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- float: left; - margin-right: 1em } - -.align-right { clear: right; - float: right; - margin-left: 1em } - -.align-center { margin-left: auto; - margin-right: auto } - -div.shrinkwrap { display: table; } - -/* SECTIONS */ - -body { margin: 5% 10% 5% 10% } - -/* compact list items containing just one p */ -li p.pfirst { margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0 } - -.first { margin-top: 0 !important; - text-indent: 0 !important } -.last { margin-bottom: 0 !important } - -span.dropcap { float: left; margin: 0 0.1em 0 0; line-height: 1 } -img.dropcap { float: left; margin: 0 0.5em 0 0; max-width: 25% } -span.dropspan { font-variant: small-caps } - -.no-page-break { page-break-before: avoid !important } - -/* PAGINATION */ - -.pageno { position: absolute; right: 95%; font: medium sans-serif; text-indent: 0 } -.pageno:after { color: gray; content: '[' attr(title) ']' } -.lineno { position: absolute; left: 95%; font: medium sans-serif; text-indent: 0 } -.lineno:after { color: gray; content: '[' attr(title) ']' } -.toc-pageref { float: right } - -@media screen { - .coverpage, .frontispiece, .titlepage, .verso, .dedication, .plainpage - { margin: 10% 0; } - - div.clearpage, div.cleardoublepage - { margin: 10% 0; border: none; border-top: 1px solid gray; } - - .vfill { margin: 5% 10% } -} - -@media print { - div.clearpage { page-break-before: always; padding-top: 10% } - div.cleardoublepage { page-break-before: right; padding-top: 10% } - - .vfill { margin-top: 20% } - h2.title { margin-top: 20% } -} - -/* DIV */ -pre { font-family: monospace; font-size: 0.9em; white-space: pre-wrap } - -</style> -<title>THE ROMANCE OF A POOR YOUNG MAN</title> -<meta name="PG.Rights" content="Public Domain" /> -<meta name="PG.Title" content="The Romance of a Poor Young Man" /> -<meta name="PG.Producer" content="Al Haines" /> -<meta name="MARCREL.trl" content="Henry Harland" /> -<link rel="coverpage" href="images/img-cover.jpg" /> -<meta name="DC.Creator" content="Octave Feuillet" /> -<meta name="DC.Created" content="1907" /> -<meta name="MARCREL.ill" content="Simont Guilhem" /> -<meta name="PG.Id" content="45200" /> -<meta name="PG.Released" content="2014-03-24" /> -<meta name="DC.Language" content="en" /> -<meta name="DC.Title" content="The Romance of a Poor Young Man" /> - -<link href="http://purl.org/dc/terms/" rel="schema.DCTERMS" /> -<link href="http://id.loc.gov/vocabulary/relators" rel="schema.MARCREL" /> -<meta content="The Romance of a Poor Young Man" name="DCTERMS.title" /> -<meta content="romance.rst" name="DCTERMS.source" /> -<meta content="en" scheme="DCTERMS.RFC4646" name="DCTERMS.language" /> -<meta content="2014-03-24T22:09:32.730389+00:00" scheme="DCTERMS.W3CDTF" name="DCTERMS.modified" /> -<meta content="Project Gutenberg" name="DCTERMS.publisher" /> -<meta content="Public Domain in the USA." name="DCTERMS.rights" /> -<link href="http://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/45200" rel="DCTERMS.isFormatOf" /> -<meta content="Octave Feuillet" name="DCTERMS.creator" /> -<meta content="Simont Guilhem" name="MARCREL.ill" /> -<meta content="Henry Harland" name="MARCREL.trl" /> -<meta content="2014-03-24" scheme="DCTERMS.W3CDTF" name="DCTERMS.created" /> -<meta content="width=device-width" name="viewport" /> -<meta content="EpubMaker 0.3.20 by Marcello Perathoner <webmaster@gutenberg.org>" name="generator" /> -</head> -<body> -<div class="document" id="the-romance-of-a-poor-young-man"> -<h1 class="center document-title level-1 pfirst title"><span class="x-large">THE ROMANCE OF A POOR YOUNG MAN</span></h1> - -<!-- this is the default PG-RST stylesheet --> -<!-- figure and image styles for non-image formats --> -<!-- default transition --> -<!-- default attribution --> -<!-- -*- encoding: utf-8 -*- --> -<div class="clearpage"> -</div> -<!-- -*- encoding: utf-8 -*- --> -<div class="align-None container language-en pgheader" id="pg-header" xml:lang="en" lang="en"> -<p class="noindent pfirst"><span>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 </span><a class="reference internal" href="#project-gutenberg-license">Project Gutenberg License</a><span> -included with this eBook or online at -</span><a class="reference external" href="http://www.gutenberg.org/license">http://www.gutenberg.org/license</a><span>.</span></p> -<p class="noindent pnext"></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<div class="align-None container" id="pg-machine-header"> -<p class="noindent pfirst"><span>Title: The Romance of a Poor Young Man -<br /> -<br />Author: Octave Feuillet -<br /> -<br />Release Date: March 24, 2014 [EBook #45200] -<br /> -<br />Language: English -<br /> -<br />Character set encoding: UTF-8</span></p> -</div> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="noindent pfirst" id="pg-start-line"><span>*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK </span><span>THE ROMANCE OF A POOR YOUNG MAN</span><span> ***</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="noindent pfirst" id="pg-produced-by"><span>Produced by Al Haines.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em"> -</div> -<p class="noindent pfirst"><span></span></p> -</div> -<div class="align-None container frontispiece"> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<div class="align-center auto-scaled figure margin" style="width: 73%" id="figure-82"> -<span id="portrait-of-octave-feuillet"></span><img class="align-center block" style="display: block; width: 100%" alt="Octave Feuillet" src="images/img-front.jpg" /> -<div class="caption centerleft figure-caption margin"> -<span class="italics">Octave Feuillet</span></div> -</div> -</div> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<div class="align-None container titlepage"> -<p class="center pfirst"><span class="medium">ENGLISH EDITION -<br />A Library of French Masterpieces -<br />EDITED BY EDMUND GOSSE</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 3em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst"><span class="red x-large">THE ROMANCE OF A -<br />POOR YOUNG MAN</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst"><span class="medium">TRANSLATED FROM THE -<br />FRENCH OF</span></p> -<p class="center pnext"><span class="large red">OCTAVE FEUILLET</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst"><span class="medium">WITH A CRITICAL INTRODUCTION BY -<br />HENRY HARLAND</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst"><span class="medium">ILLUSTRATED BY -<br />SIMONT GUILHEM</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 3em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst"><span class="medium">London: The London Book Co. MCMVII.</span></p> -</div> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst"><span class="bold large">OCTAVE FEUILLET'S NOVELS</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>To be serious seriously is the way of mediocrity. -To be serious gaily is not such an easy matter. -To look on at the pantomime of things, and -to see, neatly separated, tragedy here, comedy -opposite—to miss the perpetual dissolution and -resolution of the one into and out of the other—is -inevitable when eyes are purblind. </span><em class="italics">Diis aliter -visum</em><span>. Olympus laughs because it perceives so -many capital reasons for pulling a long face; and -half the time pulls a long face simply to keep -from laughing. I imagine it is in some measure -the Olympian manner of seeing which explains -the gay seriousness of the work of Octave Feuillet.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Octave Feuillet possesses to an altogether -remarkable degree the art of being serious not only -gaily, but charmingly. This, to begin with, places -him and his stories in a particular atmosphere; and, -if we consider it, I think we shall recognise that -atmosphere as something very like the old familiar -atmosphere of the fairy-tale. At any rate, there -is a delicate, a fanciful symbolism in Feuillet's -work, which breathes a fragrance unmistakably -reminiscent of the enchanted forest. For an -instance, one may recall the chapter in </span><em class="italics">Un Mariage -dans le Monde</em><span> which relates the escapade of Lionel -and his betrothed on the day before their wedding. -A conventional mother, busy with preparations for -the ceremony, intrusts her daughter to the -chaperonage of an old aunt, who is, we might suppose, -exactly the person for the office. But old aunts -are sometimes wonderfully made; sometimes they -keep the most unlooked-for surprises up those -capacious old-fashioned sleeves of theirs. This one -was a fairy godmother in disguise, and, I suspect, -a pupil of the grimly-benevolent Blackstick. With -good-humoured cynicism, she remarks that the -happiest period of even the happiest married life is the -day before it begins, and she advises her young -charges to make the most of it—chases them, -indeed, from her presence. "Be off with you, my -children! Come, be off with you at once!" They -escape to the park, where they romp like a pair of -truant school-children. That is all; but in -Feuillet's hands it becomes a fairy idyl. It serves, -besides, the symbolic purpose of striking at the -outset the note of joyousness which he means to -repeat at the end, though the book is one that -threatens, almost to the last page, to end on a -note of despair. For </span><em class="italics">Un Mariage dans le Monde</em><span>, -if far from being the most successful of Feuillet's -novels, exhibits, none the less, some of his cleverest -craftsmanship. He hoodwinks us into the fear -that he meditates disaster, only pleasantly, -genially, at the right moment, to disappoint us with the -denouement we could have wished.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Feuillet's geniality, for that matter, runs through -all his books, and is one of the vital principles of -his talent. It is never the flaccid geniality, the -amiability, of the undiscerning person; it is, rather, -the wise and alert geniality of the benign magician, -who is sometimes constrained to weave black -spells, because that is a part of the game, and in -the day's work, as it were, but who puts his heart -only into the weaving of spells that are rose-coloured. -This is perhaps why Feuillet's nice people -nearly always take flesh and live and breathe, his -horrid people hardly ever—another resemblance, -by-the-bye, between him and the writer of fairy-tales. -The nice women, with their high-bred lovers, -who step so daintily through his pages, to the -flutter of perfumed fans and the rustle of fine silks, -are as convincing as the palpitantly convincing -princesses of Hans Andersen and Grimm; but -Feuillet's villains and adventuresses, like the ogres -and the witches we never very heartily believe in, -are, for the most part, the merest stereotypes of -vice and wickedness, always artificial, too often a -trifle absurd.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>In </span><em class="italics">Monsieur de Camors</em><span>, for example, we have an -elaborate study of a man who has determined to live -by the succinct principle, "Evil, be thou my good"—a -succinct enough principle, in all conscience, -though Feuillet requires a lengthy chapter and a -suicide to enunciate it. The idea, if not original, -might, in some hands, lend itself to interesting -development; but not so in Feuillet's. From the -threshold we feel that he is handicapped by his -theme. It hangs round his neck like the mill-stone -of the adage; it checks his artistic impulses, -obscures his artistic instincts. The quips and cranks, -the wreathed smiles, of Feuillet the humourist, -were out of place in a stupendous epopee of this -sort; so, for the sake of a psychological abstraction, -which hasn't even the poor merit of novelty, -we must look on ruefully, while our merryman, -divested of cap and bells, proses to the end of his -four sad hundred pages. There are novelists who -must work with an abstraction, who can see their -characters and their incidents only as they illustrate -an abstraction; and these also achieve their effects -and earn their rewards. But Feuillet belongs in a -different galley. A handful of human nature, a -pleasing countryside, and Paris in the distance—these -are his materials. The philosophy and the plot -may come as they will, and it really doesn't much -matter if they never come at all. To give -Feuillet a subject is to attach a chain and ball to his -pen. He is never so debonair, so sympathetic, so -satisfying a writer, as when he has something just -short of nothing to write about.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>In </span><em class="italics">Monsieur de Camors</em><span> he has a tremendous -deal to write about; his subject weighs his pen to -the earth. The result is a book that's a monstrosity, -and a protagonist who's a monster. Louis de -Camors is as truly a monster as any green dragon -that ever spat fire or stole king's daughters (though -by no means so exciting a monster), and he hasn't -even the virtue of being a monster that hangs -together. For, while we are asked to think of him -as destitute of natural affections, he is at the same -time shown to us as the fond idolater of his wife, -his wife's mother, and his son. On his son's -account, indeed, he goes so far as to spend a long -cold night in a damp and uncomfortable wood, -only to be dismissed in the morning without the -embrace, in the hope of gaining which he has -violated his philosophy and taken the chances of -rheumatism. Altogether, a man devoid of affections, -who loves his son, his wife, and his mother-in-law, -may be regarded as doing pretty well. Again -(since we are on the chapter of inconsistencies), -in that dreary and pompous letter written to Louis -by his father, which expounds the text of what -becomes the son's rule of conduct, he is gravely -charged to fling religion and morality out of the -window, but to cherish "honour" as it were his -life. "It is clear that a materialist can't be a saint, -but he can be a gentleman, and that is something," -complacently writes the elder Comte de Camors. -Louis, however, though he makes loud acts of -faith in this inexpensive gospel, never hesitates to -betray his friend, to seduce the wife of his -benefactor, nor to marry an unsuspecting child, who -loves him, for the sheer purpose of screening an -intrigue with "another lady," which he still intends -to carry on. Feuillet, perhaps, saves his face by -heaping upon this impossible being's head all the -punishments that are poetically due to crime, but -he doesn't save </span><em class="italics">Monsieur de Camors</em><span>. It is a -dismal volume, uncommonly hard to read. And yet—art -will out; and dismal as it is, it presents to -us one of Feuillet's most captivating women, Louis -de Camors' ingenuous little wife. Listen to her -artless pronouncement upon Monsieur's evangel -of "honour." "Mon Dieu," she says, "I'm not -sure, but it seems to me that honour apart from -morality is nothing very great, and that morality -apart from religion is nothing at all. It's like a -chain: honour hangs in the last link, like a flower; -but when the chain is broken, the flower falls with -the rest."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>If, however, Feuillet's villains are failures, his -adventuresses and bad women are grotesquer -failures still. And no wonder. His reluctance to -fashion an ugly thing out of material that would, -in the natural course of his impressions, suggest to -him none but ideas of beauty, is quite enough to -account for it. Octave Feuillet is too much a -gentleman, too much a </span><em class="italics">preux chevalier</em><span>, to be able -to get any intellectual understanding of a bad -woman; the actual operations of a bad woman's -soul are things he can get no "realizing sense" of. -So he dresses up a marionette, which shall do all -the wicked feminine things his game necessitates, -which shall plot and poison, wreck the innocent -heroine's happiness, attitudinize as a fiend in -woman's clothing, and even, at a pinch, die a violent -death, but which shall never let us forget that it is -stuffed with saw-dust and moved by strings. -Madame de Campvallon, Sabine Tallevaut, -Mademoiselle Hélouin, even Julia de Trécoeur—the -more they change, the more they are the same: -sister-puppets, dolls carved from a common -parent-block, to be dragged through their appointed -careers of improbable naughtiness. You can -recognise them at once by their haunting likeness to -the proud beauties of the hair-dresser's window. -They are always statuesque, always cold, reserved, -mysterious, serpentlike, goddesslike—everything, -in fine, that bad women of flesh and blood are not. -Octave Feuillet, the wit and the man of the world, -knows this as well as we do; and knowing it, he -tries, by verbal fire-works, to make us forget it. -"She charms me—she reminds me of a sorceress," -says some one of Sabine Tallevaut. "Do you -notice, she walks without a sound? Her feet scarcely -touch the earth—she walks like a somnambulist-like -Lady Macbeth." It is the old trick, the -traditional </span><em class="italics">boniment</em><span> of the showman; but not all the -</span><em class="italics">boniments</em><span> in Feuillet's sack can make us believe in -Sabine Tallevaut.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>One can recognise Feuillet's bad women, too, -by the uncanny influence they immediately cast -upon his men. "More taciturn than ever, absent, -strange, as if she were meditating some profound -design, all at once she seemed to wake; she lifted -her long lashes, let her blue eyes wander here -and there, and suddenly looked straight at -Camors, who was conscious of a thrill"—that is -how Mme. de Campvallon does it, and the fact -is conclusive, so far as her moral character is in -question. None of Feuillet's good women would -ever dream of making a man "thrill" at her first -encounter with him. But Feuillet's bad women -will stop at nothing. Julia de Trécoeur takes her -own step-father, a middle-aged, plain, stout, -prosaic country gentleman, and throws him into a -paroxysm that has to be expressed in this wise: -"It was a mad intoxication, which the savour -of guilt only intensified. Duty, loyalty, honour, -whatsoever presented itself as an obstacle to his -passion, did but exasperate its fury. The pagan -Venus had bitten him in the heart, and injected -her poisons. A vision of Julia's fatal beauty was -present without surcease, in his burning brain, -before his troubled eyes. Avidly, in spite of -himself, he drank in her languors, her perfumes, -her breath."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><em class="italics">Julia de Trécoeur</em><span> has sometimes been called -Feuillet's master-piece. One eminent critic -remarks that in writing it Feuillet "dived into the -vast ocean of human nature, and brought up a -pearl." Well, there are pearls and pearls; there -are real pearls and artificial pearls; there are white -pearls and black pearls. It might seem to some -of us that </span><em class="italics">Julia de Trécoeur</em><span> is an artificial black -one. Frankly, as a piece of literature, the novel -is just in three words a fairly good melodrama. -Julia herself is the proper melodramatic heroine. -Her beauty is "fatal," her passions are ungovernable, -and she dearly loves a scene. Now she -contemplates retirement into a convent, now -matrimony, now a leap from the cliffs; and each -change of mood is inevitably the occasion for -much ranting and much attitudinizing. Her -history is a fairly good melodrama. That it is not -a tip-top melodrama is due to the circumstance -that Feuillet was too intelligent a man to be able -to make it so. He can't keep out his wit; and -every now and again his melodrama forgets itself, -and becomes sane comedy. He can't keep out -his touches of things simple and human; the -high-flown, unhuman remainder suffers from the -contrast.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Why, one wonders, with his flair for the subtleties -of the normal, with his genius for extracting -their charm from trifles, why should Feuillet -have turned his hand to melodrama at all? Is -it partly because he lived in and wrote for a -highly melodramatic period—"the dear, good days -of the dear, bad Second Empire"? Partly, too, -no doubt, because, as some one has said, the artist -can never forgive, though he can easily forget, his -limitations. Like the comic actor who will not -be happy till he has appeared as Hamlet, the -novelist, also, will cherish his unreasoning -aspirations. And then, melodrama is achieved before -you know it. Any incident that is not in itself -essentially </span><em class="italics">un</em><span>dramatic will become melodramatic, -when you try to treat it, it will become forced -and stagey, if dramatic incidents are not the -spontaneous issue of your talent. Dramatic incidents -are far from being the spontaneous issue of -Feuillet's talent; they are its changelings. His talent -is all preoccupied in fathering children of a quite -opposite complexion. Style, suavity, elegance, -sentiment, colour, atmosphere—these are -Feuillet's preoccupations. Action, incident, are, when -necessary, necessary evils. So his action, when -he is at his best, loiters, saunters, or even stops -dead-still; until suddenly he remembers that, after -all, his story must some time reach its period, and -that something really must happen to advance it. -Thereupon, hurriedly, perfunctorily, carelessly, he -"knocks off" a few pages of incident—of incident -fast and furious—which will, as likely as not, read -like the prompt-book of a play at the Adelphi.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>That absurd Sabine Tallevaut, whose feet -scarcely touch the earth, with poison in her hand -and adultery in her heart, is the one disfigurement -upon what might otherwise have been Feuillet's -most nearly perfect picture. In spite of her, </span><em class="italics">La -Morte</em><span> remains a work of exquisite and tender -beauty; and I'm not sure whether Aliette de -Vaudricourt isn't the very queen of all his women. -If Feuillet was too much a gentleman to be able -to paint a bad woman, he was too much a man -not to revel in painting a charming one. As we -pass through his gallery of delightful heroines, -from Aliette de Vaudricourt to Clothilde de -Lucan, to Mme. de Técle, Marie FitzGerald, "Miss -Mary" de Camors, Marguerite Laroque, even to -Jeanne de Maurescamp, we can feel the man's -admiration pulsing in every stroke of the artist's -brush. He takes the woman's point of view, -espouses her side of the quarrel, offers himself -as her champion wherever he finds that a -champion is needed. And he sticks to his allegiance -even after, as in the case of Jeanne de Maurescamp, -she might seem to have forfeited her claim -to it. Of Jeanne he can still bring himself to -say, at the end of </span><em class="italics">L'Histoire d'une Parisienne</em><span>: -"Decidedly, this angel had become a monster; -but the lesson of her too-true story is, that, in -the moral order, no one is born a monster. God -makes no monsters. It is man who makes them."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>In this instance, however, Feuillet is, perhaps, -rather the apologist than the champion. His -contention is that Jeanne was by nature virtuous, and -that her virtue has been destroyed by the -stupidity and the brutality of her ill-chosen -husband. But Feuillet has too fine and too judicious -a wit to insist upon the note of strenuousness. -Seeing the woman's point of view, he sees its -humours as well as its pathos. Admitting that -men for the most part are grossly unworthy of -her, and that woman has infinitely the worst of -it in the arrangements of society, admitting and -deploring it, he doesn't profess to know how to -set it right; he has no practical reform to preach. -His business is to divert us, and, if he must be -serious, to be serious gaily and charmingly. And -perhaps he is most serious, not when composing -an epitaph for Jeanne de Maurescamp, but when -he is lightly saying (in the person of the Comtesse -Jules): "Always remember, my poor dear, that -women are born to suffer—and men to be suffered."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Charmingly serious himself, Feuillet's heroines -likewise are always serious, in their different -charming ways. They may be wilful and -capricious, like Marguerite Laroque, or fond of the -excitements of the world, like Mme. de Rias, -or wise in their generation, like Mme. de la -Veyle, but they are always womanly and human -at the red-ripe of the heart, and they are almost -always religious. A sceptic, scepticlike, Feuillet -utterly discountenances scepticism in woman. -Even his most recusant of masculine unbelievers, -the Vicomte de Vaudricourt, proclaims his -preference for a pious wife. "Not, of course," he says, -"that I exaggerate the moral guarantees offered -by piety, or that I mistake it for a synonym of -virtue. But still it is certain that with women -the idea of duty is rarely dissociated from religious -ideas. Because religion doesn't keep all of them -straight, it is an error to conclude that it keeps -none of them straight; and it's always well to be -on the safe side." Elsewhere Feuillet gives us -his notion of the moral outlook of the woman -who is not religious. Evil for her, he tells us, -ceases to be evil, and becomes simply </span><em class="italics">inconvenance</em><span>. -'Tis a very mannish, a very Frenchmannish, -way of viewing the thing.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>One has sometimes heard it maintained that -only women can reveal themselves with perfect -grace in a form so intimate as letters or a diary; -that a man's hand is apt to be too heavy, his -manner too self-conscious. Perhaps it is Feuillet's -sympathy with women that has made him the -dab he is at this womanly art. In </span><em class="italics">La Morte</em><span>, for -instance, we learn vastly more of Bernard's -character from his diary than we should from thrice -the number of pages of third-personal exposition. -The letters from Marie to her mother, in -</span><em class="italics">Monsieur de Camors</em><span>, furnish the single element of -relief in that lugubrious composition. Even those -that pass between Rias and Mme. de Lorris, in -</span><em class="italics">Un Mariage dans le Monde</em><span>—though their -subject-matter is sufficiently depressing, though the -man is an egotistical cad, and the great lady who -is giving him her help and pity ought rather to -despise and spurn him—are exceedingly good and -natural letters; and the letter from Mme. de Rias -to Kévern, which ends the book, is a very jewel -of a letter. But it is in the diary of his poor -young man that Feuillet's command of the first -person singular attains its most completely -satisfying results.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><em class="italics">Le Roman d'un Jeune Homme Pauvre</em><span> is a tale -of youth, for the young; and the eldest of us may -count himself still young if he can still enjoy it. -Here we have romance pure and simple, a thing -of glamour all compact; and the danger-line that -so definitely separates romance from absurdity, yet -leaves them so perilously near together, is never -crossed. The action passes in the country, and in -the most delectable sort of country at that—the -country of the appreciative and imaginative cit. -Before all things a Parisian, Feuillet is never -particularly happy in presenting Paris. His Paris is -correct enough in architecture and topography, no -doubt; but the spirit of Paris, the whatever it is -which makes Paris Paris, and not merely a large -town, somehow evades him. Possibly he knew -his Paris too well; familiarity had bred a kind of -inability to see, to focus, a kind of "staleness." Anyhow, -it is when he gets away from Paris that he -wakes to the opportuneness and the opportunities -of scenic backgrounds. His eye, "stale" to town, -is now all eagerness, all freshness. Impressions of -beauty crowd upon him. He sees the country as -it is doubtful whether the countryman ever sees -it—the countryman who has been surfeited with -it, who has long since forgotten its first magical -effect. He brings to the country the sensitiveness -which is the product of the city's heat and strife. -Dew and wild flowers, the green of grass and trees, -the music of birds, the flutter of their wings, the -pure air, the wide prospects, the changing lights—it -is to the appreciative and imaginative townsman -that these speak their finest message.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>But Feuillet is more than a townsman: he is -a teller of fairy-tales. To him the country is a -free playground for his fancy. There beautiful -ladies and gallant knights have nothing to do but -to love and to sing; and there, without destroying -our illusion, he can leave them to live happily -forever after. The Brittany, in which Maxime and -Marguerite meet and misunderstand and woo and -wed, is not that northwestern corner of France -that one can reach in a few hours by steamer from -Southampton; it is a Brittany of fairy woods and -streams and castles, that never was, save in the -poet's dream. For if others of Feuillet's novels -have been only in part fairy-tales, or only rather -like fairy-tales, the </span><em class="italics">Romance of a Poor Young Man</em><span> -is a fairy-tale wholly and absolutely. The -personages of the story are the invariable personages of -the fairy-tale: the prince disguised as a wood-cutter, -in the Marquis de Champcey disguised as a -farm-bailiff; the haughty princess, who will not -love, yet loves despite her will, and is rewarded by -the wood-cutter's appearing in all the prince's -splendour at the proper time, in Marguerite Laroque; -the bad prince and the bad princess, in M. de -Bévallon and Mlle. Hélouin; the good magician, -in M. Laubépin; and the delightfullest of -conceivable fairy godmothers, in Mlle. de Porhoët. And -the progress of the story is the wonted progress of -the fairy-tale. There is hardship, but it is overcome; -there are perils, but they are turned; misconceptions, -but they are cleared up. There are empty pockets, -but there is the bag of gold waiting to fill them. -The marvellous never shocks our credulity, the -longest-armed coincidences seem the most natural -happenings in the world. We are not in the least -surprised when, at the right moment, the bag of -gold appears at Maxime's feet, enabling him to -marry; it is the foregone consequence of his -having a fairy godmother. We don't even raise the -eyebrow of doubt when the Laroques contemplate -relinquishing their fortune to the poor, so that -Marguerite may come to her lover empty-handed; -that is the accepted device of the fairy-tale for -administering to the proud princess her -well-deserved humiliation. In one small detail only -does the fairy-tale teller lose himself, and let the -novelist supplant him; that is where he implies -that the bad prince and princess, after their wicked -wiles had been discovered, took the train to Paris. -They did nothing of the sort. They were turned -into blocks of stone, and condemned to look on at -the happiness of the good prince and princess from -the terrace of the Château de Laroque.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>But it must not be supposed, because the -personages of the </span><em class="italics">Romance of a Poor Young Man</em><span> are -fairy-tale personages, that therefore they are not -human personages. It is, on the contrary, the -humanity of its personages that makes your -fairy-tale interesting. You stick to human men and -women, you merely more or less improve the -conditions of their existence, you merely revise and -amend a little the laws of the external universe—an -easy thing to do, in spite of the unthinking -people who prate of those laws as immutable. -Then the fun consists in seeing how human nature -will persist and react. Surely none of Feuillet's -heroines is more engagingly human than -Marguerite Laroque. It is true that we see her only -through the eyes of a chronicler who happens to -be infatuated with her, but we know what -discount to allow for that. We are confident from -her first entrance that if, as we hope, our poor -young man's head is screwed on as poor young -men's heads should be, Marguerite will turn it. -We learn that she is capricious, therefore Maxime -will be constant; that she is proud, therefore, in -all humility, he will be prouder; that she is -humble, therefore, in all pride, he will humble himself -at her feet. But antecedent to all this, and just -because his ostensible business in Brittany is the -management of the Laroques' estate, no one needs -to warn us that his real business will be the -conquest of the Laroques' daughter. We can foresee -with half an eye that the affairs of the estate are -affairs which our disguised marquis will -conscientiously neglect. Indeed, Mme. Laroque -herself seems to have been haunted by something of -the same premonition. What does she say to the -sous-préfet? "Mon Dieu, ne m'en parlez pas; -il-y-a là un mystère inconcevable. Nous pensons -que c'est quelque prince déguisé.... Entre -nous, mon cher sous-préfet, je crois bien que c'est -un très-mauvais intendant, mais vraiment c'est un -homme très-agréable."