of their
+meeting at Bayreuth the previous summer, when she went to England alone
+with her son, and when her husband undertook to conduct Alba and the
+Countess from Rome to Bavaria. They had all met at Nuremberg. The
+apartments of the hotel in which the meeting took place became again
+very vivid in Maud’s memory, with Madame Steno’s bedroom adjoining that
+of Boleslas’s.
+
+The vision of their caresses, enjoyed in the liberty of the night, while
+innocent Alba slept near by, and when she rolled away in a carriage with
+little Luc, drew from her this cry once more: “Ah, how could he!”....
+And immediately that vision awoke in her the remembrance of her
+husband’s recent return. She saw him traversing Europe on the receipt
+of an anonymous letter, to reach that woman’s side twenty-four hours
+sooner. What a proof of passion was the frenzy which had not allowed him
+any longer to bear doubt and absence!... Did he love the mistress who
+did not even love him, since she had deceived him with Maitland? And he
+was going to fight a duel on her account!... Jealousy, at that
+moment, wrung the wife’s heart with a pang still stronger than that of
+indignation. She, the strong Englishwoman, so large, so robust, almost
+masculine in form, mentally compared herself with the supple Italian
+with her form so round, with her gestures so graceful, her hands so
+delicate, her feet so dainty; compared herself with the creature of
+desire, whose every movement implied a secret wave of passion, and she
+ceased her cry--“Ah, how could he?”--at once. She had a clear knowledge
+of the power of her rival.
+
+It is indeed a supreme agony for an honorable woman, who loves, to
+feel herself thus degraded by the mere thought of the intoxication
+her husband has tasted in arms more beautiful, more caressing, more
+entwining than hers. It was, too, a signal for the return of will to the
+tortured but proud soul. Disgust possessed her, so violent, so complete,
+for the atmosphere of falsehood and of sensuality in which Boleslas had
+lived two years, that she drew herself up, becoming again strong and
+implacable. Braving the storm, she turned in the direction of her
+home, with this resolution as firmly rooted in her mind as if she had
+deliberated for months and months.
+
+“I will not remain with that man another day. Tomorrow I will leave for
+England with my son.”
+
+How many, in a similar situation, have uttered such vows, to abjure them
+when they find themselves face to face with the man who has betrayed
+them, and whom they love. Maud was not of that order. Certainly she
+loved dearly the seductive Boleslas, wedded against her parents’ will
+the perfidious one for whom she had sacrificed all, living far from her
+native land and her family for years, because it pleased him, breathing,
+living, only for him and for their boy. But there was within her--as
+her long, square chin, her short nose and the strength of her brow
+revealed--the force of inflexibility--which is met with in characters
+of an absolute uprightness. Love, with her, could be stifled by disgust,
+or, rather, she considered it degrading to continue to love one whom she
+scorned, and, at that moment, it was supreme scorn which reigned in her
+heart. She had, in the highest degree, the great virtue which is found
+wherever there is nobility, and of which the English have made the basis
+of their moral education--the religion, the fanaticism of loyalty. She
+had always grieved on discovering the wavering nature of Boleslas. But
+if she had observed in him, with sorrow, any exaggerations of language,
+any artificial sentiment, a dangerous suppleness of mind, she had
+pardoned him those defects with the magnanimity of love, attributing
+them to a defective training. Gorka at a very early age had witnessed
+a stirring family drama--his mother and his father lived apart, while
+neither the one nor the other had the exclusive guidance of the child.
+How could she find indulgence for the shameful hypocrisy of two years’
+standing, for the villainy of that treachery practised at the domestic
+hearth, for the continued, voluntary disloyalty of every day, every
+hour? Though Maud experienced, in the midst of her despair, the sort of
+calmness which proves a firm and just resolution, when she reentered the
+Palazzetto Doria--what a drama had been enacted in her heart since
+her going out!--and it was in a voice almost as calm as usual that she
+asked: “Is the Count at home?”
+
+What did she experience when the servant, after answering her in the
+affirmative, added: “Madame and Mademoiselle Steno, too, are awaiting
+Madame in the salon.” At the thought that the woman who had stolen from
+her her husband was there, the betrayed wife felt her blood boil, to use
+a common but expressive phrase. It was very natural that Alba’s mother
+should call upon her, as was her custom. It was still more natural for
+her to come there that day. For very probably a report of the duel
+the following day had reached her. Her presence, however, and at that
+moment, aroused in Maud a feeling of indignation so impassioned that
+her first impulse was to enter, to drive out Boleslas’s mistress as one
+would drive out a servant surprised thieving. Suddenly the thought of
+Alba presented itself to her mind, of that sweet and pure Alba, of that
+soul as pure as her name, of her whose dearest friend she was. Since the
+dread revelation she had thought several times of the young girl. But
+her deep sorrow having absorbed all the power of her soul, she had not
+been able to feel such friendship for the delicate and pretty child.
+At the thought of ejecting her rival, as she had the right to do, that
+sentiment stirred within her. A strange pity flooded her soul, which
+caused her to pause in the centre of the large hall, ornamented with
+statues and columns, which she was in the act of crossing. She called
+the servant just as he was about to put his hand on the knob of the
+door. The analogy between her situation and that of Alba struck her
+very forcibly. She experienced the sensation which Alba had so often
+experienced in connection with Fanny, sympathy with a sorrow so like
+her own. She could not give her hand to Madame Steno after what she had
+discovered, nor could she speak to her otherwise than to order her
+from her house. And to utter before Alba one single phrase, to make
+one single gesture which would arouse her suspicions, would be too
+implacable, too iniquitous a vengeance! She turned toward the door which
+led to her own room, bidding the servant ask his master to come thither.
+She had devised a means of satisfying her just indignation without
+wounding her dear friend, who was not responsible for the fact that the
+two culprits had taken shelter behind her innocence.
+
+Having entered the small, pretty boudoir which led into her bedroom, she
+seated herself at her desk, on which was a photograph of Madame Steno,
+in a group consisting of Boleslas, Alba, and herself. The photograph
+smiled with a smile of superb insolence, which suddenly reawakened in
+the outraged woman her frenzy of rancor, interrupted or rather suspended
+for several moments by pity. She took the frame in her hands, she cast
+it upon the ground, trampling the glass beneath her feet, then she began
+to write, on the first blank sheet, one of those notes which passion
+alone dares to pen, which does not draw back at every word:
+
+“I know all. For two years you have been my husband’s mistress. Do not
+deny it. I have read the confession written by your own hand. I do not
+wish to see nor to speak to you again. Never again set foot in my house.
+On account of your daughter I have not driven you out to-day. A second
+time I shall not hesitate.”
+
+She was just about to sign Maud Gorka, when the sound of the door
+opening and shutting caused her to turn. Boleslas was before her. Upon
+his face was an ambiguous expression, which exasperated the unhappy wife
+still more. Having returned more than an hour before, he had learned
+that Maud had accompanied to the Rue Leopardi Madame Maitland, who was
+ill, and he awaited her return with impatience, agitated by the thought
+that Florent’s sister was no doubt ill owing to the duel of the morrow,
+and in that case, Maud, too, would know all. There are conversations
+and, above all, adieux which a man who is about to fight a duel always
+likes to avoid. Although he forced a smile, he no longer doubted. His
+wife’s evident agitation could not be explained by any other cause.
+Could he divine that she had learned not only of the duel, but, too, of
+an intrigue that day ended and of which she had known nothing for two
+years? As she was silent, and as that silence embarrassed him, he tried,
+in order to keep him in countenance, to take her hand and kiss it, as
+was his custom. She repelled him with a look which he had never seen
+upon her face and said to him, handing him the sheet of paper lying
+before her:
+
+“Do you wish to read this note before I send it to Madame Steno, who is
+in the salon with her daughter?”
+
+Boleslas took the letter. He read the terrible lines, and he became
+livid. His agitation was so great that he returned the paper to his wife
+without replying, without attempting to prevent, as was his duty, the
+insult offered to his former mistress, whom he still loved to the point
+of risking his life for her. That man, so brave and so yielding at once,
+was overwhelmed by one of those surprises which put to flight all the
+powers of the mind, and he watched Maud slip the note into an envelope,
+write the address and ring. He heard her say to the servant:
+
+“You will take this note to Countess Steno and you will excuse me to the
+ladies.... I feel too indisposed to receive any one. If they insist,
+you will reply that I have forbidden you to admit any one. You
+understand--any one.”
+
+The man took the note. He left the room and he had no doubt fulfilled
+his errand while the husband and wife stood there, face to face, neither
+of them breaking the formidable silence. They felt that the hour was a
+solemn one.
+
+Never, since the day on which Cardinal Manning had united their
+destinies in the chapel of Ardrahan Castle, had they been engaged in
+a crisis so tragical. Such moments lay bare the very depths of the
+character. Courageous and noble, Maud did not think of weighing her
+words. She did not try to feed her jealousy, nor to accentuate the
+cruelty of the cause of the insult which she had the right to launch
+at the man toward whom that very morning she had been so confiding, so
+tender. The baseness and the cruelty were to remain forever unknown
+to the woman who no longer hesitated as to the bold resolution she
+had made. No. That which she expected of the man whom she had loved so
+dearly, of whom she had entertained so exalted an opinion, whom she had
+just seen fall so low, was a cry of truth, an avowal in which she would
+find the throb of a last remnant of honor. If he were silent it was not
+because he was preparing a denial. The tenor of Maud’s letter left no
+doubt as to the nature of the proofs she had in her hand, which she had
+there no doubt. How? He did not ask himself that question, governed as
+he was by a phenomenon in which was revealed to the full the singular
+complexity of his nature. The Slav’s especial characteristic is a
+prodigious, instantaneous nervousness. It seems that those beings with
+the uncertain hearts have a faculty of amplifying in themselves, to the
+point of absorbing the heart altogether, states of partial, passing, and
+yet sincere emotion. The intensity of their momentary excitement thus
+makes of them sincere comedians, who speak to you as if they felt
+certain sentiments of an exclusive order, to feel contradictory ones the
+day after, with the same ardor, with the same untruthfulness, unjustly
+say the victims of those natures, so much the more deceitful as they are
+more vibrating.
+
+He suffered, indeed, on discovering that Maud had been initiated into
+his criminal intrigue, but he suffered more for her than for himself. It
+was sufficient for that suffering to occupy a few moments, a few hours.
+It reinvested the personality of the impassioned and weak husband who
+loved his wife while betraying her. There was, indeed, a shade of it in
+his adventure, but a very slight shade. And yet, he did not think he was
+telling an untruth, when he finally broke the silence to say to her whom
+he had so long deceived:
+
+“You have avenged yourself with much severity, Maud, but you had the
+right.... I do not know who has informed you of an error which was very
+culpable, very wrong, very unfortunate, too.... I know that I have in
+Rome enemies bent upon my ruin, and I am sure they have left me no means
+of defending myself. I have deceived you, and I have suffered.”
+
+He paused after those words, uttered with a tremor of conviction which
+was not assumed. He had forgotten that ten minutes before he had entered
+the room with the firm determination to hide his duel and its cause from
+the woman for whose pardon he would at that moment have sacrificed his
+life without hesitation. He continued, in a voice softened by affection:
+“Whatever they have told you, whatever you have read, I swear to you,
+you do not know all.”
+
+“I know enough,” interrupted Maud, “since I know that you have been the
+lover of that woman, of the mother of my intimate friend, at my side,
+under my very eyes.... If you had suffered by that deception, as you
+say, you would not have waited to avow all to me until I held in my
+hands the undeniable proof of your infamy.... You have cast aside the
+mask, or, rather, I have wrested it from you.... I desire no more.... As
+for the details of the shameful story, spare me them. It was not to hear
+them that I reentered a house every corner of which reminds me that I
+believed in you implicitly, and that you have betrayed me, not one day,
+but every day; that you betrayed me the day before yesterday, yesterday,
+this morning, an hour ago.... I repeat, that is sufficient.”
+
+“But it is not sufficient for me!” exclaimed Boleslas. “Yes, all you
+have just said is true, and I deserve to have you tell it to me. But
+that which you could not read in those letters shown to you, that which
+I have kept for two years in the depths of my heart, and which must now
+be told--is that, through all these fatal impulses, I have never ceased
+to love you.... Ah, do not recoil from me, do not look at me thus.... I
+feel it once more in the agony I have suffered since you are speaking to
+me; there is something within me that has never ceased being yours.
+That woman has been my aberration. She has had my madness, my senses,
+my passion, all the evil instincts of my being.... You have remained my
+idol, my affection, my religion.... If I lied to you it was because I
+knew that the day on which you would find out my fault I should see you
+before me, despairing and implacable as you now are, as I can not bear
+to have you be. Ah, judge me, condemn me, curse me; but know, but feel,
+that in spite of all I have loved you, I still love you.”
+
+Again he spoke with an enthusiasm which was not feigned. Though he
+had deceived her, he recognized only too well the value of the loyal
+creature before him, whom he feared he should lose. If he could not move
+her at the moment when he was about to fight a duel, when could he
+move her? So he approached her with the same gesture of suppliant and
+impassioned adoration which he employed in the early days of their
+marriage, and before his treason, when he had told her of his love. No
+doubt that remembrance thrust itself upon Maud and disgusted her, for it
+was with veritable horror that she again recoiled, replying:
+
+“Be silent! That lie is the worst of all. It pains me. I blush for you,
+in seeing that you have not even the courage to acknowledge your fault.
+God is my witness, I should have respected you more, had you said: ‘I
+have ceased loving you. I have taken a mistress. It was convenient for
+me to lie to you. I have lied. I have sacrificed all to my passion, my
+honor, my duties, my vows and you.’.... Ah, speak to me like that, that
+I may have with you the sentiment of truth.... But that you dare
+to repeat to me words of tenderness after what you have done to me,
+inspires me with repulsion. It is too bitter.”
+
+“Yes,” said Boleslas, “you think thus. True and simple as you are, how
+could you have learned to understand what a weak will is--a will which
+wishes and which does not, which rises and which falls?... And yet, if
+I had not loved you, what interest would I have in lying to you? Have I
+anything to conceal now? Ah, if you knew in what a position I am, on the
+eve of what day, I beseech you to believe that at least the best part of
+my being has never ceased to be yours!”
+
+It was the strongest effort he could make to bring back the heart of his
+wife so deeply wounded--the allusion to his duel. For since she had not
+mentioned it to him, it was no doubt because she was still ignorant of
+it. He was once more startled by the reply she made, and which proved
+to him to what a degree indignation had paralyzed even her love. He
+resumed:
+
+“Do you know it?”
+
+“I know that you fight a duel to-morrow,” said she, “and for your
+mistress, I know, too.”
+
+“It is not true,” he exclaimed; “it is not for her.”
+
+“What?” asked Maud, energetically. “Was it not on her account that you
+went to the Rue Leopardi to provoke your rival? For she is not even true
+to you, and it is justice. Was it not on her account that you wished
+to enter the house, in spite of that rival’s brother-in-law, and that a
+dispute arose between you, followed by this challenge? Was it not on her
+account, and to revenge yourself, that you returned from Poland, because
+you had received anonymous letters which told you all? And to know all
+has not disgusted you forever with that creature?... But if she had
+deigned to lie to you, she would have you still at her feet, and you
+dare to tell me that you love me when you have not even cared to spare
+me the affront of learning all that villainy--all that baseness, all
+that disgrace--through some one else?”
+
+“Who was it?” he asked. “Name that Judas to me, at least?”
+
+“Do not speak thus,” interrupted Maud, bitterly; “you have lost the
+right.... And then do not seek too far.... I have seen Madame Maitland
+to-day.”
+
+“Madame Maitland?” repeated Boleslas. “Did Madame Maitland denounce me
+to you? Did Madame Maitland write those anonymous letters?”
+
+“She desired to be avenged,” replied Maud, adding: “She has the right,
+since your mistress robbed her of her husband.”
+
+“Well, I, too, will be avenged!” exclaimed the young man. “I will kill
+that husband for her, after I have killed her brother. I will kill them
+both, one after the other.”.... His mobile countenance, which had just
+expressed the most impassioned of supplications, now expressed only
+hatred and rage, and the same change took place in his immoderate
+sensibility. “Of what use is it to try to settle matters?” he continued.
+“I see only too well all is ended between us. Your pride and your rancor
+are stronger than your love. If it had been otherwise, you would have
+begged me not to fight, and you would only have reproached me, as you
+have the right to do, I do not deny.... But from the moment that you
+no longer love me, woe to him whom I find in my path! Woe to Madame
+Maitland and to those she loves!”
+
+“This time at least you are sincere,” replied Maud, with renewed
+bitterness. “Do you think I have not suffered sufficient humiliation?
+Would you like me to supplicate you not to fight for that creature?
+And do you not feel the supreme outrage which that encounter is to me?
+Moreover,” she continued with tragical solemnity, “I did not summon you
+to have with you a conversation as sad as it is useless, but to tell you
+my resolution.... I hope that you will not oblige me to resort for its
+execution to the means which the law puts in my power?”
+
+“I don’t deserve to be spoken to thus,” said Boleslas, haughtily.
+
+“I will remain here to-night,” resumed Maud, without heeding that reply,
+“for the last time. To-morrow evening I shall leave for England.”
+
+“You are free,” said he, with a bow.
+
+“And I shall take my son with me,” she added.
+
+“Our son!” he replied, with the composure of a man overcome by an access
+of tenderness and who controls himself. “That? No. I forbid it.”
+
+“You forbid it?” said she. “Very well, we will appeal it. I knew that
+you would force me,” she continued, haughtily, in her turn, “to have
+recourse to the law.... But I shall not recoil before anything. In
+betraying me as you have done, you have also betrayed our child. I will
+not leave him to you. You are not worthy of him.”
+
+“Listen, Maud,” said Boleslas, sadly, after a pause, “remember that it
+is perhaps the last time we shall meet.... To-morrow, if I am killed,
+you shall do as you like.... If I live, I promise to consent to any
+arrangement that will be just.... What I ask of you is--and I have the
+right, notwithstanding my faults--in the name of our early years of
+wedded life, in the name of that son himself, to leave me in a different
+way, to have a feeling, I don’t say of pardon, but of pity.”
+
+“Did you have it for me,” she replied, “when you were following your
+passion by way of my heart? No!”.... And she walked before him in order
+to reach the door, fixing upon him eyes so haughty that he involuntarily
+lowered his. “You have no longer a wife and I have no longer a
+husband.... I am no Madame Maitland; I do not avenge myself by means of
+anonymous letters nor by denunciation.... But to pardon you?... Never,
+do you hear, never!”
+
+With those words she left the room, with those words into which she put
+all the indomitable energy of her character.... Boleslas did not essay
+to detain her. When, an hour after that horrible conversation, his valet
+came to inform him that dinner was served, the wretched man was still
+in the same place, his elbow on the mantelpiece and his forehead in
+his hand. He knew Maud too well to hope that she would change her
+determination, and there was in him, in spite of his faults, his folly
+and his complications, too much of the real gentleman to employ means
+of violence and to detain her forcibly, when he had erred so gravely. So
+she went thus. If, just before, he had exaggerated the expression of his
+feelings in saying, in thinking rather, that he had never ceased loving
+her, it was true that amid all his errors he had maintained for her an
+affection composed particularly of gratitude, remorse, esteem and, it
+must be said, of selfishness.
+
+He loved for the devotion of which he was absolutely sure, and then,
+like many husbands who deceive an irreproachable wife, he was proud of
+her, while unfaithful to her. She seemed to him at once the dignity and
+the charity of his life. She had remained in his eyes the one to whom he
+could always return, the assured friend of moments of trial, the haven
+after the tempest, the moral peace when he was weary of the troubles of
+passion. What life would he lead when she was gone? For she would go!
+Her resolution was irrevocable. All dropped from his side at once. The
+mistress, to whom he had sacrificed the noblest and most loving heart,
+he had lost under circumstances as abject as their two years of passion
+had been dishonorable. His wife was about to leave him, and would he
+succeed in keeping his son? He had returned to be avenged, and he had
+not even succeeded in meeting his rival. That being so impressionable
+had experienced, in the face of so many repeated blows, a disappointment
+so absolute that he gladly looked forward to the prospect of exposing
+himself to death on the following day, while at the same time a
+bitter flood of rancor possessed him at the thought of all the persons
+concerned in his adventure. He would have liked to crush Madame Steno
+and Maitland, Lydia and Florent--Dorsenne, too--for having given him the
+false word of honor, which had strengthened still more his thirst for
+vengeance by calming it for a few hours.
+
+His confusion of thoughts was only greater when he was seated alone
+with his son at dinner. That morning he had seen before him his wife’s
+smiling face. The absence of her whom at that moment he valued above all
+else was so sad to him that he ventured one last attempt, and after
+the meal he sent little Luc to see if his mother would receive him. The
+child returned with a reply in the negative. “Mamma is resting.... She
+does not wish to be disturbed.” So the matter was irremissible. She
+would not see her husband until the morrow--if he lived. For vainly did
+Boleslas convince himself that afternoon that he had lost none of his
+skill in practising before his admiring seconds; a duel is always
+a lottery. He might be killed, and if the possibility of an eternal
+separation had not moved the injured woman, what prayer would move her?
+He saw her in his thoughts--her who at that moment, with blinds drawn,
+all lights subdued, endured in the semi-darkness that suffering which
+curses but does not pardon. Ah, but that sight was painful to him! And,
+in order that she might at least know how he felt, he took their son in
+his arms, and, pressing him to his breast, said: “If you see your mother
+before I do, you will tell her that we spent a very lonesome evening
+without her, will you not?”
+
+“Why, what ails you?” exclaimed the child. “You have wet my cheeks with
+tears--you are sweeping!”
+
+“You will tell her that, too, promise me,” replied the father, “so that
+she will take good care of herself, seeing how we love her.”
+
+“But,” said the little boy, “she was not ill when we walked together
+after breakfast. She was so gay.”
+
+“I think, too, it will be nothing serious,” replied Gorka. He was
+obliged to dismiss his son and to go out. He felt so horribly sad that
+he was physically afraid to remain alone in the house. But whither
+should he go? Mechanically he repaired to the club, although it was too
+early to meet many of the members there. He came upon Pietrapertosa and
+Cibo, who had dined there, and who, seated on one of the divans, were
+conferring in whispers with the gravity of two ambassadors discussing
+the Bulgarian or Egyptian question.
+
+“You have a very nervous air,” they said to Boleslas, “you who were in
+such good form this afternoon.”
+
+“Yes,” said Cibo, “you should have dined with us as we asked you to.”
+
+“When one is to fight a duel,” continued Pietrapertosa, sententiously,
+“one should see neither one’s wife nor one’s mistress. Madame Gorka
+suspects nothing, I hope?”
+
+“Absolutely nothing,” replied Boleslas; “you are right. I should have
+done better not to have left you. But, here I am. We will exorcise
+dismal thoughts by playing cards and supping!”
+
+“By playing cards and supping!” exclaimed Pietrapertosa. “And your hand?
+Think of your hand.... You will tremble, and you will miss your man.”
+
+“Alright dinner,” said Cibo, “to bed at ten o’clock, up at six-thirty,
+and two eggs with a glass of old port is the recipe Machault gives.”
+
+“And which I shall not follow,” said Boleslas, adding: “I give you my
+word that if I had no other cause for care than this duel, you would not
+see me in this condition.” He uttered that phrase in a tragical voice,
+the sincerity of which the two Italians felt. They looked at each
+other without speaking. They were too shrewd and too well aware of the
+simplest scandals of Rome not to have divined the veritable cause of the
+encounter between Florent and Boleslas. On the other hand, they knew the
+latter too well not to mistrust somewhat his attitudes. However, there
+was such simple emotion in his accent that they spontaneously pitied
+him, and, without another word, they no longer opposed the caprices of
+their strange client, whom they did not leave until two o’clock in the
+morning--and fortune favored them. For they found themselves at the end
+of a game, recklessly played, each the richer by two or three hundred
+louis apiece. That meant a few days more in Paris on the next visit.
+They, too, truly regretted their friend’s luck, saying, on separating:
+
+“I very much fear for him,” said Cibo. “Such luck at gaming, the night
+before a duel--bad sign, very bad sign.”
+
+“So much the more so that some one was there,” replied Pietrapertosa,
+making with his fingers the sign which conjures the jettutura. For
+nothing in the world would he have named the personages against whose
+evil eye he provided in that manner. But Cibo understood him, and,
+drawing from his trousers pocket his watch, which he fastened a
+l’anglaise by a safety chain to his belt, he pointed out among the
+charms a golden horn:
+
+“I have not let it go this evening,” said he. “The worst is, that Gorka
+will not sleep, and then, his hand!”
+
+Only the first of those two prognostics was to be verified. Returning
+home at that late hour, Boleslas did not even retire. He employed the
+remainder of the night in writing a long letter to his wife, one to his
+son, to be given to him on his eighteenth birthday, all in case of an
+accident. Then he examined his papers and he came upon the package of
+letters he had received from Madame Steno. Merely to reread a few of
+them, and to glance at the portraits of that faithless mistress again,
+heightened his anger to such a degree that he enclosed the whole in a
+large envelope, which he addressed to Lincoln Maitland. He had no sooner
+sealed it than he shrugged his shoulders, saying: “Of what use?” He
+raised the piece of material which stopped up the chimney, and, placing
+the envelope on the fire-dogs, he set it on fire. He shook with the
+tongs the remains of that which had been the most ardent, the most
+complete passion of his life, and he relighted the flames under the
+pieces of paper still intact. The unreasonable employment of a night
+which might be his last had scarcely paled his face. But his friends,
+who knew him well, started on seeing him with that impassively sinister
+countenance when he alighted from his phaeton, at about eight o’clock,
+at the inn selected for the meeting. He had ordered the carriage the day
+before to allay his wife’s suspicions by the pretense of taking one of
+his usual morning drives. In his mental confusion he had forgotten to
+give a counter order, and that accident caused him to escape the two
+policemen charged by the questorship to watch the Palazzetto Doria, on
+Lydia Maitland’s denunciation. The hired victoria, which those agents
+took, soon lost track of the swift English horses, driven as a man of
+his character and of his mental condition could drive.
+
+The precaution of Chapron’s sister was, therefore, baffled in that
+direction, and she succeeded no better with regard to her brother, who,
+to avoid all explanation with Lincoln, had gone, under the pretext of a
+visit to the country, to dine and sleep at the hotel. It was there that
+Montfanon and Dorsenne met him to conduct him to the rendezvous in the
+classical landau. Hardly had they reached the eminence of the circus of
+Maxence, on the Appian Way, when they were passed by Boleslas’s phaeton.
+
+“You can rest very easy,” said Montfanon to Florent. “How can one aim
+correctly when one tires one’s arm in that way?”
+
+That had been the only allusion to the duel made between the three men
+during the journey, which had taken about an hour. Florent talked as he
+usually did, asking all sorts of questions which attested his care
+for minute information--the most of which might be utilized by his
+brother-in-law-and the Marquis had replied by evoking, with his habitual
+erudition, several of the souvenirs which peopled that vast country,
+strewn with tombs, aqueducts, ruined villas, with the line of the Monts
+Albains enclosing them beyond.
+
+Dorsenne was silent. It was the first affair at which he had assisted,
+and his nervous anxiety was extreme.
+
+Tragical presentiments oppressed him, and at the same time he
+apprehended momentarily that, Montfanon’s religious scruples
+reawakening, he would not only have to seek another second, but would
+have to defer a solution so near. However, the struggle which was taking
+place in the heart of the “old leaguer” between the gentleman and
+the Christian, was displayed during the drive only by an almost
+imperceptible gesture. As the carriage passed the entrance to the
+catacomb of St. Calixtus, the former soldier of the Pope turned away his
+head. Then he resumed the conversation with redoubled energy, to pause
+in his turn, however, when the landau took, a little beyond the Tomb of
+Caecilia, a transverse road in the direction of the Ardeatine Way. It
+was there that ‘l’Osteria del tempo perso’ was built, upon the ground
+belonging to Cibo, on which the duel was to take place.
+
+Before l’Osteria, whose signboard was surmounted by the arms of Pope
+Innocent VIII, three carriages were already waiting--Gorka’s phaeton,
+a landau which had brought Cibo, Pietrapertosa and the doctor, and
+a simple botte, in which a porter had come. That unusual number of
+vehicles seemed likely to attract the attention of riflemen out for
+a stroll, but Cibo answered for the discretion of the innkeeper, who
+indeed cherished for his master the devotion of vassal to lord, still
+common in Italy. The three newcomers had no need to make the slightest
+explanation. Hardly had they alighted from the carriage, when the maid
+conducted them through the hall, where at that moment two huntsmen were
+breakfasting, their guns between their knees, and who, like true Romans,
+scarcely deigned to glance at the strangers, who passed from the common
+hall into a small court, from that court, through a shed, into a large
+field enclosed by boards, with here and there a few pine-trees.
+
+That rather odd duelling-ground had formerly served Cibo as a paddock.
+He had essayed to increase his slender income by buying at a bargain
+some jaded horses, which he intended fattening by means of rest and
+good fodder, and then selling to cabmen, averaging a small profit. The
+speculation having miscarried, the place was neglected and unused, save
+under circumstances similar to those of this particular morning.
+
+“We have arrived last,” said Montfanon, looking at his watch; “we are,
+however, five minutes ahead of time. Remember,” he added in a low voice,
+turning to Florent, “to keep the body well in the background,” these
+words being followed by other directions.
+
+“Thanks,” replied Florent, who looked at the Marquis and Dorsenne with
+a glance which he ordinarily had only for Lincoln, “and you know that,
+whatever may come, I thank you for all from the depths of my heart.”
+
+The young man put so much grace in that adieu, his courage was so
+simple, his sacrifice for his brother-in-law so magnanimous and
+natural--in fact, for two days both seconds had so fully appreciated the
+charm of that disposition, absolutely free from thoughts of self--that
+they pressed his hand with the emotion of true friends. They were
+themselves, moreover, interested, and at once began the series of
+preparations without which the role of assistant would be physically
+insupportable to persons endowed with a little sensibility. In
+experienced hands like those of Montfanon, Cibo and Pietrapertosa, such
+preliminaries are speedily arranged. The code is as exact as the step
+of a ballet. Twenty minutes after the entrance of the last arrivals, the
+two adversaries were face to face. The signal was given. The two shots
+were fired simultaneously, and Florent sank upon the grass which covered
+the enclosure. He had a bullet in his thigh.
+
+Dorsenne has often related since, as a singular trait of literary mania,
+that at the moment the wounded man fell he, himself, notwithstanding
+the anxiety which possessed him, had watched Montfanon, to study him. He
+adds that never had he seen a face express such sorrowful piety as that
+of the man who, scorning all human respect, made the sign of the cross.
+It was the devotee of the catacombs, who had left the altar of the
+martyrs to accomplish a work of charity, then carried away by anger so
+far as to place himself under the necessity of participating in a duel,
+who was, no doubt, asking pardon of God. What remorse was stirring
+within the heart of the fervent, almost mystical Christian, so strangely
+mixed up in an adventure of that kind? He had at least this comfort,
+that after the first examination, and when they had borne Florent into
+a room prepared hastily by the care of Cibo, the doctor declared himself
+satisfied. The ball could even be removed at once, and as neither the
+bone nor the muscles had been injured it was a matter of a few weeks at
+the most.
+
+“All that now remains for us,” concluded Cibo, who had brought back the
+news, “is to draw up our official report.”
+
+At that instant, and as the witnesses were preparing to reenter the
+house for the last formality, an incident occurred, very unexpected,
+which was to transform the encounter, up to that time so simple, into
+one of those memorable duels which are talked over at clubs and in
+armories. If Pietrapertosa and Cibo had ceased since morning to believe
+in the jettatura of the “some one” whom neither had named, it must be
+acknowledged that they were very unjust, for the good fortune of having
+gained something wherewith to swell their Parisian purses was surely
+naught by the side of this--to have to discuss with the Cavals, the
+Machaults and other professionals the case, almost unprecedented, in
+which they were participants.
+
+Boleslas Gorka, who, when once his adversary had fallen, paced to and
+fro without seeming to care as to the gravity of the wound, suddenly
+approached the group formed by the four men, and in a tone of voice
+which did not predict the terrible aggression in which he was about to
+indulge, he said:
+
+“One moment, gentlemen. I desire to say a few words in your presence to
+Monsieur Dorsenne.”
+
+“I am at your service, Gorka,” replied Julien, who did not suspect the
+hostile intention of his old friend. He did not divine the form which
+that hostility was about to take, but he had always upon his mind his
+word of honor falsely given, and he was prepared to answer for it.
+
+“It will not take much time, sir,” continued Boleslas, still with the
+same insolently formal politeness, “you know we have an account to
+settle.... But as I have some cause not to believe in the validity of
+your honor, I should like to remove all cause of evasion.” And before
+any one could interfere in the unheard-of proceedings he had raised his
+glove and struck Dorsenne in the face. As Gorka spoke, the writer turned
+pale. He had not the time to reply to the audacious insult offered him
+by a similar one, for the three witnesses of the scene cast themselves
+between him and his aggressor. He, however, pushed them aside with a
+resolute air.
+
+“Remember, sirs,” said he, “that by preventing me from inflicting
+on Monsieur Gorka the punishment he deserves, you force me to obtain
+another reparation. And I demand it immediately.... I will not leave
+this place,” he continued, “without having obtained it.”
+
+“Nor I, without having given it to you,” replied Boleslas. “It is all I
+ask.”
+
+“No, Dorsenne,” cried Montfanon, who had been the first to seize the
+raised arm of the writer, “you shall not fight thus. First, you have no
+right. It requires at least twenty-four hours between the provocation
+and the encounter.... And you, sirs, must not agree to serve as seconds
+for Monsieur Gorka, after he has failed in a manner so grave in all the
+rules of the ground.... If you lend yourselves to it, it is barbarous,
+it is madness, whatsoever you like. It is no longer a duel.”
+
+“I repeat, Montfanon,” replied Dorsenne, “that I will not leave here and
+that I will not allow Monsieur Gorka to leave until I have obtained the
+reparation to which I feel I have the right.”
+
+“And I repeat that I am at Monsieur Dorsenne’s service,” replied
+Boleslas.
+
+“Very well, sirs,” said Montfanon. “There only remains for us to
+leave you to arrange it one with the other as you wish, and for us to
+withdraw.... Is not that your opinion?” he continued, addressing Cibo
+and Pietrapertosa, who did not reply immediately.
+
+“Certainly,” finally said one; “the case is difficult.”
+
+“There are, however, precedents,” insinuated the other.
+
+“Yes,” resumed Cibo, “if it were only the two successive duels of Henry
+de Pene.”
+
+“Which furnish authority,” concluded Pietrapertosa.
+
+“Authority has nothing to do with it,” again exclaimed Montfanon. “I
+know, for my part, that I am not here to assist at a butchery, and that
+I will not assist at it.... I am going, sirs, and I expect you will do
+the same, for I do not suppose you would select coachmen to play the
+part of seconds.... Adieu, Dorsenne.... You do not doubt my friendship
+for you.... I think I am giving you a veritable proof of it by not
+permitting you to fight under such conditions.”
+
+When the old nobleman reentered the inn, he waited ten minutes,
+persuaded that his departure would determine that of Cibo and of
+Pietrapertosa, and that the new affair, following so strangely upon the
+other, would be deferred until the next day. He had not told an untruth.
+It was his strong friendship for Julien which had made him apprehend
+a duel organized in that way, under the influence of a righteous
+indignation. Gorka’s unjustifiable violence would certainly not permit
+a second encounter to be avoided. But as the insult had been outrageous,
+it was the more essential that the conditions should be fixed calmly and
+after grave consideration. To divert his impatience, Montfanon bade
+the innkeeper point out to him whither they had carried Florent, and
+he ascended to the tiny room, where the doctor was dressing the wounded
+man’s leg.