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She might have added "un homme très-digne." For -if we have a fault to find with Maxime, it is -that he seems just possibly a thought too "digne." But -that is a fault common to so many men in -fiction. French novelists, like English lady novelists, -are terribly apt to make their men too "digne"—when -they don't make them too unspeakably </span><em class="italics">indigne</em><span>. -Maxime, however, we mustn't forget, is his -own portraitist, and we'll hope in this detail the -portrait errs. For the rest, we are content to -accept it as he paints it. He is a poor young man, -but he is also a fairy prince. Therefore he can -vaunt himself as an ordinary poor young man -could hardly do with taste. He can perform and -narrate his prodigies of skill and valour without -offending. He can rescue an enormous Newfoundland -dog from a raging torrent, for example, with -the greatest ease in the world, an exploit you or I -might have found ticklish, and he can tell us of it -afterward, a proceeding you or I might have shrunk -from as vainglorious. For Maxime is a fairy prince; -the dog belongs to the fairy princess; and the bad -prince, the rival, who is standing by, doesn't know -how to swim. Again, with splendid indifference, -he can accomplish and record his leap from the -Tour d' Elven to save the fairy princess from a -situation that might, in Fairyland, have -compromised her; hadn't the princess unjustly impugned -his honour, and insinuated that the situation was -one he had deliberately brought to pass? "Monsieur -le Marquis de Champcey, y a t-il eu beaucoup -de lâches dans votre famille avant vous?" superbly -demands Marguerite; and we can see her kindling -eye, the scornful curl of her lip, we can hear -the disdainful tremor of her voice. Maxime -would be a poor-spirited poor young man, indeed, -if, after that, he should hesitate to jump. And -he has his immediate compensation. "Maxime! -Maxime!" cries the haughty princess, now all -remorse, "par grâce, par pitié! au nom du bon -Dieu, parlez-moi! pardonnez-moi!" So that, -though the prince goes away with a broken arm, -the lover carries exultancy in his heart.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Is Maxime perhaps just a thought too "digne," -also, in his relations with his little sister—when -he visits her at school, for instance, and promises -to convey the bread she cannot eat to some -deserving beggar? At the moment he is the most -deserving beggar he chances to know of, but he is -resolved to keep his beggary a secret from Hélène. -"Cher Maxime," says she, "a bientôt, n'est-ce pas? -Tu me diras si tu as rencontré un pauvre, si tu lui -as donné mon pain, et s'il l'a trouvé bon." And -Maxime, in his journal: "Oui, Hélène, j'ai -rencontré un pauvre, et je lui ai donné ton pain, qu'il -a emporté comme une proie dans sa mansarde solitaire, -et il l'a trouvé bon; mais c'était un pauvre -sans courage, car il a pleuré en devorant l'aumône -de tes petites mains bien-aimeés. Je te dirai tout -celà, Hélène, car il est bon que tu saches qu'il y a -sur la terre des souffrances plus sérieuses que tes -souffrances d'enfant: je te dirai tout, excepté le -nom du pauvre." It certainly </span><em class="italics">is</em><span> "digne," isn't it? -Is it a trifle too much so? Isn't it a trifle priggish, -a trifle preachy? Is it within the limits of pure -pathos? Or does it just cross the line? I don't know.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>I am rather inclined to think that Maxime is -at his best—at once most human and most fairy -princelike—in his relations with the pre-eminently -human fairy Porhoët. He is entirely human, and -weak, and nice, when he blurts out to her the -secret of his high birth. Hadn't she just been -boasting of her own, and invidiously citing -Monsieur l'intendant as a typical plebeian? "En ce -qui me concerne, mademoiselle," he has the human -weakness to retort, "vous vous trompez, car ma -famille a eu l'honneur d'être alliée à la vôtre, et -réciproquement." He remains human and weak -throughout the somewhat embarrassing explanations -that are bound to follow; and if, in their -subsequent proceedings, after she has adopted him -as "mon cousin," he will still from time to time -become a trifle priggish and a trifle preachy, we -must remember that mortal man, in the hands of -a French novelist, has to choose between that and -a career of profligacy.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>It is by his </span><em class="italics">Roman d'un Jeune Homme Pauvre</em><span> -that Feuillet is most widely known outside of -France; it is by this book that he will "live," if -he is to live. Certainly it is his freshest, his -sincerest, his most consistently agreeable book.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="noindent pfirst"><span>HENRY HARLAND.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst"><span class="bold large">BIOGRAPHICAL NOTE</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>Octave Feuillet was born at Saint-Lô, in -the department of the Manche, on the 11th of -August, 1821. His father, who belonged to one of -the oldest Norman families, was secretary-general -to the prefect, and a little later, in the revolution -of 1830, played a prominent part in politics. A -hereditary nervousness, amounting finally to a -disease, alone prevented him, according to Guizot, -from being given a portfolio in the new ministry. -Octave inherited his father's excessive sensibility, -although in later years he held it more under -control. After the death of his mother, which -occurred as he was developing in boyhood, he became -so melancholy that, at the advice of the physicians, -he was sent to a school in Paris, where his health -gradually became re-established; afterward, at the -Collège de Louis-le-Grand, he greatly distinguished -himself as a scholar. It was his father's design -to prepare him for the diplomatic career, but -already the desire to write had awakened itself in -him. When the moment came for choosing a -profession, Octave timidly confessed his determination -to make literature his business in life; the irascible -old gentleman at Saint-Lô turned him out of the -house, and cut off his allowance. He returned to -Paris, and for three years had a hard struggle -with poverty. During this time, under the -encouragement of the great actor Bocage, Octave -Feuillet brought out three dramas, "Échec et Mat," -"Palma," and "La Vieillesse de Richelieu," under -the pseudonym of "Désiré Hazard." These were -successful, and the playwright's father forgave and -welcomed him back to his favour. Octave remained -in Paris, actively engaged in literary work, mainly -dramatic, but gradually in the line of prose fiction -also. In 1846 he published his novel of "Polichinelle," -followed in 1848 by "Onesta," in 1849 by -"Redemption" and in 1850 by "Bellah." None of -these are remembered among Octave Feuillet's best -works, but he was gaining skill and care in -composition. In 1850, however, he was suddenly -summoned home to Saint-Lô by the increased -melancholy of his father, who could no longer safely be -left alone in the gloomy ancestral mansion which he -refused to leave. Octave, with resignation, -determined to sacrifice his life to the care of his -father, and in this piety he was supported by his -charming cousin, Valérie Feuillet, a very -accomplished and devoted woman, whom he married in -1851. For eight years they shared this painful -exile, the father of Octave scarcely permitting them -to leave his sight, and refusing every other species -of society. Strangely enough, this imprisonment -was not unfavourable to the novelist's genius; the -books he wrote during this period—"Dalila," "La -Petite Comtesse" (1856), "Le Village," and finally -"Le Roman d'un Jeune Homme Pauvre" (1858)—being -not only far superior to what he had previously -published, but among the very finest of all his -works. By a grim coincidence, on almost the only -occasion on which Octave Feuillet ventured to -absent himself for a day or two, to be present at the -performance of his "Roman d'un Jeune Homme -Pauvre," when it was dramatized in 1858, the -father suddenly died while the son was in Paris. -This was a great shock to Feuillet, who bitterly -and unjustly condemned himself. He was now, -however, free, and, with his wife and children, -he returned to Paris. He was now very successful, -and soon became a figure at Compiègne and in -the great world. In 1862 he published "Sibylle," -and was elected a member of the French Academy. -A great favourite of the Emperor and Empress, -he was tempted to combine the social life at Court -with the labours of literature. His health began -to suffer from the strain, and, to recover, he -retired again to Saint-Lô, where he lived, not in the -home of his ancestors, but in a little house above -the ramparts, called Les Paillers; for the future -he spent only the winter months in Paris. His -novels became fewer, but not less carefully -prepared; he enjoyed a veritable triumph with -"Monsieur de Camors" in 1867. Next year he was -appointed Royal Librarian at Fontainbleu, an office -which he held till the fall of the Empire. He then -retired to Les Paillers again, where he had written -"Julia de Trécoeur" in 1867. The end of his life was -troubled by domestic bereavement and loss of health; -he hurried restlessly from place to place, a prey -to constant nervous agitation. His later writings -were numerous, but had not the vitality of those -previously mentioned. Octave Feuillet died in -Paris, December 28, 1890, and was succeeded at the -French Academy by Pierre Loti. Octave was the -type of a sensitive, somewhat melancholy fine -gentleman; he was very elegant in manners, reserved -and ceremonious in society, where he held himself -somewhat remote in the radiance of his delicate -wit; but within the bosom of his family he was -tenderly and almost pathetically demonstrative. -The least criticism was torture to him, and it is -said that when his comedy of "La Belle au Bois -Dormant" was hissed off the boards of the Vaudeville -in 1865, for three weeks afterward the life of -Feuillet was in danger. Fortunately, however, for -a "fiery particle" so sensitive, the greater part of -his career was one continuous triumph.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="noindent pfirst"><span>E.G.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst"><span class="bold large">LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="noindent pfirst"><a class="reference internal" href="#portrait-of-octave-feuillet">Portrait of Octave Feuillet</a><span> . . . . . . . . . . . . </span><em class="italics">Frontispiece</em></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst"><span>COLOURED PLATES</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><a class="reference internal" href="#you-do-not-ask-me-where-i-am-taking-you-she-said">"You do not ask me where I am taking you," she said</a><span> -(see page </span><a class="reference internal" href="#id1">123</a><span>)</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><a class="reference internal" href="#i-fell-on-my-knees-i-could-not-keep-back-my-tears">"I fell on my knees, I could not keep back my tears"</a><span> -(see page </span><a class="reference internal" href="#id2">245</a><span>)</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><a class="reference internal" href="#i-felt-her-lips-on-minei-thought-my-soul-was-escaping-from-me">"I felt her lips on mine——I thought my soul was -escaping from me"</a><span> (see page </span><a class="reference internal" href="#id3">246</a><span>)</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst"><span>THE PORTRAITS OF OCTAVE FEUILLET</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><a class="reference internal" href="#in-1850-after-a-drawing-by-the-engraver-monciau">In 1850, after a drawing by the engraver Monciau</a></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><a class="reference internal" href="#in-1879-after-a-sketch-made-in-geneva">In 1879, after a sketch made in Geneva</a></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><a class="reference internal" href="#after-a-photograph-taken-in-1880">After a photograph taken in 1880</a></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><a class="reference internal" href="#the-last-photograph-taken-in-1889">The last photograph taken in 1889</a></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><a class="reference internal" href="#sketch-by-dantan-about-1878">Sketch by Dantan, about 1878</a></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst"><span class="bold x-large">THE ROMANCE -OF A POOR YOUNG MAN</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst"><em class="italics medium">Sursum corda!</em></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst right"><span>PARIS, </span><em class="italics">April 25, 185-</em><span>.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The second evening I have passed in this -miserable room, staring gloomily at the bare hearth, -hearing the dull monotone of the street, and -feeling more lonely, more forsaken, and nearer to -despair in the heart of this great city than a -ship-wrecked man shivering on a broken plank in mid-ocean.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>I have done with cowardice. I will look my -destiny in the face till it loses its spectral air. -I will open my sorrowful heart to the one -confidant whose pity will not hurt, to that pale -last friend who looks back at me from the -glass. I will write down my thoughts and my -life, not in trivial and childish detail, but without -serious omissions, and above all without lies. I -shall love my journal; it will be a brotherly echo -to cheat my loneliness, and at the same time a -second conscience warning me not to allow -anything to enter into my life which I dare not write -down calmly with my own hand.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Now, with sad eagerness I search the past for -the facts and incidents which should have long -since enlightened me, had not filial respect, habit, -and the indifference of a happy idler blinded me. -I understand now my mother's deep and constant -melancholy; I understand her distaste for society, -and why she wore that plain, unvaried dress which -sometimes called forth sarcasms, sometimes wrath -from my father.—"You look like a servant," he -would say to her.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>I could not but be conscious that our family -life was broken by more serious quarrels, though -I was never an actual witness of them. All I -heard were my father's sharp and imperious tones, -the murmur of a pleading voice, and stifled sobs. -These outbursts I attributed to my father's violent -and fruitless attempts to revive in my mother the -taste for the elegant and brilliant life which she -had once enjoyed as much as becomes a virtuous -woman, but into which she now accompanied my -father with a repugnance that grew stronger every -day. After such crises, my father nearly always -ran off to buy some costly trinket which my -mother found in her table-napkin at dinner, and -never wore. One day in the middle of winter she -received a large box of rare flowers from Paris; -she thanked my father warmly, but directly he -had left the room, I saw her slightly raise her -shoulders and look up to heaven with an -expression of hopeless despair.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>During my childhood and early youth I had a -great respect for my father, but not much -affection. Indeed, throughout this period I saw only -the sombre side of his character—the one side that -showed itself in domestic life, for which he was -not fitted. Later, when I was old enough to go -out with him, I was surprised and charmed to find -in him a person perfectly new to me. It seemed -as if, in our old family house, he felt himself -constrained by some fatal spell; once beyond its -doors, his forehead cleared, his chest expanded, -and he was young again. "Now, Maxime," he -would cry, "now for a gallop!" And joyously -we would rush along. His shouts of youthful -pleasure, his enthusiasm, his fantastic wit, his -bursts of feeling, charmed my young heart, and I -longed to bring something of all this back to my -poor mother, forgotten in her corner at home. I -began to love my father; and when I saw all the -sympathetic qualities of his brilliant nature -displayed in all the functions of social life—at hunts -and races, balls and dinners—my fondness for him -became an actual admiration. A perfect horseman, -a dazzling talker, a bold gambler, daring and -open-handed, he became for me the finished type -of manly grace and chivalrous nobility. Indeed, -he would speak of himself—smiling with some -bitterness—as the last of the gentlemen.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Such was my father in society; but as soon -as he returned to his home my mother and I saw -only a restless, morose, and violent old man.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>My father's outbursts to a creature so sweet -and delicate as my mother would certainly have -revolted me had they not been followed by the -quick returns of tenderness and the redoubled -attentions I have mentioned. Justified in my -eyes by these proofs of penitence, my father -seemed to be only a naturally kind, warm-hearted -man sometimes irritated beyond endurance by an -obstinate and systematic opposition to all his -tastes and preferences. I thought my mother was -suffering from some nervous derangement. My -father gave me to understand so, though, and as I -thought very properly, he only referred to this -subject with great reserve.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>I could not understand what were my mother's -feelings towards my father; they were—for -me—beyond analysis or definition. Sometimes a -strange severity glittered in the looks she fixed -on him; but it was only a flash, and the next -moment her beautiful soft eyes and her unchanged -face showed nothing but tender devotion and -passionate submission.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>My mother had been married at fifteen, and I -was nearly twenty-two when my sister, my poor -Hélène, was born. One morning soon afterwards -my father came out of my mother's room looking -anxious. He signed to me to follow him into -the garden.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Maxime," he said, after walking in silence -for a little, "your mother gets stranger and -stranger."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"She is so ill just now, father."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, of course. But now she has the oddest -fancy: she wants you to study law."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Law! What! Does my mother want me, -at my age, with my birth and position, to sit -among school-boys on the forms of a college -classroom? It is absurd."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"So I think," said my father dryly, "but your -mother is ill, and—there's no more to be said."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>I was a young puppy then, puffed up by my -name, my importance, and my little drawing-room -successes; but I was sound at heart, and I -worshipped my mother, with whom I had lived for -twenty years in the closest intimacy possible -between two human souls. I hastened to assure her -of my obedience; she thanked me with a sad -smile and made me kiss my sister who was -sleeping on her lap.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>We lived about a mile and a half from Grenoble, -so I could attend the law classes at the -university without leaving home. Day by day my -mother followed my progress with such intense -and persistent interest that I could not help -thinking that she had some stronger motive than the -fancy of an invalid; that perhaps my father's hatred -and contempt for the practical and tedious side of -life might have brought about a certain embarrassment -in our affairs which, my mother thought, a -knowledge of law and a business training would -enable me to put right. This explanation did -not satisfy me. No doubt my father had often -complained bitterly of our losses during the -Revolution, but his complaints had long ceased, and I -had never thought them well-founded, because, as -far as I could see, our position was in every way -satisfactory.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>We lived near Grenoble in our hereditary -château, which was famous in our country as an -aristocratic and lordly dwelling. My father and I -have often shot or hunted for a whole day without -going off our own land or out of our own woods. -Our stables were vast, and filled with expensive -horses of which my father was very fond and very -proud. Besides, we had a town-house in Paris on -the Boulevard des Capucines, where comfortable -quarters were always reserved for occasional visits. -And nothing in our ordinary way of living could -suggest either a small income or close management. -Even as regards the table, my father insisted -upon a particular degree of delicacy and -refinement.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>My mother's health declined almost imperceptibly. -In time there came an alteration in her -disposition. The mouth which, at all events in -my presence, had spoken only kind words, grew -bitter and aggressive. Every step I took beyond -the house provoked a sarcasm. My father was -not spared, and bore these attacks with a patience -that seemed to me exemplary, but he got more -and more into the habit of living away from home. -He told me that he must have distraction and -amusement. He always wanted me to go with -him, and my love of pleasure, and the eagerness -of youth, and, to speak truly, my lack of moral -courage, made me obey him too readily.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>In September, 185-, there were some races -near the château, and several of my father's horses -were to run. We started early and lunched on -the course. About the middle of the day, as I -was riding by the course watching the fortunes of -a race, one of our men came up and said he had -been looking for me for more than half an hour. -He added that my father had already been sent for -and had gone back to my mother at the château, -and that he wanted me to follow him at once.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But what in Heaven's name is the matter?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I think madame is worse," said the servant.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>I set off like a madman.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>When I reached home my sister was playing -on the lawn in the middle of the great, silent -courtyard. As I dismounted, she ran up to -embrace me, and said, with an air of importance and -mystery that was almost joyful:</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"The curé has come."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>I did not, however, perceive any unusual -animation in the house, nor any signs of disorder -or alarm. I went rapidly up the staircase, and -had passed through the boudoir which communicated -with my mother's room, when the door -opened softly, and my father appeared. I stopped -in front of him; he was very pale, and his lips -were trembling.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Maxime," he said, without looking at me, -"your mother is asking for you."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>I wished to question him, but he checked me -with a gesture, and walked hurriedly towards a -window, as if to look out. I entered. My -mother lay half-reclining in an easy-chair, one -of her arms hanging limply over the side. Again -I saw on her face, now as white as wax, the -exquisite sweetness and delicate grace which lately -had been driven away by suffering. Already the -Angel of Eternal Rest was casting the shadow of -his wing over that peaceful brow. I fell upon -my knees; she half-opened her eyes, raised her -drooping head with an effort, and enveloped me -in a long, loving look. Then, in a voice which -was scarcely more than a broken sigh, she slowly -spoke these words:</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Poor child! ... I am worn out, you see! -Do not weep. You have deserted me a little -lately, but I have been so trying. We shall meet -again, Maxime, and we shall understand one -another, my son. I can't say any more.... Remind -your father of his promise to me.... And you, -Maxime, be strong in the battle of life, and -forgive the weak."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She seemed to be exhausted, and stopped for -a moment. Then, raising a finger with difficulty, -and looking at me fixedly, she said: "Your -sister!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Her livid eyelids closed; then suddenly she -opened them, and threw out her arms with a rigid -and sinister gesture. I uttered a cry; my father -came quickly, and, with heartrending sobs, pressed -the poor martyr's body to his bosom.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Some weeks later, at the formal request of my -father, who said that he was obeying the last wishes -of her whom we mourned, I left France, and -began that wandering life which I have led nearly -up to this day. During a year's absence my heart, -becoming more affectionate as the selfish frenzy of -youth burnt out, urged me to return and renew -my life at its source, between my mother's tomb -and my sister's cradle. But my father had fixed -the duration of my travels, and he had not -brought me up to treat his wishes lightly. He -wrote to me affectionately, though briefly, -showing no desire to hasten my return. So I was the -more alarmed when I arrived at Marseilles, two -months ago, and found several letters from him, -all feverishly begging me to return at once.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>It was on a sombre February evening, that I -saw once more the massive walls of our ancient -house standing out against the light veil of snow -that lay upon the country. A sharp north wind -blew in icy gusts; flakes of frozen sleet dropped -like dead leaves from the trees of the avenue, and -struck the wet soil with a faint and plaintive -sound. As I entered the court a shadow, which -I took to be my father's, fell upon a window of -the large drawing-room on the ground floor—a -room which had not been used during my -mother's last days. I hurried on, and my father, -seeing me, gave a hoarse cry, then opened his -arms to me, and I felt his heart beating wildly -against my own.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Thou art frozen, my poor child," he said, -much against his habit, for he seldom addressed -me in the second person. "Warm thyself, warm -thyself. This is a cold room, but I prefer it now; -at least one can breathe here."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Are you well, father?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Pretty well, as you see."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Leaving me by the fireplace, he resumed his -walk across the vast </span><em class="italics">salon</em><span>, dimly lighted by two -or three candles. I seemed to have interrupt -this walk of his. This strange welcome alarmed -me. I looked at my father in dull surprise.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Have you seen my horses?" he said suddenly, -without stopping.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But, father——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ah, yes, of course, you've only just come." After -a silence he continued. "Maxime," he said, -"I have something to tell you."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I'm listening, father."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He did not seem to hear me, but walked about -a little, and kept on repeating, "I have something -to tell you, my son." At last he sighed deeply, -passed his hand across his forehead, and sitting -down suddenly, signed to me to take a seat -opposite to him. Then, as if he wanted to speak and -had not the courage to do so, his eyes rested on -mine, and I read in them an expression of -suffering, humility, and supplication that in a man so -proud as my father touched me deeply. Whatever -the faults he found it so hard to confess, I -felt from the bottom of my heart that he was -fully pardoned.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Suddenly his eyes, which had never left mine, -were fixed in an astonished stare, vague and -terrible. His hand stiffened on my arm; he raised -himself in his chair, then drooped, and in an -instant fell heavily on the floor. He was dead.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The heart does not reason or calculate. That -is its glory. In a moment I had divined everything. -One minute had been enough to show me -all at once, and without a word of explanation—in -a burst of irresistible light, the fatal truth which -a thousand things daily repeated under my eyes -had never made me suspect. Ruin was here, in -this house, over my head. Yet I do not think -that I should have mourned my father more -sincerely or more bitterly if he had left me loaded -with benefits. With my regret and my deep -sorrow there was mingled a pity, strangely poignant -in that it was the pity of a son for his father. -That beseeching, humbled, hopeless look haunted -me. Bitterly I regretted that I had not been -able to speak a word of consolation to that heart -before it broke! Wildly I called to him who -could no longer hear me, "I forgive you, I -forgive you." My God, what moments were these! -As far as I have been able to guess, my mother, -when she was dying, had made my father promise -to sell the greater part of his property; to pay off -the whole of the enormous debt he had incurred -by spending every year a third more than his -income, and to live solely and strictly on what he -had left. My father had tried to keep to this -engagement; he had sold the timber and part of -the estate, but finding himself master of a -considerable capital, he had applied only a small -portion of it to the discharge of his debts, and had -attempted to restore our fortunes by staking the -remainder in the hateful chances of the Stock -Exchange. He had thus completed his ruin. I have -not yet sounded the depths of the abyss in which -we are engulfed. A week after my father's death -I was taken seriously ill, and after two months of -suffering I was only just able to leave my ancient -home on the day that a stranger took possession -of it. Fortunately an old friend of my mother's, -who lives at Paris, and who formerly acted as -notary to our family, has come to my help. He -has offered to undertake the work of liquidation -which to my inexperienced judgment seemed -beset with unconquerable difficulties. I left the -whole business to him, and I presume that now -his work is completed. I went to his house -directly I arrived yesterday; he was in the country, -and will not return till to-morrow.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>These have been two cruel days; uncertainty -is the worst of all evils, because it is the only one -that necessarily stops the springs of action and -checks our courage. I should have been very -much surprised if, ten years ago, any one had told -me that the old notary, whose formal language -and stiff politeness so much amused my father and -me, would one day be the oracle from whom I -should await the supreme sentence of my destiny.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>I do my best to guard against excessive hopes; -I have calculated approximately that, after paying -all the debts, we should have a hundred and twenty -to a hundred and fifty thousand francs left. A -fortune of five millions should leave so much -salvage at least. I intend to take ten thousand -francs and seek my fortune in the new States of -America; the rest I shall resign to my sister.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Enough of writing for to-night. Recalling -such memories is a mournful occupation. Nevertheless, -I feel that it has made me calmer. Work -is surely a sacred law, since even the lightest task -discharged brings a certain contentment and -serenity. Yet man does not love work; he cannot fail -to see its good effects; he tastes them every day, -and blesses them, and each day he comes to his -work with the same reluctance. I think that is a -singular and mysterious contradiction, as if in toil -we felt at once a chastisement, and the divine and -fatherly hand of the chastiser.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst right"><em class="italics">Thursday</em></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>When I woke this morning a letter from old -M. Laubépin was brought to me. He invited me -to dinner and apologized for taking such a liberty. -He said nothing about my affairs. I augured -unfavourably from this silence.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>In the meantime I fetched my sister from her -convent, and took her about Paris. The child -knows nothing of our ruin. In the course of the -day she had some rather expensive fancies. She -provided herself liberally with gloves, pink -note-paper, bonbons for her friends, delicate scents, -special soaps, and tiny pencils, all very necessary -useful things, but not as necessary as a dinner. -May she never have to realize this!</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>At six o'clock I was at M. Laubépin's in the -Rue Cassette. I do not know our old friend's -age, but to-day I found him looking just the same -as ever—tall and thin, with a little stoop, untidy -white hair, and piercing eyes under bushy black -eyebrows—altogether a face at once strong and -subtle. I recognised the unvarying costume, the -old-fashioned black coat, the professional white -cravat, the family diamond in the shirt-frill—in -short, all the outward signs of a serious, -methodical, and conservative nature. The old -gentleman was waiting for me at the open door of his -little </span><em class="italics">salon</em><span>. After making me a low bow, he took -my hand lightly between two of his fingers and -conducted me to a homely looking old lady who -was standing by the fire-place.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"The Marquis de Champcey d'Hauterive!" -said M. Laubépin, in his strong, rich, and -emphatic voice, and turning quickly to me, added -in a humbler tone, "Mme. Laubépin!