+
+“You see,” said the latter, with a smile, “I shall have to limp a little
+for a month.... And Dorsenne?”
+
+“He is all right, I hope,” replied Montfanon, adding, with ill-humor:
+“Dorsenne is a fool; that is what Dorsenne is. And Gorka is a wild
+beast; that is what Gorka is.” And he related the episode which had
+just taken place to the two men, who were so surprised that the doctor,
+bandage in hand, paused in his work. “And they wish to fight there at
+once, like redskins. Why not scalp one another?... And that Cibo and
+that Pietrapertosa would have consented to the duel if I had not opposed
+it! Fortunately they lack two seconds, and it is not easy to find in
+this district two men who can sign an official report, for it is the
+mode nowadays to have those paltry scraps of paper. One of my friends
+and myself had two such witnesses at twenty francs apiece. But that was
+in Paris in ‘sixty-two.” And he entered upon the recital of the old-time
+duel, to calm his anxiety, which burst forth again in these words: “It
+seems they do not decide to separate so quickly. It is not, however,
+possible that they will fight.... Can we see them from here?” He
+approached the window, which indeed looked upon the enclosure. The
+sight which met his eyes caused the excellent man to stammer.... “The
+miserable men!... It is monstrous.... They are mad.... They have found
+seconds.... Whom have they taken?... Those two huntsmen!... Ali, my God!
+My God!”.... He could say no more. The doctor had hastened to the window
+to see what was passing, regardless of the fact that Florent dragged
+himself thither as well. Did they remain there a few seconds, fifteen
+minutes or longer? They could never tell, so greatly were they
+terrified.
+
+As Montfanon had anticipated, the conditions of the duel were terrible.
+For Pietrapertosa, who seemed to direct the combat, after having
+measured a space sufficiently long, of about fifty feet, was in the act
+of tracing in the centre two lines scarcely ten or twelve metres apart.
+
+“They have chosen the duel a ‘marche interrompue’,” groaned the veteran
+duellist, whose knowledge of the ground did not deceive him. Dorsenne
+and Gorka, once placed, face to face, commenced indeed to advance, now
+raising, now lowering their weapons with the terrible slowness of two
+adversaries resolved not to miss their mark.
+
+A shot was fired. It was by Boleslas. Dorsenne was unharmed. Several
+steps had still to be taken in order to reach the limit. He took them,
+and he paused to aim at his opponent with so evident an intention of
+killing him that they could distinctly hear Cibo cry:
+
+“Fire! For God’s sake, fire!”
+
+Julien pressed the trigger, as if in obedience to that order, incorrect,
+but too natural to be even noticed. The weapon was discharged, and the
+three spectators at the window of the bedroom uttered three simultaneous
+exclamations on seeing Gorka’s arm fall and his hand drop the pistol.
+
+“It is nothing,” cried the doctor, “but a broken arm.”
+
+“The good Lord has been better to us than we deserve,” said the Marquis.
+
+“Now, at least, the madman will be quieted.... Brave Dorsenne!” cried
+Florent, who thought of his brother-in-law and who added gayly, leaning
+on Montfanon and the doctor in order to reach the couch: “Finish
+quickly, doctor, they will need you below immediately.”
+
+
+
+
+BOOK 4.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER IX. LUCID ALBA
+
+The doctor had diagnosed the case correctly. Dorsenne’s ball had struck
+Gorka below the wrist. Two centimetres more to the right or to the
+left, and undoubtedly Boleslas would have been killed. He escaped with
+a fracture of the forearm, which would confine him for a few days to
+his room, and which would force him to submit for several weeks to the
+annoyance of a sling. When he was taken home and his personal physician,
+hastily summoned, made him a bandage and prescribed for the first few
+days bed and rest, he experienced a new access of rage, which exceeded
+the paroxysms of the day before and of that morning. All parts of his
+soul, the noblest as well as the meanest, bled at once and caused him to
+suffer with another agony than that occasioned by his wounded arm. Was
+he satisfied in the desire, almost morbid, to figure in the eyes of
+those who knew him as an extraordinary personage? He had hastened from
+Poland through Europe as an avenger of his betrayed love, and he had
+begun by missing his rival. Instead of provoking him immediately in
+the salon of Villa Steno, he had waited, and another had had time to
+substitute himself for the one he had wished to chastise. The other,
+whose death would at least have given a tragical issue to the adventure,
+Boleslas had scarcely touched. He had hoped in striking Dorsenne to
+execute at least one traitor whom he considered as having trifled with
+the most sacred of confidences. He had simply succeeded in giving that
+false friend occasion to humiliate him bitterly, leaving out of the
+question that he had rendered it impossible to fight again for many
+days. None of the persons who had wronged him would be punished for
+some time, neither his coarse and cowardly rival, nor his perfidious
+mistress, nor monstrous Lydia Maitland, whose infamy he had just
+discovered. They were all happy and triumphant, on that lovely, radiant
+May day, while he tossed on a bed of pain, and it was proven too clearly
+to him that very afternoon by his two seconds, the only visitors whom
+he had not denied admission, and who came to see him about five o’clock.
+They came from the races of Tor di Quinto, which had taken place that
+day.
+
+“All is well,” began Cibo, “I will guarantee that no one has talked....
+I have told you before, I am sure of my innkeeper, and we have paid the
+witnesses and the coachman.”
+
+“Were Madame Steno and her daughter at the races?” interrupted Boleslas.
+
+“Yes,” replied the Roman, whom the abruptness of the question surprised
+too much for him to evade it with his habitual diplomacy.
+
+“With whom?” asked the wounded man.
+
+“Alone, that time,” replied Cibo, with an eagerness in which Boleslas
+distinguished an intention to deceive him.
+
+“And Madame Maitland?”
+
+“She was there, too, with her husband,” said Pietrapertosa, heedless of
+Cibo’s warning glances, “and all Rome besides,” adding: “Do you know
+the engagement of Ardea and little Hafner is public? They were all three
+there, the betrothed and the father, and so happy! I vow, it was fine.
+Cardinal Guerillot baptized pretty Fanny.”
+
+“And Dorsenne?” again questioned the invalid.
+
+“He was there,” said Cibo. “You will be vexed when I tell you of the
+reply he dared to make us. We asked him how he had managed--nervous
+as he is--to aim at you as he aimed, without trembling. For he did
+not tremble. And guess what he replied? That he thought of a recipe of
+Stendhal’s--to recite from memory four Latin verses, before firing. ‘And
+might one know what you chose?’ I asked of him. Thereupon he repeated:
+‘Tityre, tu patulae recubens!”
+
+“It is a case which recalls the word of Casal,” interrupted
+Pietrapertosa, “when that snob of a Figon recommended to us at the
+club his varnish manufactured from a recipe of a valet of the Prince of
+Wales. If the young man is not settled by us, I shall be sorry for him.”
+
+Although the two ‘confreres’ had repeated that mediocre pleasantry a
+hundred times, they laughed at the top of their sonorous voices and
+succeeded in entirely unnerving the injured man. He gave as a pretext
+his need of rest to dismiss the fine fellows, of whose sympathy he was
+assured, whom he had just found loyal and devoted, but who caused him
+pain in conjuring up, in answer to his question, the images of all his
+enemies. When one is suffering from a certain sort of pain, remarks like
+those naively exchanged between the two Roman imitators of Casal are
+intolerable to the hearer. One desires to be alone to feed upon, at
+least in peace, the bitter food, the exasperating and inefficacious
+rancor against people and against fate, with which Gorka at that moment
+felt his heart to be so full. The presence of his former mistress at the
+races, and on that afternoon, wounded him more cruelly than the rest.
+He did not doubt that she knew through Maitland, himself, certainly
+informed by Chapron, of the two duels and of his injury. It was on her
+account that he had fought, and that very day she appeared in public,
+smiling, coquetting, as if two years of passion had not united their
+lives, as if he were to her merely a social acquaintance, a guest at her
+dinners and her soirees. He knew her habits so well, and how eagerly,
+when she loved, she drank in the presence of him she loved. No doubt she
+had an appointment on the race-course with Maitland, as she had formerly
+had with him, and the painter had gone thither when he should have cared
+for his courageous, his noble brother-in-law, whom he had allowed to
+fight for him! What a worthy lover the selfish and brutal American was
+of that vile creature! The image of the happy couple tortured Boleslas
+with the bitterest jealousy intermingled with disgust, and, by contrast,
+he thought of his own wife, the proud and tender Maud whom he had lost.
+
+He pictured to himself other illnesses when he had seen that beautiful
+nurse by his bedside. He saw again the true glance with which that wife,
+so shamefully betrayed, looked at him, the movements of her loyal hands,
+which yielded to no one the care of waiting upon him. To-day she had
+allowed him to go to a duel without seeing him. He had returned. She had
+not even inquired as to his wound. The doctor had dressed it without
+her presence, and all that he knew of her was what he learned from their
+child. For he sent for Luc. He explained to him his broken arm, as
+had been agreed upon with his friends, by a fall on the staircase, and
+little Luc replied:
+
+“When will you join us, then? Mamma says we leave for England this
+evening or in the morning. All the trunks are almost ready.”
+
+That evening or to-morrow? So Maud was going to execute her threat. She
+was going away forever, and without an explanation. He could not even
+plead his cause once more to the woman who certainly would not respond
+to another appeal, since she had found, in her outraged pride, the
+strength to be severe, when he was in danger of death. In the face
+of that evidence of the desertion of all connected with him, Boleslas
+suffered one of those accesses of discouragement, deep, absolute,
+irremediable, in which one longs to sleep forever. He asked himself:
+“Were I to try one more step?” and he replied: “She will not!” when his
+valet entered with word that the Countess desired to speak with him.
+His agitation was so extreme that, for a second, he fancied it was with
+regard to Madame Steno, and he was almost afraid to see his wife enter.
+
+Without any doubt, the emotions undergone during the past few days had
+been very great. He had, however, experienced none more violent, even
+beneath the pistol raised by Dorsenne, than that of seeing advance to
+his bed the embodiment of his remorse. Maud’s face, in which ordinarily
+glowed the beauty of a blood quickened by the English habits of fresh
+air and daily exercise, showed undeniable traces of tears, of sadness,
+and of insomnia. The pallor of the cheeks, the dark circles beneath the
+eyes, the dryness of the lips and their bitter expression, the feverish
+glitter, above all, in the eyes, related more eloquently than words the
+terrible agony of which she was the victim. The past twenty-four hours
+had acted upon her like certain long illnesses, in which it seems that
+the very essence of the organism is altered. She was another person.
+The rapid metamorphosis, so tragical and so striking, caused Boleslas to
+forget his own anguish. He experienced nothing but one great regret when
+the woman, so visibly bowed down by grief, was seated, and when he saw
+in her eyes the look of implacable coldness, even through the fever,
+before which he had recoiled the day before. But she was there, and her
+unhoped-for presence was to the young man, even under the circumstances,
+an infinite consolation. He, therefore, said, with an almost childish
+grace, which he could assume when he desired to please:
+
+“You recognized the fact that it would be too cruel of you to go away
+without seeing me again. I should not have dared to ask it of you, and
+yet it was the only pleasure I could have.... I thank you for having
+given it to me.”
+
+“Do not thank me,” replied Maud, shaking her head, “it is not on
+your account that I am here. It is from duty.... Let me speak,” she
+continued, stopping by a gesture her husband’s reply, “you can answer me
+afterward.... Had it only been a question of you and of me, I repeat, I
+should not have seen you again.... But, as I told you yesterday, we have
+a son.”
+
+“Ah!” exclaimed Boleslas, sadly. “It is to make me still more wretched
+that you have come.... You should remember, however, that I am in no
+condition to discuss with you so cruel a question.... I thought I had
+already said that I would not disregard your rights on condition that
+you did not disregard mine.”
+
+“It is not of my rights that I wish to speak, nor of yours,” interrupted
+Maud, “but of his, the only ones of importance. When I left you
+yesterday, I was suffering too severely to feel anything but my pain. It
+was then that, in my mental agony, I recalled words repeated to me by my
+father: ‘When one suffers, he should look his grief in the face, and it
+will always teach him something.’ I was ashamed of my weakness, and I
+looked my grief in the face. It taught me, first, to accept it as a
+just punishment for having married against the advice and wishes of my
+father.”
+
+“Ah, do not abjure our past!” cried the young man; “the past which has
+remained so dear to me through all.”
+
+“No, I do not abjure it,” replied Maud, “for it was on recurring to
+it--it was on returning to my early impressions--that I could find not
+an excuse, but an explanation of your conduct. I remembered what you
+related to me of the misfortunes of your childhood and of your youth,
+and how you had grown up between your father and your mother, passing
+six months with one, six months with the other--not caring for, not
+being able to judge either of them--forced to hide from one your
+feelings for the other. I saw for the first time that your parents’
+separation had the effect of saddening your heart at that epoch. It
+is that which perverted your character.... And I read in advance Luc’s
+history in yours.... Listen, Boleslas! I speak to you as I would speak
+before God! My first feeling when that thought presented itself to my
+mind was not to resume life with you; such a life would be henceforth
+too bitter. No, it was to say to myself, I will have my son to myself.
+He shall feel my influence alone. I saw you set out this morning--set
+out to insult me once more, to sacrifice me once more! If you had been
+truly repentant would you have offered me that last affront? And when
+you returned--when they informed me that you had a broken arm--I wished
+to tell the little one myself that you were ill.... I saw how much he
+loved you, I discovered what a place you already occupied in his heart,
+and I comprehended that, even if the law gave him to me, as I know it
+would, his childhood would be like yours, his youth like your youth.”
+
+“Then,” she went on, with an accent in which emotion struggled through
+her pride, “I did not feel justified in destroying the respect so deep,
+the love so true, he bears you, and I have come to say to you: You have
+wronged me greatly. You have killed within me something that will never
+come to life again. I feel that for years I shall carry a weight on my
+mind and on my heart at the thought that you could have betrayed me as
+you have. But I feel that for our boy this separation on which I had
+resolved is too perilous. I feel that I shall find in the certainty
+of avoiding a moral danger for him the strength to continue a common
+existence, and I will continue it. But human nature is human nature, and
+that strength I can have only on one condition.”
+
+“And that is?” asked Boleslas. Maud’s speech, for it was a speech
+carefully reflected upon, every phrase of which had been weighed by that
+scrupulous conscience, contrasted strongly in its lucid reasoning with
+the state of nervous excitement in which he had lived for several days.
+He had been more pained by it than he would have been by passionate
+reproaches. At the same time he had been moved by the reference to his
+son’s love for him, and he felt that if he did not become reconciled
+with Maud at that moment his future domestic life would be ended. There
+was a little of each sentiment in the few words he added to the anxiety
+of his question. “Although you have spoken to me very severely, and
+although you might have said the same thing in other terms, although,
+above all, it is very painful to me to have you condemn my entire
+character on one single error, I love you, I love my son, and I agree
+in advance to your conditions. I esteem your character too much to doubt
+that they will be reconcilable with my dignity. As for the duel of this
+morning,” he added, “you know very well that it was too late to withdraw
+without dishonor.”
+
+“I should like your promise, first of all,” replied Madame Gorka, who
+did not answer his last remark, “that during the time in which you are
+obliged to keep your room no one shall be admitted.... I could not bear
+that creature in my house, nor any one who would speak to me or to you
+of her.”
+
+“I promise,” said the young man, who felt a flood of warmth enter his
+soul at the first proof that the jealousy of the loving woman still
+existed beneath the indignation of the wife. And he added, with a smile,
+“That will not be a great sacrifice. And then?”
+
+“Then?... That the doctor will permit us to go to England. We will leave
+orders for the management of things during our absence. We will go this
+winter wherever you like, but not to this house; never again to this
+city.”
+
+“That is a promise, too,” said Boleslas, “and that will be no great
+sacrifice either; and then?”
+
+“And then,” said she in a low voice, as if ashamed of herself. “You must
+never write to her, you must never try to find out what has become of
+her.”
+
+“I give you my word,” replied Boleslas, taking her hand, and adding:
+“And then?”
+
+“There is no then,” said she, withdrawing her hand, but gently. And she
+began to realize herself her promise of pardon, for she rearranged the
+pillows under the wounded man’s head, while he resumed:
+
+“Yes, my noble Maud, there is a then. It is that I shall prove to you
+how much truth there was in my words of yesterday, in my assurance that
+I love you in spite of my faults. It is the mother who returns to me
+today. But I want my wife, my dear wife, and I shall win her back.”
+
+She made no reply. She experienced, on hearing him pronounce those last
+words with a transfigured face, an emotion which did not vanish. She had
+acquired, beneath the shock of her great sorrow, an intuition too deep
+of her husband’s nature, and that facility, which formerly charmed her
+by rendering her anxious, now inspired her with horror. That man with
+the mobile and complaisant conscience had already forgiven himself.
+It sufficed him to conceive the plan of a reparation of years, and
+to respect himself for it--as if that was really sufficient--for the
+difficult task. At least during the eight days which lapsed between that
+conversation and their departure he strictly observed the promise he had
+given his wife. In vain did Cibo, Pietrapertosa, Hafner, Ardea try to
+see him. When the train which bore them away steamed out he asked his
+wife, with a pride that time justified by deeds:
+
+“Are you satisfied with me?”
+
+“I am satisfied that we have left Rome,” said she, evasively, and it was
+true in two senses of the word:
+
+First of all, because she did not delude herself with regard to the
+return of the moral energy of which Boleslas was so proud. She knew that
+his variable will was at the mercy of the first sensation. Then, what
+she had not confessed to her husband, the sorrow of a broken friendship
+was joined in her to the sorrows of a betrayed wife. The sudden
+discovery of the infamy of Alba’s mother had not destroyed her strong
+affection for the young girl, and during the entire week, busy with
+her preparations for a final departure, she had not ceased to wonder
+anxiously: “What will she think of my silence?... What has her mother
+told her?... What has she divined?”