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>We sat down. An awkward silence ensued. -I had expected an immediate explanation of my -position. Seeing that this was to be postponed, -I assumed at once that it was unfavourable, an -assumption confirmed by the discreet and -compassionate glances with which Mme. Laubépin -furtively honoured me. As for M. Laubépin, he -observed me with a remarkable attention not -altogether kindly. My father, I remember, always -maintained that at the bottom of his heart and -under his respectful manner the ceremonious old -scrivener had a little of </span><em class="italics">bourgeois</em><span> democratic and -even Jacobin leaven. It seemed to me that this -leaven was working just now, and that the old -man found some satisfaction for his secret -antipathies in the spectacle of a gentleman under -torture. In spite of my real depression, I began to -talk at once, trying to appear quite unconcerned.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"So, M. Laubépin," I said, "you've left the -Place des Petits-Pères, the dear old Place. How -could you bring yourself to do it? I would never -have believed it of you."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"</span><em class="italics">Mon Dieu</em><span>, marquis," replied M. Laubépin, -"I must admit that it is an infidelity unbecoming -at my age; but in giving up the practice I had to -give up my chambers as well, for one can't carry -off a notary's plate as one can a sign-board."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But you still undertake some business?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, in a friendly way, marquis. Some of -the honourable families, the important families, -whose confidence I have had the good fortune to -secure in the course of forty-five years of practice, -are still glad, especially in situations of unusual -delicacy, to have the benefit of my experience, -and I believe I may say they rarely regret having -followed my advice."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>As M. Laubépin finished this testimonial to -his own merits, an old servant came in and -announced that dinner was served. It was my -privilege to conduct Mme. Laubépin into the -adjacent dining-room. Throughout the meal the -conversation never rose above the most ordinary -commonplaces. M. Laubépin continued to look -at me in the same penetrating and ambiguous -manner, while Mme. Laubépin offered me each -dish in the mournful and compassionate tone we -use at the bedside of an invalid. In time we left -the table, and the old notary took me into his -study, where coffee was served immediately. He -made me sit down, and standing before the -fireplace, began:</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Marquis," he said, "you have done me the -honour of intrusting to me the administration -of the estate of your father, the late Marquis -de Champcey d'Hauterive. Yesterday I was -about to write to you, when I learned of your -arrival in Paris. This enables me to convey to -you, </span><em class="italics">vivâ voce</em><span>, the result of my zeal and of my -action."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I foresee, M. Laubépin, that the result is not -favourable."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Marquis, it is not favourable, and you will -need all your courage to bear it. But it is my -rule to proceed methodically.—In the year 1820 -Mlle. Louise Hélène Dugald Delatouche d'Erouville -was sought in marriage by Charles-Christian -Odiot, Marquis de Champcey d'Hauterive. A -tradition a century old had placed the management -of the Dugald Delatouche affairs in my hands, and -I was further permitted a respectful intimacy with -the young heiress of the house. I thought it my -duty, therefore, to oppose her infatuation by every -argument in my power and to dissuade her from -this deplorable alliance. I say deplorable alliance -without reference to M. de Champcey's fortune, -which was nearly equal to that of Mlle. Delatouche, -though even at this time he had mortgaged -it to some extent. I say so because I knew -his character and temperament, which were in the -main hereditary. Under the fascinating and -chivalrous manner common to all of his race I saw -clearly the heedless obstinacy, the incurable -irresponsibility, the mania for pleasure, and, finally, -the pitiless selfishness."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Sir," I interrupted sharply, "my father's -memory is sacred to me, and so it must be to -every one who speaks of him in my presence."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Sir," replied the old man with a sudden and -violent emotion, "I respect that sentiment, hut -when I speak of your father I find it hard to -forget that he was the man who killed your mother, -that heroic child, that saint, that angel!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>I had risen in great agitation. M. Laubépin, -who had taken a few steps across the room, seized -my arm. "Forgive me, young man," he said to -me. "I loved your mother and wept for her. -You must forgive me." Then returning to the -fire-place, he continued in his usual solemn tone:</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I had the honour and the pain of drawing up -your mother's marriage contract.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"In spite of my remonstrance, the strict -settlement of her property upon herself had not been -adopted, and it was only with much difficulty that -I got included in the deed a protective clause by -which about a third of your mother's estate could -not be sold, except with her consent duly and -legally authenticated. A useless precaution, -marquis; I might call it the cruel precaution of an -ill-advised friendship. This fatal clause brought -most intolerable sufferings to the very person -whose peace it was intended to secure. I refer to -the disputes and quarrels and wrangles the echo -of which must sometimes have reached your ears, -and in which, bit by bit, your mother's last -heritage—her children's bread—was torn from her!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Spare me, M. Laubépin!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I obey.... I will speak only of the present. -Directly I was honoured with your confidence, -marquis, my first duty was to advise you not to -accept the encumbered estate unless after paying -all liabilities."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Such a course seemed to cast a slur on my -father's memory, and I could not adopt it."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>M. Laubépin darted one of his inquisitorial -glances at me, and continued:</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You are apparently aware that by not having -availed yourself of this perfectly legal method, -you became responsible for all liabilities, even if -they exceed the value of the estate itself. And -that, it is my painful duty to tell you, is the case -in the present instance. You will see by these -documents that after getting exceptionally favourable -terms for the town-house, you and your sister -are still indebted to your father's creditors to the -amount of forty-five thousand francs."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>I was utterly stunned by this news, which far -exceeded my worst apprehensions. For a minute -I stared at the clock without seeing the hour it -marked, and listened dazed to the monotonous -sound of the pendulum.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Now," continued M. Laubépin, after a -silence, "the moment has come to tell you, -marquis, that your mother, in view of contingencies -which are unfortunately realized to-day, deposited -with me some jewels which are valued at about -fifty thousand francs. To exempt this small sum, -now your sole resource, from the claims of the -creditors of the estate, we can, I believe, make use -of the legal resource which I shall have the honour -of submitting to you."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"That will not be necessary, M. Laubépin. I -am only too glad to be able, through this unexpected -means, to pay my father's debts in full, and -I beg you to devote it to that purpose."</span></p> -<ol class="upperalpha simple" start="13"> -<li><p class="first pfirst"><span>Laubépin bowed slightly.</span></p> -</li> -</ol> -<p class="pfirst"><span>"As you wish, marquis," he said, "but I must -point out to you that when this deduction has -been made, the joint fortune of Mlle. Hélène and -yourself will consist of something like four or five -thousand livres, which, at the present rate of -interest, will give you an income of two hundred -and twenty-five francs. That being so, may I -venture to ask in a confidential, friendly, and -respectful way whether you have thought of any -way of providing for your own existence and for -that of your ward and sister? And, generally, -what your plans are?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I tell you frankly I have none. Whatever -plans I may have had are quite impossible in the -state of destitution to which I am now reduced. -If I were alone in the world I should enlist, but I -have my sister, and I cannot endure the thought -of seeing the poor child subjected to toil and -privations. She is happy in the convent and young -enough to stay there some years longer. I would -gladly accept any employment which would enable -me, by the strictest personal economy, to pay her -expenses each year and provide for her dowry in -the future."</span></p> -<ol class="upperalpha simple" start="13"> -<li><p class="first pfirst"><span>Laubépin looked hard at me.</span></p> -</li> -</ol> -<p class="pfirst"><span>"At your age, marquis, you must not expect," -he replied, "to achieve that praiseworthy object -by entering the slow ranks of public officials and -governmental functionaries. You require an -appointment which will assure you from the outset -a yearly revenue of five or six thousand francs. -And I must also tell you that this desideratum -is not, in the present state of our social -organization, to be obtained by simply holding out your -hand. Happily, I am in a position to make some -propositions to you which are likely to modify -your present situation immediately and without -much trouble."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>M. Laubépin fixed his eyes on me more -penetratingly than ever.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"In the first place, marquis," he went on, "I -am the mouthpiece of a clever, rich, and influential -speculator. This personage has originated -an idea for an important undertaking, the nature -of which will be explained to you at a later -period. Its success largely depends on the -co-operation of the aristocracy of this country. He -believes that an old and illustrious name like -yours, marquis, appearing among the originators -of the enterprise, would have great weight with -the special public to whom the prospectus will -be addressed. In return for this service, he -engages to hand over to you a certain number of -fully paid-up shares, which are now valued at ten -thousand francs, and which will be worth two or -three times that amount when the affair is well -launched. In addition, he——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"That is enough, M. Laubépin. Such infamies -are unworthy of the trouble you take -in mentioning them."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>For a moment I saw his eyes flash and sparkle. -The stiff folds in his face relaxed as he smiled -faintly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"If you do not approve of this proposition, -marquis," he said unctuously, "neither do I. -However, I thought it was my duty to submit -it for your consideration. Here is another, which, -perhaps, will please you more, and which is really -more attractive. One of my oldest clients is a -worthy merchant who has lately retired from -business, and now passes his life with an only and -much-loved daughter, in the quiet enjoyment of -an </span><em class="italics">aurea mediocritas</em><span> of twenty-five thousand -francs a year. Two or three days ago my client's -daughter, by some accident, heard of your -position. I thought it right—indeed, to speak -frankly, I was at some trouble—to ascertain that -the young lady would not hesitate for a moment -to accept the title of Marquise de Champcey. -Her appearance is agreeable, and she has many -excellent qualities. Her father approves. I await -only a word from you, marquis, to tell you the -name and residence of this interesting family."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"M. Laubépin, this quite decides me; from -to-morrow I shall cease to use a title which is -ridiculous for one in my position, and which, it -seems, makes me the object of the most paltry -intrigues. My family name is Odiot, and -henceforth I shall use no other. And now, though I -recognise gratefully the keen interest in my -welfare which has induced you to be the channel of -such remarkable propositions, I must beg you to -spare me any others of a like character."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"In that case, marquis, I have absolutely -nothing more to tell you," said M. Laubépin, and, -as if suddenly taken with a fit of joviality, he -rubbed his hands together with a noise like the -crackling of parchment.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You are a difficult man to place, M. Maxime," -he added, smiling. "Oh, very difficult! -It is remarkable that I should not have already -noticed your striking likeness to your mother, -particularly your eyes and your smile ... but -we must not digress; and, since you are resolved -to maintain yourself by honest work, may I ask -what are your talents and qualifications?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"My education, monsieur, was naturally that -of a man destined for a life of wealth and case. -However, I have studied law, and am nominally -a barrister."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"A barrister! The devil you are! But the -name is not enough. At the bar, more than in -any other career, everything depends on personal -effort; and now—let us see—do you speak well, -marquis?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"So badly that I believe I am incapable of -putting two sentences together in public."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"H'm! Scarcely what one could call a heaven-born -orator. You must try something else; but -the matter requires more careful consideration. -I see you are tired, marquis. Here are your -papers, which you can examine at your leisure. -I have the honour to wish you farewell. Allow -me to light you down. A moment—am I to -await your further instructions before applying -the value of those jewels to the payment of your -creditors?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, by no means. But I should wish you -rather to deduct a just remuneration for your -kind exertions."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>We had reached the landing of the staircase; -M. Laubépin, who stooped a little as he walked, -sharply straightened himself.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"So far as your creditors are concerned," he -said, "you may count upon my obedience, marquis. -As to me, I was your mother's friend, and -I beg humbly but earnestly that her son will -treat me as a friend."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>I gave my hand to the old gentleman; he -shook it warmly and we parted.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Back in the little room I now occupy, under -the roof of the </span><em class="italics">hôtel</em><span>, which is mine no longer, I -wished to convince myself that the full -knowledge of my misery had not depressed me to a -degree unworthy of a man. So I have sat down -to write an account of this decisive day of my -life, endeavouring to preserve exactly the phraseology -of the old notary, a mixture of stiffness and -courtesy, of mistrust and kind feeling, which more -than once made me smile, though my heart was -bleeding.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>I am face to face with poverty. Not the -haughty, hidden, and poetic poverty that among -forests and deserts and savannas fired my -imagination, but actual misery, need, dependence, -humiliation, and something worse even—the -poverty of the rich man who has fallen; poverty in a -decent coat; the poverty that hides its ungloved -hands from the former friends it passes in the -street. Come, brother, courage, courage...!</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst right"><em class="italics">Monday, April 27th</em><span>.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>For five days I have been waiting in vain for -news of M. Laubépin. I had counted considerably -on the interest that he had appeared to feel -in me. His experience, his business connections, -and the number of people he knows, would -enable him to be of service to me. I was ready -to take all necessary steps under his direction, -but, left to myself, I do not know which way to -turn. I thought he was one of the men who -promise little and do much. I am afraid that -I have been mistaken. This morning I determined -to go to his house on the pretext of returning -the papers he had given me, after verifying -their dreary exactitude. I was told that he had -gone to enjoy a taste of country life at some -château in the heart of Brittany. He would be -away two or three days longer. I was completely -taken aback. I had not only the pain of finding -indifference and desertion where I had looked for -the readiness of devoted friendship, I had, in -addition, the bitter disappointment of returning, as -I went, with an empty purse. I had, in fact, -intended to ask M. Laubépin to advance me -some money from the three or four thousand -francs due to us after full payment of our debts. -In vain have I lived like an anchorite since -came to Paris. The small sum I had reserved -for my journey is completely exhausted—so -completely that, after making a truly pastoral -breakfast this morning—</span><em class="italics">castanceæ molles et pressi -copia lactis</em><span>—I was obliged to have recourse to a -kind of trickery for my dinner to-night. I will -make melancholy record of it here.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The less one has had for breakfast, the more -one wants for dinner. I had felt all the force of -this axiom long before the sun had finished its -course. Among the strollers whom the mild air -had attracted to the Tuileries this afternoon to -watch the first smiles of spring playing on the -faces of the marble fauns, the observant might -have noted a young man of irreproachable -appearance who seemed to study the awakening of -nature with extraordinary interest. Not satisfied -with devouring the fresh verdure with his eyes, -he would furtively detach the young, appetizing -shoots and the half-opened leaves from their -stems, and put them to his lips with the curiosity -of a botanist. I convinced myself in this way -that this form of nourishment, suggested by -accounts of shipwrecks, is of very little value. -Still, I enriched my experience with some -interesting discoveries: for instance, I know now that -the foliage of the chestnut has an exceedingly -bitter taste; that the rose is not unpleasant; that -the lime is oily and rather agreeable; the lilac -pungent—and I believe unwholesome.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Meditating on these discoveries, I walked -towards Hélène's convent. I found the parlour -as crowded as a hive, and I was more than -usually bewildered by the tumultuous confidences of -the young bees. Hélène arrived, her hair in -disorder, her cheeks flushed, her eyes red and -sparkling. In her hand she had a piece of bread as -long as her arm. As she embraced me in an -absent way, I asked:</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well, little girl, what is the matter? You've -been crying."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No, Maxime, no, it's nothing."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well, what is it? Now tell me...."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>In a lower tone she said:</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, I am very miserable, dear Maxime!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Really? Tell me all about it while you eat -your bread."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, I shall certainly not eat my bread. I am -too miserable to eat. You know Lucy—Lucy -Campbell, my dearest friend. Well, we've -quarrelled completely."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, </span><em class="italics">mon Dieu</em><span>! Don't worry, darling, you'll -make it up. It will be all right, dear."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, Maxime, that's impossible. It was such -a serious quarrel. It was nothing at first, but you -know one gets excited and loses one's head. -Listen, Maxime! We were playing battledore, and -Lucy made a mistake about the score. I was six -hundred and eighty, and she was only six hundred -and fifteen, and she declared she was six hundred -and sixty-five! You must say that was a little -too bad. Of course I said my figure was right, -and she said hers was. 'Well, mademoiselle,' I -said to her, 'let us ask these young ladies. I -appeal to them.' 'No, mademoiselle,' she replied, -'I am sure I am right, and you don't play -fair.' 'And—and you, mademoiselle,' I said to -her—'you are a liar!' 'Very well, mademoiselle,' -she said then, 'I despise you too much to answer -you.' Just at that moment Sister Sainte-Félix -came up, which was a good thing, for I am -sure I should have hit her. Now, you know -what happened. Can we possibly make it up? -No, it is impossible; it would be cowardly. -But I can't tell you how I suffer. I don't -believe there's any one in the world so miserable -as I am."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, dear, it's difficult to imagine anything -more distressing; but it seems to me that you -partly brought it on yourself, for it was you who -used the most offensive word. Tell me, is Lucy -in the parlour?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, there she is, in the corner."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>With a dignified and careful movement of her -head she indicated a very fair little girl. Her -cheeks, too, were flushed, and her eyes were red. -Apparently she was giving an account of the -drama, which Sister Sainte-Félix had so fortunately -interrupted, to an old lady who was listening -attentively.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Mlle. Lucy, while she talked with an earnestness -appropriate to the subject, kept looking -furtively at Hélène and me.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Dear child," I said to Hélène, "do you trust me?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, Maxime, I trust you very much."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"In that case I will tell you what to do. Go -very gently behind Mlle. Lucy's chair; take her -head in your hands—like this, when she is not -looking—and kiss her on both cheeks—like this, -with all your might—and then you will see what -she will do in her turn."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>For a second or two Hélène seemed to hesitate; -then she set off at a great rate, fell like a -thunder-clap on Mlle. Campbell, but nevertheless -gave her the sweetest of surprises. The two -young sufferers, at last eternally united, mingled -their tears in a touching group, while the respectable -old Mrs. Campbell blew her nose with a noise -as of a bagpipe.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Hélène came back to me radiant.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well, dear," I said, "I hope you're going to -eat your bread now."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, no! I can't, Maxime. I am too much -excited, and—besides, I must tell you—to-day a -new pupil came and gave us quite a feast of -meringues, éclairs, and chocolate-creams, and I am -not a bit hungry. And I am in a great difficulty -about it, because when we're not hungry we have -to put our bread back in the basket, and in my -trouble I forgot, and I shall be punished. But, -Maxime, as we're crossing the court when you go, -I shall try to drop it down the cellar without any -one seeing.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What, little sister!" I said, colouring a little, -"you are going to waste that large piece of -bread?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It isn't good of me I know, because, perhaps, -there are poor people who would be very glad of -it, aren't there, Maxime?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"There certainly are, dear."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But what do you want me to do? The poor -people don't come in here."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Look here, Hélène, give me the bread, and -I'll give it in your name to the first poor man I -meet. Will you?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, yes!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The bell rang for school. I broke the bread in -two and hid the pieces shamefacedly in my great -coat pockets.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Dear Maxime," said my sister, "you'll come -again soon, won't you? Then you'll tell me -whether you met a poor man and gave him my -bread, and whether he liked it? Good-bye, -Maxime."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, Hélène, I met a poor man and gave him -your bread, which he seized and carried off to his -solitary garret, and he liked it. But this poor -man had not courage, for he wept as he ate the -food that had come from your dear little hands. -I will tell you all this, Hélène, because it is good -for you to know that there are sufferings more -serious than your childish woes. I will tell you -everything, except the name of the poor man."</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst right"><em class="italics">Tuesday, April 28th</em><span>.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>At nine o'clock this morning I called at -M. Laubépin's in the vague hope that he might have -returned earlier than he intended, but he is not -expected until to-morrow. I thought at once of -seeing Mme. Laubépin and explaining the awkward -position I was placed in through her husband's -absence. While I hesitated in a conflict of -shame and necessity, the old servant, alarmed, -perhaps, by my hungry gaze, settled the question by -suddenly shutting the door. I made up my mind -hereupon to fast until the next day. After all, I -said to myself, a day's abstinence does not kill -one. If this showed an excessive pride, at all -events I was the only one to suffer, and -consequently it concerned no one but myself. I -accordingly made my way to the Sorbonne, where I -attended several lectures, trying to fill up my -corporeal vacuum by spiritual sustenance. But when -this resource came to an end I found it had been -quite inadequate. And I had an attack of -nervous irritation which I tried to calm by walking. -It was a cold, misty day. As I crossed the Pont -des Saints-Pères I stopped for a minute in spite -of myself. Leaning on the parapet, I watched -the troubled water rushing under the arches. I -know not what unholy thoughts shot through my -worn and weakened brain. I saw in the gloomiest -colours a future of ceaseless struggle, of -dependence, and of humiliation, which I was approaching -by the dark gate of hunger; I felt a profound and -utter disgust of life; it seemed impossible to me -under such conditions. At the same time a flame -of fierce and brutal anger leaped up in me. -Dazed and reeling, I hung over the void, and saw -all the river glittering with sparks of fire.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>I will not say, as is usual, God would not have -it so. I hate these cant phrases, and I dare to say -</span><em class="italics">I</em><span> would not. God has made us free, and if ever -before I had doubted it, this supreme moment—when -soul and body, courage and cowardice, good -and evil, held mortal combat within me—would -have swept my doubts away forever.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Master of myself again, those terrible waves -only suggested an innocent, and rather absurd -longing to quench the thirst that tortured me. I -soon remembered that I should find much purer -water in my room at home. I went quickly -towards the </span><em class="italics">hôtel</em><span>, imagining that the most delicious -pleasures awaited me there. With pathetic -childishness I delighted in this glorious device, and -wondered I had not thought of it sooner. On -the boulevard I suddenly came face to face with -Gaston de Vaux, whom I had not seen for two -years. After a moment's hesitation he stopped, -grasped my hand cordially, said a word or two -about my travels, and left me hurriedly. But he -turned back.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"My friend," he said to me, "you must allow -me to let you share a piece of good luck I've just -had. I have put my hand on a treasure; I have -got some cigars which cost me two francs each, -but really they are beyond price. Here's one; -you must tell me how you like it. </span><em class="italics">An revoir</em><span>, -old man!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Wearily I mounted the six flights to my room, -and trembling with emotion, I seized my friendly -water-bottle and swallowed the contents in small -mouthfuls. Afterward I lighted my friend's -cigar, and smiled encouragement at myself in the -glass. Feeling that movement and the distraction -of the streets were good for me, I went out again -directly. Opening my door, I was surprised and -annoyed to see the wife of the concierge of the -</span><em class="italics">hôtel</em><span> standing in the narrow corridor. My -sudden appearance seemed to disconcert her. This -woman had formerly been in my mother's service, -and had become a favourite with her, and when -she married, my mother had given her the profitable -post she still held. For some days I had an -idea that she was watching me, and now, having -nearly caught her in the act, I asked her roughly -what she wanted.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, nothing, M. Maxime, nothing," she replied, -much confused. "I was seeing to the gas."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>I shrugged my shoulders and went away.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Night was falling, so I could walk about in the -more frequented places without being fearful of -awkward recognitions. I was obliged to throw -away my cigar—it made me feel sick. My promenade -lasted two or three hours, and painful hours -they were. There is something peculiarly poignant -in feeling oneself attacked, in the midst of -the brilliance and plenty of civilization, by the -scourge of savage life—hunger. It brings you -near to madness. It's a tiger springing at your -throat in the middle of the boulevards.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>I made some original reflections. Hunger, -after all, is not an empty word. There actually -is a complaint of that name, and there are human -beings who endure nearly every day what through -a mere accident I am suffering for once in my life. -And how many have their misery embittered by -troubles which I am spared! I know that the -one being in the world whom I love is sheltered -from such sufferings as mine. But how many -cannot suffer alone; how many must hear the -heart-rending cry of nature repeated on beloved -lips that ask for food; how many for whom pale -women and unsmiling children are waiting in bare -cold rooms! Poor creatures! Blessed be holy -charity!</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>After these thoughts I dared not complain; -they gave me courage to bear my trial to the end. -As a matter of fact I could have shortened it. -There are two or three restaurants where I am -known, and where, when I was rich, I had often -gone in without hesitation, though I had forgotten -to bring my purse. I might have made some -such pretext. Nor would it have been difficult -for me to borrow a franc or two in Paris. But I -recoiled from such expedients. They suggested -poverty too plainly, and they came too near to -trickery. That descent is swift and slippery for -the poor, and I believe I would rather lose honesty -itself than the delicacy which gives distinction to -the commonplace virtue. I have seen too often -with what facility this exquisite sentiment of -honesty loses its bloom, even in the finest natures, -not merely under the breath of misery, but at the -slightest contact with privation. So I shall keep -strict watch over myself. I shall be on my guard -henceforth against even the most innocent -compromise with conscience. When bad times come, -do not accustom your soul to suppleness; it is -only too prone to yield.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Fatigue and cold drove me back about nine -o'clock. The door of the </span><em class="italics">hôtel</em><span> was open. -Treading as lightly as a ghost, I had reached the -staircase when the sound of a lively conversation came -from the concierge's room. They were talking -about me, for at this very moment the tyrant of -the house pronounced my name with unmistakable -contempt.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Be good enough, Mme. Vauberger," said -the concierge, "not to trouble me with your -Maxime. Did I ruin your Maxime? Then what -are you talking to me about? If he kills himself, -they'll bury him, won't they?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I tell you, Vauberger," his wife answered, -"it would have made your heart bleed to see him -drain his water-bottle. And if I believed you -meant what you say in that offhand manner—just -like an actor—'If he kills himself, they'll bury -him!' I would—— But I know you don't, because -you're a good sort, although you don't like -being upset. Fancy being without fire or bread! -And that after being fed on dainties all your life, -and wrapped up in furs like a little pet cat. It's a -shame and a disgrace. A nice sort of government -yours is to allow such things!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But it has nothing to do with the government," -said M. Vauberger, reasonably enough. -"And I'm sure you're wrong; it's not so bad as -all that. He can't be wanting bread; it's impossible."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"All right, Vauberger. I've more to tell you. -I've followed him. I've watched him, and made -Edouard watch him, too. Yes, I have. I'm -certain he had no dinner yesterday, and no breakfast -to-day; and as I've searched his pockets and all -the drawers, and not found so much as a red cent, -you may be sure he hasn't had any dinner to-day, -for he's much too high and mighty to go and -beg one."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, is he? So much the worse for him. -Poor people shouldn't be proud," said the -worthy concierge, true to the sentiments of his -calling.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>I had had enough of this dialogue, and put an -end to it abruptly by opening the door and asking -M. Vauberger for a light. I could not have -astounded him more if I had asked for his head. -Though I particularly wished not to give way -before these people, I could not help stumbling -once or twice as I went up the stairs. My head -was swimming. Usually my room was as cold as -ice. Imagine my surprise at finding a bright, -cheerful fire, which sent a pleasant warmth through -the room. I wasn't stoic enough to put it out, -and I blessed the kind hearts there are in the -world. I stretched myself out in an old arm-chair -of Utrecht velvet, which, like myself, had been -brought by reverses from the first floor to the -garret. I tried to sleep. For half an hour I had been -dreaming in a kind of torpor of sumptuous -banquets and merry junketings, when the noise of the -door opening made me jump up with a start. I -thought I was dreaming still when Mme. Vauberger -came in, carrying a big tray with two or -three savoury dishes steaming on it. Before I -could shake off my lethargy she had put the tray -down and had begun to lay the cloth. At last I -started up hastily.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well," I said, "what does this mean? What -are you doing?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Mme. Vauberger pretended to be greatly surprised.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I thought you ordered dinner, sir?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, no."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Edouard told me that——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Edouard made a mistake; it's for one of the -other tenants; you had better see."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But there's no other tenant on this floor, -sir ... I can't make out..."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well, it was not for me. What does all -this mean? Oh, you annoy me! Take it away."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The poor woman began to fold the cloth, -looking at me reproachfully, like a favourite dog -who has been beaten.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I suppose you've had dinner already, sir," -she said, timidly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No doubt."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"That is a pity, because this dinner is quite -ready, and now it will be wasted, and the boy'll -get a scolding from his father. If you hadn't had -your dinner already, sir, you would have very -much obliged me if——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>I stamped my foot violently.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Leave the room, I tell you," I said, and as -she was going out I went up to her. "My good -Louison," I said, "I understand, and I thank -you; but I am not very well to-night, and I have -no appetite."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ah, M. Maxime," she exclaimed, in tears, -"you don't know how you hurt my feelings. -Well, you can pay me for the dinner; you shall -if you like; you can give me the money as soon -as you get some ... but if you gave me a -hundred thousand francs, it wouldn't make me so -happy as seeing you eat my poor dinner. You -would do me a great kindness, M. Maxime. You, -who are so clever, you ought to understand how -I feel. Oh, I know you will, M. Maxime!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well, my dear Louison, what am I to do? -I can't give you a hundred thousand francs ... but -... I am going to eat your dinner. All by -myself, too, if you don't mind."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Certainly, sir. Oh, thank you, sir; I thank -you very much indeed. You have a kind heart, sir."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And a good appetite, Louison. Give me -your hand—oh, not to put money in, you may be -sure. There! </span><em class="italics">Au revoir</em><span>, Louison."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The good woman went out sobbing.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>I did justice to Louison's dinner, and had just -finished writing these lines when a grave and -heavy footstep sounded on the stairs, and at the -same time I thought I heard the voice of my -humble providence whispering confidences in -hurried, nervous tones. A moment or two later -there was a knock. Louison slipped away in -the darkness, and the solemn outline of the old -notary appeared in the doorway.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>M. Laubépin cast a keen glance at the tray -where I had left the fragments of my dinner. -Then coming towards me and opening his arms, -at once confused and reproachful, he said:</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"In Heaven's name, marquis, why did you -not——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He broke off, strode quickly about the room, -and then coming to a sudden halt, exclaimed:</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Young man, you had no right to do this; -you have given pain to a friend, and you have -made an old man blush."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He was much moved. I looked at him, a -little moved myself and not knowing what to say, -when he suddenly clasped me in his arms and -murmured in my ear, "My poor child...!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>For a moment we said nothing. When we -had sat down, M. Laubépin continued.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Maxime," he said, "are you in the same -mind as when I left you? Have you the courage -to accept the humblest work, the least -important occupation, provided it is honourable, -and that it gives you a livelihood and preserves -your sister from the sufferings and dangers of -poverty?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Most certainly I am; it's my duty, and I am -ready to do it."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Very well, my friend. Now listen to me. -I have just returned from Brittany. In that -ancient province there is a family called Laroque, -who have for many years past honoured me with -their entire confidence. This family is now -represented by an old man and two ladies whom age -or disposition render incapable of business. The -Laroques have a substantial income derived from -their large estates in land, which have latterly -been managed by an agent whom I took the -liberty to regard as a rogue. The day following our -last interview, Maxime, I received intelligence of -the death of this man. I immediately set out for -the Château Laroque and asked for the appointment -for you. I laid stress on your having been -called to the bar, and dwelt particularly on your -moral qualities. Respecting your wishes, I did -not allude to your birth; you are not, and will -not, be known in that house under any name but -that of Maxime Odiot. A pavilion at some -distance from the house will be allotted to you, and -you will be able to have your meals there when, -for any reason, you do not care to join the family -at table. Your salary will be six thousand francs -a year. How will that suit you?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It will suit me perfectly. You must let me -acknowledge at once how much I feel the consideration -and delicacy of your friendship. But to -tell you the truth, I am afraid I am rather a -strange kind of business man—rather a novice, -you know."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You need have no anxiety on that score, my -friend. I anticipated your scruples, and concealed -nothing from the parties concerned. 'Madame,' -I said to my excellent friend, Mme. Laroque, -'you require an agent and an administrator of -your income. I offer you one. He is far from -possessing the talents of his predecessor; he is by -no means versed in the mysteries of leases and -farm-freeholds; he does not know the alphabet -of the affairs you are so good as to intrust to him; -he has had no experience, no practice, and no -opportunity of learning; but he has something -which his predecessor lacked, which sixty years -of experience had not given him, and which he -would not have acquired in ten thousand years—and -that is honesty, madame. I have seen him -under fire, and I will answer for him. Engage -him; he will be indebted to you, and so shall -I.' Young man, Mme. Laroque laughed very much -at my way of recommending people, but in the -end it turned out to be a good way, for it has -succeeded."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The worthy old gentleman then offered to -impart to me some elementary general notions -on the kind of administration I was about to -undertake, and to these he added, in connection -with the interests of the Laroque family, the -results of some inquiries which he had made -and put into shape for me.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And when am I to go, my dear sir?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"To say the truth, my boy" (he had entirely -dropped the "marquis"), "the sooner the better, -for those good people could not make out a -receipt unaided. My excellent friend, Mme. Laroque, -more especially, though an admirable woman -in many respects, is beyond conception careless, -indiscreet, and childish in business matters. She -is a Creole."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ah! she is a Creole," I repeated with some -vivacity.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, young man, an old Creole lady," M. Laubépin -said dryly. "Her husband was a Breton; -but these details will come in good time.... -Good-bye till to-morrow, Maxime, and be of good -cheer. Ah! I had forgotten. On Thursday -morning, before my departure, I did something which -will be of service to you. Among your creditors -there are some rogues, whose relations with your -father were obviously usurious. Armed with the -thunders of the law, I reduced their claims on -my own responsibility, and made them give me -receipts in full. So now your capital amounts -to twenty thousand francs. Add to this reserve -what you are able to save each year from your -salary, and in ten years' time we shall have a good -dowry for Hélène. Well, well, come and lunch -with Mâitre Laubépin to-morrow, and we will -settle all the rest. Good-bye, Maxime; -good-night, my dear child!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"God bless you, sir!"</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst right"><span>CHÂTEAU DE LAROQUE (D'ARZ), </span><em class="italics">May 1st</em><span>.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>I left Paris yesterday. My last interview with -M. Laubépin was painful. I feel the affection -of a son for the old man. Then I had to bid -Hélène farewell. It was necessary to tell her -something of the truth, to make her understand -why I was compelled to accept an appointment. -I talked vaguely of temporary business difficulties. -The poor child understood, I think, more -than I had said; her large, wondering eyes filled -with tears as she fell upon my neck.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>At last I got away. I went by train to -Rennes, where I stayed the night. This morning -I took the diligence, which put me down, four -or five hours ago, at a little Morbilian town not -far from the château of Laroque. We had -travelled ten leagues or more from Rennes, and still -I had seen nothing to justify the reputed -picturesqueness of our ancient Armorica. A flat, -green country without variety; eternal apple-trees -in eternal fields; ditches and wooded slopes -shutting off the view on both sides of the road; -here and there a nook full of rural charm, and -a few blouses and glazed hats relieving the very -ordinary scene. All this strongly inclined me to -think that poetic Brittany was merely a -pretentious and somewhat pallid sister of Lower -Normandy. Tired of disillusions and apple-trees, I -had for more than an hour ceased to take any -notice of the country. I was dozing heavily, -when I felt suddenly that the lumbering vehicle -was lurching forward heavily. At the same -time the pace of the horses slackened, and a -clanking noise, together with a peculiar -vibration, proclaimed that the worst of drivers had -applied the worst of brakes to the worst of -diligences. An old lady clutched my arm with the -ready sympathy excited by a sense of common -danger. I put my head out of the window; we -were descending, between two lofty slopes, an -extremely steep hill, evidently the work of an -engineer too much enamoured of the straight line.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Half-sliding, half-rolling, we soon reached the -bottom of a narrow valley of gloomy aspect. A -feeble brook flowed silently and slowly among -thick reeds, and over its crumbling banks hung a -few moss-grown tree-trunks. The road crossed -the stream by a bridge of a single arch, and, climbing -the farther hill, cut a white track across a wide, -barren, and naked </span><em class="italics">lande</em><span> whose crest stood out -sharply against the horizon in front of us. Near -the bridge and close to the road was a ruined -hovel. Its air of desolation struck to the heart. -A young, robust man was splitting wood by the -door; his long, fair hair was fastened at the back -by a black ribbon. He raised his head, and I was -surprised at the strange character of his features -and at the calm gaze of his blue eyes. He greeted -me in an unknown tongue and with a quiet, soft, -and timid accent. A woman was spinning at the -cottage window; the style of her hair and dress -reproduced with theatrical fidelity the images of -those slim chatelaines of stone we see on tombs. -These people did not look like peasants; they had, -in the highest degree, that easy, gracious, and -serious air we call distinction. And they had, too, -the sad and dreamy expression often seen among -people whose nationality has been destroyed.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>I had got down to walk up the hill. The -</span><em class="italics">lande</em><span>, which was not separated from the road, -extended all round me as far and farther than I -could see; stunted furze clung to the black -earth on every side; here and there were ravines, -clefts, deserted quarries, and low rocks, but no -trees.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Only when I had reached the high ground I -saw the distant sombre line of the heath broken -by a more distant strip of the horizon. A little -serrated, blue as the sea and steeped in sunlight, it -seemed to open in the midst of this desolation the -sudden vision of some radiant fairy region. At -last I saw Brittany!</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>I had to engage a carriage to take me the two -leagues that separated me from the end of my -journey. During the drive, which was not by any -means a rapid one, I vaguely remember seeing -woods, glades, lakes, and oases of fresh verdure in -the valleys; but as we approached the Château -Laroque I was besieged by a thousand apprehensions -which left no room for tourist's reflections. -In a few minutes I was to enter a strange -family on the footing of a sort of servant in -disguise, and in a position which would barely secure -me the consideration and respect of the lackeys -themselves. This was something very new to me. -The moment M. Laubépin proposed this post of -bailiff, all my instincts, all my habits, had risen in -violent protest against the peculiar character of -dependence attached to such duties. Nevertheless, -I had thought it impossible to refuse without -appearing to slight my old friend's zealous efforts -on my behalf. Moreover, in a less dependent -position, I could not have hoped to obtain for -many years the advantages which I should have -here from the outset, and which would enable me -to work for my sister's future without losing time. -I had therefore overcome my repugnance, but it -had been very strong, and now revived more -strongly than ever in face of the imminent reality. -I had need to study once more the articles on -duty and sacrifice in the moral code that every -man carries in his conscience. At the same time -I told myself that there is no situation, however -humble, where personal dignity cannot maintain -itself—and none, in fact, that it cannot ennoble. -Then I sketched out a plan of conduct towards the -Laroque family, and promised myself to show a -conscientious zeal for their interests, and, to -themselves, a just deference equally removed from -servility and from stiffness. But I could not conceal -from myself that the last part of my task, -obviously the most delicate, would be either greatly -simplified or complicated by the special characters -and dispositions of the people with whom I was -to come into contact. Now, M. Laubépin, while -recognising that my anxiety on these personal -questions was quite legitimate, had been -stubbornly sparing of information and details on the -subject. However, just as I was starting, he had -handed me a private memorandum counselling me -at the same time to throw it in the fire as soon as -I had profited by its contents. This memorandum -I took from my portfolio and proceeded to study -its sibylline utterances, which I here reproduce -exactly.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst"><span>"CHÂTEAU DE LAROQUE (D'ARZ)</span></p> -<p class="center pnext"><span>"LIST OF PERSONS LIVING AT THE AFORESAID CHÂTEAU</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"1st. M. Laroque (Louis-Auguste), octogenarian, -present head of the family, main source of -its wealth: an old sailor, famous under the first -empire as a sort of authorized pirate; appears to -have enriched himself by lawful enterprises of -various kinds on the sea; has lived in the colonies -for a long while. Born in Brittany, he returned -and settled there about thirty years since, -accompanied by the late Pierre-Antoine Laroque, his -only son, husband of</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"2d. Mme. Laroque (Joséphine-Clara), -daughter-in-law of the above-mentioned; by origin a -Creole; aged forty years; indolent disposition; -romantic temperament; certain whimsies: a -beautiful nature.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"3d. Mlle. Laroque (Marguerite-Louise), the -grand-daughter, daughter, and presumptive heiress -of the preceding, aged twenty years; Creole and -Bretonne; cherishes certain chimeras; a beautiful -nature.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"4th. Mme. Aubry, widow of one Aubry, a -stock-broker, who died in Belgium; a second -cousin, lives with the family.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"5th. Mlle. Hélouin (Caroline-Gabrielle), aged -twenty-six; formerly governess, now companion; -cultivated intellect; character doubtful.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Burn this."</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>In spite of its reticence, this document was of -some service to me. Relieved from the dread of -the unknown, I felt that my apprehensions had -partly subsided. And if, as M. Laubépin asserted, -there were two fine characters in the Château -Laroque, it was a higher proportion than one could -have expected to find among five inhabitants.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>After a drive of two hours the coachman stopped -at a gate flanked by two lodges.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>I left my heavy luggage there, and went towards -the château, carrying a valise in one hand, -while I used the other to cut off the heads of the -marguerites with my cane. After walking a little -distance between rows of large chestnuts I came -to a spacious circular garden, emerging into a park -a little farther on. Right and left I saw deep -vistas opening out between groves already verdant, -water flowing under trees, and little white boats -laid up in rustic boat-houses.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Facing me was the château, an imposing building -in the elegant half-Italian style of the early -years of Louis XIII. At the foot of the double -perron, and under the lofty windows of the façade -stretched a long terrace, which formed a kind of -private garden, approached by several broad, low -steps. The gay and sumptuous aspect of this -place caused me a real disappointment, which was -not lessened when, as I drew nearer to the terrace, -I heard the noise of young and laughing voices -rising above the distant tinkle of a piano. Plainly -I had come to an abode of pleasure very different -from the old and gloomy donjon of my imaginings. -However, the time for reflection had passed. -I went quickly up the steps, and suddenly found -myself in the midst of a scene, which in any other -circumstances I should have thought extremely -pretty.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>On one of the lawns of the flower-garden half -a dozen young girls, linked in couples and laughing -at themselves, whirled in a flood of sunshine, -while a piano, touched by a skilful hand, sent -the rhythms of a riotous waltz through an open -window.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>But I had scarcely had time to note the -animated faces of the dancers, their loosened hair, -and large hats flapping on their shoulders. My -sudden appearance had been received with a cry -of general alarm, succeeded by profound silence. -The dancing ceased, and all the band awaited the -advance of the stranger in array of battle. But -the stranger had come to a halt with signs of -evident embarrassment. Though for some time past -I had scarcely troubled my head about my social -claims, I must confess that at this moment I -should gladly have got rid of my hand-bag. But -I had to make the best of the situation. As I -advanced, hat in hand, towards the double -staircase leading to the vestibule of the château the -piano ceased abruptly. A large Newfoundland -first presented himself at the window, putting his -lion-like head on the cross-bar between his two -hairy paws; immediately after there appeared a -tall young girl, whose somewhat sunburnt face -and serious expression were framed in a mass of -black and lustrous hair. Her eyes, which I thought -extraordinarily large, examined the scene outside -with nonchalant curiosity.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well, what is the matter?" she asked in a -quiet tone.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>I made her a low bow, and once more cursing -the bag which evidently amused the young ladies, -I crossed the perron hastily, and entered the house.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>In the hall a gray-haired servant, dressed in -black, took my name. A few minutes later I -was shown into a large drawing-room hung with -yellow silk. There I at once recognised the -young lady I had just seen at the window. She -was beyond question remarkably beautiful. By -the fire-place, where a regular furnace was blazing, -a lady of middle age and of marked Creole type -of feature, sat buried in a large arm-chair among -a mass of eider-down pillows and cushions of all -sizes. Within her reach stood an antique tripod -surmounted by a </span><em class="italics">brasero</em><span>, to which she frequently -held her pale and delicate hands. Near -Mme. Laroque sat a lady knitting, whom I recognised -at once by her morose and disagreeable expression -as the second cousin, the widow of the stock-broker -who died in Belgium. Mme. Laroque -looked at me as if she were more than surprised, -as if she were astounded. She asked my name -again.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I beg your pardon ... Monsieur...?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Odiot, madame."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Maxime Odiot—the manager, the steward—that -M. Laubépin...?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, madame."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You are quite sure?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>I could not help smiling.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, madame, quite sure."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She glanced quickly at the widow of the -stock-broker, and then at the grave young girl, -as if to say, "Is it possible?" Then she moved -slightly among her cushions, and continued:</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Pray sit down, M. Odiot," she said. "I -must thank you very much for placing your -talents at our service. We need your help badly, -I assure you, for—it cannot be denied—we have -the misfortune to be very wealthy."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Seeing the second cousin raise her shoulders -at this, Mme. Laroque went on: "Yes, my dear -Mme. Aubry, I do say so, and I hold to it. God -sent me riches to try me. Most certainly I was -born for poverty and privation, for devotion and -sacrifice; but I have always been crossed. For -instance, I should have loved to have had an -invalid husband. M. Laroque was an exceptionally -healthy man. That is how my destiny has been -and will be marred from beginning to end——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, don't talk like that!" said Mme. Aubry -dryly. "Poverty would agree with you—a person -who can't deny herself a single indulgence or -refinement!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"One moment, my dear madame," returned -Mme. Laroque, "I do not believe in useless -sacrifices. If I subjected myself to the worst -privations, who would be the better for it? Would -you be any happier if I shivered with cold from -morning till night?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>By an expressive gesture Mme. Aubry signified -that she would not be any happier, but that -she considered Mme. Laroque's language -extremely affected and ridiculous.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"After all," continued Mme. Laroque, "good -fortune or ill fortune, what does it matter? As I -said, M. Odiot, we are very rich, and little as I -may value our wealth, it is my duty to preserve -it for my daughter, though the poor child cares no -more for it than I. Do you, Marguerite?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>A slight smile broke the curve of Mlle. Marguerite's -disdainful lips at this question, and the -low arch of her eyebrows contracted momentarily; -then the grave, haughty face subsided into repose -again.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"M. Odiot," resumed Mme. Laroque, "you -shall be shown the place, which, at M. Laubépin's -explicit request, has been reserved for you; but -before this I should like you to be introduced to -my father-in-law, who will be very much pleased -to see you. My dear cousin, will you ring? -M. Odiot, I hope that you will give us the pleasure of -your company at dinner to-day. Good-bye—for -the present."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>I was intrusted to the care of a servant, who -asked me to wait in a room next to the one I had -just left, until he had ascertained M. Laroque's -wishes. He had not closed the door of the </span><em class="italics">salon</em><span>, -so it was impossible for me not to hear these -words spoken by Mme. Laroque with the -good-natured irony habitual to her:</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"There! Can you understand Laubépin? He -talked of a man of a certain age; very simple, very -steady, and he sends me a gentleman like that!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Mlle. Marguerite said something, but so quietly -that I could not hear it, much to my regret, I -confess. Her mother replied immediately:</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"That may be so, my dear, but it is none the -less absolutely ridiculous of Laubépin. Do you -expect that a man of that kind will go running -about ploughed fields in </span><em class="italics">sabots</em><span>? I will wager that -man has never worn </span><em class="italics">sabots</em><span>; he doesn't know what -they are. Well, it may be a prejudice of mine, -dear, but </span><em class="italics">sabots</em><span> seem to me essential to a good -bailiff. Marguerite, it has just occurred to me, -you might take him to your grandfather."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Mlle. Marguerite entered the room where I -was almost directly. She seemed vexed to find -me there.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Pardon me, mademoiselle," I said, "but the -servant asked me to wait here."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Will you be so good as to follow me, sir?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>I followed her. She made me climb a staircase, -cross many corridors, and at last brought me -to a kind of gallery, where she left me. I -amused myself by examining the pictures. They -were, for the most part, very ordinary sea pieces -painted to glorify the old privateersmen of the -Empire. There were several rather murky sea-fights, -in which it was very evident that the little -brig Amiable, Captain Laroque, twenty-six guns, -gave John Bull a great deal of trouble. Then -came several full-length portraits of Captain -Laroque, which naturally attracted my particular -attention. With certain slight variations they all -represented a man of gigantic height, wearing -a sort of republican uniform with large facings, as -luxuriant of locks as Kléber, and looking straight -before him with an energetic, glowing, and -sombre expression. Altogether not exactly a pleasant -sort of man. While I studied this mighty figure, -which perfectly realized the general idea of a -privateersman and even of a pirate, Mlle. Marguerite -asked me to come into the room. I found myself -face to face with a shrivelled and decrepit old -man, whose eyes showed scarcely a spark of life, -and who, as he welcomed me, touched with -trembling hand the cap of black silk which covered a -skull that shone like ivory.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Grandfather," said Mlle. Marguerite, raising -her voice, "this is M. Odiot."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The poor old privateersman raised himself a -little, as he looked at me with a dull and wavering -expression.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>I sat down at a sign from Mlle. Marguerite, -who repeated:</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"M. Odiot, the new bailiff, grandfather."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ah—good-day, sir," murmured the old man.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>An interval of most painful silence followed. -Captain Laroque, his body bent in two and his -head hanging down, fixed a bewildered look on -me. At last, having apparently found a highly -interesting subject of conversation, he said in a -dull, deep voice:</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"M. de Beauchêne is dead!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>I was not provided with a reply to this -unexpected communication. I had not the slightest -idea who M. de Beauchêne might be; Mlle. Marguerite -did not take the trouble to tell me; so -I limited the expression of my regret at this -unhappy event to a slight exclamation of -condolence. But the old captain apparently thought -this was not adequate, for the next moment he -repeated, in the same mournful voice:</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"M. de Beauchêne is dead!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>This persistence increased my embarrassment. -I saw Mlle. Marguerite impatiently tapping her -foot on the floor. Despair seized me, and, -catching at the first phrase that came into my head, -I said:</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes; and what did he die of?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>I had scarcely asked the question, when an -angry look from Mlle. Marguerite told me that -I was suspected of irreverent mockery. Though -I was not conscious of anything worse than a -foolish </span><em class="italics">gaucherie</em><span>, I did all I could to give the -conversation a more pleasant character. I spoke -of the pictures in the gallery, of the great -emotions they must recall, of the respectful interest -I felt in contemplating the hero of these glorious -scenes. I even went into detail, and instanced -with no certain warmth of feeling two or three -battles in which I thought the brig Aimable -had actually accomplished miracles. While I -thus expressed the courteous interest of good -breeding, Mlle. Marguerite still, to my surprise, -regarded me with manifest dissatisfaction and -annoyance.