+
+She had loved the “poor little soul,” as she called the Contessina in
+her pretty English term. She had devoted to her the friendship peculiar
+to young women for young girls--a sentiment--very strong and yet very
+delicate, which resembles, in its tenderness, the devotion of an elder
+sister for a younger. There is in it a little naive protection and also
+a little romantic and gracious melancholy. The elder friend is severe
+and critical. She tries to assuage, while envying them, the excessive
+enthusiasms of the younger. She receives, she provokes her confidence
+with the touching gravity of a counsellor. The younger friend is curious
+and admiring. She shows herself in all the truth of that graceful
+awakening of thoughts and emotions which precede her own period before
+marriage. And when there is, as was the case with Alba Steno, a
+certain discord of soul between that younger friend and her mother,
+the affection for the sister chosen becomes so deep that it can not be
+broken without wounds on both sides. It was for that reason that, on
+leaving Rome, faithful and noble Maud experienced at once a sense of
+relief and of pain--of relief, because she was no longer exposed to the
+danger of an explanation with Alba; of pain, because it was so bitter
+a thought for her that she could never justify her heart to her friend,
+could never aid her in emerging from the difficulties of her life,
+could, finally, never love her openly as she had loved her secretly.
+She said to herself as she saw the city disappear in the night with its
+curves and its lights:
+
+“If she thinks badly of me, may she divine nothing! Who will now prevent
+her from yielding herself up to her sentiment for that dangerous and
+perfidious Dorsenne? Who will console her when she is sad? Who will
+defend her against her mother? I was perhaps wrong in writing to the
+woman, as I did, the letter, which might have been delivered to her in
+her daughter’s presence.... Ah, poor little soul!... May God watch over
+her!”
+
+She turned, then, toward her son, whose hair she stroked, as if to
+exorcise, by the evidence of present duty, the nostalgia which possessed
+her at the thought of an affection sacrificed forever. Hers was a nature
+too active, too habituated to the British virtue of self-control to
+submit to the languor of vain emotions.
+
+The two persons of whom her friendship, now impotent, had thought, were,
+for various reasons, the two fatal instruments of the fate of the “poor
+little soul,” and the vague remorse which Maud herself felt with regard
+to the terrible note sent to Madame Steno in the presence of the young
+girl, was only too true. When the servant had given that letter to
+the Countess, saying that Madame Gorka excused herself on account of
+indisposition, Alba Steno’s first impulse had been to enter her friend’s
+room.
+
+“I will go to embrace her and to see if she has need of anything,” she
+said.
+
+“Madame has forbidden any one to enter her room,” replied the footman,
+with embarrassment, and, at the same moment, Madame Steno, who had just
+opened the note, said, in a voice which struck the young girl by its
+change:
+
+“Let us go; I do not feel well, either.”
+
+The woman, so haughty, so accustomed to bend all to her will, was indeed
+trembling in a very pitiful manner beneath the insult of those phrases
+which drove her, Caterina Steno, away with such ignominy. She paled to
+the roots of her fair hair, her face was distorted, and for the first
+and last time Alba saw her form tremble. It was only for a few
+moments. At the foot of the staircase energy gained the mastery in that
+courageous character, created for the shock of strong emotions and
+for instantaneous action. But rapid as had been that passage, it had
+sufficed to disconcert the young girl. For not a moment did she doubt
+that the note was the cause of that extraordinary metamorphosis in the
+Countess’s aspect and attitude. The fact that Maud would not receive
+her, her friend, in her room was not less strange. What was happening?
+What did the letter contain? What were they hiding from her? If she had,
+the day before, felt the “needle in the heart” only on divining a scene
+of violent explanation between her mother and Boleslas Gorka, how would
+she have been agonized to ascertain the state into which the few lines
+of Boleslas’s wife had cast that mother! The anonymous denunciation
+recurred to her, and with it all the suspicion she had in vain rejected.
+The mother was unaware that for months there was taking place in her
+daughter a moral drama of which that scene formed a decisive episode,
+she was too shrewd not to understand that her emotion had been very
+imprudent, and that she must explain it. Moreover, the rupture with Maud
+was irreparable, and it was necessary that Alba should be included in
+it.
+
+The mother, at once so guilty and so loving, so blind and so
+considerate, had no sooner foreseen the necessity than her decision was
+made, and a false explanation invented:
+
+“Guess what Maud has just written me?” said she, brusquely, to her
+daughter, when they were seated side by side in their carriage. God,
+what balm the simple phrase introduced into Alba’s heart! Her mother was
+about to show her the note! Her joy was short-lived! The note remained
+where the Countess had slipped it, after having nervously folded it, in
+the opening in her glove. And she continued: “She accuses me of being
+the cause of a duel between her husband and Florent Chapron, and she
+quarrels with me by letter, without seeing me, without speaking to me!”
+
+“Boleslas Gorka has fought a duel with Florent Chapron?” repeated the
+young girl.
+
+“Yes,” replied her mother. “I knew that through Hafner. I did not speak
+of it to you in order not to worry you with regard to Maud, and I have
+only awaited her so long to cheer her up in case I should have found her
+uneasy, and this is how she rewards me for my friendship! It seems that
+Gorka took offence at some remark of Chapron’s about Poles, one of those
+innocent remarks made daily on any nation--the Italians, the French, the
+English, the Germans, the Jews--and which mean nothing.... I repeated
+the remark in jest to Gorka!... I leave you to judge.... Is it my fault
+if, instead of laughing at it, he insulted poor Florent, and if the
+absurd encounter resulted from it? And Maud, who writes me that she will
+never pardon me, that I am a false friend, that I did it expressly to
+exasperate her husband.... Ah, let her watch her husband, let her lock
+him up, if he is mad! And I, who have received them as I have, I, who
+have made their position for them in Rome, I, who had no other thought
+than for her just now!... You hear,” she added, pressing her daughter’s
+hand with a fervor which was at least sincere, if her words were
+untruthful, “I forbid you seeing her again or writing to her. If she
+does not offer me an apology for her insulting note, I no longer wish to
+know her. One is foolish to be so kind!”
+
+For the first time, while listening to that speech, Alba was convinced
+that her mother was deceiving her. Since suspicion had entered her heart
+with regard to her mother, the object until then of such admiration and
+affection, she had passed through many stages of mistrust. To talk
+with the Countess was always to dissipate them. That was because Madame
+Steno, apart from her amorous immorality, was of a frank and truthful
+nature.
+
+It was indeed a customary and known weakness of Florent’s to repeat
+those witticisms which abound in national epigrams, as mediocre as they
+are iniquitous. Alba could recall at least twenty circumstances when the
+excellent man had uttered such jests at which a sensitive person might
+take offence. She would not have thought it utterly impossible that a
+duel between Gorka and Chapron might have been provoked by an incident
+of that order. But Chapron was the brother-in-law of Maitland, of the
+new friend with whom Madame Steno had become infatuated during the
+absence of the Polish Count, and what a brother-in-law! He of whom
+Dorsenne said: “He would set Rome on fire to cook an egg for his
+sister’s husband.” When Madame Steno announced that duel to her
+daughter, an invincible and immediate deduction possessed the poor
+child--Florent was fighting for his brother-in-law. And on account
+of whom, if not of Madame Steno? The thought would not, however, have
+possessed her a second in the face of the very plausible explanation
+made by the Countess, if Alba had not had in her heart a certain proof
+that her mother was not telling the truth. The young girl loved Maud as
+much as she was loved by her. She knew the sensibility of her faithful
+and, delicate friend, as that friend knew hers. For Maud to write her
+mother a letter which produced an immediate rupture, there must have
+been some grave reason.
+
+Another material proof was soon joined to that moral proof. Granted the
+character and the habits of the Countess, since she had not shown Maud’s
+letter to her daughter there and then, it was because the letter was not
+fit to be shown. But she heard on the following day only the description
+of the duel, related by Maitland to Madame Steno, the savage aggression
+of Gorka against Dorsenne, the composure of the latter and the issue,
+relatively harmless, of the two duels.
+
+“You see,” said her mother to her, “I was right in saying that Gorka is
+mad!... It seems he has had a fit of insanity since the duel, and that
+they prevent him from seeing any one.... Can you now comprehend how Maud
+could blame me for what is hereditary in the Gorka family?”
+
+Such was indeed the story which the Venetian and her friends, Hafner,
+Ardea, and others, circulated throughout Rome in order to diminish the
+scandal. The accusation of madness is very common to women who have
+goaded to excess man’s passion, and who then wish to avoid all blame for
+the deeds or words of that man. In this case, Boleslas’s fury and his
+two incomprehensible duels, fifteen minutes apart, justified the story.
+When it became known in the city that the Palazzetto Doria was strictly
+closed, that Maud Gorka received no one, and finally that she was
+taking away her husband in the manner which resembled a flight, no doubt
+remained of the young man’s wrecked reason.
+
+Two persons profited very handsomely by the gossiping, the origin of
+which was a mystery. One was the innkeeper of the ‘Tempo Perso’, whose
+simple ‘bettola’ became, during those few days, a veritable place of
+pilgrimage, and who sold a quantity of wine and numbers of fresh eggs.
+The other was Dorsenne’s publisher, of whom the Roman booksellers
+ordered several hundred volumes.
+
+“If I had had that duel in Paris,” said the novelist to Mademoiselle
+Steno, relating to her the unforeseen result, “I should perhaps have at
+length known the intoxication of the thirtieth edition.”
+
+It was a few days after the departure of the Gorkas that he jested thus,
+at a large dinner of twenty-four covers, given at Villa Steno in honor
+of Peppino Ardea and Fanny Hafner. Reestablished in the Countess’s favor
+since his duel, he had again become a frequenter of her house, so much
+the more assiduous as the increasing melancholy of Alba interested
+him greatly. The enigma of the young girl’s character redoubled that
+interest at each visit in such a degree that, notwithstanding the heat,
+already beginning, of the dangerous Roman summer, he constantly
+deferred his return to Paris until the morrow. What had she guessed in
+consequence of the encounter, the details of which she had asked of
+him with an emotion scarcely hidden in her eyes of a blue as clear, as
+transparent, as impenetrable at the same time, as the water of certain
+Alpine lakes at the foot of the glaciers. He thought he was doing right
+in corroborating the story of Boleslas Gorka’s madness, which he knew
+better than any one else to be false. But was it not the surest means of
+exempting Madame Steno from connection with the affair? Why had he seen
+Alba’s beautiful eyes veiled with a sadness inexplicable, as if he had
+just given her another blow? He did not know that since the day on
+which the word insanity had been uttered before her relative to Maud’s
+husband, the Contessina was the victim of a reasoning as simple as
+irrefutable.
+
+“If Boleslas be mad, as they say,” said Alba, “why does Maud, whom I
+know to be so just and who loves me so dearly, attribute to my mother
+the responsibility of this duel, to the point of breaking with me
+thus, and of leaving without a line of explanation?... No.... There is
+something else.”.... The nature of the “something else” the young girl
+comprehended, on recalling her mother’s face during the perusal of
+Maud’s letter. During the ten days following that scene, she saw
+constantly before her that face, and the fear imprinted upon those
+features ordinarily so calm, so haughty! Ah, poor little soul, indeed,
+who could not succeed in banishing this fixed idea “My mother is not a
+good woman.”
+
+Idea! So much the more terrible, as Alba had no longer the ignorance of
+a young girl, if she had the innocence. Accustomed to the conversations,
+at times very bold, of the Countess’s salon, enlightened by the reading
+of novels chanced upon, the words lover and mistress had for her
+a signification of physical intimacy such that it was an almost
+intolerable torture for her to associate them with the relations of her
+mother, first toward Gorka, then toward Maitland. That torture she had
+undergone during the entire dinner, at the conclusion of which Dorsenne
+essayed to chat gayly with her. She sat beside the painter, and the
+man’s very breath, his gestures, the sound of his voice, his manner of
+eating and of drinking, the knowledge of his very proximity, had caused
+her such keen suffering that it was impossible for her to take anything
+but large glasses of iced water. Several times during that dinner,
+prolonged amid the sparkle of magnificent silver and Venetian crystal,
+amid the perfume of flowers and the gleam of jewels, she had seen
+Maitland’s eyes fixed upon the Countess with an expression which
+almost caused her to cry out, so clearly did her instinct divine its
+impassioned sensuality, and once she thought she saw her mother respond
+to it.
+
+She felt with appalling clearness that which before she had uncertainly
+experienced, the immodest character of that mother’s beauty. With
+the pearls in her fair hair, with neck and arms bare in a corsage
+the delicate green tint of which showed to advantage the incomparable
+splendor of her skin, with her dewy lips, with her voluptuous eyes
+shaded by their long lashes, the dogaresse looked in the centre of that
+table like an empress and like a courtesan. She resembled the Caterina
+Cornaro, the gallant queen of the island of Cypress, painted by Titian,
+and whose name she worthily bore. For years Alba had been so proud
+of the ray of seduction cast forth by the Countess, so proud of those
+statuesque arms, of the superb carriage, of the face which defied the
+passage of time, of the bloom of opulent life the glorious creature
+displayed. During that dinner she was almost ashamed of it.
+
+She had been pained to see Madame Maitland seated a few paces farther
+on, with brow and lips contracted as if by thoughts of bitterness. She
+wondered: Does Lydia suspect them, too? But was it possible that her
+mother, whom she knew to be so generous, so magnanimous, so kind, could
+have that smile of sovereign tranquillity with such secrets in her
+heart? Was it possible that she could have betrayed Maud for months and
+months with the same light of joy in her eyes?
+
+“Come,” said Julien, stopping himself suddenly in the midst of a speech,
+in which he had related two or three literary anecdotes. “Instead of
+listening to your friend Dorsenne, little Countess, you are following
+several blue devils flying through the room.”
+
+“They would fly, in any case,” replied Alba, who, pointing to Fanny
+Hafner and Prince d’Ardea seated on a couch, continued: “Has what I told
+you a few weeks since been realized? You do not know all the irony of
+it. You have not assisted, as I did the day before yesterday, at the
+poor girl’s baptism.”
+
+“It is true,” replied Julien, “you were godmother. I dreamed of Leo
+Thirteenth as godfather, with a princess of the house of Bourbon as
+godmother. Hafner’s triumph would have been complete!”
+
+“He had to content himself with his ambassador and your servant,”
+ replied Alba with a faint smile, which was speedily converted into
+an expression of bitterness. “Are you satisfied with your pupil?” she
+added. “I am progressing.... I laugh--when I wish to weep.... But you
+yourself would not have laughed had you seen the fervor of charming
+Fanny. She was the picture of blissful faith. Do not scoff at her.”
+
+“And where did the ceremony take place?” asked Dorsenne, obeying the
+almost suppliant injunction.
+
+“In the chapel of the Dames du Cenacle.”
+
+“I know the place,” replied the novelist, “one of the most beautiful
+corners of Rome! It is in the old Palais Piancini, a large mansion
+almost opposite the ‘Calcographie Royale’, where they sell those
+fantastic etchings of the great Piranese, those dungeons and those ruins
+of so intense a poesy! It is the Gaya of stone. There is a garden on the
+terrace. And to ascend to the chapel one follows a winding staircase, an
+incline without steps, and one meets nuns in violet gowns, with faces
+so delicate in the white framework of their bonnets. In short, an ideal
+retreat for one of my heroines. My old friend Montfanon took me there.
+As we ascended to that tower, six weeks ago, we heard the shrill voices
+of ten little girls, singing: ‘Questo cuor tu la vedrai’. It was a
+procession of catechists, going in the opposite direction, with
+tapers which flickered dimly in the remnant of daylight.... It was
+exquisite.... But, now permit me to laugh at the thought of Montfanon’s
+choler when I relate to him this baptism. If I knew where to find
+the old leaguer! But he has been hiding since our duel. He is in some
+retreat doing penance. As I have already told you, the world for him
+has not stirred since Francois de Guise. He only admits the alms of
+the Protestants and the Jews. When Monseigneur Guerillot tells him of
+Fanny’s religious aspirations, he raves immoderately. Were she to
+cast herself to the lions, like Saint Blandine, he would still cry out
+‘sacrilege.’”
+
+“He did not see her the day before yesterday,” said Alba, “nor the
+expression upon her face when she recited the Credo. I do not believe in
+mysticism, you know, and I have moments of doubt. There are times when
+I can no longer believe in anything, life seems to me so wretched
+and sad.... But I shall never forget that expression. She saw God!...
+Several women were present with very touching faces, and there were
+many devotees.... The Cardinal is very venerable.... All were by Fanny’s
+side, like saints around the Madonna in the early paintings which you
+have taught me to like, and when the baptism had been gone through,
+guess what she said to me: ‘Come, let us pray for my dear father, and
+for his conversion.’ Is not such blindness melancholy.”
+
+“The fact is,” said Dorsenne again, jocosely, “that in the father’s
+dictionary the word has another meaning: Conversion, feminine
+substantive, means to him income.... But let us reason a little,
+Countess. Why do you think it sad that the daughter should see her
+father’s character in her own light?... You should, on the contrary,
+rejoice at it.... And why do you find it melancholy that this adorable
+saint should be the daughter of a thief?... How I wish that you were
+really my pupil, and that it would not be too absurd to give you here,
+in this corner of the hall, a lesson in intellectuality!... I would say
+to you, when you see one of those anomalies which renders you indignant,
+think of the causes. It is so easy. Although Protestant, Fanny is
+of Jewish origin--that is to say, the descendant of a persecuted
+race--which in consequence has developed by the side of the inherent
+defects of a proscribed people the corresponding virtues, the devotion,
+the abnegation of the woman who feels that she is the grace of a
+threatened hearth, the sweet flower which perfumes the sombre prison.”
+
+“It is all beautiful and true,” replied Alba, very seriously. She had
+hung upon Dorsenne’s lips while he spoke, with the instinctive taste for
+ideas of that order which proved her veritable origin. “But you do
+not mention the sorrow. This is what one can not do--look upon as a
+tapestry, as a picture, as an object; the creature who has not asked to
+live and who suffers. You, who have feeling, what is your theory when
+you weep?”
+
+“I can very clearly foresee the day on which Fanny will feel her
+misfortune,” continued the young girl. “I do not know when she will
+begin to judge her father, but that she already begins to judge Ardea,
+alas, I am only too sure.... Watch her at this moment, I pray you.”