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Her grandfather, however, listened attentively, -and I saw that his head was rising little by little. -A strange smile lighted up his haggard face and -swept away his wrinkles. All at once he rose, and, -seizing the arms of his chair, drew himself up to -his full height; the glare of battle flashed from -the hollow sockets of his eyes, and he shouted in -a sonorous voice that made me start:</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Helm to windward! Hard to windward! -Larboard fire! Lay to; lay to! Grapple, smart -now, we have them! Fire, there above! Sweep -them well, sweep the bridge! Now follow -me—together—down with the English, down with the -cursed Saxon! Hurrah!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>With this last cry, which rattled hoarsely in his -throat, he sank exhausted into his chair; in vain -his grand-daughter sought to aid him. Mlle. -Laroque, with a quick imperious gesture, urged -me to depart, and I left the room immediately. -I found my way as best I could through the -labyrinth of corridors and staircases, congratulating -myself very much on the talent for </span><em class="italics">apropos</em><span> -which I had displayed in my interview with the -old captain of the Aimable.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Alain, the gray-haired servant who had received -me when I arrived, was waiting for me in the hall -to tell me from Mme. Laroque that I should not -have time to go to my quarters before dinner, and -that it would not be necessary for me to change -my dress. As I entered the </span><em class="italics">salon</em><span>, a company of -about twenty people were leaving it in order of -precedence on their way to the dining-room. This -was the first time I had taken part in any social -function since the change in my condition. -Accustomed to the small distinctions which the -etiquette of the drawing-room grants to birth and -fortune, I felt keenly the first symptoms of that -indifference and contempt to which my new situation -must necessarily expose me. Repressing as -well as I could this ebullition of false pride, I gave -my arm to a young lady, well made and pretty, -though rather small. She had kept in the -background as the guests passed out, and, as I had -guessed, she proved to be the governess, -Mlle. Hélouin. The place at table marked as mine was -next to hers. While we were taking our seats, -Mlle. Marguerite appeared guiding like Antigone -the slow and dragging steps of her grandfather. -With the air of tranquil majesty peculiar to her, -she came and sat down on my right, and the big -Newfoundland, who seemed to be the official -guardian of this princess, took up his place as -sentinel behind her chair. I thought it my duty to -express at once my regret at having so maladroitly -aroused memories which seemed to have such an -unfortunate effect on her grandfather.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It is for me to apologize," she answered. "I -should have warned you never to speak of the -English in my grandfather's presence.... Do -you know Brittany well?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>I said that I had not seen it till to-day, but -that I was perfectly delighted to know it, and to -show, moreover, that I was worthy so to do, I -enlarged in lyric style on the picturesque beauties -that had struck me during the journey. Just as I -was hoping that this clever flattery would secure -me the good graces of the young Bretonne, I was -surprised to see her show symptoms of impatience -and boredom. Decidedly I was not fortunate -with this young lady.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Good! I see," she said with a singular -expression of irony, "that you love all that is -beautiful, all that appeals to the soul and the -imagination—nature, bloom, heather, rocks, and the fine -arts. You will get on wonderfully well with -Mlle. Hélouin, who adores all those things. For -my part I care nothing about them."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Then in Heaven's name, mademoiselle, what -are the things you love?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>I asked the question in a playful tone. -Mlle. Marguerite turned sharply on me, flashed a -haughty look at me, and replied curtly:</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I love my dog. Here, Mervyn!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She thrust her hand fondly into the Newfoundland's -thick coat. Standing on his hind -legs, he had already stretched his huge head -between my plate and Mlle. Marguerite's.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>I began to observe this young lady with more -interest, and to search for the outward signs of the -unimpressionable soul on which she appeared to -pride herself.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>I had at first supposed that Mlle. Laroque was -very tall, but this impression was due to the noble -and harmonious character of her beauty. She is -really of medium height. The rounded oval of -her face and her haughty and well-poised neck are -lightly tinged with sombre gold. Her hair, which -lies in strong relief upon her forehead, ripples at -every movement of her head with bluish reflections. -The fine and delicate nostrils seem to have -been copied from the divine model of a Roman -Madonna, and cut in living pearl. Under the -large, deep, and pensive eyes, the golden sun-burn -of the cheeks deepens into an aureole of deeper -brown, which looks like the shadow of the -eyelashes, or may be a circle seared by the burning -glances of her eyes.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>It is hard to describe the sovereign sweetness of -the smile which animates this lovely face at -intervals, and tempers the splendour of the great eyes. -Of a surety, the goddess of poetry, of reverie, and -of fairy realms might boldly claim the homage of -mortals under the form of this child, who loves -nothing but her dog. In her rarest creations -nature often reserves her most cruel deceptions -for us.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>After all, it matters little to me. I see plainly -that I am to play in the imagination of -Mlle. Marguerite a part something like that of a negro, -which, as we know, is not an object particularly -attractive to Creoles. For my part, I flatter -myself that I am quite as proud as Mlle. Marguerite. -The most impossible kind of love for me is one -which might lay me open to the charge of scheming -or self-seeking. But I fancy that I shall not -require much moral courage to meet so remote a -danger, for Mlle. Marguerite's beauty is of the -kind which attracts the contemplation of the -artist, rather than any warmer and more human -sentiment.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>However, at the name of Mervyn, which -Mlle. Marguerite had given to her body-guard, -Mlle. Hélouin, my left-hand neighbour, plunged boldly -into the Arthurian cycle, and was so good as to -inform me that Mervyn was the correct name of the -celebrated enchanter, whom the vulgar call -Merlin. From the Knights of the Round Table she -worked back to the days of Cæsar and all the -hierarchy of druids, bards, and ovates defiled in tedious -procession before me. After them we fell, as a -matter of course, from </span><em class="italics">dolmen</em><span> to </span><em class="italics">menhir</em><span> and from -</span><em class="italics">galgal</em><span> to </span><em class="italics">cromlech</em><span>.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>While I wandered in Celtic forests with -Mlle. Hélouin, who wanted only a little more flesh to -make quite a respectable druidess, the widow of -the stock-broker made the echoes resound with -complaints as ceaseless and monotonous as those -of a blind beggar: They had forgotten to give -her a foot-warmer! They gave her cold soup! -They gave her bones without meat! That was -how she was treated! Still, she was used to it. -Ah, it is sad to be poor, very sad! She wished -she were dead.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, doctor"—she was speaking to her -neighbour, who listened to her wailings with -slightly ironical interest—"yes, doctor, I am not -joking; I do wish I were dead. I am sure it -would be a great relief to everybody. Think -what it must be—to have been in the position -I've been in, to have eaten off silver plate with -one's own coat of arms, and now to be reduced to -charity, to be the sport of servants! No one -knows what I suffer in this house; no one ever -will know. The proud suffer without complaining, -so I say nothing, doctor, but I think all the more."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Of course, dear lady," said the doctor, whose -name was Desmarets. "Don't say any more. -Take a good drink. That will calm you."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Nothing but death will calm me, doctor."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Very well, madame, I am ready when you -are," said the doctor resolutely.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Towards the centre of the table the attention -of the company was monopolized by the careless, -caustic, and animated braggadocio of a M. de -Bévallan, who seemed to be allowed the latitude -of a very intimate friend. He is a very tall man, -no longer young, of a type closely akin to that of -Francis I.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>They listened to him as if he were an oracle, -and Mlle. Laroque herself showed as much interest -and admiration as she seemed capable of -feeling for anything in this world. But, as most of -his popular witticisms referred to local anecdotes -and parish gossip, I could not adequately -appreciate the merits of this Armorican lion.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>I had reason, however, to appreciate his -courtesy; after dinner he offered me a cigar, and -showed me the way to the smoking-room, where -he did the honours to three or four extremely -young men, who evidently thought him a model -of good manners and refined wickedness.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well, Bévallan," said one of these young -fellows, "you've not given up hopes of the -priestess of the sun-god?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Never!" replied M. de Bévallan. "I would -wait ten months—ten years, if necessary—but I -will marry her or no one shall!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You're a lucky chap! The governess will -help you to be patient."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Must I cut out your tongue, or cut off your -ears, young Arthur?" said M. de Bévallan, going -towards him and indicating my presence with a -hasty gesture.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>A delightful conversational pell-mell then -followed, which introduced me to all the horses, all -the dogs, and all the ladies of the neighbourhood. -It would not be a bad thing for ladies if, for once -in their lives, they could hear the kind of -conversation which goes on between men in the effusive -mood that follows a copious repast. It would -show them exactly the delicacy of our manners, -and the amount of confidence they are calculated -to inspire. I am not in the least prudish, but in -my opinion this conversation outran the limits -of the freest jesting; it touched on everything, -gaily outraged everything, took on a gratuitous -tone of universal profanation. My education is, -perhaps, incomplete, for it has left me with a -certain reserve of reverence, that I think should be -maintained even in the wildest extravagances of -high spirits.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>But we have in the France of to-day our young -America, which is not happy unless it can -blaspheme a little after drinking; we have the future -hopes of the nation, those amiable little ruffians, -without father or mother, without God or country, -who seem to be the raw products of some heartless -and soulless machine, which has accidentally -deposited them on this planet not at all to its -beautification.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>In short, M. de Bévallan, who had appointed -himself professor of cynicism to these beardless -</span><em class="italics">roués</em><span>, did not please me, nor do I think that I -pleased him. I retired very early on the ground -of fatigue.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>At my request old Alain procured a lantern -and guided me across the park to my future -quarters. After a few minutes' walk, we crossed a -wooden bridge over a stream and found ourselves -in front of a massive arched doorway, flanked by -two small towers. It was the entrance to the -ancient château. A ring of aged oak and pine -shut in this feudal fragment, and gave it an air of -profound seclusion. It is in this ruin that I am -to live. My apartments run above the door from -one of the towers to the other, and consist of -three rooms very neatly hung with chintz. I am -not displeased with this gloomy abode; it suits -my fortunes. As soon as I had got rid of -Alain I began to write the account of this eventful -day, breaking off occasionally to listen to the -gentle murmur of the stream under my window, -and to the call of the legendary owl celebrating -his doleful loves in the neighbouring woods.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst right"><em class="italics">July 1st</em><span>.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>I must now try to pick up the thread of my -personal and private life, which for the past two -months has been somewhat lost among the daily -duties of my post.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The day after my arrival I stayed at home for -some hours, studying the ledgers and papers of -my predecessor, </span><em class="italics">le père Hivart</em><span>, as they call him -here. I lunched at the château, where only a few -of last night's guests remained. Mme. Laroque -had lived a great deal in Paris before her father-in-law's -health condemned her to perpetual rusticity. -In her retirement she had kept her taste for the -culture, elegance, or frivolity which had centred -in the Rue du Bac when Mme. de Staël and her -turban held sway. She had also visited most -of the large cities of Europe, and had brought -away from them an interest in literature far -exceeding the ordinary Parisian curiosity and -erudition. She read a great many newspapers and -reviews, and endeavoured to follow, as far as it -was possible at such a distance, the movement of -that refined civilization of which museums and -new books are the more or less ephemeral fruit -and flowers. We were talking at lunch about a -new opera, and Mme. Laroque asked M. de Bévallan -a question about it which he could not answer, -although he professes to be well informed of all -that takes place on the Boulevard des Italiens. -Mme. Laroque then turned to me with an air that -showed how little she expected her man of -business to be acquainted with such matters; but it -happened, unfortunately, that these were the only -"affairs" with which I was familiar. I had heard -in Italy this very opera which had just been played -in France for the first time. The very reserve of -my answers excited Mme. Laroque's curiosity; -she questioned me closely, and before long put me -in possession of all the enthusiasms, souvenirs, and -impressions she had got in her travels. Soon we -were discussing the most celebrated theatres and -galleries of the Continent like old friends, and -when we left the table our conversation was so -animated that, to avoid breaking the thread of it, -Mme. Laroque almost unconsciously took my arm. -We continued our exchange of sympathies in the -drawing-room, Mme. Laroque gradually dropping -the kindly, patronizing tone which had rather -grated on me hitherto.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She confessed that she was possessed by a -mania for the theatre, and that she thought of -having some theatricals at the château. She asked -my advice on the management of this amusement, -and I gave her some details of particular plays -that I had seen in Paris and St. Petersburg. -Then, as I had no intention of abusing her -good-nature, I rose quickly, saying that I meant to -inaugurate my work at once by examining a large -farm about two leagues from the château. This -announcement seemed to fill Mme. Laroque with -consternation; she looked at me, fidgeted among -her cushions, held her hands to the brazier, and at -last said in a low voice:</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, what does it matter? You can put it off."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>And as I insisted, she replied with comical -embarrassment:</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But you cannot; the roads are horrible.... -You must wait for the fine weather."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No, madame," I said, smiling, "I will not -wait a minute; if I am to be your bailiff I must -look after your affairs."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Madame," said old Alain, who had come in, -"M. Odiot could have </span><em class="italics">le père Hivart's</em><span> old gig; it -is not on springs, but it's all the more solid for -that."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Mme. Laroque darted a withering glance at -the miserable Alain for daring to suggest </span><em class="italics">le père -Hivart's</em><span> gig to an agent who had been to the -Grand Duchess Hélène's theatricals.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Wouldn't the buggy be able to do it, -Alain?" she asked.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"The buggy, madame? Oh, no! I don't believe -it could get into the lane, and if it did, it -would certainly not come out whole."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>I declared that I could walk easily.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No, no," declared Mme. Laroque; "that's -impossible. I couldn't allow it. Let me see -... We have half a dozen horses here doing nothing; -but perhaps you don't ride?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, I ride, but—you really need not—I am -going to——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Alain, get a horse saddled for M. Odiot.... -Which do you suggest, Marguerite?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Give him Proserpine," whispered M. de Bévallan -maliciously.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, no! not Proserpine," declared Marguerite.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And why not Proserpine?" I asked.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Because she'd throw you," said the girl frankly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, would she? Really? May I ask, -mademoiselle, if you ride her?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, I do, but she gives me some trouble."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, well, perhaps she'll give you less when -I've ridden her once or twice! That decides me. -Have Proserpine saddled, Alain."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Mlle. Marguerite's dark eyebrows contracted -as she sat down with a gesture that disclaimed all -responsibility for the catastrophe she foresaw.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"If you want spurs," said M. de Bévallan, -who evidently did not mean me to return alive, -"I have a pair at your service."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Without appearing to notice Mlle. Marguerite's -reproachful look at the obliging gentleman, -I accepted his offer. Five minutes later a -frantic scuffling announced the approach of -Proserpine, who was brought with some difficulty to -one of the flights of steps under the private -garden. She was a fine half-bred, as black as jet. -I at once went down the perron. Some kind -people, with M. de Bévallan at their head, -followed me to the terrace—from motives of -humanity, no doubt—and at the same time the three -windows of the </span><em class="italics">salon</em><span> were opened for the use of -the women and old men. I would willingly have -dispensed with all this publicity, but it could not -be helped, and besides, I had very little anxiety -about the result of this adventure. I might be a -very young land agent, but I was an old horseman. -I could scarcely walk when my father put me -upon a horse—to my mother's great alarm—and -afterward he took the greatest pains to render me -his equal in an art in which he excelled. Indeed, -he had carried my training to the verge of -extravagance, sometimes making me put on the heavy -ancestral armour to perform my feats of equitation.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Proserpine allowed me to disentangle the reins, -and even to touch her neck without giving the -slightest sign of irritation; but as soon as she felt -my foot in the stirrup she shied at once, and sent -a volley of kicks above the marble vases on the -staircase; then sat comfortably down on her -hindquarters and beat the air with her forefeet. After -this she rested, quivering all over. "A bit fidgety -to mount," said the groom, with a wink.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"So I see, my good fellow, but I shall astonish -her. See," and at the same time I sprang into the -saddle without touching the stirrup and got my -seat before Proserpine had quite realized what had -happened. The instant after we shot at a hard -gallop into the chestnut avenue, followed by some -clapping of hands, which M. de Bévallan had the -grace to start.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>That evening I could see, from the way -people treated me, that this incident, trifling as it -was, had raised me in the public opinion. Some -other talents of the same sort, which I owed to my -education, helped me to secure the only kind of -consideration I wished for—one which respected -my personal dignity. Besides, I made it quite -evident that I should not abuse the kindness and -consideration shown me, by usurping a position -incompatible with my humble duties at the château. -I shut myself up in my tower as much as I could -without being boorish; in a word, I kept strictly -in my place, so that none should be tempted to -remind me of it.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>A few days after my arrival, during one of the -large dinners which at that season were of nearly -daily occurrence, I heard the </span><em class="italics">sous-préfet</em><span> of the -neighbouring little town, who was sitting next to -the lady of the house, ask her who I was. -Mme. Laroque, who is rather forgetful, did not -remember that I was quite close, and, </span><em class="italics">nolens volens</em><span>, I -heard every word of her reply.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Please, don't ask me," she said. "There's -some extraordinary mystery about him. We think -he must be a prince in disguise.... There are so -many who like to see the world in this fashion. -This one has every conceivable talent: he rides, -plays the piano, draws, and does each to -perfection! ... Between ourselves, my dear </span><em class="italics">sous-préfet</em><span>, -I believe he is a very bad steward, but there's no -doubt he is a very agreeable man."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The </span><em class="italics">sous-préfet</em><span>—who also is a very agreeable -man, or thinks he is, which is just as satisfactory -to himself—stroked his fine whiskers with his -plump hand and said sweetly that there were -enough beautiful eyes in the château to explain -many mysteries; that he quite understood the -steward's object, and that Love was the legitimate -father of Folly, and the proper steward of the -Graces.... Then, changing his tone abruptly, -he added:</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"However, madame, if you have the slightest -anxiety about this person, I will have him -interrogated to-morrow by the head constable."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Mme. Laroque protested against this excess -of gallantry. The conversation so far as it -concerned me went no further. But I was very -much annoyed, not with the </span><em class="italics">sous-préfet</em><span>, who had -greatly amused me; but with Mme. Laroque, who -seemed to have been more than just to my -personal qualities, and not sufficiently convinced of -my official abilities.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>As it happened, I had to renew the lease of one -of the larger farms on the day following. The -business had to be transacted with a very astute -old peasant, but, nevertheless, I held my own with -him, thanks to a judicious combination of legal -phraseology and diplomatic reserve. When we -had agreed on the details, the farmer quietly -placed three </span><em class="italics">rouleaux</em><span> of gold on my desk. -Though I did not understand this payment, as -there was nothing due, I refrained from showing -any surprise. By some indirect questions, which -I asked as I unfolded the packets, I ascertained -that this sum was the earnest-money of the -bargain; or, in other words, a sort of bonus which the -farmers present to the landlord when their leases -are renewed.</span></p> -<div class="align-center auto-scaled figure margin" style="width: 62%" id="figure-83"> -<span id="you-do-not-ask-me-where-i-am-taking-you-she-said"></span><img class="align-center block" style="display: block; width: 100%" alt=""You do not ask me where I am taking you," she said (see page 123)" src="images/img-082.jpg" /> -<div class="caption centerleft figure-caption margin"> -<span class="italics">"You do not ask me where I am taking you," she said (see page </span><a class="italics reference internal" href="#id1">123</a><span class="italics">)</span></div> -</div> -<p class="pnext"><span>I had not thought of claiming this, as I had -not found it mentioned in the leases drawn up -by my able predecessor, which had been my -models. For the moment I drew no conclusions -from his silence on this point, but when I handed -over the windfall to Mme. Laroque her surprise -astonished me.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And what is this?" she said.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>I explained the nature of the payment, and -had to repeat my explanation.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And is it a usual custom?" she continued.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, madame, whenever a lease is renewed."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But, to my knowledge, there have been ten -leases renewed in the last thirty years.... How -is it we never heard of such a custom?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I cannot say, madame."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Mme. Laroque fell into an abyss of reflections, -in which, perhaps, she encountered the -venerable shade of le père Hivart. At length she -slightly shrugged her shoulders, looked at me, -then at the gold, then again at me, and seemed -to hesitate. At last, leaning back in her chair, -sighing deeply, and speaking with a simplicity -which I greatly appreciated, she said:</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Very well, monsieur. Thank you."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Mme. Laroque had the good taste not to -compliment me on this instance of ordinary -honesty; but, none the less, she conceived a -great idea of her steward's ability and virtues. A -few days later I had a proof of this. Her -daughter was reading an account of a voyage to the -pole to her, in which an extraordinary bird is -mentioned—-"</span><em class="italics">qui ne vole pas</em><span>."[#]</span></p> -<!-- vspace: 2 --> -<p class="noindent pnext"><span class="small">[#] "Which does not </span><em class="italics small">fly</em><span class="small">." But the French verb -</span><em class="italics small">voler</em><span class="small"> is also to steal; hence the application.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>"Like my steward," she said.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>I sincerely believe that from this time my -devotion to the work I had undertaken gave me -a claim to a more positive commendation. Soon -afterward, when I went to see my sister in Paris, -M. Laubépin thanked me warmly for having so -creditably redeemed the pledges he had given on -my behalf.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Courage, Maxime," he said. "We shall give -Hélène her dowry. The poor child will not have -noticed anything unusual, and you, my friend, -will have nothing to regret. Believe me, you -possess what in this world comes nearest to -happiness, and I am sure you will always possess it, -thank Heaven! It is a peaceful conscience and -the manly serenity of a soul devoted to duty."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The old man is right, of course. I am at -peace, but I cannot say that I am happy. My -soul is not yet ripe for the austere delights of -sacrifice; it has its outbursts of youthfulness and -of despair. My life is no longer my own: it is -devoted and consecrated to a weaker, dearer life; -it has no future: it is imprisoned in a cloister that -will never be opened. My heart must not beat, -my brain must not think, save for another. So -be it! May Hélène be happy! Years are stealing -upon me. May they come quickly! I pray -that they will; the coldness that comes with them -will strengthen my courage.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Besides, I cannot complain of a situation -which has, in fact, fallen agreeably short of my -worst forebodings, and has even surpassed my -brightest expectations. My work, my frequent -journeys into the neighbouring departments, and -my love of solitude, often keep me away from -the château, where I particularly avoid all the -more festive gatherings. And perhaps it is -because I go to them so seldom that I am welcomed -so kindly. Mme. Laroque, in particular, shows -a real affection for me; she makes me the -confidant of her curious and perfectly sincere fancies -about poverty, sacrifice, and poetic abnegation, -which form such an amusing contrast to the chilly -Creole's multitudinous contrivances for comfort.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Sometimes she envies the gipsies carrying -their children on a wretched cart along the -roads, and cooking their food under hedges; -sometimes it is the Sisters of Chanty; -sometimes the </span><em class="italics">cantinières</em><span>, whose heroic work she -longs to share.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>And she never ceases to lament the late -M. Laroque's admirable health, which prevented his -wife from showing that nature had meant her for -a sick-nurse. Nevertheless, she has lately had -fixed to her chair a kind of niche like a -sentry-box, as a protection from draughts. The other -morning I found her triumphantly installed in -this kiosk, where she really awaits her -martyrdom in considerable comfort.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>I have scarcely less reason to be satisfied with -the other inhabitants of the château. -Mlle. Marguerite, who is always plunged like a Nubian -sphinx in some mysterious vision, nevertheless -condescends to treat me to my favourite airs with -the utmost good-nature. She has a fine contralto -voice, which she uses with perfect art, but at the -same time with an indifference and coldness -which I think must be deliberate. Sometimes, in -an unguarded moment, I have heard her tones -become impassioned, but almost immediately she -has returned to an icy correctness, as if ashamed -of the lapse from her character or from her role.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>A few games of piquet with M. Laroque, -which I had the tact to lose, won me the favour -of the poor old man. Sometimes I find his dim -and feeble gaze fixed on me with strange intentness, -as if some dream of the past, some fanciful -resemblance, had half revived among the mists of -an exhausted memory, in which the images of -a century hover confusedly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>They actually wanted to return me the money -I lost to him. Mme. Aubry, who usually plays -with the old captain, accepts these restitutions -without scruple; but this does not prevent her -from winning pretty frequently, on which -occasions she has furious encounters with the old -corsair. M. Laubépin was lenient when he -described this lady merely as embittered. I have -no liking for her, but, out of consideration for the -others, I have made an effort to gain her -good-will, and have succeeded in doing so by listening -patiently first to her lamentations over her -present position, and then to her impressive -description of her former grandeur, her silver, her -furniture, her lace, and her gloves.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>It must be confessed that I have come to the -right school to learn to despise the advantages I -have lost. Every one here by their attitude and -language eloquently exhorts me to the contempt -of riches. Firstly, Mme. Aubry, who might be -aptly compared to those shameless gluttons whose -greediness takes away one's appetite, and who -disgust one with the dishes they praise; the old -man, perishing as sadly among his millions as -Job on his dunghill; the good woman, romantic -and </span><em class="italics">blasé</em><span>, who in the midst of her inopportune -prosperity dreams of the forbidden fruit of -suffering; and lastly, the haughty Marguerite, who -wears like a crown of thorns the diadem of -beauty and opulence which Heaven has forced -on her brow. A strange girl!</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Nearly every fine morning I see her ride past -the windows of my belfry; she bows gravely to -me, the black plume of her felt riding hat -dipping and waving in the wind; and then she -slowly disappears along the shaded path that runs -through the ruins of the ancient château. -Sometimes old Alain follows her, and sometimes her -only companion is the huge and faithful Mervyn, -who strides at the side of his beautiful mistress -like a pensive bear. So attended, she covers all -the country round on her errands of charity. -She does not need a protector, for there is not a -cottage within six leagues where she is not known -and worshipped as the goddess of good works. -The poor people call her "Mademoiselle," as if -they were speaking of one of those daughters of -kings who give poetry to their legends, and whose -beauty and power and mystery they recognise -in her.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>I, meanwhile, am seeking the key to the -sombre preoccupation that clouds her brow, the -haughty and defiant severity of her eyes, the cold -bitterness of her tongue. I ask myself if these -are the natural traits of a strange and complex -character, or the symptoms of some secret suffering, -remorse, or fear, or love, which preys on this -noble heart. However slightly one may be interested -in the question, it is impossible not to feel a -certain curiosity about a person so remarkable. -Last night, while old Alain, with whom I am a -favourite, was serving my solitary repast, I said:</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well, Alain, it's been a lovely day. Have -you been riding?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, sir, this morning, with mademoiselle."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, indeed!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You must have seen us go by, sir."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Very likely. I sometimes do see you pass. -You look well on horseback, Alain."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You're very kind, sir. But mademoiselle -looks better than I do."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"She is a very beautiful young lady."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You're right, sir, and she's fair inside as well -as outside. Just like her mother. I'll tell you -something, sir. You know, perhaps, that this -property belonged to the last Comte de Castennec, -whom I had the honour of serving. When the -Laroques bought the château I must own that I -was rather upset, and not inclined to stay with the -new people. I had been brought up to respect -the nobility, and it went against my feelings to -live with people of no birth. You may have -noticed, sir, that I am glad to wait upon you; that -is because I think you look like a gentleman. -Are you quite sure you don't belong to the -nobility, sir?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Quite sure, my poor Alain."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well, it's of no consequence, sir, and this is -what I wanted to tell you," said Alain, with a -graceful inclination. "In the service of these -ladies I have learned that nobility of the heart -is as good as the other, more especially that of the -Comte de Castennec, who had a weakness for -beating his servants. Still, sir, it's a great pity -mademoiselle cannot marry a gentleman with a -fine old name. Then she would be perfect."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But, Alain, it seems to me that it only -depends on herself."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"If you refer to M. de Bévallan, sir, it -certainly does, for he asked for her more than six -months ago. Madame was not opposed to the -marriage, and, in fact, after the Laroques, M. de -Bévallan is the richest man hereabouts; but -mademoiselle, though she didn't positively refuse, -wanted time to think the matter over."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But if she loves M. de Bévallan, and can -marry him whenever she likes, why is she always -so sad and thoughtful?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It's very true, sir, that mademoiselle has -changed a good deal in the last two or three years. -Before that she was as merry as a bird; now she -seems to have something on her mind, but, if I -may say so, it is not love for this gentleman."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You don't seem very fond of M. de Bévallan -yourself, Alain. But his family is excellent."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"That does not prevent him from being a bad -lot, sir, always running after the country girls, and -for no good either. And if you used your eyes, -sir, you might see that he is quite ready to play -the sultan here in the château itself while he's -waiting for something better."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>After a significant pause Alain went on.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Pity you haven't a hundred thousand francs -a year, sir."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And why, Alain?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Because..." and Alain shook his head -thoughtfully.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst right"><em class="italics">July 25th</em><span>.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>During the past month I have made one -friend and two enemies. The enemies are -Mlle. Marguerite and Mlle. Hélouin. The friend is a -maiden lady of eighty-eight. Scarcely a -compensation! I will first make up my account with -Mlle. Hélouin, an ungrateful young lady. What -she considers my offences should rather have -secured her esteem. But she is one of the many -women who do not care either to give, or to -inspire, such a commonplace sentiment. From the -first I had been inclined to establish friendly -relations with her. The governess and the steward -were on a similar footing; we had a common -ground in our subordinate position at the château. -I have always tried to show to ladies in her -position the consideration which seems to me due to -those in circumstances so precarious, humiliating, -and hopeless. Besides, Mlle. Hélouin is pretty, -intelligent, and accomplished, though she rather -deducts from these qualities by the exaggerated -liveliness of manner, the feverish coquetry, and -the tinge of pedantry which are the failings of her -profession.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>I do not claim any credit for my chivalrous -attitude towards her. It seemed to me a sort of -duty when, as various hints had warned me, I -became aware that a devouring lion in the semblance -of King Francis I was prowling round my young -</span><em class="italics">protégée</em><span>. This duplicity, which did credit to -M. de Bévallan's audacity, was carried on, under cover -of a friendly interest, with an astuteness and -confidence well calculated to deceive the careless and -unsuspecting. Mme. Laroque and her daughter, -especially, are too little acquainted with the -wickedness of this world, and too little in touch with -realities to have the slightest suspicion. For my -own part, I was angry with this insatiable -lady-killer, and did my best to spoil his plans. More -than once I secured the attention he desired to -monopolize; and I tried more especially to -counteract or diminish the bitter sense of neglect and -isolation, which makes women in Mlle. Hélouin's -position ready to accept the kind of consolation -which was being offered to her. Have I ever -throughout this ill-advised contest outstepped the -delicate limits of brotherly protection? I think -not. The very words of the brief dialogue which -has suddenly altered the character of our -relations bear witness to my discretion. One -evening last week we were taking the air on the -terrace. During the day I had had occasion to -show some kindly attention to Mlle. Hélouin, -and she now took my arm and said, as she -bit at an orange-blossom with her small white -teeth:</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"M. Maxime, you are very good to me."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Her voice was a little unsteady.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I hope so, mademoiselle."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You are a true friend."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, indeed."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But what kind of a friend?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"A true friend, as you say."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"A friend who—loves me?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Surely."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Much?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Most decidedly."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Passionately?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>At this word, which I uttered very clearly and -with a steady look, Mlle. Hélouin flung the -orange-blossom away and dropped my arm. Since -this unlucky hour I have been treated with a -contempt I do not deserve, and I should have been -convinced that friendship between man and -woman is a mere illusion, if I had not had on the -following day something like an antithesis to this -adventure.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>I had gone to spend the evening at the -château, and as the two or three families who had -been staying there for the last fortnight had left -in the morning, I met only the </span><em class="italics">habitués</em><span>—the curé, -the tax-collector, Dr. Desmarets, and General de -Saint-Cast and his wife, who, like the doctor, -lived at the neighbouring little town.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>When I came in, Mme. de Saint-Cast, who -had apparently brought her husband a handsome -fortune, was in close conversation with -Mme. Aubry. As usual, these ladies were in perfect -agreement. In language in which distinction of -form rivalled elevation of thought, they, like two -shepherds in an eclogue, alternately lauded the -incomparable charms of wealth.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You are perfectly right, madame," said -Mme. Aubry. "There is only one thing in the world -worth having, and that is money. When I had -money I utterly despised every one who had not, -and now I think it quite natural for people to -despise me, and I don't complain if they do."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No one despises you on that account, -madame," replied Mme. de Saint-Cast, "most -certainly not; but all the same there's a very great -difference between poverty and riches, I must -confess, as the general knows well enough. Why, -he had absolutely nothing when I married -him—except his sword—and one doesn't get fat on a -sword, does one, madame?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No, no, indeed, madame!" exclaimed -Mme. Aubry, delighted with this bold metaphor. -"Honour and glory are all very well in novels, -but a nice carriage is much better in practice, isn't -it, madame?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Of course it is, madame; and that's just what -I was saying to the general this morning as we -came here. Isn't it, general?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Eh, what?" growled the general, who was -playing cards in a corner with the old corsair.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You hadn't a penny when I married you, -general, had you?" continued Mme. de Saint-Cast. -"You won't think of denying that, I suppose."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"We've heard it often enough, I should say," -growled the general.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"That doesn't alter the fact that if it hadn't -been for me, general, you'd have had to travel on -foot, and that wouldn't have been a fine thing for -you with your wounds. Your half-pay of six or -seven hundred francs wouldn't have kept a -carriage for you, my friend. I was saying this to -him to-day </span><em class="italics">apropos</em><span> of our new carriage, which is -as easy as an arm-chair. Of course I paid a good -price for it; it's four thousand francs out of my -pocket, madame."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I can well believe it, madame. My best -carriage cost me fully five thousand, including the -tiger-skin mat, which was worth five hundred francs -alone."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes," replied Mme. de Saint-Cast; "but I -have had to be a little careful, for I've just been -getting new drawing-room furniture; the carpet -and curtains alone cost me fifteen thousand francs. -You'll say it's too good for a country hole like -this. You're right. But the whole town is lost -in admiration, and, after all, one does like to be -respected, madame!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Of course, madame," replied Mme. Aubry, -"we like to be respected, and we are respected -according to the money we have. For my part, I -console myself for not being respected now, by -remembering that if I were as well off as I once -was, I should see all the people who despise me at -my feet again."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Except me, by God!" cried Dr. Desmarets, -jumping up. "You might have a hundred millions -a year, and I give you my word of honour -you wouldn't see me at your feet! And now I'll -go and get some air, for, devil take me, if one can -breathe here!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>So saying, the honest doctor left the room, and -my heart went out to him for the outburst that -had relieved my own sense of disgust and indignation.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Although M. Desmarets was received at the -house as a Chrysostom to whom great license of -speech was allowed, his language had been so -forcible that it had produced a certain embarrassment -in the company, and an awkward silence ensued. -Mme. Laroque broke it adroitly by asking her -daughter whether it was eight o'clock.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It can't be, mother," replied Mlle. Marguerite, -"for Mlle. de Porhoët has not come yet."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The minute after, as the clock struck, the door -opened, and Mlle. Jocelynde de Porhoët-Gaël -entered the room, with astronomical punctuality, on -the arm of Dr. Desmarets.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Mlle. de Porhoët-Gaël, who had this year -seen her eighty-eighth spring, and whose appearance -suggested a tall reed wrapped in silk, is the -last scion of a noble race, whose earliest ancestors -must be sought among the legendary kings of -ancient Armorica. Of this house, however, there -is no authentic record in history until the twelfth -century, when Juthail, son of Conan le Tort, who -belonged to the younger branch of the reigning -family of Brittany, is mentioned. Some drops of -the Porhoët blood have mingled with that of the -most illustrious veins of France—those of the -Rohans, the Lusignans, the Penthièvres, and these -</span><em class="italics">grands seigneurs</em><span> had admitted that it was not the -least pure of their blood. I remember that when -in a fit of youthful vanity I studied the alliances -of my family, I noticed the strange name of -Porhoët, and that my father, who was very learned in -such matters, spoke highly in its praise. Mlle. de -Porhoët, who is now the sole bearer of the name, -had always refused to marry, because she wished -to preserve as long as possible in the firmament -of the French nobility the constellation of those -magic syllables, Porhoët-Gaël. It happened one -day that the origin of the house of Bourbon was -referred to in her presence.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"The Bourbons," said Mlle. de Porhoët, -sticking her knitting-needle into her blond peruke, -"the Bourbons are a good family, but" (with an -air of modesty) "there are better."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>However, it is impossible not to render -homage to this august old lady, who bears with -surprising dignity the heavy and triple majesty of -birth, age, and misfortune. A wretched lawsuit in -some foreign country which she has persisted in -carrying on for fifteen years, has gradually reduced -a fortune, which was but small to begin with; and -now she has scarcely a thousand francs a year. -Privation has not broken her pride or embittered -her temper. She is gay, good-humoured, and -courteous. She lives, no one quite knows how, -in her small house with her little servant, and -contrives even to find money for charity. To their -great honour, Mme. Laroque and her daughter -are devoted to their poor and noble neighbour. -At their house she is treated with a respectful -attention which amazes Mme. Aubry. I have often -seen Mlle. Marguerite leave the gayest dance to -make a fourth for Mlle. de Porhoët's rubber, for -the world would come to an end if Mlle. de -Porhoët's whist (halfpenny points) was omitted for a -single day. I am one of the old lady's favourite -partners, and on this particular evening soon -found myself, with the curé and the doctor, seated -at the whist-table with the descendant of Conan -le Tort.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>I ought to mention here that at the commencement -of the last century a grand-uncle of -Mlle. de Porhoët, who held an office in the -establishment of the Duke d'Anjou, crossed the -Pyrenees in the suite of the young prince, who -became Philip V, settled in Spain, and prospered -there. His posterity became extinct about -fifteen years ago, and Mlle. de Porhoët, who had -never lost sight of her Spanish relatives, at -once declared herself heiress to their considerable -property. Her claims were contested, only -too justly, I fear, by one of the oldest Castilian -families allied to the Spanish branch of the -Porhoëts.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Hence the lawsuit which the unfortunate -octogenarian maintained at great expense, going -from court to court with a persistence akin to -mania, which her friends deplored and other -people ridiculed. Dr. Desmarets, despite his respect -for Mlle. de Porhoët, belongs to the party who -laughs; more particularly, because he strongly -disapproves of the use to which the poor lady has -prospectively devoted her fictitious heritage. She -intends to build in the neighbouring town a -cathedral in the richest </span><em class="italics">flamboyant</em><span> style, which -shall perpetuate the name of the foundress and of -a great departed race to all future generations. -This cathedral—dream begotten of a dream!—is -the harmless hobby of the old lady. She has had -the plans made; she spends her days and -sometimes her nights brooding on its splendours, -altering its arrangements, or adding to its decoration. -She speaks of it as already existent: "I was in -the nave of my cathedral; to-night I noticed -something very ugly in the north aisle of my -cathedral; I have altered the uniform of the -</span><em class="italics">suisse</em><span>;" etc., etc.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well, mademoiselle," said the doctor, -shuffling the cards, "have you been working at the -cathedral since yesterday?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, of course I have, doctor; and I've had -a rather happy idea. I have replaced the solid -wall, which you know separates the choir from -the sacristy, by a screen of carved foliage in -imitation of the Clisson chapel in the church at -Josselin. It is much lighter."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No doubt; but in the meanwhile what is -the news from Spain? Can it be true, as I think -I saw in the </span><em class="italics">Revue des Deux Mondes</em><span> this -morning, that the young duke of Villa-Hermosa -proposes to put an end to the case in a friendly way, -by offering to marry you?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Mademoiselle de Porhoët disdainfully shook -the plume of faded ribbons attached to her cap.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I should refuse absolutely," she said.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ah, yes, you say so, mademoiselle! But how -about the guitar that's been heard under your -windows the last few nights?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Bah!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Bah? And that Spaniard who has been -prowling about the country in a mantle and -yellow boots, sighing as if his heart would burst?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You are a feather-head, Dr. Desmarets," said -Mademoiselle de Porhoët, calmly opening her -snuff-box. "Still, as you wish to know—I may -say that my man of business wrote to me from -Madrid a day or two ago that with a little more -patience we should see the end of all our troubles."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I can quite believe that! Do you know -where your man of business comes from, madame? -Straight from Gil Blas' cavern. He'll drain you -of your last shilling, and then he'll laugh in your -face. How much better it would be to give up -this folly for good and all, and live at ease quietly! -What good will these millions do you? Aren't -you happy and respected ... what more do you -want? ... As for your cathedral, I won't speak -of it, because—it is a bad joke."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"My cathedral is not a bad joke to any but -bad jokers, Dr. Desmarets; besides, I am -defending my rights, I am fighting for justice; the -property belongs to me. I have heard my father say -so a hundred times, and never, with my consent, -shall it go to people who are actually as much -strangers to our family as yourself, my friend, or," -she added, indicating me, "this gentleman."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>I was childish enough to resent this remark, -and at once replied: "As far as I am concerned, -mademoiselle, you are mistaken; for my family -has had the honour of being allied to yours, and -</span><em class="italics">vice versa</em><span>."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>At this startling announcement Mlle. de -Porhoët hastily brought her cards, which she held -spread out fanwise, nearer to her pointed chin, -and straightening her spare figure, looked me -in the face as if she doubted my sanity. By a -tremendous effort she recovered her self-possession, -and said, as she carried a pinch of Spanish -snuff to her thin nose, "Young man, you will -have to prove what you say to me."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Ashamed of my foolish boast, and embarrassed -by the attention it had aroused, I bowed -awkwardly without speaking. Our rubber was played -in gloomy silence. It was ten o'clock, and I was -preparing to slip off, when Mlle. de Porhoët -touched my arm.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Sir," she said, "will you be so kind as to -accompany me to the end of the avenue?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>I bowed again and followed her into the park. -The little servant in Breton costume went first, -carrying a lantern; then came Mlle. de Porhoët, -stiff and silent, carefully holding up her worn silk -frock; she had coldly declined the offer of my -arm, and I walked humbly at her side, feeling -very much dissatisfied with myself. After a few -minutes of this funeral march the old lady spoke.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well, sir?" she said. "You may speak; I -am waiting. You have asserted that your family -is allied to mine, and as an alliance of this kind is -a piece of history entirely new to me, I shall be -greatly obliged if you will enlighten me on the -subject."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>I had decided that I must at all costs keep the -secret of my incognito.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I venture to hope, mademoiselle, that you -won't take a mere joke quite seriously."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"A joke!" exclaimed Mlle. de Porhoët. "A -nice subject to joke upon! And, sir, what do -you people of to-day call the jokes that can be -boldly addressed to an old and defenceless woman, -but which you would not dare to utter in the -presence of a man?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Mademoiselle, you leave me no choice; I -must trust to your discretion. I do not know -whether the name of Champcey d'Hauterive is -familiar to you?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I know the Champcey d'Hauterives perfectly -well, sir. They are a good, an excellent Dauphin -family. What inference am I to make from your -question?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I am the present representative of that family."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You!" exclaimed Mlle. de Porhoët, coming -to a sudden halt. "You are a Champcey d'Hauterive?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, the male representative, mademoiselle."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"That alters the question," she said. "Give -me your arm, cousin, and tell me your history."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>I thought that in the circumstances it would -be better not to conceal anything from her. As -I finished the painful story of my family troubles, -we found ourselves opposite a small house, -remarkably low and narrow. On one side stood a -kind of low pigeon-house with a pointed roof.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Enter, marquis," said the daughter of the -kings of Gaël at the threshold of her lowly palace. -"I beg that you will enter."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The next moment I stepped into a little </span><em class="italics">salon</em><span> -meanly paved with brick; on the faded tapestry -of the walls hung portraits of ancestors gorgeous -in ducal ermine. Over the mantel-piece sparkled -a magnificent clock in tortoise-shell and brass, -surmounted by a group representing the chariot of -the sun. Some oval-backed arm-chairs and an old -spindle-legged couch completed the furniture of -the room. Everything shone with cleanliness, and -the air was filled with mingled odours of iris, -Spanish snuff, and aromatic essences.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Pray be seated," said the old lady, taking her -place on the couch; "pray be seated, my cousin. -I call you cousin, though we are not related, and -cannot be, as Jeanne de Porhoët and Hugues de -Champcey were so ill-advised as to leave no issue. -But, with your permission, I should like to treat -you as a cousin when we are alone, if only to -make me forget for a moment that I am alone in -the world.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"So, cousin, I see how you are situated; the -case is a hard one, most assuredly. But I will -suggest one or two reflections which have solaced -me, and which I think are likely to bring -consolation to you.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"In the first place, my dear marquis, I often -tell myself that among all the charlatans and -ex-lackeys one now sees rolling in carriages, poverty -has a peculiar perfume of distinction and good -taste. And also I am inclined to believe that -God has brought some of us down to a poor and -narrow life, that this coarse, materialistic, -money-grubbing age may have before it the type of a -merit, dignity, and splendour which owes nothing -to money, that money cannot buy—that is not -for sale. In all probability, my cousin, such is the -providential justification of your situation and of -mine."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>I conveyed to Mlle. de Porhoët my satisfaction -at having been chosen with her to give the -world the noble example it needs so much, and -shows itself so ready to profit by.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"For my own part," she went on, "I am -inured to privation, and I do not feel it much. -When, in the course of a life that has been too -long, one has seen a father and four brothers, -worthy of their father, perish before their time, -by sword or bullet; when one has lost, one by -one, all the objects of one's affection and worship, -one must have a very paltry soul to be much -concerned about more or less ample meals and more -or less dainty clothing. Certainly, marquis, you -may be sure that if my personal comfort only -were at stake, I should not trouble about my -Spanish millions; but to me it seems but right -and proper and exemplary that a house like mine -should not disappear without leaving some -permanent sign, some striking monument of its -grandeur and its faith. And that is why, cousin, I -have, in imitation of some of my ancestors, -thought of the pious foundation of which you -must have heard, and which, while I have life, -I shall not relinquish."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Assured of my sympathy, the noble old lady -seemed to lose herself in meditation, and as she -looked sadly at the fading portraits of her -ancestors, only the beat of the hereditary clock broke -the silence of midnight in the dim room.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"There will be," Mlle. de Porhoët suddenly -resumed, in a solemn voice, "there will be a -chapter of regular canons attached to the church. -Each day at matins, a mass will be said in the -private chapel of my family, for the repose of my -soul and the souls of my ancestors. The feet of -the celebrant priest will tread a slab of unlettered -marble, which will form the step of the altar and -cover my ashes."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>I bent towards her with evident emotion, with -visible respect. Mlle. de Porhoët took my hand -and pressed it gently.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Cousin," she said, "I am not mad, whatever -they may say. My father, who was truth itself, -always declared that when the direct line of our -Spanish branch became exhausted we should be -sole heirs to the estate. Unfortunately, his -sudden and violent death prevented him from giving -us more exact information; but, as I cannot doubt -his word, I do not doubt my rights. However," -she added, after a little pause, and in accents of -touching sadness, "if I am not mad, I am old, -and the people in Spain know it. For fifteen -years they have dragged me on from one delay -to another; they are waiting for my death to -finish everything. And ... they will not have -to wait long. Some morning, very soon now, I -must make my last sacrifice. My dear cathedral—my -only love, which has taken the place of so -many broken or suppressed attachments—will -have but one stone—that of my tomb."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She was silent; her thin hands wiped away -two tears that flowed down her worn face, as, -striving to smile, she said:</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Forgive me, cousin, you have enough troubles -of your own. Besides, it is late—you must go. -You will compromise me!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Before leaving, I again recommended the -greatest discretion in reference to the secret I -had intrusted to her. She replied, a little naïvely, -that I need not be anxious, and that my peace of -mind and dignity were safe in her hands. -Nevertheless, during the next few days, I suspected, -from Mme. Laroque's increased attentions, that -my excellent friend had handed on my confidence. -Indeed, Mlle. de Porhoët admitted the fact, -declaring that the honour of her family demanded -this, and assured me that Mme. Laroque was -incapable of betraying a secret intrusted to her, -even to her own daughter.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Our interview had filled me with sympathetic -respect for the old lady, which I tried to express -by my actions. The evening of the next day I -taxed all the resources of my pencil in the -invention of decorations, internal and external, for her -beloved cathedral. The attention seemed to please -her very much, and I soon got into the habit of -working on the cathedral every evening after our -whist, enriching the ideal edifice with a statue, a -pulpit, and a rood-loft. Mlle. Marguerite, who -seems to feel a kind of adoration for her old -neighbour, associated herself with my work of -charity by devoting a special album to the Basilica -Porhoët, which it is my duty to fill with designs -and drawings.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>And in addition, I offered my old confidant to -take my share in the inquiries and other matters -of business connected with her lawsuit. The -poor lady confessed that I should do her a -service; that though she could still keep up her -ordinary correspondence, her sight was too weak to -decipher the manuscripts of her archives. -Hitherto she had not associated any one with her -in this important work, for fear of giving more -occasion to the rustic humourists. In short, she -accepted me as counsellor and collaborator. -Since this, I have conscientiously studied the -voluminous documents of her lawsuit, and I have -been convinced that the case, which must be -sooner or later definitively settled, is absolutely -hopeless from the beginning. M. Laubépin -agrees with me in this opinion, which as far as -possible I have concealed from the old lady. -Meanwhile I have pleased her by going through -her family archives piece by piece; she still hopes -to find among them some incontestable proof in -favour of her claim. Unfortunately, the records -are very copious, and fill the pigeon-house from -floor to roof. Yesterday I went early to -Mlle. de Porhoët's to finish before lunch the -examination of packet No. 115, which I had begun -overnight. The lady of the house had not risen yet, -so, with the help of the little servant, I quietly -installed myself in the </span><em class="italics">salon</em><span> and settled down to -my dusty work. About an hour later, as I was -going joyfully through the last sheet of packet -No. 115, Mlle. de Porhoët came in, dragging a -huge bundle neatly wrapped up in a white linen -cover.