+
+Dorsenne indeed looked at the couple. Fanny was listening to the Prince,
+but with a trace of suffering upon her beautiful face, so pure in
+outline that the nobleness in it was ideal.
+
+He was laughing at some anecdote which he thought excellent, and
+which clashed with the sense of delicacy of the person to whom he was
+addressing himself. They were no longer the couple who, in the early
+days of their betrothal, had given to Julien the sentiment of a complete
+illusion on the part of the young girl for her future husband.
+
+“You are right, Contessina,” said he, “the decrystallization has
+commenced. It is a little too soon.”
+
+“Yes, it is too soon,” replied Alba. “And yet it is too late. Would you
+believe that there are times when I ask myself if it would not be my
+duty to tell her the truth about her marriage, such as I know it, with
+the story of the weak man, the forced sale, and of the bargaining of
+Ardea?”
+
+“You will not do it,” said Dorsenne. “Moreover, why? This one or
+another, the man who marries her will only want her money, rest assured.
+It is necessary that the millions be paid for here below, it is one of
+their ransoms.... But I shall cause you to be scolded by your mother,
+for I am monopolizing you, and I have still two calls to pay this
+evening.”
+
+“Well, postpone them,” said Alba. “I beseech you, do not go.”
+
+“I must,” replied Julien. “It is the last Wednesday of old Duchess
+Pietrapertosa, and after her grandson’s recent kindness--”
+
+“She is so ugly,” said Alba, “will you sacrifice me to her?”
+
+“Then there is my compatriot, who goes away tomorrow and of whom I must
+take leave this evening, Madame de Sauve, with whom you met me at the
+museum.... You will not say she is ugly, will you?”
+
+“No,” responded Alba, dreamily, “she is very pretty.”.... She had
+another prayer upon her lips, which she did not formulate. Then, with
+a beseeching glance: “Return, at least. Promise me that you will return
+after your two visits. They will be over in an hour and a half. It will
+not be midnight. You know some do not ever come before one and sometimes
+two o’clock. You will return?”
+
+“If possible, yes. But at any rate, we shall meet to-morrow, at the
+studio, to see the portrait.”
+
+“Then, adieu,” said the young girl, in a low voice.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER X. COMMON MISERY
+
+The Contessina’s disposition was too different from her mother’s for the
+mother to comprehend that heart, the more contracted in proportion as it
+was touched, while emotion was synonymous with expansion in the opulent
+and impulsive Venetian. That evening she had not even observed Alba’s
+dreaminess, Dorsenne once gone, and it required that Hafner should
+call her attention to it. To the scheming Baron, if the novelist
+was attentive to the young girl it was certainly with the object of
+capturing a considerable dowry. Julien’s income of twenty-five thousand
+francs meant independence. The two hundred and fifty thousand francs
+which Alba would have at her mother’s death was a very large fortune.
+So Hafner thought he would deserve the name of “old friend,” by taking
+Madame Steno aside and saying to her:
+
+“Do you not think Alba has been a little strange for several days!”
+
+“She has always been so,” replied the Countess. “Young people are like
+that nowadays; there is no more youth.”
+
+“Do you not think,” continued the Baron, “that perhaps there is another
+cause for that sadness--some interest in some one, for example?”
+
+“Alba?” exclaimed the mother. “For whom?”
+
+“For Dorsenne,” returned Hafner, lowering his voice; “he just left five
+minutes ago, and you see she is no longer interested in anything nor in
+any one.”
+
+“Ah, I should be very much pleased,” said Madame Steno, laughing. “He is
+a handsome fellow; he has talent, fortune. He is the grand-nephew of a
+hero, which is equivalent to nobility, in my opinion. But Alba has
+no thought of it, I assure you. She would have told me; she tells me
+everything. We are two friends, almost two comrades, and she knows
+I shall leave her perfectly free to choose.... No, my old friend, I
+understand my daughter. Neither Dorsenne nor any one else interests her,
+unfortunately. I sometimes fear she will go into a decline, like her
+cousin Andryana Navagero, whom she resembles.... But I must cheer her
+up. It will not take long.”
+
+“A Dorsenne for a son-in-law!” said Hafner to himself, as he watched the
+Countess walk toward Alba through the scattered groups of her guests,
+and he shook his head, turning his eyes with satisfaction upon his
+future son-in-law. “That is what comes of not watching one’s children
+closely. One fancies one understands them until some folly opens one’s
+eyes!... And, it is too late!... Well, I have warned her, and it is no
+affair of mine!”
+
+In spite of Fanny’s observed and increasing vexation Ardea amused
+himself by relating to her anecdotes, more or less true, of the
+goings-on in the Vatican. He thus attempted to abate a Catholic
+enthusiasm at which he was already offended. His sense of the ridiculous
+and that of his social interest made him perceive how absurd it would be
+to go into clerical society after having taken for a wife a millionaire
+converted the day before. To be just, it must be added that the
+Countess’s dry champagne was not altogether irresponsible for the
+persistency with which he teased his betrothed. It was not the first
+time he had indulged in the semi-intoxication which had been one of the
+sins of his youth, a sin less rare in the southern climates than the
+modesty of the North imagines.
+
+“You come opportunely, Contessina,” said he, when Mademoiselle Steno had
+seated herself upon the couch beside them. “Your friend is scandalized
+by a little story I have just told her.... The one of the noble guard
+who used the telephone of the Vatican this winter to appoint rendezvous
+with Guilia Rezzonico without awakening the jealousy of Ugolino.... But
+it is nothing. I have almost quarrelled with Fanny for having revealed
+to her that the Holy Father repeated his benediction in Chapel Sixtine,
+with a singing master, like a prima donna....”
+
+“I have already told you that I do not like those jests,” said Fanny,
+with visible irritation, which her patience, however, governed. “If you
+desire to continue them, I will leave you to converse with Alba.”
+
+“Since you see that you annoy her,” said the latter to the Prince,
+“change the subject.”
+
+“Ah, Contessina,” replied Peppino, shaking his head, “you support
+her already. What will it be later? Well, I apologize for my innocent
+epigrams on His Holiness in his dressing-gown. And,” he continued,
+laughing, “it is a pity, for I have still two or three entertaining
+stories, notably one about a coffer filled with gold pieces, which a
+faithful bequeathed to the Pope. And that poor, dear man was about to
+count them when the coffer slipped from his hand, and there was the
+entire treasure on the floor, and the Pope and a cardinal on all fours
+were scrambling for the napoleons, when a servant entered.... Tableau!
+....I assure you that good Pius IX would be the first to laugh with us
+at all the Vatican jokes. He is not so much ‘alla mano’. But he is a
+holy man just the same. Do not think I do not render him justice. Only,
+the holy man is a man, and a good old man. That is what you do not wish
+to see.”
+
+“Where are you going?” said Alba to Fanny, who had risen as she had
+threatened to do.
+
+“To talk with my father, to whom I have several words to say.”
+
+“I warned you to change the subject,” said Alba, when she and the Prince
+were alone. Ardea, somewhat abashed, shrugged his shoulders and laughed:
+
+“You will confess that the situation is quite piquant, little
+Countess.... You will see she will forbid me to go to the Quirinal....
+Only one thing will be lacking, and it is that Papa Hafner should
+discover religious scruples which would prevent him from greeting the
+King.... But Fanny must be appeased!”
+
+“My God!” said Alba to herself, seeing the young man rise in his turn.
+“I believe he is intoxicated. What a pity!”
+
+As have almost all revolutions of that order, the work of Christianity,
+accomplished for years, in Fanny had for its principle an example.
+
+The death of a friend, the sublime death of a true believer, ended by
+determining her faith. She saw the dying woman receive the sacrament,
+and the ineffable joy of the benediction upon the face of the sufferer
+of twenty lighted up by ecstasy. She heard her say, with a smile of
+conviction:
+
+“I go to ask you of Our Lord, Jesus Christ.”
+
+How could she have resisted such a cry and such a sight?
+
+The very day after that death she asked of her father permission to be
+baptized, which request drew from the Baron a reply too significant not
+to be repeated here:
+
+“Undoubtedly,” had replied the surprising man, who instead of a heart,
+had a Bourse list on which all was tariffed, even God, “undoubtedly I
+am touched, very deeply touched, and very happy to see that religious
+matters preoccupy you to such a degree. To the people it is a necessary
+curb, and to us it accords with a certain rank, a certain society, a
+certain deportment. I think that a person called like you to live in
+Austria and in Italy should be a Catholic. However, it is necessary to
+remember that you might marry some one of another faith. Do not
+object. I am your father. I can foresee all. I know you will marry only
+according to the dictates of your heart. Wait then until it has spoken,
+to settle the question.... If you love a Catholic, you will then have
+occasion to pay a compliment to your betrothed by adopting his faith,
+of which he will be very sensible.... From now until then, I shall not
+prevent you from following ceremonies which please you. Those of the
+Roman liturgy are, assuredly, among the best; I myself attended Saint
+Peter’s at the time of the pontifical government.... The taste, the
+magnificence, the music, all moved me.... But to take a definite,
+irreparable step, I repeat, you must wait. Your actual condition of a
+Protestant has the grand sentiment of being more neutral, less defined.”
+
+What words to listen to by a heart already touched by the attraction of
+‘grace and by the nostalgia of eternal life! But the heart was that of
+a young girl very pure and very tender. To judge her father was to her
+impossible, and the Baron’s firmness had convinced her that she must
+obey his wishes and pray that he be enlightened. She therefore waited,
+hoping, sustained and directed meanwhile by Cardinal Guerillot,
+who later on was to baptize her and to obtain for her the favor of
+approaching the holy table for the first time at the Pope’s mass. That
+prelate, one of the noblest figures of which the French bishopric has
+had cause to be proud, since Monseigneur Pie, was one of those grand
+Christians for whom the hand of God is as visible in the direction of
+human beings as it is invisible to doubtful souls. When Fanny, already
+devoted to her charities, confided in him the serious troubles of her
+mind and the discord which had arisen between her and her father on the
+so essential point of her baptism, the Cardinal replied:
+
+“Have faith in God. He will give you a sign when your time has come.”
+ And he uttered those words with an accent whose conviction had filled
+the young girl with a certainty which had never left her.
+
+In spite of his seventy years, and of the experiences of the confession,
+in spite of the disenchanting struggle with the freemasonry of his
+French diocese, which had caused his exile to Rome, the venerable man
+looked at Fanny’s marriage from a supernatural standpoint. Many priests
+are thus capable of a naivete which, on careful analysis, is often
+in the right. But at the moment the antithesis between the authentic
+reality and that which they believe, constitutes an irony almost absurd.
+When he had baptized Fanny, the old Bishop of Clermont was possessed by
+a joy so deep that he said to her, to express to her the more delicately
+the tender respect of his friendship:
+
+“I can now say as did Saint Monica after the baptism of Saint Augustine:
+‘Cur hic sim, nescio; jam consumpta spe hujus saeculi’. I do not know
+why I remain here below. All my hope of the age is consummated. And like
+her I can add--the only thing which made me desire to remain awhile was
+to see you a Catholic before dying. The traveller, who has tarried, has
+now nothing to do but to go. He has gathered the last and the prettiest
+flower.”....
+
+Noble and faithful apostle, who was indeed to go so shortly after,
+meriting what they said of him, that which the African bishop said
+of his mother: “That religious soul was at length absolved from her
+body.”.... He did not anticipate that he would pay dearly for that
+realization of his last wish! He did not foresee that she whom he
+ingenuously termed his most beautiful flower was to become to him the
+principal cause of bitter sorrow. Poor, grand Cardinal! It was the final
+trial of his life, the supremely bitter drop in his chalice, to assist
+at the disenchantment which followed so closely upon the blissful
+intoxication of his gentle neophyte’s first initiation. To whom, if
+not to him, should she have gone to ask counsel, in all the tormenting
+doubts which she at once began to have in her feelings with regard to
+her fiance?
+
+It was, therefore, that on the day following the evening on which
+imprudent Ardea had jested so persistently upon a subject sacred to her
+that she rang at the door of the apartment which Monseigneur Guerillot
+occupied in the large mansion on Rue des Quatre-Fontaines. There was
+no question of incriminating the spirit of those pleasantries, nor of
+relating her humiliating observations on the Prince’s intoxication. No.
+She wished to ease her mind, on which rested a shade of sorrow. At the
+time of her betrothal, she had fancied she loved Ardea, for the emotion
+of her religious life at length freed had inspired her with gratitude
+for him who was, however, only the pretext of that exemption. She
+trembled to-day, not only at not loving him any more, but at hating him,
+and above all she felt herself a prey to that repugnance for the useless
+cares of the world, to that lassitude of transitory hopes, to that
+nostalgia of repose in God, undeniable signs of true vocations.
+
+At the thought that she might, if she survived her father and she
+remained free, retire to the ‘Dames du Cenacle,’ she felt at her
+approaching marriage an inward repugnance, which augmented still more
+the proof of her future husband’s deplorable character. Had she the
+right to form such bonds with such feelings? Would it be honorable
+to break, without further developments, the betrothal which had been
+between her and her father the condition of her baptism? She was already
+there, after so few days! And her wound was deeper after the night on
+which the Prince had, uttered his careless jests.
+
+“It is permitted you to withdraw,” replied Monsieur Guerillot, “but you
+are not permitted to lack charity in your judgment.”
+
+There was within Fanny too much sincerity, her faith was too simple and
+too deep for her not to follow out that advice to the letter, and she
+conformed to it in deeds as well as in intentions. For, before taking
+a walk in the afternoon with Alba, she took the greatest care to remove
+all traces which the little scene of the day before could have left in
+her friend’s mind. Her efforts went very far. She would ask pardon of
+her fiance.... Pardon! For what? For having been wounded by him, wounded
+to the depths of her sensibility? She felt that the charity of judgment
+recommended by the pious Cardinal was a difficult virtue. It exercises
+a discipline of the entire heart, sometimes irreconcilable with the
+clearness of the intelligence. Alba looked at her friend with a glance
+full of an astonishment, almost sorrowful, and she embraced her, saying:
+
+“Peppino is not worthy even to kiss the ground on which you tread, that
+is my opinion, and if he does not spend his entire life in trying to be
+worthy of you, it will be a crime.”
+
+As for the Prince himself, the impulses which dictated to his fiancee
+words of apology when he was in the wrong, were not unintelligible to
+him, as they would have been to Hafner. He thought that the latter had
+lectured his daughter, and he congratulated himself on having cut short
+at once that little comedy of exaggerated religious feeling.
+
+“Never mind that,” said he, with condescension, “it is I who have failed
+in form. For at heart you have always found me respectful of that which
+my fathers respected. But times have changed, and certain fanaticisms
+are no longer admissible. That is what I have wished to say to you in
+such a manner that you could take no offence.”
+
+And he gallantly kissed Fanny’s tiny hand, not divining that he had
+redoubled the melancholy of that too-generous child. The discord
+continued to be excessive between the world of ideas in which she moved
+and that in which the ruined Prince existed. As the mystics say with so
+much depth, they were not of the same heaven.
+
+Of all the chimeras which had lasted hours, God alone remained. It
+sufficed the noble creature to say: “My father is so happy, I will not
+mar his joy.”
+
+“I will do my duty toward my husband. I will be so good a wife that I
+will transform him. He has religion. He has heart. It will be my role to
+make of him a true Christian. And then I shall have my children and
+the poor.” Such were the thoughts which filled the mind of the envied
+betrothed. For her the journals began to describe the dresses already
+prepared, for her a staff of tailors, dressmakers, needlewomen and
+jewellers were working; she would have on her contract the same
+signature as a princess of the blood, who would be a princess herself
+and related to one of the most glorious aristocracies in the world. Such
+were the thoughts she would no doubt have through life, as she walked
+in the garden of the Palais Castagna, that historical garden in which
+is still to be seen a row of pear-trees, in the place where Sixte-Quint,
+near death, gathered some fruit. He tasted it, and he said to Cardinal
+Castagna--playing on their two names, his being Peretti--“The pears are
+spoiled. The Romans have had enough. They will soon eat chestnuts.” That
+family anecdote enchanted Justus Hafner. It seemed to him full of the
+most delightful humor. He repeated it to his colleagues at the club,
+to his tradesmen, to it mattered not whom. He did not even mistrust
+Dorsenne’s irony.
+
+“I met Hafner this morning on the Corso,” said the latter to Alba at one
+of the soirees at the end of the month, “and I had my third edition of
+the pleasantry on the pears and chestnuts. And then, as we took a few
+steps in the same direction, he pointed out to me the Palais Bonaparte,
+saying, ‘We are also related to them.’.... Which means that a
+grand-nephew of the Emperor married a cousin of Peppino.... I swear he
+thinks he is related to Napoleon!... He is not even proud of it. The
+Bonapartes are nowhere when it is a question of nobility!... I await the
+time when he will blush.”
+
+“And I the time when he will be punished as he deserves,” interrupted
+Alba Steno, in a mournful voice. “He is insolently triumphant. But no.
+....He will succeed.... If it be true that his fortune is one immense
+theft, think of those he has ruined. In what can they believe in the
+face of his infamous happiness?”
+
+“If they are philosophers,” replied Dorsenne, laughing still more gayly,
+“this spectacle will cause them to meditate on the words uttered by one
+of my friends: ‘One can not doubt the hand of God, for it created the
+world.’ Do you remember a certain prayer-book of Montluc’s?”
+
+“The one which your friend Montfanon bought to vex the poor little
+thing?”
+
+“Precisely. The old-leaguer has returned it to Ribalta; the latter told
+me so yesterday; no doubt in a spirit of mortification. I say no
+doubt for I have not seen the poor, dear man since the duel, which his
+impatience toward Ardea and Hafner rendered in evitable. He retired, I
+know not for how many days, to the convent of Mount Olivet, near Sienna,
+where he has a friend, one Abbe de Negro, of whom he always speaks as
+of a saint. I learned, through Rebalta, that he has returned, but is
+invisible. I tried to force an entrance. In short, the volume is
+again in the shop of the curiosity-seeker in the Rue Borgognona, if
+Mademoiselle Hafner still wants it!”