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Good-morning, my dear cousin," she said. -"I've heard how you have been working for me -this morning, so I determined to work for you. -Here is packet No. 116."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>I must confess that at this moment Mlle. de -Porhoët reminded me of the cruel fairy of folklore, -who shuts the princess up in a lonely tower -and imposes a succession of extraordinary and -impossible tasks on her.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Last night," she continued, "I dreamed that -the key of my Spanish treasure lay in this packet. -So you will very much oblige me by examining it -at once. Afterward I hope you will do me the -honour to share a frugal repast in the shade of my -arbour."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>There was no help for it. I obeyed, and I -need not say that the wonderful packet No. 116 -contained, like its predecessors, nothing more -valuable than the dust of centuries. Precisely at -noon, the old lady came to offer me her arm and -conduct me formally to a little box-bordered -garden which, with a bit of adjoining meadow, now -constitutes the sole domain of the Porhoëts. -The table was set out under an arched bower of -foliage, and through the leaves the sunshine of -a fine summer's day dappled the spotless, -sweet-smelling table-cloth. I had done justice to the -chicken, the fresh salad, and the bottle of old -Bordeaux, which made up the </span><em class="italics">menu</em><span> of the -banquet, when Mlle. de Porhoët, who seemed -charmed with my appetite, turned the -conversation on to the Laroque family.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I will own," she said to me, "that I do not -care for the old buccaneer. When he first came -here he had a large and favourite ape, which he -dressed up like a servant, and which he seemed to -be able to communicate with perfectly. The -animal was a nuisance to the whole country, and -only a man without education or decency could -have kept it. I agreed when they told me that -it was an ape, but, as a fact, I have always -believed that it was a negro, more especially as I -had always suspected its master of having -trafficked in that commodity in Africa. But -M. Laroque, the son, was a good sort of man, and quite -a gentleman. As to the ladies—I refer, of course, -to Mme. Laroque and her daughter, and in no -way to the widow Aubry, an extremely common -person—as to the ladies, I say, they deserve every -good thing one can say of them."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Just then we heard the hoofs of a horse on the -path that runs outside the garden wall, and the -next moment some one was knocking sharply at a -small door near the arbour.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes," said Mlle. de Porhoët. "Who goes there?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>I looked up, and saw a black plume above the -top of the wall.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Open," said a gay voice outside, full of -musical intonations. "Open. 'Tis the fortune of -France!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What? Is it you, my darling?" said the old -lady. "Quick, cousin, run!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>As I opened the door Mervyn rushed between -my legs, nearly throwing me down. Mlle. Marguerite -was tying up her horse to the fence by his -reins.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"</span><em class="italics">Bonjour</em><span>, M. Odiot," she said, without -showing any surprise at finding me there. Throwing -the long folds of her habit over her arm, she -entered the garden.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Welcome this lovely day, my lovely girl!" -said Mlle. de Porhoët. "Kiss me, dear. You've -been riding too fast, you foolish child. I can tell -by your colour and the fire that literally seems to -flash from your eyes. What can I offer you, my -beauty?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Let me see," said Mlle. Marguerite, glancing -at the table. "What have you got? Has M. Odiot -eaten up everything? Not that it matters. -I am thirsty, not hungry."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I utterly forbid you to drink while you're so -hot. But wait a moment; there are some -strawberries left in that bed."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Strawberries! </span><em class="italics">O giòia</em><span>!" sang the girl. -"Take one of those fig-leaves, M. Odiot, and come -with me. Quick!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>While I chose the largest of the fig-leaves, -Mlle. de Porhoët half-closed one eye, and -followed her favourite with the other, as she walked -proudly along the sunlit alley.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Look at her, cousin," she whispered, with -an approving smile; "isn't she worthy to be one -of us?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Meanwhile, Mlle. Marguerite, bending over the -bed and catching her foot in her train at every -step, greeted each strawberry she found with a -little cry of delight. I kept near to her, holding -out the fig-leaf, in which she put one strawberry -for every two she ate, to help her to be patient. -When she was satisfied with the harvest we -returned in triumph to the arbour. The rest of the -strawberries were sprinkled with sugar, and crushed -by the prettiest teeth in Brittany with great relish.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, that's done me good!" exclaimed -Mlle. Marguerite, throwing her hat on the seat and -leaning back against the side of the bower. "And -now, dearest lady, to complete my happiness, you're -going to tell me stories of the old days when you -were a fair warrior."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Mlle. de Porhoët, smiling and charmed, needed -no pressing, and began to tell us some of the -most striking events of her famous expeditions -with Lescure and La Rochefoucauld. And on this -occasion my old friend gave me another proof of -her nobility of nature, for she paid her tribute to -the heroes of those troublous wars without -distinction of party. She spoke of General Hoche, -whose prisoner she had been, with almost tender -admiration. Mlle. Marguerite listened with an -impassioned attention which surprised me. At -one moment, half-buried in her leafy niche, her -long eyelashes a little lowered, she sat as motionless -as a statue; at another, when the story became -more exciting, she put her elbows on the table, -plunged a beautiful hand into the masses of her -loosened hair, and fixed the lightning of her -brilliant eyes eagerly on the old </span><em class="italics">Vendienne</em><span>.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Among the sweetest hours of my dull life, I -shall always count those I spent watching that -noble face, irradiated by the reflections of the -glowing sky and the impressions of a valiant -heart.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>When the story-telling was over, Mlle. Marguerite -embraced her old friend, and waking up -Mervyn, who was asleep at her feet, declared that -she must return to the château. As I was sure it -would cause her no embarrassment, I had no -hesitation in leaving at the same time. Apart from -my personal insignificance in the sight of the rich -heiress, Mlle. Laroque was quite at her ease -without a chaperon. Her mother had given her the -same kind of liberal education she had herself -received in one of the British colonies. And we -know that the English method accords to women -before marriage all that independence which we -so wisely give them only when the abuse of it -becomes irreparable. So we went out of the garden -together. I held her stirrup while she mounted, -and we set off towards the château.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Really, M. Odiot," she said, after a few -steps, "I am afraid I spoiled your </span><em class="italics">tête-à-tête</em><span> in the -garden. You seemed to be very happy."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Certainly, mademoiselle, but as I had already -been there a long time, I forgive you; nay, more, -I thank you."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You are very good to our poor friend. My -mother is very grateful to you."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And your mother's daughter?" I said, laughing.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, I'm not so easily impressed. I am -afraid you will have to wait a little before you get -any praises from me. I don't judge people's -actions leniently; there is generally more than one -explanation of them. I grant that your -behaviour towards Mlle. de Porhoët looks very well, -but——" she paused, shook her head, and went -on in a serious, bitter, and frankly insulting tone, -"but I am not at all certain that you are not -paying court to her in the hope that she may make -you her heir."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>I felt myself grow pale. But, seeing how absurd -it would be to answer this young girl angrily, -I controlled myself, and replied grandly, "Allow -me, mademoiselle, to express my sincere pity for you."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She appeared very much surprised. "Your -sincere pity?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, mademoiselle, the respectful pity to -which I think you have a right."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Pity!" she said, stopping her horse and slowly -turning her disdainful, half-closed eyes towards -me. "I am not so fortunate as to understand you."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It is really quite simple, mademoiselle; if -disillusion, doubt, and callousness are the bitterest -fruits of long experience, nothing in the world -deserves pity so much as a heart withered by -mistrust before it has even seen life."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Sir," said Mlle. Laroque, with a strange -vehemence, "you do not know what you are -talking about. And," she added more harshly, "you -forget to whom you are speaking!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"That is true, mademoiselle," I answered -gently, bowing. "I may have spoken without -much knowledge, and perhaps I forgot, to some -extent, to whom I was speaking. But you set me -the example."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Her eyes fixed on the top of the trees that -bordered the road, Mlle. Marguerite asked, with -haughty irony:</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Must I beg your pardon?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Most certainly, mademoiselle," I replied -firmly, "if either of us should ask pardon, it is -you. You are rich, I am poor; you can humble -yourself.... I cannot."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>There was silence. Her tightened lips, her -quivering nostrils, and the sudden whiteness of -her forehead, showed what a struggle was going -on within her. Suddenly lowering her whip as if -to salute, she said:</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Very well, I beg your pardon."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>At the same moment she gave her horse a -sharp cut and set off at a gallop, leaving me in -the middle of the road.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>I have not seen her since.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst right"><em class="italics">July 30th</em><span>.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The calculation of probabilities is never more -misleading than when it has to do with the -thoughts and feelings of a woman. After the -painful scene between Mlle. Marguerite and -myself, I had not been very anxious to encounter her. -For two days I had not been to the château and -I scarcely expected that the resentment I had -aroused in this proud nature, would have subsided -in this short interval. However, about seven -o'clock on the morning of the day before -yesterday, when I was working at the open window of -my tower, I heard my name called out in a most -friendly way by the very person of whom I -thought I had made an enemy.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"M. Odiot, are you there?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>I went to the window and saw Mlle. Marguerite -standing in the boat that was kept by the -bridge. She was holding back the brim of her -brown straw hat and looking up at my dark tower.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Here I am, mademoiselle," I said eagerly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Are you coming out?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>After my well-founded apprehension of the -last two days, so much condescension made me -think, to use the accepted formula, I was the dupe -of a disordered fancy.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I beg your pardon.... What did you say?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Will you come out for a little with Alain, -Mervyn, and me?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"With pleasure, mademoiselle."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Very well—bring your album."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>I went down quickly and hurried to the bank.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ah! ah!" said the girl, laughing, "you're in -a good-humour this morning, it seems."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>I awkwardly murmured something to the -effect that I was always in a good-humour, but -Mlle. Marguerite scarcely seemed convinced of -the fact. Then I stepped into the boat and sat -down at her side.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Row away, Alain," she said immediately; and -old Alain, who prides himself on being a first-rate -oarsman, set to work steadily, the long oars -moving to and fro at his sides, making him look like -a heavy bird trying to fly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I was obliged to come and save you from -your donjon," said Mlle. Marguerite, "where you -have been ailing for two whole days."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Mademoiselle, I assure you that only -consideration for you—respect—fear of..."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Respect! Fear! Oh, dear, no! You were -sulking, that is all. We behave much better than -you. My mother, for some reason or other, -thinks you ought to be treated with special -consideration, and has implored me to sacrifice myself -on the altar of your pride; so, like an obedient -daughter, I sacrifice myself."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>I expressed my gratitude frankly and warmly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Not to do things by halves," she continued, -"I have determined to give you a treat to your -taste. So here you have a lovely summer -morning, woods and glades with all the proper light -effects, birds warbling in the foliage, a mysterious -bark gliding on the waves. As this is the sort of -thing you like, you ought to be satisfied."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Mademoiselle, I am charmed."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well, that's all right."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>For the moment I was fairly contented with -my fate. The air was sweet with the scent of the -new-mown hay lying in swaths on either bank; -the sombre avenues of the park, dotted with -patches of sunshine, slipped past us, and from the -flower-cups came the happy drone of myriads of -insects feasting on the dew. Opposite me, old -Alain smiled complacently at me with a protecting -look at each stroke of his oars, and closer to me -Mlle. Marguerite, dressed in white—contrary to -her custom—beautiful and fresh and pure as a -periwinkle blossom, shook with one hand the -pearls of dew from her veil while she held out the -other as a bait for Mervyn, who was swimming -after the boat. I should not have wanted much -persuasion to go to the end of the world in that -little white boat.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>As we passed under an arch in the wall that -bounds the park the young Creole said to me:</span></p> -<p class="pnext" id="id1"><span>"You do not ask where I am taking you?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No, mademoiselle, I do not. It is all the -same to me."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I am taking you into fairyland."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I thought so, mademoiselle."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Mlle. Hélouin, more versed in poetic lore -than I am, has no doubt told you that the thickets -that cover the country for twenty miles round are -the remains of the ancient forest of Brouliande, -the hunting-ground of those beings of Gaël, -ancestors of your friend Mlle. de Porhoët, and the -place where Mervyn's ancestor, wizard though he -was, came under the magic spells of a damsel -called Vivien. Now we shall soon be in the -centre of that forest. And if this is not enough to -fire your imagination, let me tell you that these -woods are full of remains of the mysterious -religion of the Celts; they are paved with them. In -every shady nook you picture to yourself a -white-robed Druid, and in every ray of sunlight the -glitter of a golden sickle. The religion of these old -bores has left near here, in a solitary and romantic -place, a monument before which people subject to -ecstasy are usually in raptures. I thought you -would like to sketch it, and as it is not easy to -find, I will show you the way, on condition that -you suppress the explosions of an enthusiasm I -cannot share."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Agreed, mademoiselle, I will control myself."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, please do."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I promise. And what is the name of this monument?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I call it a heap of big stones, but the -antiquaries have more than one name for it. Some -call it simply a </span><em class="italics">dolmen</em><span>, others, more pedantic, say -it's a </span><em class="italics">cromlech</em><span>, and the country people—I do not -know why—call it the </span><em class="italics">migourdit</em><span>."[#]</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="noindent pfirst"><span class="small">[#] In the wood of Cadoudal (Morbihan).</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>Meanwhile we glided gently with the current -of the stream between two strips of wet meadow. -Here and there, small black cattle with large -pointed horns turned and looked fiercely at us. -The valley through which the widening river crept, -was shut in on both sides by a chain of hills, some -covered with dry heather and furze, and some with -green brushwood. Sometimes, at the end of a -transversal cleft between two hills, we could see -the crest of a mountain, blue and round in the -distance. In spite of her indifference, Mlle. Marguerite -was careful to draw my attention to all -the beauties of this austere and peaceful country, -and careful also, to qualify each remark with some -ironic comment.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>For a little while a dull, continuous sound had -told us that we were approaching a waterfall. -Suddenly the valley narrowed into a wild and -lonely gorge. On the left stood a high wall of -rock overgrown with moss; oaks and firs mixed -with ivy and straggling brushwood rose one above -the other in every crevice till they reached the top -of the cliff, throwing a mysterious shade on to the -deeper water at the foot of the rocks. A hundred -paces in front of us, the water boiled and foamed, -and then disappeared all at once, and the broken -line of the stream stood out in a veil of white -spray, against a distant background of vague -foliage. On our right, the bank opposite to the -cliff had only a narrow margin of sloping meadow, -fringed with the sombre velvet of the wooded hills.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Land, Alain," said the young Creole. Alain -moored the boat to a willow.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Now, sir," she said, stepping lightly on to -grass, "aren't you overcome? Aren't you troubled, -petrified, thunderstruck? You ought to be, for -this is supposed to be a very pretty place. I like -it because it is always fresh and cool. But follow -me through the woods—if you are not too much -afraid—and I will show you the famous stones."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Bright, alert, and gay as I had never seen her -before, Mlle. Marguerite crossed the fields with -a bounding step, and took a path which led along -the hills to the forest. Alain and I followed -in Indian file. After a few minutes' quick -walking our guide stopped and seemed to hesitate, and -looked about her for a moment. Then, deliberately -separating two interlaced branches, she left -the beaten track and plunged into the -undergrowth. It was very difficult to make way -through the thicket of strong young oaks whose -slanting stems and twisted branches were knotted -together as closely as Robinson Crusoe's palisade. -At least Alain and I, bent double, advanced very -slowly, catching our heads against something at -every step, and at each of our clumsy movements -bringing down a shower of dew upon us. But -Mlle. Marguerite, with the greater dexterity and -the catlike suppleness of her sex, slipped without -any apparent effort through the meshes of the -labyrinth, laughing at our sufferings, and -carelessly letting the branches spring back after her -into our faces. At last we reached a narrow -glade on the top of the hill. There, not without -emotion, I saw the dark and monstrous table of -stone supported by five or six huge blocks half -sunk in the earth, forming a cavern full of sacred -horror. At first sight this perfect monument of a -time almost fabulous, and of a primitive religion, -has an aspect of eternal verity and of a real -mysterious presence, that takes hold of the -imagination, and fills the mind with awe.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The sunshine streaming through the leaves -stole through the interstices in the roughly joined -blocks, played about the sinister slab, and lent -an idyllic charm to this barbarous altar. Even -Mlle. Marguerite seemed pensive and brooding. -For my part I entered the cavern, and, after -examining the </span><em class="italics">dolmen</em><span> thoroughly, set to work to -sketch it. For ten minutes I had been absorbed -in this work, forgetting everything that was going -on about me, when Mlle. Marguerite suddenly spoke:</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Do you want a Velleda to enliven your picture?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>I looked up. She had wound a wreath of -oak-leaves round her forehead and stood at the -head of the </span><em class="italics">dolmen</em><span>, leaning lightly against a -sheaf of saplings. In the half-light, under the -branches, her white dress looked like marble, and -her eyes shone with strange fire in the shadow of -the oaken crown. She was beautiful, and I think -she knew it. I looked at her and found it hard -to speak.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"If I am in the way, I'll move," she said.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, no! please don't."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well, make haste; put Mervyn in too. -He'll be the Druid and I the Druidess."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>I was so lucky—thanks to the vagueness of a -sketch—as to reproduce this poetic vision pretty -faithfully. Evidently interested, she came and -looked at the drawing.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It isn't bad," she said, laughing, as she threw -her crown away. "You must admit that I am -very good to you."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>I did. I might even have added, if she had -asked me, that she was not without a spice of -coquetry. But without that she would not have -been a woman. Perfection is detestable, and -even goddesses need something besides their -deathless beauty to win love.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>We went back through the tangled underwood -to the path in the wood, and thence -returned to the river.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Before we return," said the young girl, "I -want to show you the waterfall, more especially -as I am looking forward to a little diversion on -my own account. Come, Mervyn, come along, -dear dog. Oh, you are lovely!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>We soon reached the bank facing the rocks -which blocked the bed of the river. The water -fell from a height of many feet into a large and -deeply sunk circular basin, which seemed to be -shut in on all sides by an amphitheatre of -vegetation, broken by dripping rocks. But there were -unseen outlets for the overflow of the little lake, -and the streams so formed reunited a little lower -down.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It is not exactly a Niagara," said Mlle. Marguerite, -raising her voice against the noise of the -falling waters, "but I have heard connoisseurs -and artists say that it is rather pretty, -nevertheless. Have you admired it? Good! Now I -hope you'll bestow any enthusiasm you may have -left on Mervyn. Here, Mervyn!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The Newfoundland ran to his mistress, and, -trembling with impatience, watched her while she -tied some pebbles into her handkerchief. She -threw it into the stream a little above the fall, -and at the same moment Mervyn fell like a block -into the lower basin and struck out swiftly from -the edge. The handkerchief followed the -current, reached the rocks, danced in an eddy for -a minute, and then, shooting like an arrow past -the smooth rock, swept in a mass of foam under -the eyes of the dog, who seized it dexterously in -his mouth, after which Mervyn returned proudly -to the bank, where Mlle. Marguerite stood -clapping her hands.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>This feat was performed several times with -great success. At the sixth repetition, either -because the dog started too late or because the -handkerchief was thrown too soon, Mervyn -missed it. The handkerchief, swept on by the -eddies from the fall, was carried among some -thorny brushwood that overhung the water a -little farther on. Mervyn went to fetch it, but -we were very much surprised to see him suddenly -struggle convulsively, drop his booty, and raise -his head towards us, howling pitifully.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"My God! what has happened?" exclaimed -Mlle. Marguerite.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"He seems to be caught among the bushes. -He'll free himself directly, no doubt."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>But soon one had to doubt, and even to despair, -of this issue. The network of creepers in -which the dog had been caught lay directly below -one of the mouths of the sluice, which poured a -mass of seething water continuously on Mervyn's -head. The poor beast, half-suffocated, ceased to -make the slightest effort to release himself, and -his plaintive cries sounded more and more like -a death-rattle. At this moment Mlle. Marguerite -seized my arm, and whispered almost in my ear:</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"He is lost. It's no use.... Let us go."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>I looked at her. Grief, pain, and her violent -effort to control herself had distorted her pale -features and brought dark circles under her eyes.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It is impossible," I said, "to get the boat -down there; but if you will allow me, I can swim -a little, and I'll go and give a hand to the poor -fellow."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No, no; don't attempt it. It's too far. -And they say it's very deep and dangerous under -the fall."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You needn't fear, mademoiselle; I am very -cautious."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>At the same moment I took off my coat and -went into the water, taking care to keep a good -distance from the fall. It was very deep, and I -did not find a footing till I reached the exhausted -Mervyn. I do not know whether there had been -an islet here which had dwindled and crumbled -away, or whether a sudden rising of the river had -swept away part of the bank, and deposited the -fragments in this place; but, whatever the cause, -there was an accumulated and flourishing mass -of entangled brushwood and roots under this -treacherous water. I got my feet on a trunk from -which the bushes seemed to spring, and -managed to release Mervyn. Feeling himself free, -he recovered at once, and struck out for the bank, -leaving me to my fate with all the goodwill -imaginable. This was scarcely acting up to the -chivalrous reputation of his breed, but Mervyn -has lived a long while among men, and I -suppose has become a bit of a philosopher. But -when I tried to follow him, I found, to my -disgust, that, in my turn, I was caught in the -nets of the jealous and malignant naiad who -reigns in the pool. One of my legs was -entangled in the creepers, and I could not free it. -It is difficult to exert all one's strength in deep -water, and on a bed of sticky mud. And besides, -I was half-blinded by the bubbling spray. In -short, my situation was becoming awkward. I -looked towards the bank; Mlle. Marguerite, -holding to Alain's arm, hung over the gulf, and -watched me with mortal anxiety. I told -myself that it rested with me to be wept for by -those bright eyes, and to end a miserable -existence in an enviable fashion. Then I shook off -such maudlin fancies vigorously, and freed myself -by a violent effort. I tied the little handkerchief, -now in rags, round my neck, and easily regained -the shore.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>As I landed, Mlle. Marguerite offered me her -hand. It trembled a little, and I was pleased.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What rashness! You might have been -drowned, and for a dog!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It was yours," I whispered in the same low -tone she had used to me.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>This speech seemed to annoy her; she -withdrew her hand quickly, and turning to Mervyn, -who lay yawning and drying himself in the sun, -began to punish him.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, the stupid! the big stupid!" she said. -"What an idiot he is!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>But the water was streaming from my clothes -on to the grass. I did not quite know what to do -with myself, till Mlle. Marguerite came back, and -said very kindly:</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Take the boat, M. Maxime, and get away as -fast as you can. You'll keep warm rowing. I -will come back with Alain through the wood; it -is the shortest way."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>I agreed to this arrangement, which was in -every way the best. I said farewell, touched her -hand for the second time, and got into the boat. -To my surprise, when I was dressing at home I -found the little handkerchief still round my neck. -I had forgotten to restore it to Mlle. Marguerite, -who must have given it up for lost, so I shamelessly -determined to keep it as the reward of my -watery adventure.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>I went to the château in the evening. Mlle. Laroque -received me with her habitual air of disdainful -indolence, sombre preoccupation, and embittered -</span><em class="italics">ennui</em><span>, which was in singular contrast with -the gracious friendliness and playful vivacity of -my companion of the morning.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>During dinner, at which M. de Bévallan was -present, she spoke of our excursion in a manner -that stripped it of all sentiment, and as she went -on, said some sharp things about lovers of nature, -and finished with an account of Mervyn's -misadventure, without mentioning my share in it. If, -as I thought, this was meant as a hint of the line -I was to take, the young lady had been at needless -trouble. However that may be, M. de Bévallan, -on hearing the story, nearly deafened us with his -cries of despair. What! Mlle. Marguerite had -endured such anxiety, the brave Mervyn had been -in such danger, and he, Bévallan, had not been -there. Cruel fate! He would never get over it. -There was nothing for him to do but hang himself, -like Crillon.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well," said Alain, "if it depended on me to -cut him down, I should take my time about it."