+
+“What good fortune!” exclaimed Fanny, with a sparkle of delight in her
+eyes. “I did not know what present to offer my dear Cardinal. Shall we
+make the purchase at once?”
+
+“Montluc’s prayer-book?” repeated old Ribalta, when the two young ladies
+had alighted from the carriage before his small book-shop, more dusty,
+more littered than ever with pamphlets, in which he still was, with his
+face more wrinkled, more wan and more proud, peering from beneath his
+broad-brimmed hat, which he did not raise. “How do you know it is here?
+Who has told you? Are there spies everywhere?”
+
+“It was Monsieur Dorsenne, one of Monsieur de Montfanon’s friends,” said
+Fanny, in her gentle voice.
+
+“Sara sara,” replied the merchant with his habitual insolence, and,
+opening the drawer of the chest in which he kept the most incongruous
+treasures, he drew from it the precious volume, which he held toward
+them, without giving it up. Then he began a speech, which reproduced the
+details given by Montfanon himself. “Ah, it is very authentic. There
+is an indistinct but undeniable signature. I have compared it with that
+which is preserved in the archives of Sienna. It is Montluc’s writing,
+and there is his escutcheon with the turtles.... Here, too, are the
+half-moons of the Piccolomini.... This book has a history....”
+
+“The Marshal gave it, after the famous siege, to one of the members of
+that illustrious family. And it was for one of the descendants that I
+was commissioned to buy it.... They will not give it up for less than
+two thousand francs.”
+
+“What a cheat!” said Alba to her companion, in English. “Dorsenne told
+me that Monsieur de Monfanon bought it for four hundred.”
+
+“Are you sure?” asked Fanny, who, on receiving a reply in the
+affirmative, addressed the bookseller, with the same gentleness, but
+with reproach in her accent: “Two thousand francs, Monsieur Ribalta? But
+it is not a just price, since you sold it to Monsieur de Montfanon for
+one-fifth of that sum.”
+
+“Then I am a liar and a thief,” roughly replied the old man; “a thief
+and a liar,” he repeated. “Four hundred francs! You wish to have this
+book for four hundred francs? I wish Monsieur de Montfanon was here to
+tell you how much I asked him for it.”
+
+The old bookseller smiled cruelly as he replaced the prayerbook in the
+drawer, the key of which he turned, and turning toward the two young
+girls, whose delicate beauty, heightened by their fine toilettes,
+contrasted so delightfully with the sordid surroundings, he enveloped
+them with a glance so malicious that they shuddered and instinctively
+drew nearer one another. Then the bookseller resumed, in a voice hoarser
+and deeper than ever: “If you wish to spend four hundred francs I have
+a volume which is worth it, and which I propose to take to the Palais
+Savorelli one of these days.... Ha, ha! It must be one of the very
+last, for the Baron has bought them all.” In uttering, those enigmatical
+words, he opened the cup board which formed the lower part of the chest,
+and took from one of the shelves a book wrapped in a newspaper. He then
+unfolded the journal, and, holding the volume in his enormous hand with
+his dirty nails, he disclosed the title to the two young girls: ‘Hafner
+and His Band; Some Reflections on the Scandalous Acquittal. By a
+Shareholder.’ It was a pamphlet, at that date forgotten, but which
+created much excitement at one time in the financial circles of
+Paris, of London and of Berlin, having been printed at once in three
+languages--in French, in German and in English--on the day after the
+suit of the ‘Credit Austro Dalmate.’ The dealer’s chestnut-colored
+eyes twinkled with a truly ferocious joy as he held out the volume and
+repeated:
+
+“It is worth four hundred francs.”
+
+“Do not read that book, Fanny,” said Alba quickly, after having read the
+title of the work, and again speaking in English; “it is one of those
+books with which one should not even pollute one’s thoughts.”
+
+“You may keep the book, sir,” she continued, “since you have made
+yourself the accomplice of those who have written it, by speculating on
+the fear you hoped it would inspire. Mademoiselle Hafner has known of it
+long, and neither she nor her father will give a centime.”
+
+“Very well! So much the better, so much the better,” said Ribalta,
+wrapping up his volume again; “tell your father I will keep it at his
+service.”
+
+“Ah, the miserable man!” said Alba, when Fanny and she had left the shop
+and reentered the carriage. “To dare to show you that!”
+
+“You saw,” replied Fanny, “I was so surprised I could not utter a word.
+That the man should offer me that infamous work is very impertinent.
+My father?... You do not know his scrupulousness in business. It is the
+honor of his profession. There is not a sovereign in Europe who has not
+given him a testimonial.”
+
+That impassioned protestation was so touching, the generous child’s
+illusion was so sincere, that Alba pressed her hand with a deeper
+tenderness. When Alba found herself that evening with her friend
+Dorsenne, who again dined at Madame Steno’s, she took him aside to
+relate to him the tragical scene, and to ask him: “Have you seen that
+pamphlet?”
+
+“To-day,” said the writer. “Montfanon, whom I have found at length, has
+just bought one of the two copies which Ribalta received lately. The
+old leaguer believes everything, you know, when a Hafner is in the
+question.... I am more skeptical in the bad as well as in the good. It
+was only the account given by the trial which produced any impression on
+me, for that is truth.”
+
+“But he was acquitted.”
+
+“Yes,” replied Dorsenne, “though it is none the less true that he ruined
+hundreds and hundreds of persons.”
+
+“Then, by the account given you of the case, it is clear to you that he
+is dishonest,” interrupted Alba.
+
+“As clear as that you are here, Contessina,” replied Dorsenne, “if to
+steal means to plunder one’s neighbors and to escape justice. But that
+would be nothing. The sinister corner in this affair is the suicide of
+one Schroeder, a brave citizen of Vienna, who knew our Baron intimately,
+and who invested, on the advice of his excellent friend, his entire
+fortune, three hundred thousand florins, in the scheme. He lost them,
+and, in despair, killed himself, his wife, and their three children.”
+
+“My God!” cried Alba, clasping her hands. “And Fanny might have read
+that letter in the book.”
+
+“Yes,” continued Julien, “and all the rest with proof in support of
+it. But rest assured, she shall not have the volume. I will go to that
+anarchist of a Ribalta to-morrow and I will buy the last copy, if Hafner
+has not already bought it.”
+
+Notwithstanding his constant affectation of irony, and, notwithstanding,
+his assumption of intellectual egotism, Julien was obliging. He never
+hesitated to render any one a service. He had not told his little friend
+an untruth when he promised her to buy the dangerous work, and the
+following morning he turned toward the Rue Borgognona, furnished with
+the twenty louis demanded by the bookseller. Imagine his feelings when
+the latter said to him:
+
+“It is too late, Monsieur Dorsenne. The young lady was here last night.
+She pretended not to prefer one volume to the other. It was to bargain,
+no doubt. Ha, ha! But she had to pay the price. I would have asked the
+father more. One owes some consideration to a young girl.”
+
+“Wretch!” exclaimed the novelist. “And you can jest after having
+committed that Judas-like act! To inform a child of her father’s
+misdeeds, when she is ignorant of them!... Never, do you hear, never
+any more will Monsieur de Montfanon and I set foot in your shop, nor
+Monseigneur Guerillot, nor any of the persons of my acquaintance. I
+will tell the whole world of your infamy. I will write it, and it shall
+appear in all the journals of Rome. I will ruin you, I will force you to
+close this dusty old shop.”
+
+During the entire day, Dorsenne vainly tried to shake off the weight
+of melancholy which that visit to the brigand of the Rue Borgognona had
+left upon his heart.
+
+On crossing, at nine o’clock, the threshold of the Villa Steno to give
+an account of his mission to the Contessina, he was singularly moved.
+There was no one there but the Maitlands, two tourists and two English
+diplomatists, on their way to posts in the East.
+
+“I was awaiting you,” said Alba to her friend, as soon as she could
+speak with him in a corner of the salon. “I need your advice. Last night
+a tragical incident took place at the Hafner’s.”
+
+“Probably,” replied Dorsenne. “Fanny has bought Ribalta’s book.”
+
+“She has bought the book!” said Alba, changing color and trembling. “Ah,
+the unhappy girl; the other thing was not sufficient!”
+
+“What other thing?” questioned Julien.
+
+“You remember,” said the young girl, “that I told you of that Noe
+Ancona, the agent who served Hafner as a tool in selling up Ardea, and
+in thus forcing the marriage. Well, it seems this personage did not
+think himself sufficiently well-paid for his complicity. He demanded of
+the Baron a large sum, with which to found some large swindling scheme,
+which the latter refused point-blank. The other threatened to relate
+their little dealing to Ardea, and he did so.”
+
+“And Peppino was angry?” asked Dorsenne, shaking his head. “That is not
+like him.”
+
+“Indignant or not,” continued Alba, “last night he went to the Palais
+Savorelli to make a terrible scene with his future father-in-law.”
+
+“And to obtain an increase of dowry,” said Julian.
+
+“He was not by any means tactful, then,” replied Alba, “for even in the
+presence of Fanny, who entered in the midst of their conversation, he
+did not pause. Perhaps he had drunk a little more than he could stand,
+which has of late become common with him. But, you see, the poor child
+was initiated into the abominable bargain with regard to her future, to
+her happiness, and if she has read the book, too! It is too dreadful!”
+
+“What a violent scene!” exclaimed Dorsenne. “So the engagement has been
+broken off?”
+
+“Not officially. Fanny is ill in bed from the excitement. Ardea came
+this morning to see my mother, who has also seen Hafner. She has
+reconciled them by proving to them, which she thinks true, that they
+have a common interest in avoiding all scandal, and arranging matters.
+But it rests with the poor little one. Mamma wished me to go, this
+afternoon, to beseech her to reconsider her resolution. For she has told
+her father she never wishes to hear the Prince’s voice again. I have
+refused. Mamma insists. Am I not right?”
+
+“Who knows?” replied Julien. “What would be her life alone with her
+father, now that her illusions with regard to him have been swept away?”
+
+The touching scene had indeed taken place, and less than twenty-four
+hours after the novelist had thus expressed to himself the regret of not
+assisting at it. Only he was mistaken as to the tenor of the dialogue,
+in a manner which proved that the subtlety of intelligence will never
+divine the simplicity of the heart. The most dolorous of all moral
+tragedies knit and unknit the most often in silence. It was in
+the afternoon, toward six o’clock, that a servant came to announce
+Mademoiselle Hafner’s visit to the Contessina, busy at that moment
+reading for the tenth time the ‘Eglogue Mondaine,’ that delicate story
+by Dorsenne. When Fanny entered the room, Alba could see what a trial
+her charming god-daughter of the past week had sustained, by the
+surprising and rapid alteration in that expressive and noble visage. She
+took her hand at first without speaking to her, as if she was entirely
+ignorant of the cause of her friend’s real indisposition. She then said:
+
+“How pleased I am to see you! Are you better?”
+
+“I have never been ill,” replied Fanny, who did not know how to tell an
+untruth. “I have had pain, that is all.” Looking at Alba, as if to beg
+her to ask no question, she added:
+
+“I have come to bid you adieu.”
+
+“You are going away?” asked the Contessina. “Yes,” said Fanny, “I am
+going to spend the summer at one of our estates in Styria.” And, in
+a low voice: “Has your mother told you that my engagement is broken?”
+ “Yes,” replied Alba, and both were again silent. After several moments
+Fanny was the first to ask: “And how shall you spend your summer?”--“We
+shall go to Piove, as usual,” was Alba’s answer. “Perhaps Dorsenne will
+be there, and the Maitlands will surely be.” A third pause ensued.
+They gazed at one another, and, without uttering another word, they
+distinctly read one another’s hearts. The martyrdom they suffered was so
+similar, they both knew it to be so like, that they felt the same
+pity possess them at the same moment. Forced to condemn with the most
+irrevocable condemnation, the one her father, the other, her mother,
+each felt attracted toward the friend, like her, unhappy, and, falling
+into one another’s arms, they both sobbed.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XI. THE LAKE DI PORTO
+
+Her friend’s tears had relieved sad Alba’s heart while she held that
+friend in her arms, quivering with sorrow and pity; but when she was
+gone, and Madame Steno’s daughter was alone, face to face with her
+thoughts, a greater distress seized her. The pity which her companion in
+misery had shown for her--was it not one more proof that she was right
+in mistrusting her mother? Alas! The miserable child did not know that
+while she was plunged in despair, there was in Rome and in her immediate
+vicinity a creature bent upon realizing a mad vow. And that creature was
+the same who had not recoiled before the infamy of an anonymous letter,
+pretty and sinister Lydia Maitland--that delicate, that silent young
+woman with the large brown eyes, always smiling, always impenetrable in
+the midst of that dull complexion which no emotion, it seemed, had ever
+tinged. The failure of her first attempt had exasperated her hatred
+against her husband and against the Countess to the verge of fury, but a
+concentrated fury, which was waiting for another occasion to strike, for
+weeks, patiently, obscurely. She had thought to wreak her vengeance by
+the return of Gorka, and in what had it ended? In freeing Lincoln from
+a dangerous rival and in imperilling the life of the only being for whom
+she cared!
+
+The sojourn at the country-seat of her husband’s mistress exasperated
+Lydia’s hidden anger. She suffered so that she cried aloud, like an
+imprisoned animal beating against the bars, when she pictured to herself
+the happiness which the two lovers would enjoy in the intimacy of the
+villa, with the beauties of the Venetian scenery surrounding them. No
+doubt the wife could provoke a scandal and obtain a divorce, thanks to
+proofs as indisputable as those with which she had overwhelmed Maud.
+It would be sufficient to carry to a lawyer the correspondence in the
+Spanish escritoire. But of what use? She would not be avenged on her
+husband, to whom a divorce would be a matter of indifference now that he
+earned as much money as he required, and she would lose her brother. In
+vain Lydia told herself that, warned as Alba had been by her letter, her
+doubt of Madame Steno’s misconduct would no longer be impossible. She
+was convinced by innumerable trifling signs that the Contessina still
+doubted, and then she concluded:
+
+“It is there that the blow must be struck. But how?”
+
+Yes. How? There was at the service of hatred in that delicate woman, in
+appearance oblivious of worldliness, that masculine energy in decision
+which is to be found in all families of truly military origin. The blood
+of Colonel Chapron stirred within her and gave her the desire to act. By
+dint of pondering upon those reasonings, Lydia ended by elaborating one
+of those plans of a simplicity really infernal, in which she revealed
+what must be called the genius of evil, for there was so much clearness
+in the conception and of villainy in the execution. She assured herself
+that it was unnecessary to seek any other stage than the studio for
+the scene she meditated. She knew too well the fury of passion by which
+Madame Steno was possessed to doubt that, as soon as she was alone
+with Lincoln, she did not refuse him those kisses of which their
+correspondence spoke. The snare to be laid was very simple. It required
+that Alba and Lydia should be in some post of observation while the
+lovers believed themselves alone, were it only for a moment. The
+position of the places furnished the formidable woman with the means of
+obtaining the place of espionage in all security. Situated on the second
+floor, the studio occupied most of the depth of the house. The wall,
+which separated it from the side of the apartments, ended in a partition
+formed of colored glass, through which it was impossible to see. That
+glass lighted a dark corridor adjoining the linen-room. Lydia employed
+several hours of several nights in cutting with a diamond a hole, the
+size of a fifty centime-piece, in one of those unpolished squares.
+
+Her preparations had been completed several days when, notwithstanding
+her absence of scruple in the satiating of her hatred, she still
+hesitated to employ that mode of vengeance, so much atrocious cruelty
+was there in causing a daughter to spy upon her mother. It was Alba
+herself who kindled the last spark of humanity with which that
+dark conscience was lighted up, and that by the most innocent of
+conversations. It was the very evening of the afternoon on which she had
+exchanged that sad adieu with Fanny Hafner. She was more unnerved than
+usual, and she was conversing with Dorsenne in that corner of the long
+hall. They did not heed the fact that Lydia drew near them, by a simple
+change of seat which permitted her, while herself conversing with some
+guest, to lend an ear to the words uttered by the Contessina.
+
+It was Florent who was the subject of their conversation, and she said
+to Dorsenne, who was praising him:
+
+“What would you have? It is true I almost feel repulsion toward him.
+He is to me like a being of another species. His friendship for his
+brother-in-law? Yes. It is very beautiful, very touching; but it does
+not touch me. It is a devotion which is not human. It is too instinctive
+and too blind. Indeed, I know that I am wrong. There is that prejudice
+of race which I can never entirely overcome.”
+
+Dorsenne touched her fingers at that moment, under the pretext of taking
+from her her fan, in reality to warn her, and he said, in a very low
+voice that time:
+
+“Let us go a little farther on. Lydia Maitland is too near.”
+
+He fancied he surprised a start on the part of Florent’s sister, at whom
+he accidentally glanced, while his too-sensible interlocutor no longer
+watched her! But as the pretty, clear laugh of Lydia rang out at the
+same moment, imprudent Alba replied:
+
+“Fortunately, she has heard nothing. And see how one can speak of
+trouble without mistrusting it.... I have just been wicked,” she
+continued, “for it is not their fault, neither Florent’s nor hers, if
+there is a little negro blood in their veins, so much the more so as
+it is connected by the blood of a hero, and they are both perfectly
+educated, and what is better, perfectly good, and then I know very well
+that if there is a grand thought in this age it is to have proclaimed
+that truly all men are brothers.”
+
+She had spoken in a lower voice, but too late. Moreover, even if
+Florent’s sister could have heard those words, they would not have
+sufficed to heal the wound which the first ones had made in the most
+sensitive part of her ‘amour propre’!
+
+“And I hesitated,” said she to herself, “I thought of sparing her!”
+
+The following morning, toward noon, she found herself at the atelier,
+seated beside Madame Steno, while Lincoln gave to the portrait the last
+touches, and while Alba posed in the large armchair, absent and pale as
+usual. Florent Chapron, after having assisted at part of the sitting,
+left the room, leaning upon the crutch, which he still used. His
+withdrawal seemed so propitious to Lydia that she resolved immediately
+not to allow such an opportunity to escape, and as if fatality
+interfered to render her work of infamy more easy, Madame Steno aided
+her by suddenly interrupting the work of the painter who, after hard
+working without speaking for half an hour, paused to wipe his forehead,
+on which were large drops of perspiration, so great was his excitement.
+
+“Come, my little Linco,” said she, with the affectionate solicitude
+of an old mistress, “you must rest. For two hours you have not ceased
+painting, and such minute details.... It tires me merely to watch you.”
+
+“I am not at all tired,” replied Maitland, who, however, laid down his
+palette and brush, and rolling a cigarette, lighted it, continuing, with
+a proud smile: “We have only that one superiority, we Americans, but we
+have it--it is a power to apply ourselves which the Old World no longer
+knows.... It is for that reason that there are professions in which we
+have no rivals.”
+
+“But see!” replied Lydia, “you have taken Alba for a Bostonian or a New
+Yorker, and you have made her pose so long that she is pale. She must
+have a change. Come with me, dear, I will show you the costume they have
+sent me from Paris, and which I shall wear this afternoon to the garden
+party at the English embassy.”
+
+She forced Alba Steno to rise from the armchair as she uttered those
+words, then she entwined her arms about her waist to draw her away and
+kissed her. Ah, if ever a caress merited being compared to the hideous
+flattery of Iscariot, it was that, and the young girl might have replied
+with the sublime words: “Friend, why hast thou betrayed me by a kiss?”
+ Alas! She believed in it, in the sincerity of that proof of affection,
+and she returned her false friend’s kiss with a gratitude which did not
+soften that heart saturated with hatred, for five minutes had not passed
+ere Lydia had put into execution her hideous project. Under the pretext
+of reaching the liner-room more quickly, she took a servant’s staircase,
+which led to that lobby with the glass partition, in which was the
+opening through which to look into the atelier.
+
+“This is very strange,” said she, pausing suddenly. And, pointing out to
+her innocent companion the round spot, she said: “Probably some servant
+who has wished to eavesdrop.--But what for? You, who are tall, look
+and see how it has been done and what it looks on. If it is a hole cut
+purposely, I shall discover the culprit and he shall go.”
+
+Alba obeyed the perfidious request absently, and applied her eye to the
+aperture. The author of the anonymous letters had chosen her moment only
+too well. As soon as the door of the studio was closed, the Countess
+rose to approach Lincoln. She entwined around the young man’s neck her
+arms, which gleamed through the transparent sleeves of her summer gown,
+and she kissed with greedy lips his eyes and mouth. Lydia, who had
+retained one of the girl’s hands in hers, felt that hand tremble
+convulsively. A hunter who hears rustle the foliage of the thicket
+through which should pass the game he is awaiting, does not experience
+a joy more complete. Her snare was successful. She said to her unhappy
+victim:
+
+“What ails you? How you tremble!”
+
+And she essayed to push her away in order to put herself in her
+place. Alba, whom the sight of her mother embracing Lincoln with those
+passionate kisses inspired at that moment with an inexplicable horror,
+had, however, enough presence of mind in the midst of her suffering
+to understand the danger of that mother whom she had surprised thus,
+clasping in the arms of a guilty mistress--whom?--the husband of the
+very woman speaking to her, who asked her why she trembled with fear,
+who would look through that same hole to see that same tableau!...
+In order to prevent what she believed would be to Lydia a terrible
+revelation, the courageous child had one of those desperate thoughts
+such as immediate peril inspires. With her free hand she struck the
+glass so violently that it was shivered into atoms, cutting her fingers
+and her wrist.
+
+Lydia exclaimed, angrily:
+
+“Miserable girl, you did that purposely!”
+
+The fierce creature as she uttered these words, rushed toward the large
+hole now made in the panel--too late!
+
+She only saw Lincoln erect in the centre of the studio, looking toward
+the broken window, while the Countess, standing a few paces from him,
+exclaimed:
+
+“My daughter! What has happened to my daughter? I recognized her voice.”
+
+“Do not alarm yourself,” replied Lydia, with atrocious sarcasm. “Alba
+broke the pane to give you a warning.”
+
+“But, is she hurt?” asked the mother.
+
+“Very slightly,” replied the implacable woman with the same accent of
+irony, and she turned again toward the Contessina with a glance of such
+rancor that, even in the state of confusion in which the latter was
+plunged by that which she had surprised, that glance paralyzed her with
+fear. She felt the same shudder which had possessed her dear friend
+Maud, in that same studio, in the face of the sinister depths of that
+dark soul, suddenly exposed. She had not time to precisely define her
+feelings, for already her mother was beside her, pressing her in her
+arms--in those very arms which Alba had just seen twined around the neck
+of a lover--while that same mouth showered kisses upon him. The
+moral shock was so great that the young girl fainted. She regained
+consciousness and almost at once. She saw her mother as mad with anxiety
+as she had just seen her trembling with joy and love. She again saw
+Lydia Maitland’s eyes fixed upon them both with an expression too
+significant now. And, as she had had the presence of mind to save that
+guilty mother, she found in her tenderness the strength to smile at
+her, to lie to her, to blind her forever as to the truth of that hideous
+scene which had just been enacted in that lobby.
+
+“I was frightened at the sight of my own blood,” said she, “and I
+believe it is only a small cut.... See! I can move my hand without
+pain.”
+
+When the doctor, hastily summoned, had confirmed that no particles of
+glass had remained in the cuts, the Countess felt so reassured that her
+gayety returned. Never had she been in a mood more charming than in the
+carriage which took them to the Villa Steno.
+
+To a person obliged by proof to condemn another without ceasing to
+love her, there is no greater sorrow than to perceive the absolute
+unconsciousness of that other person and her serenity in her fault. Poor
+Alba, felt overwhelmed by a sadness greater, more depressing still, and
+which became materially insupportable, when, toward half-past two, her
+mother bade her farewell, although the fete at the English embassy did
+not begin until five o’clock.
+
+“I promised poor Hafner to go to see him to-day. I know he is bowed down
+with grief. I would like to try to arrange all.... I will send back the
+carriage if you wish to go out awhile. I have telephoned Lydia to expect
+me at four o’clock.... She will take me.”
+
+She had, on detailing the employment so natural of her afternoon, eyes
+too brilliant, a smile too happy. She looked too youthful in her light
+toilette. Her feet trembled with too nervous an impatience. How could
+Alba not have felt that she was telling her an untruth? The undeceived
+child had the intuition that the visit to Fanny’s father was only a
+pretext. It was not the first time that the Countess employed it to
+free herself from inconvenient surveillance, the act of sending back
+the carriage, which, in Rome as in Paris, is always the probable sign of
+clandestine meetings with women of their rank. It was not the first
+time that Alba was possessed by suspicion on certain mysterious
+disappearances of her mother. That mother did not mistrust that poor
+Alba--her Alba, the child so tenderly loved in spite of all--was
+suffering at that very moment and on her account the most terrible of
+temptations.... When the carriage had disappeared the fixed gaze of the
+young girl was turned upon the pavement, and then she felt arise in
+her a sudden, instinctive, almost irresistible idea to end the moral
+suffering by which she was devoured. It was so simple!... It was
+sufficient to end life. One movement which she could make, one single
+movement--she could lean over the balustrade, against which her arm
+rested, in a certain manner--so, a little more forward, a little
+more--and that suffering would be terminated. Yes, it would be so very
+simple. She saw herself lying upon the pavement, her limbs broken, her
+head crushed, dead--dead--freed! She leaned forward and was about to
+leap, when her eyes fell upon a person who was walking below, the sight
+of whom suddenly aroused her from the folly, the strange charm of which
+had just laid hold so powerfully upon her. She drew back. She rubbed her
+eyes with her hands, and she, who was accustomed to mystical enthusiasm,
+said aloud:
+
+“My God! You send him to me! I am saved.” And she summoned the footman
+to tell him that if M. Dorsenne asked for her, he should be shown into
+Madame Steno’s small salon. “I am not at home to any one else,” she
+added.
+
+It was indeed Julien, whom she had seen approach the house at the very
+instant when she was only separated from the abyss by that last tremor
+of animal repugnance, which is found even in suicide of the most ardent
+kind. Do not madmen themselves choose to die in one manner rather than
+in another? She paused several moments in order to collect herself.
+
+“Yes,” said she at length, to herself, “it is the only solution. I will
+find out if he loves me truly. And if he does not?”
+
+She again looked toward the window, in order to assure herself that,
+in case that conversation did not end as she desired, the tragical and
+simple means remained at her service by which to free herself from that
+infamous life which she surely could not bear.
+
+Julien began the conversation in his tone of sentimental raillery, so
+speedily to be transformed into one of drama! He knew very well, on
+arriving at Villa Steno, that he was to have his last tete-a-tete with
+his pretty and interesting little friend. For he had at length decided
+to go away, and, to be more sure of not failing, he had engaged his
+sleeping-berth for that night. He had jested so much with love that he
+entered upon that conversation with a jest; when, having tried to take
+Alba’s hand to press a kiss upon it, he saw that it was bandaged.
+
+“What has happened to you, little Countess? Have my laurels or those of
+Florent Chapron prevented you from sleeping, that you are here with
+the classical wrist of a duellist?... Seriously, how have you hurt
+yourself?”
+
+“I leaned against a window, which broke and the pieces of glass cut my
+fingers somewhat,” replied the young girl with a faint smile, adding:
+“It is nothing.”
+
+“What an imprudent child you are!” said Dorsenne in his tone of friendly
+scolding. “Do you know that you might have severed an artery and have
+caused a very serious, perhaps a fatal, hemorrhage?”
+
+“That would not have been such a great misfortune,” replied Alba,
+shaking her pretty head with an expression so bitter about her mouth
+that the young man, too, ceased smiling.
+
+“Do not speak in that tone,” said he, “or I shall think you did it
+purposely.”
+
+“Purposely?” repeated the young girl. “Purposely? Why should I have done
+it purposely?”
+
+And she blushed and laughed in the same nervous way she had laughed
+fifteen minutes before, when she looked down into the street. Dorsenne
+felt that she was suffering, and his heart contracted. The trouble
+against which he had struggled for several days with all the energy
+of an independent artist, and which for some time systematized his
+celibacy, again oppressed him. He thought it time to put between “folly”
+ and him the irreparability of his categorical resolution. So he replied
+to his little friend with his habitual gentleness, but in a tone of
+firmness, which already announced his determination:
+
+“I have again vexed you, Contessina, and you are looking at me with the
+glance of our hours of dispute. You will later regret having been unkind
+to-day.”
+
+As he pronounced those enigmatical words, she saw that he had in his
+eyes and in his smile something different and indefinable. It must have
+been that she loved him still more than she herself believed as for a
+second she forgot both her pain and her resolution, and she asked him,
+quickly:
+
+“You have some trouble? You are suffering? What is it?”
+
+“Nothing,” replied Dorsenne. “But time is flying, the minutes are going
+by, and not only the minutes. There is an old and charming. French ode,
+which you do not know and which begins:
+
+     ‘Le temps s’en va, le temps s’en va, Madame.
+     Las, le temps? Non. Mais nous nous en allons.’”
+
+“Which means, little Countess, in simple prose, that this is no doubt
+the last conversation we shall have together this season, and that it
+would be cruel to mar for me this last visit.”
+
+“Do I understand you aright?” said Alba. She, too, knew too well
+Julien’s way of speaking not to know that that mannerism, half-mocking,
+half-sentimental, always served him to prepare phrases more grave,
+and against the emotion of which her fear of appearing a dupe rose in
+advance. She crossed her arms upon her breast, and after a pause she
+continued, in a grave voice: “You are going away?”
+
+“Yes,” he replied, and from his coat-pocket he partly drew his ticket.
+“You see I have acted like the poltroons who cast themselves into the
+water. My ticket is bought, and I shall no longer hold that little
+discourse which I have held for months, that, ‘Sir executioner, one
+moment.... Du Barry’.”
+
+“You are going away?” repeated the young girl, who did not seem to have
+heeded the jest by which Julien had concealed his own confusion at the
+effect of his so abruptly announced departure. “I shall not see you any
+more!... And if I ask you not to go yet? You have spoken to me of our
+friendship.... If I pray you, if I beseech you, in the name of that
+friendship, not to deprive me of it at this instant, when I have no
+one, when I am so alone, so horribly alone, will you answer no? You have
+often told me that you were my friend, my true friend? If it be true,
+you will not go. I repeat, I am alone, and I am afraid.”
+
+“Come, little Countess,” replied Dorsenne, who began to be terrified
+by the young girl’s sudden excitement, “it is not reasonable to agitate
+yourself thus, because yesterday you had a very sad conversation with
+Fanny Hafner! First, it is altogether impossible for me to defer my
+departure. You force me to give you coarse, almost commercial reasons.
+But my book is about to appear, and I must be there for the launching of
+the sale, of which I have already told you. And then you are going away,
+too. You will have all the diversions of the country, of your Venetian
+friends and charming Lydia Maitland!”
+
+“Do not mention that name,” interrupted Alba, whose face became
+discomposed at the allusion to the sojourn at Piove. “You do not know
+how you pain me, nor what that woman is, what a monster of cruelty
+and of perfidy! Ask me no more. I shall tell you nothing. But,” the
+Contessina that time clasping her hands, her poor, thin hands, which
+trembled with the anguish of the words she dared to utter, “do you not
+comprehend that if I speak to you as I do, it is because I have need of
+you in order to live?” Then in a low voice, choked by emotion: “It
+is because I love you!” All the modesty natural to a child of twenty
+mounted to her pale face in a flood of purple, when she had uttered that
+avowal. “Yes, I love you!” she repeated, in an accent as deep, but more
+firm. “It is not, however, so common a thing to find real devotion, a
+being who only asks to serve you, to be useful to you, to live in your
+shadow. And you will understand that to have the right of giving you
+my life, to bear your name, to be your wife, to follow you, I felt very
+vividly in your presence at the moment I was about to lose you. You
+will pardon my lack of modesty for the first, for the last time. I have
+suffered too much.”
+
+She ceased. Never had the absolute purity of the charming creature, born
+and bred in an atmosphere of corruption, and remaining in the same so
+intact, so noble, so frank, flashed out as at that moment. All that
+virgin and unhappy soul was in her eyes which implored Julien, on her
+lips which trembled at having spoken thus, on her brow around which
+floated, like an aureole, the fair hair stirred by the breeze which
+entered the open window. She had found the means of daring that
+prodigious step, the boldest a woman can permit herself, still more so
+a young girl, with so chaste a simplicity that at that moment Dorsenne
+would not have dared to touch even the hand of that child who confided
+herself to him so madly, so loyally.
+
+Dorsenne was undoubtedly greatly interested in her, with a curiosity,
+without enthusiasm, and against which a reaction had already set in.
+That touching speech, in which trembled a distress so tender and each
+word of which later on made him weep with regret, produced upon him
+at that moment an impression of fear rather than love or pity. When at
+length he broke the cruel silence, the sound of his voice revealed to
+the unhappy girl the uselessness of that supreme appeal addressed by her
+to life.
+
+She had only kept, to exorcise the demon of suicide, her hope in
+the heart of that man, and that heart, toward which she turned in so
+immoderate a transport, drew back instead of responding.
+
+“Calm yourself, I beseech you,” said he to her. “You can understand that
+I am very much moved, very much surprised, at what I have heard! I did
+not suspect it. My God! How troubled you are. And yet,” he continued
+with more firmness, “I should despise myself were I to lie to you. You
+have been so loyal toward me.... To marry you? Ah, it would be the
+most delightful dream of happiness if that dream were not prevented by
+honesty. Poor child,” and his voice sounded almost bitter, “you do not
+know me. You do not know what a writer of my order is, and that to unite
+your destiny to mine would be for you martyrdom more severe than your
+moral solitude of to-day. You see, I came to your home with so much joy,
+because I was free, because each time I could say to myself that I need
+not return again. Such a confession is not romantic. But it is thus. If
+that relation became a bond, an obligation, a fixed framework in which
+to move, a circle of habits in which to imprison me, I should only have
+one thought--flight. An engagement for my entire life? No, no, I could
+not bear it. There are souls of passage as well as birds of passage, and
+I am one. You will understand it tomorrow, now, and you will remember
+that I have spoken to you as a man of honor, who would be miserable if
+he thought he had augmented, involuntarily, the sorrows of your life
+when his only desire was to assuage them. My God! What is to be done?”
+ he cried, on seeing, as he spoke, tears gush from the young girl’s eyes,
+which she did not wipe away.
+
+“Go away,” she replied, “leave me. I do not want you. I am grateful to
+you for not having deceived me.”
+
+“But your presence is too cruel. I am ashamed of having spoken to you,
+now that I know you do not love me. I have been mad, do not punish me by
+remaining longer. After the conversation we have just had, my honor will
+not permit us to talk longer.”
+
+“You are right,” said Julien, after another pause. He took his hat,
+which he had placed upon a table at the beginning of that visit,
+so rapidly and abruptly terminated by a confession of sentiments so
+strange. He said:
+
+“Then, farewell.” She inclined her fair head without replying.
+
+The door was closed. Alba Steno was again alone. Half an hour later,
+when the footman entered to ask for orders relative to the carriage sent
+back by the Countess, he found her standing motionless at the window
+from which she had watched Dorsenne depart. There she had once more
+been seized by the temptation of suicide. She had again felt with an
+irresistible force the magnetic attraction of death. Life appeared to
+her once more as something too vile, too useless, too insupportable to
+be borne. The carriage was at her disposal. By way of the Portese gate
+and along the Tiber, with the Countess’s horses, it would take an hour
+and a half to reach the Lake di Porto. She had, too, this pretext, to
+avoid the curiosity of the servants: one of the Roman noblewomen of her
+acquaintance, Princess Torlonia, owned an isolated villa on the border
+of that lake.... She ascended hastily to don her hat. And without
+writing a word of farewell to any one, without even casting a glance at
+the objects among which she had lived and suffered, she descended the
+staircase and gave the coachman the name of the villa, adding “Drive
+quickly; I am late now.”
+
+The Lake di Porto is only, as its name indicates, the port of the
+ancient Tiber. The road which leads from Transtevere runs along the
+river, which rolls through a plain strewn with ruins and indented with
+barren hills, its brackish water discolored from the sand and mud of the
+Apennines.
+
+Here groups of eucalyptus, there groups of pine parasols above some
+ruined walls, were all the vegetation which met Alba Steno’s eye. But
+the scene accorded so well with the moral devastation she bore within
+her that the barrenness around her in her last walk was pleasant to her.
+
+The feeling that she was nearing eternal peace, final sleep in which she
+should suffer no more, augmented when she alighted from the carriage,
+and, having passed the garden of Villa Torlonia, she found herself
+facing the small lake, so grandiose in its smallness by the wildness of
+its surroundings, and motionless, surprised in even that supreme moment
+by the magic of that hidden sight, she paused amid the reeds with their
+red tufts to look at that pond which was to become her tomb, and she
+murmured:
+
+“How beautiful it is!”
+
+There was in the humid atmosphere which gradually penetrated her a charm
+of mortal rest, to which she abandoned herself dreamily, almost with
+physical voluptuousness, drinking into her being the feverish fumes of
+that place--one of the most fatal at that season and at that hour of all
+that dangerous coast--until she shuddered in her light summer gown.
+Her shoulders contracted, her teeth chattered, and that feeling of
+discomfort was to her as a signal for action. She took another allee of
+rose-bushes in flower to reach a point on the bank barren of vegetation,
+where was outlined the form of a boat. She soon detached it, and,
+managing the heavy oars with her delicate hands, she advanced toward the
+middle of the lake.
+
+When she was in the spot which she thought the deepest and the most
+suitable for her design, she ceased rowing. Then, by a delicate care,
+which made her smile herself, so much did it betray instinctive and
+childish order at such a solemn moment, she put her hat, her umbrella
+and her gloves on one of the transversal boards of the boat. She had
+made effort to move the heavy oars, so that she was perspiring. A second
+shudder seized her as she was arranging the trifling objects, so keen,
+so chilly, so that time that she paused. She lay there motionless, her
+eyes fixed upon the water, whose undulations lapped the boat. At the
+last moment she felt reenter her heart, not love of life, but love for
+her mother. All the details of the events which would follow her suicide
+were presented to her mind.
+
+She saw herself plunging into the deep water which would close over
+her head. Her suffering would be ended, but Madame Steno? She saw the
+coachman growing uneasy over her absence, ringing at the door of Villa
+Torlonia, the servants in search. The loosened boat would relate enough.
+Would the Countess know that she had killed herself? Would she know
+the cause of that desperate end? The terrible face of Lydia Maitland
+appeared to the young girl. She comprehended that the woman hated her
+enemy too much not to enlighten her with regard to the circumstances
+which had preceded that suicide. The cry so simple and of a significance
+so terrible: “You did it purposely!” returned to Alba’s memory. She saw
+her mother learning that her daughter had seen all. She had loved her so
+much, that mother, she loved her so dearly still!
+
+Then, as a third violent chill shook her from head to foot, Alba began
+to think of another mode, and one as sure, of death without any one in
+the world being able to suspect that it was voluntary. She recalled
+the fact that she was in one of the most dreaded corners of the Roman
+Campagna; that she had known persons carried off in a few days by the
+pernicious fevers contracted in similar places, at that hour and in
+that season, notably one of her friends, one of the Bonapartes living
+in Rome, who came thither to hunt when overheated. If she were to try to
+catch that same disease?... And she took up the oars. When she felt
+her brow moist with the second effort, she opened her bodice and her
+chemise, she exposed her neck, her breast, her throat, and she lay down
+in the boat, allowing the damp air to envelop, to caress, to chill her,
+inviting the entrance into her blood of the fatal germs. How long did
+she remain thus, half-unconscious, in the atmosphere more and more laden
+with miasma in proportion as the sun sank? A cry made her rise and again
+take up the oars. It was the coachman, who, not seeing her return, had
+descended from the box and was hailing the boat at all hazards. When she
+stepped upon the bank and when he saw her so pale, the man, who had been
+in the Countess’s service for years, could not help saying to her, with
+the familiarity of an Italian servant:
+
+“You have taken cold, Mademoiselle, and this place is so dangerous.”
+
+“Indeed,” she replied, “I have had a chill. It will be nothing. Let us
+return quickly. Above all, do not say that I was in the boat. You will
+cause me to be scolded.”
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XII. EPILOGUE
+
+“And it was directly after that conversation that the poor child left
+for the lake, where she caught the pernicious fever?” asked Montfanon.
+
+“Directly,” replied Dorsenne, “and what troubles me the most is that I
+can not doubt but that she went there purposely. I was so troubled by
+our conversation that I had not the strength to leave Rome the same
+evening, as I told her I should. After much hesitation--you understand
+why, now that I have told you all--I returned to the Villa Steno at six
+o’clock. To speak to her, but of what? Did I know? It was madness. For
+her avowal only allowed of two replies, either that which I made her or
+an offer of marriage. Ah, I did not reason so much. I was afraid.... Of
+what?... I do not know. I reached the villa, where I found the Countess,
+gay and radiant, as was her custom, and tete-a-tete with her American.
+‘Only think, there is my child,’ said she to me, ‘who has refused to go
+to the English embassy, where she would enjoy herself, and who has gone
+out for a drive alone.... Will you await her?’”
+
+“At length she began to grow uneasy, and I, seeing that no one returned,
+took my leave, my heart oppressed by presentiments.... Alba’s carriage
+stopped at the door just as I was going out. She was pale, of a greenish
+pallor, which caused me to say on approaching her: ‘Whence have you
+come?’ as if I had the right. Her lips, already discolored, trembled as
+they replied. When I learned where she had spent that hour of sunset,
+and near what lake, the most deadly in the neighborhood, I said to her:
+‘What imprudence!’ I shall all my life see the glance she gave me at the
+moment, as she replied: ‘Say, rather, how wise, and pray that I may have
+taken the fever and that I die of it.’ You know the rest, and how her
+wish has been realized. She indeed contracted the fever, and so severely
+that she died in less than six days. I have no doubt, since her last
+words, that it was a suicide.”
+
+“And the mother,” asked Montfanon, “did she not comprehend finally?”
+
+“Absolutely nothing,” replied Dorsenne. “It is inconceivable, but it is
+thus. Ah! she is truly the worthy friend of that knave Hafner, whom
+his daughter’s broken engagement has not grieved, in spite of his
+discomfiture. I forgot to tell you that he had just sold Palais Castagna
+to a joint-stock company to convert it into a hotel. I laugh,” he
+continued with singular acrimony, “in order not to weep, for I am
+arriving at the most heartrending part. Do you know where I saw poor
+Alba Steno’s face for the last time? It was three days ago, the day
+after her death, at this hour. I called to inquire for the Countess!
+She was receiving! ‘Do you wish to bid her adieu?’ she asked me. ‘Good
+Lincoln is just molding her face for me.’ And I entered the chamber of
+death. Her eyes were closed, her cheeks were sunken, her pretty nose was
+pinched, and upon her brow and in the corners of her mouth was a mixture
+of bitterness and of repose which I can not describe to you. I thought:
+‘If you had liked, she would be alive, she would smile, she would love
+you!’ The American was beside the bed, while Florent Chapron, always
+faithful, was preparing the oil to put upon the face of the corpse, and
+sinister Lydia Maitland was watching the scene with eyes which made
+me shudder, reminding me of what I had divined at the time of my last
+conversation with Alba. If she does not undertake to play the part of a
+Nemesis and to tell all to the Countess, I am mistaken in faces! For the
+moment she was silent, and guess the only words the mother uttered
+when her lover, he on whose account her daughter had suffered so much,
+approached their common victim: ‘Above all, do not injure her lovely
+lashes!’ What horrible irony, was it not? Horrible!”
+
+The young man sank upon a bench as he uttered that cry of distress and
+of remorse, which Montfanon mechanically repeated, as if startled by the
+tragical confidence he had just received.
+
+Montfanon shook his gray head several times as if deliberating; then
+forced Dorsenne to rise, chiding him thus:
+
+“Come, Julien, we can not remain here all the afternoon dreaming and
+sighing like young women! The child is dead. We can not restore her to
+life, you in despairing, I in deploring. We should do better to look in
+the face our responsibility in that sinister adventure, to repent of it
+and to expiate it.”
+
+“Our responsibility?” interrogated Julien. “I see mine, although I can
+truly not see yours.”
+
+“Yours and mine,” replied Montfanon. “I am no sophist, and I am not in
+the habit of shifting my conscience. Yes or no,” he insisted, with a
+return of his usual excitement, “did I leave the catacombs to arrange
+that unfortunate duel? Yes or no, did I yield to the paroxysm of choler
+which possessed me on hearing of the engagement of Ardea and on finding
+that I was in the presence of that equivocal Hafner? Yes or no, did that
+duel help to enlighten Madame Gorka as to her husband’s doings, and, in
+consequence, Mademoiselle Steno as to her mother’s? Did you not relate
+to me the progress of her anguish since that scandal, there just
+now?... And if I have been startled, as I have been, by the news of that
+suicide, know it has been for this reason especially, because a voice
+has said to me: ‘A few of the tears of that dead girl are laid to your
+account.”’
+
+“But, my poor friend,” interrupted Dorsenne, “whence such reasoning?
+According to that, we could not live any more. There enters into our
+lives, by indirect means, a collection of actions which in no way
+concerns us, and in admitting that we have a debt of responsibility to
+pay, that debt commences and ends in that which we have wished directly,
+sincerely, clearly.”
+
+“It would be very convenient,” replied the Marquis, with still more
+vivacity, “but the proof that it is not true is that you yourself
+are filled with remorse at not having saved the soul so weak of that
+defenseless child. Ah, I do not mince the truth to myself, and I shall
+not do so to you. You remember the morning when you were so gay, and
+when you gave me the theory of your cosmopolitanism? It amused you, as
+a perfect dilettante, so you said, to assist in one of those dramas of
+race which bring into play the personages from all points of the earth
+and of history, and you then traced to me a programme very true, my
+faith, and which events have almost brought about. Madame Steno has
+indeed conducted herself toward her two lovers as a Venetian of the time
+of Aretin; Chapron, with all the blind devotion of a descendant of an
+oppressed race; his sister with the villainous ferocity of a rebel who
+at length shakes off the yoke, since you think she wrote those anonymous
+letters. Hafner and Ardea have laid bare two detestable souls, the one
+of an infamous usurer, half German, half Dutch; the other of a degraded
+nobleman, in whom is revived some ancient ‘condottiere’. Gorka has been
+brave and mad, like entire Poland; his wife implacable and loyal, like
+all of England. Maitland continues to be positive, insensible, and
+wilful in the midst of it all, as all America. And poor Alba ended as
+did her father. I do not speak to you of Baron Hafner’s daughter,” and
+he raised his hat. Then, in an altered voice:
+
+“She is a saint, in whom I was deceived. But she has Jewish blood in
+her veins, blood which was that of the people of God. I should have
+remembered it and the beautiful saying of the Middle Ages: ‘The Jewish
+women shall be saved because they have wept for our Lord in secret.’....
+You outlined for me in advance the scene of the drama in which we have
+been mixed up.... And do you remember what I said: ‘Is there not among
+them a soul which you might aid in doing better?’ You laughed in my face
+at that moment. You would have treated me, had you been less polite,
+as a Philistine and a cabotin. You wished to be only a spectator, the
+gentleman in the balcony who wipes the glasses of his lorgnette in order
+to lose none of the comedy. Well, you could not do so. That role is not
+permitted a man. He must act, and he acts always, even when he thinks
+he is looking on, even when he washes his hands as Pontius Pilate, that
+dilettante, too, who uttered the words of your masters and of yourself.
+What is truth? Truth is that there is always and everywhere a duty to
+fulfil. Mine was to prevent that criminal encounter. Yours was not to
+pay attention to that young girl if you did not love her, and if
+you loved her, to marry her and to take her from her abominable
+surroundings. We have both failed, and at what a price!”
+
+“You are very severe,” said the young man; “but if you were right would
+not Alba be dead? Of what use is it for me to know what I should have
+done when it is too late?”
+
+“First, never to do so again,” said the Marquis; “then to judge yourself
+and your life.”
+
+“There is truth in what you say,” replied Dorsenne, “but you are
+mistaken if you think that the most intellectual men of our age have not
+suffered, too, from that abuse of thought. What is to be done? Ah, it is
+the disease of a century too cultivated, and there is no cure.”
+
+“There is one,” interrupted Montfanon, “which you do not wish to see....
+You will not deny that Balzac was the boldest of our modern writers. Is
+it necessary for me, an ignorant man, to recite to you the phrase which
+governs his work: ‘Thought, principle of evil and of good can only be
+prepared, subdued, directed by religion.’ See?” he continued, suddenly
+taking his companion by the arm and forcing him to look into a
+transversal allee through the copse, “there he is, the doctor who holds
+the remedy for that malady of the soul as for all the others. Do
+not show yourself. They will have forgotten our presence. But, look,
+look!....Ah, what a meeting!”
+
+The personage who appeared suddenly in that melancholy, deserted garden,
+and in a manner almost supernatural, so much did his presence form a
+living commentary to the discourse of the impassioned nobleman, was
+no other than the Holy Father himself, on the point of entering his
+carriage for his usual drive. Dorsenne, who only knew Leo XIII from
+his portraits, saw an old man, bent, bowed, whose white cassock gleamed
+beneath the red mantle, and who leaned on one side upon a prelate of
+his court, on the other upon one of his officers. In drawing back,
+as Montfanon had advised, in order not to bring a reprimand upon
+the keepers, he could study at his leisure the delicate face of the
+Sovereign Pontiff, who paused at a bed of roses to converse familiarly
+with a kneeling gardener. He saw the infinitely indulgent smile of
+that spirituelle mouth. He saw the light of those eyes which seemed
+to justify by their brightness the ‘lumen in coelo’ applied to the
+successor of Pie IX by a celebrated prophecy. He saw the venerable
+hand, that white, transparent hand, which was raised to give the solemn
+benediction with so much majesty, turn toward a fine yellow rose, and
+the fingers bend the flower without plucking it, as if not to harm the
+frail creation of God. The old Pope for a second inhaled its perfume and
+then resumed his walk toward the carriage, vaguely to be seen between
+the trunks of the green oaks. The black horses set off at a trot, and
+Dorsenne, turning again toward Montfanon, perceived large tears upon
+the lashes of the former zouave, who, forgetting the rest of their
+conversation, said, with a sigh: “And that is the only pleasure allowed
+him, who is, however, the successor of the first apostle, to inhale his
+flowers and drive in a carriage as rapidly as his horses can go! They
+have procured four paltry kilometers of road at the foot of the terrace
+where we were half an hour since. And he goes on, he goes on, thus
+deluding himself with regard to the vast space which is forbidden him. I
+have seen many tragical sights in my life. I have been to the war, and I
+have spent one entire night wounded on a battlefield covered with snow,
+among the dead, grazed by the wheels of the artillery of the conquerors,
+who defiled singing. Nothing has moved me like that drive of the old
+man, who has never uttered a complaint and who has for himself only that
+acre of land in which to move freely. But these are grand words which
+the holy man wrote one day at the foot of his portrait for a missionary.
+The words explain his life: ‘Debitricem martyrii fidem’--Faith is bound
+to martyrdom.”
+
+“‘Debitricem martyrii fidem’,” repeated Dorsenne, “that is beautiful,
+indeed. And,” he added, in a low voice, “you just now abused very rudely
+the dilettantes and the sceptic. But do you think there would be one
+of them who would refuse martyrdom if he could have at the same time
+faith?”
+
+Never had Montfanon heard the young man utter a similar phrase and
+in such an accent. The image returned to him, by way of contrast, of
+Dorsenne, alert and foppish, the dandy of literature, so gayly a scoffer
+and a sophist, to whom antique and venerable Rome was only a city of
+pleasure, a cosmopolis more paradoxical than Florence, Nice, Biarritz,
+St. Moritz, than such and such other cities of international winter and
+summer. He felt that for the first time that soul was strained to its
+depths, the tragical death of poor Alba had become in the mind of the
+writer the point of remorse around which revolved the moral life of the
+superior and incomplete being, exiled from simple humanity by the most
+invincible pride of mind. Montfanon comprehended that every additional
+word would pain the wounded heart. He was afraid of having already
+lectured Dorsenne too severely. He took within his arm the arm of the
+young man, and he pressed it silently, putting into that manly caress
+all the warm and discreet pity of an elder brother.
+
+
+     ETEXT EDITOR’S BOOKMARKS:
+
+     Conditions of blindness so voluntary that they become complicity
+     Despotism natural to puissant personalities
+     Egyptian tobacco, mixed with opium and saltpetre
+     Follow their thoughts instead of heeding objects
+     Has as much sense as the handle of a basket
+     Have never known in the morning what I would do in the evening
+     I no longer love you
+     Imagine what it would be never to have been born
+     Mediocre sensibility
+     Melancholy problem of the birth and death of love
+     Mobile and complaisant conscience had already forgiven himself
+     No flies enter a closed mouth
+     Not an excuse, but an explanation of your conduct
+     One of those trustful men who did not judge when they loved
+     Only one thing infamous in love, and that is a falsehood
+     Pitiful checker-board of life
+     Scarcely a shade of gentle condescension
+     Sufficed him to conceive the plan of a reparation
+     That suffering which curses but does not pardon
+     That you can aid them in leading better lives?
+     The forests have taught man liberty
+     There is an intelligent man, who never questions his ideas
+     There is always and everywhere a duty to fulfil
+     Thinking it better not to lie on minor points
+     Too prudent to risk or gain much
+     Walked at the rapid pace characteristic of monomaniacs
+     Words are nothing; it is the tone in which they are uttered
+
+
+
+
+
+
+End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Cosmopolis, Complete, by Paul Bourget
+
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