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The next day did not begin so pleasantly for -me as its predecessor. In the morning I received -a letter from Madrid, asking me to inform Mlle. de -Porhoët that her lawsuit was finally lost. Her -agent also informed me that her opponents would -not profit by their victory, as the Crown, attracted -by the millions at stake, claimed to succeed under -the law by which the property escheats to the -state.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>After careful consideration, I decided that it -would be kinder not to let my old friend know of -the total destruction of her hopes. I intend, -therefore, to secure the assistance of her agent in -Spain; he will allege further delays, and on my -side I shall continue my researches among the -archives, and do my best to preserve the poor -soul's cherished delusions to the end. However -innocent and legitimate this deception might be, -I could not feel at rest until it had been approved -by some one whose judgment in such matters I -could trust. I went to the château in the -afternoon, and made confession to Mme. Laroque, -who approved of my plan, and commended me -rather more than the occasion warranted. And to -my great surprise she finished the interview with -these words:</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I must take this opportunity of telling you, -M. Odiot, that I am deeply grateful for your -devotion to my interests, that each day I appreciate -your character more truly, and enjoy your company -more thoroughly. I could wish—you must -forgive my saying it, as you are scarcely likely to -share my wish—I could wish that you could -always remain with us ... and I humbly pray -heaven to perform the miracles necessary to bring -this about ... for I know that only miracles -can do so."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>I did not quite grasp the meaning of this -language, nor could I explain the sudden emotion -that shone in the eyes of the excellent lady. I -acknowledged her kindness properly, and went -away to indulge my melancholy in the fields.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>By an accident—not purely fortuitous, I must -admit—I found myself, after an hour's walking, -in a deserted valley, and on the brink of the pool -which had been the scene of my recent prowess. -The amphitheatre of rocks and greenery which -surrounds the small lake realizes the very ideal of -solitude. There you are at the end of the world, -in a virgin country, in China—where you will! I -lay down among the heather, recalling my expedition -of yesterday, one not likely to occur again -in the course of the longest life. Already I felt -that if such good fortune should come to me a -second time, it would not have that charm of -surprise, of peacefulness, and—in one word—of -innocence. I had to own that this fresh romance of -youth, which gave a perfume to my thoughts, -could have but one chapter, one page, and that I -had read it. Yes, this hour, this hour of love, to -call it by its true name, had been royally sweet, -because it had not been premeditated, because I -had not known what it was till it had gone, -because I had had the rapture, and had been spared -remorse. Now my conscience was awake. I saw -myself on the verge of an impossible, a ridiculous -love, and worse, of a culpable passion. Poor and -disinherited as I am, it is time to keep a strict -watch over myself.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>I was addressing these warnings to myself in -this solitary place—any other would have served -my purpose as well—when the sound of voices -interrupted my reflections. I rose, and saw a -company of four or five people who had just -landed, advancing towards me. First came -Mlle. Marguerite leaning on M. de Bévallan's arm; -next Mlle. Hélouin and Mme. Aubry, followed -by Alain and Mervyn. The sound of their -approach had been drowned in the roar of the -waterfall; they were only a few yards off; there was -no time for retreat, so I had to resign myself to -being discovered in the character of the romantic -recluse. But my presence did not excite any -particular attention, though I saw a shadow of -annoyance on Mlle. Marguerite's face, and she -returned my bow with marked stiffness.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>M. de Bévallan, standing at the verge of the -pool, wearied the echoes with the clamour of his -conventional admiration. "Delicious! How -picturesque! What a feast! The pen of George -Sand.... The pencil of Salvator Rosa!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>All this was accompanied by violent gestures, -by which he appeared to be snatching from these -great artists, the instruments of their genius.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>At last he became calmer, and asked to be -shown the dangerous channel where Mervyn had -nearly been drowned. Again Mlle. Marguerite -related the adventure, and again she suppressed the -part I had taken in the denouement. With a kind -of cruelty, evidently levelled at me, she enlarged -on the cleverness, courage, and presence of mind -her dog had shown in his trying situation. -Apparently she seemed to think that her transient -good-humour, and the service I had been so -fortunate as to render her, had filled my head with -some presumptuous notions, which it was -necessary to nip in the bud.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>As Mlle. Hélouin and Mme. Aubry particularly -wished to see Mervyn repeat his wonderful -exploit, his mistress called the Newfoundland, -and, as before, threw her handkerchief into the -current. But at the signal the brave Mervyn, -instead of jumping into the lake, rushed up and -down the bank, barking furiously, lashing about -with his tail, showing, in fact, the greatest interest -in the proceedings, but at the same time an -excellent memory. Evidently the head controls the -heart in this sagacious beast. In vain Mlle. Marguerite, -angry and confused, first tried caresses -and then threats to overcome her favourite's -obstinacy. Nothing could persuade the intelligent -creature to trust himself again in those dangerous -waters. After such high-flown announcements, -Mervyn's stubborn prudence was really amusing. -I had a better right to laugh than any one present, -and I did so without compunction. Besides, the -merriment soon became general, and in the end -Mlle. Marguerite herself joined in, rather -half-heartedly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And now," she said, "I've lost another handkerchief."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The handkerchief, carried along by the eddies, -had naturally landed among the branches of the -fatal bush, not far from the further bank.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Rely upon me, mademoiselle," cried M. de -Bévallan. "In ten minutes you shall have your -handkerchief, or I shall exist no longer."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>At this magnanimous declaration I thought -that Mlle. Marguerite looked stealthily at me, as -much as to say, "You see, there are others who -are devoted to me!" Then she answered M. de -Bévallan.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"For Heaven's sake, don't be so foolish! The -water is very deep.... it is really dangerous."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It is all the same to me," said M. de -Bévallan. "Have you a knife, Alain?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"A knife?" said Mlle. Marguerite, surprised.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, a knife. Please allow me ... I know -what I mean to do."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But what do you mean to do with a knife?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I mean to cut a switch," said M. de -Bévallan.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The girl looked at him gravely.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I thought," she murmured, "that you were -going to swim for it."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"To swim!" said M. de Bévallan; "excuse -me, mademoiselle.... Firstly, I am not in -swimming costume; next, I must admit that -I cannot swim."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"If you cannot swim," she said dryly, "the -question of costume is not important."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You are quite right," said M. de Bévallan, -with amusing coolness; "but you are not -particularly anxious that I should drown myself, are -you? You want your handkerchief, that is the -point. When I have got it, you will be -satisfied. Isn't that so?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well, go and cut your switch," she said, -sitting down resignedly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>M. de Bévallan is not easily disconcerted. -He disappeared into the nearest thicket, and soon -we heard the branches crack. He came back -armed with a long switch from a nut-tree, and -proceeded to strip the leaves off.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Do you think you'll reach the other side -with that stick?" asked Mlle. Marguerite, who -was beginning to be amused.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Allow me to manage it my own way. That -is all I ask," said the imperturbable gentleman.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>We left him alone. He finished his switch, -and then set out for the boat. We at last -understood that he meant to cross the river in the boat, -to land above the waterfall, and to harpoon the -handkerchief, which he could easily do from the -bank. At this discovery there was an indignant -outcry from the ladies, who, as we all know, are -extremely fond of dangerous adventures—in -which they are not themselves concerned.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"A pretty contrivance, M. de Bévallan. -Aren't you ashamed of yourself?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Tu-tu, ladies! Remember Columbus and -the egg. The idea is everything, you know."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Contrary to our expectation, this apparently -harmless expedition was not to be carried through -without some emotions, and some risks, for -M. de Bévallan, instead of making for the bank -immediately opposite the little bay, where the -boat had been moored, unluckily decided to land -nearer the cataract. He pushed the boat into the -middle of the stream and let it drift for a -moment, till he saw that as the river approached the -fall, its pace increased with alarming rapidity. -We appreciated the danger when we saw him put -the boat across the current, and begin to row -with feverish energy. For a few seconds he -struggled with doubtful success. But, little by -little, he got nearer to the bank, though the -stream still swept him fiercely towards the -cataract, which thundered ominously in his ears. -He was only a few feet from it, when a -supreme effort brought him near enough to the -shore to put him out of danger. With a vigorous -spring he leaped on to the slope of the bank, -sending the boat out among the rocks, where it -was at once overturned. It presently floated into -the pool keel upward. While the danger lasted, -our only feeling was one of keen anxiety, but -when it was over, the contrast between the comic -</span><em class="italics">dénouement</em><span> and its hero's usual coolness and -self-confidence, could not fail to tickle our sense of -humour. Besides, laughter is a natural relief -when a danger is happily past. Directly we saw -that M. de Bévallan was out of the boat, we all -gave ourselves up to unrestrained merriment. I -should say, that at this moment his bad luck was -completed by a truly distressing detail. The -bank on which he had jumped sloped sharply and -was very wet. His feet had scarcely touched it -when he fell backwards. Fortunately there were -some strong branches within his reach. He hung -on to them desperately, his legs beating the -shallow water like two angry oars. As there was no -danger, his situation became purely ridiculous, -and I suppose that this thought made him struggle -so frantically and awkwardly, that his efforts -defeated their purpose. He succeeded, however, -in raising himself and getting another footing on -the slope. Then, all of a sudden, we saw him -slide down again, tearing the bushes and -brushwood as he went, and renewing his wild -pantomime in the water in evident desperation. It -was irresistible. Never, I believe, had -Mlle. Marguerite been at such an entertainment. She -had utterly lost all care for her dignity. Like -some mirthful Bacchante, she filled all the grove -with bursts of almost convulsive gaiety. -Between her shouts of laughter she clapped her -hands and called out in a half-suffocated voice:</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Bravo! bravo! M. de Bévallan! Very pretty! -Delicious! Picturesque! Salvator Rosa!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>At last M. de Bévallan succeeded in dragging -himself to </span><em class="italics">terra firma</em><span>. Then, turning to the -ladies, he made them a speech which the noise of -the waterfall prevented us from hearing distinctly; -but, from his animated gestures, the illustrative -movements of his arms, and his air of forced -good-humour, we understood that he was giving us a -reasoned explanation of his disaster.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, yes," replied Mlle. Marguerite, continuing -to laugh with a woman's implacable barbarity. -"it was a great success. I congratulate you!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>When she was a little more serious, she asked -me how we should recover the capsized boat, -which, by-the-bye, was the best we had. I -promised to bring some men the next day, and -superintend the rescue. Then we struck across the fields -towards the château. M. de Bévallan, not being -in swimming costume, could not rejoin us. With -a melancholy air he disappeared behind the rocks -above the farther bank.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst right"><em class="italics">August 20th</em><span>.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>At last this extraordinary girl has revealed the -secret of her stormy soul to me. Would that she -had preserved it forever!</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>During the day that followed the scenes I have -just described, Mlle. Marguerite, as if ashamed of -the impulses of youthful frankness to which she -had yielded, wrapped herself more closely than -ever in her veil of mournful pride, disdain, and -mistrust. In the midst of the noisy pleasures, the -</span><em class="italics">fêtes</em><span>, and dances that succeeded one another, she -passed like a ghost, indifferent, icy, and sometimes -angry.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Her irony vented itself with inconceivable -bitterness, sometimes on the purest pleasures of the -mind, those that come from contemplation and -study, sometimes on the noblest and most sacred -sentiments. If an instance of courage or virtue -was mentioned in her presence, she examined it -minutely in search of its selfish motive; or if by -chance one burned the smallest grain of incense -on the altar of art, she extinguished it with a -disdainful wave of her hand. With her short, abrupt, -and terrible laugh, like the mocking of a fallen -angel, she seemed determined to blight (wherever -she saw a trace of them) the most generous -faculties of the human soul—enthusiasm and passion. -I noticed that this strange spirit of disparagement -took on a special character of persecution—positive -hostility—when directed against me. I did not -understand, and even now I do not quite understand, -why I have attracted these particular attentions. -True, I carry in my heart the worship of -things ideal and eternal, which only death can tear -from me (great God, what would be left me if I -had not that!); but I am not given to public -ecstasies, and my admiration, like my love, will -never be obtrusive. In vain I maintained more -scrupulously than ever the modesty which springs -from real feeling. I gained nothing by it. The -most romantic fancies were attributed to me just -for the pleasure of combating them, and perpetually -some kind of grotesque harp was thrust into -my hands, solely for the amusement of breaking -its strings.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Although this open warfare against anything -higher than the material interests and sordid -realities of life, was not a new trait in Mlle. Marguerite's -character, it had been suddenly exaggerated -and embittered to the point of wounding the -hearts most devoted to this young girl. One day -Mlle. de Porhoët, weary of this incessant mocking, -said to her in my presence:</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"My darling, for some time past you have -been possessed by a devil which you would do -well to cast out as soon as possible, or you will -finish by making up a trio with Mme. Aubry -and Mme. de Saint-Cast. For my part, I do not -pride myself on being, or ever having been, -particularly romantic, but I like to think that there -are still some people in the world who are capable -of generous sentiments; I believe in disinterestedness, -if only in my own, and I even believe in -heroism, because I have known heroes. More, I -love to hear the little birds singing under my -arbour, and I like to build my cathedral in the -drifting clouds. All this may sound very -ridiculous, my dear, but I venture to remind you that -these illusions are the riches of the poor, that -M. Odiot and I have no other kind of wealth, -and that we are so singular as not to complain."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>On another occasion, when I had just received -Mlle. Marguerite's sarcasm with my usual -impassibility, her mother drew me aside.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"M. Maxime," she said, "my daughter teases -you a little, but I hope you will excuse her. You -must have noticed that she has changed very -much lately."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Your daughter seems to be more preoccupied -than usual."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And not without good reason; she is about -to come to a very serious decision, and at such a -moment young girls are apt to be capricious."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>I bowed and said nothing.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You are now a friend of the family," continued -Mme. Laroque, "and as such I ask you to -give me your opinion of M. de Bévallan."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I believe, madame, that M. de Bévallan has -a very handsome fortune—not so large as yours, -but undeniably handsome—about a hundred and -fifty thousand francs a year!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, but what do you think of him personally, -and of his character?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"M. de Bévallan is what the world calls a -perfect gentleman. He has wit; he is considered an -honourable man."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But do you think he will make my daughter happy?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I do not think he will make her unhappy. -He is not unkind."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What do you think I ought to do? I am -not entirely satisfied with him ... but he is the -only one Marguerite at all cares for ... and -there are so few men with a hundred thousand -francs a year. You can understand that my -daughter—in her position—has had plenty of -offers. For the last two or three years we have -been literally besieged.... Well, it is time we -decided.... I am not strong.... I may go -any day.... My daughter would be unprotected. -Here is an unexceptionable suitor whom the -world will certainly approve—it is my duty to -welcome him. Already people say that I have -filled my daughter's head with romantic notions—which -is not the truth. She has her own ideas. -Now, what do you advise me to do?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"May I ask what is Mlle. de Porhoët's -opinion? She is a lady of great judgment and -experience, and besides, entirely devoted to you."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, if I listened to Mlle. de Porhoët I -should send M. de Bévallan about his business. -But it is all very well for Mlle. de Porhoët to -talk. When he's gone, she won't marry my -daughter for me."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But, madame, from the monetary point of -view, M. de Bévallan is certainly a fine match. I -do not dispute it for a moment, and if you stand -out for a hundred thousand francs a year."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But, my dear sir, I care no more for a -hundred thousand francs than for a hundred pence! -However, I am not talking of myself, but of my -daughter. Well, I can't let her marry a mason, -can I? I should have rather liked to be the wife -of a mason, but it does not follow that what would -have made me happy would make her so. I -ought, in marrying her, to be guided by received -opinion, not merely by my own."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well, then, madame, if this marriage suits -you, and suits your daughter equally well..."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ah, no! ... it does not suit me ... nor -does it suit my daughter any better. It is a -marriage ... to speak plainly, it is </span><em class="italics">un mariage de -convenance</em><span>."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Am I to understand that it is quite settled?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No, or I should scarcely ask your advice. If -it were, my daughter would be more at ease. Her -misgivings disturb her, and then..."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Mme. Laroque sank back into the shadow of -the hood over her chair and added:</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Have </span><em class="italics">you</em><span> any idea of what is going on in -that unfortunate head?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"None, madame."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She fixed her sparkling eyes on me for a moment, -sighed deeply, and said, gently and sadly:</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You may go ... I won't detain you any longer."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The confidence with which I had just been -honoured, had not surprised me much. For some -time it had been evident that Mlle. Marguerite -reserved for M. de Bévallan whatever sympathy -she had left for humanity. But she seemed to -show rather a friendly preference than an -impassioned tenderness. And I ought to say that the -preference was quite intelligible. I have never -liked M. de Bévallan, and in these pages I have, -in spite of myself, given a caricature rather than a -portrait of him, but I admit that he combines -most of the qualities and defects that are popular -with women. He is absolutely devoid of modesty, -which is a great advantage, as women do not -like it. He has the cool, mocking, and witty -assurance which nothing can daunt, which easily -daunts others, and which gives to its possessor a -kind of domination and a factitious superiority. -His tall figure, his bold features, his skill in -athletic exercises, his reputation as a sportsman, give -him a manly authority which impresses the timid -sex. And he has an air of daring, enterprise, and -conquest which attracts and troubles women, and -fills their souls with secret ardour. Such advantages, -it is true, are, as a rule, chiefly impressive to -vulgar natures; but though, as usual, I had at first -been tempted to put Mlle. Marguerite's nature on -a level with her beauty, she had for some time -past seemed to make a positive parade of very -mediocre sentiments, and I believed she was -capable of yielding without resistance as without -enthusiasm, and with the passive coldness of a -lifeless imagination, to the charms of a common-place -lady-killer, and, later, to the yoke of a -respectable marriage.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>AH this made it necessary for me to accept -the inevitable, and I did so more easily than I -should have thought possible a month ago. For -I had summoned all my courage to combat the -first temptations of a love, equally condemned by -good sense and by honour. And she who had -unwittingly imposed this combat on me, had also -unwittingly powerfully helped me in my resistance. -If she could not hide her beauty from me, -she also unveiled her soul, and mine had recoiled. -Small loss, no doubt, for the young millionaire, -but a good thing for me.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Meanwhile I had to go to Paris, partly on -Mme. Laroque's business and partly on my own. -I returned two days ago, and as I arrived at the -château I was told that old M. Laroque had -repeatedly asked for me since the morning. I -hurried to his apartment. A smile flickered -across his withered cheeks as he saw me. He -looked at me with an expression of malignant joy -and secret triumph; then he said, in his dull, -hollow voice:</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"M. de Saint-Cast is dead."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>This news, which the strange old man had -wanted to tell me himself, was correct. On the -previous night poor General de Saint-Cast had -had a stroke of apoplexy, and an hour later had -been snatched from the life of wealth and luxury -which he owed to his wife. Directly the news -came to the château, Mme. Aubry had started off -to her friend, and the two had, as Dr. Desmarets -told us, passed the day chanting a sort of litany of -original and piquant ideas on the subject of -death—the swiftness with which it strikes its prey, the -impossibility of preventing or guarding against it, -the futility of regrets, which cannot bring back the -departed, the consoling effects of time, etc., etc.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>After which they sat down to dinner, and -gradually recovered their spirits. "Madame," -said Mme. Aubry, "you must eat, you must keep -yourself alive. It is our duty and the will of God."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>At dessert Mme. de Saint-Cast had a bottle of -the poor general's favourite Spanish wine, and -begged Mme. Aubry to taste it for his sake. But, -as Mme. Aubry firmly refused to be the only one -to partake of it, Mme. de Saint-Cast allowed -herself to be persuaded that God also wished her to -have a glass of Spanish wine and a crust of bread. -The general's health was not drunk. Early -yesterday morning, Mme. Laroque and her daughter, -both in mourning, took their places in the -carriage. I accompanied them. About ten o'clock -we were at the little town. While I attended the -general's funeral, the ladies joined the widow's -circle of official sympathizers. After the service -I returned to the house, and with some other -friends I was introduced into the famous drawing-room, -the furniture of which had cost fifteen -thousand francs. In the funereal half-light I -distinguished the inconsolable Mme. de Saint-Cast -sitting on a twelve-hundred-franc sofa, enveloped -in crape, the price of which we were told before -long. At her side was Mme. Aubry, an image of -physical and moral prostration. Half a dozen -friends and relatives completed this doleful group. -As we took up our positions in line at the farther -end of the </span><em class="italics">salon</em><span>, there was a sound of shuffling -feet and some cracking of the parquet, then -gloomy silence fell again on this mausoleum. -Only from time to time a lamentable sigh, faithfully -echoed by Mme. Aubry, rose from the sofa.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>At last a young man appeared. He had lingered -in the street to finish the cigar he had lighted -as he left the cemetery. As he slipped discreetly -into our ranks Mme. de Saint-Cast perceived him.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Is that you, Arthur?" she said in a lugubrious -voice.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, aunt," said the young man, advancing -in front of the line.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well," continued the widow, in the same -plaintive drawl, "is it over?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, aunt," said Arthur, in curt, deliberate -accents. He seemed to be a young man who was -perfectly satisfied with himself.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>There was a pause, after which Mme. de -Saint-Cast drew from the depths of her expiring soul -this new series of questions:</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Did it go off well?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Very well, aunt, very well."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Were there many people?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"The whole town, aunt, the whole town."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"The military?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, aunt, the whole garrison, and the band."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Mme. de Saint-Cast groaned, and added:</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"The fire brigade?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"The fire brigade too, aunt—certainly."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>I do not quite see why this last detail should -have particularly affected Mme. de Saint-Cast, but -she could not resist it. A sudden swoon, -accompanied by infantile wailings, summoned all the -resources of feminine sensibility to her aid, and -gave us the opportunity of slipping away. I was -glad of it. I could not bear to see this ridiculous -vixen performing her hypocritical mummeries -over the tomb of the weak, but good and loyal -fellow, whose life she had embittered, and whose -end she had probably hastened.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>A few moments later, Mme. Laroque asked -me to accompany her to the Langoat farm, five or -six leagues farther on towards the coast. She -intended to dine there with her daughter. The -farmer's wife, who had been Mlle. Marguerite's -nurse, was ill, and the ladies had for some time -meant to give her this proof of their interest in -her welfare. We started at two o clock in the -afternoon. It was one of the hottest days of this -hot summer. Through the open windows of the -carriage, the heavy, burning gusts which rose in -waves from the parched </span><em class="italics">lande</em><span> under the torrid -sky, swept across us.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The conversation suffered from our oppression. -Mme. Laroque, who declared that she was in paradise, -had at last thrown off her furs and remained -sunk in a gentle ecstasy. Mlle. Marguerite fanned -herself with Spanish gravity. While we slowly -climbed the interminable hills, we saw the calcined -rocks swarming with legions of silver-coated -lizards, and heard the continuous crackling of the -furze opening its ripe pods to the sun.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>In the middle of one of our laborious ascents -a voice suddenly called out from the side of the -road:</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Stop, if you please."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>At the same time a big girl with bare legs, -holding a distaff in her hand, and wearing the -ancient costume and ducal coif of the peasants of -this country, leaped quickly across the ditch, -knocking over as she came along some of the sheep she -was tending. She perched herself with a kind of -grace on the carriage-step, and stood before us -with her brown, self-possessed, and smiling face -framed in the window.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Pardon, ladies," she said in the quick, melodious -tones of her country, "will you be so kind -as to read this to me?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She took from her bodice a letter folded in the -ancient fashion.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Read it, M. Odiot," said Mme. Laroque, -laughing, "and read it aloud, if necessary."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>It was a love-letter, addressed very carefully to -Mlle. Christine Ogadec, ——'s Farm, in the -commune of ——, near ——. It was written by an -awkward but sincere hand. The date showed that -Mlle. Christine had received it two or three weeks -ago. Not being able to read, and fearing to trust -her secret to the ill-nature of her associates, the -poor girl had kept the letter in the hope that some -passing stranger, at once good-natured and -educated, would interpret the mystery that had been -burning in her bosom for more than a fortnight. -Her blue, wide-opened eyes were fixed on me with -an air of ineffable satisfaction as I laboriously read -the sloping lines which conveyed this message:</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Mademoiselle, this is to tell you that my -intentions have not changed since the day we spoke -on the </span><em class="italics">lande</em><span> after vespers, and that I am anxious -about yours. My heart is all yours, mademoiselle, -and I wish yours to be all mine; and if it is you -may be sure and certain that no one alive is -happier on earth or in heaven than your friend—who -does not put his name here, but you know quite -well who he is, mademoiselle."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And do you know, Mlle. Christine?" I said, -returning the letter.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Very likely I do," she said, with a smile that -showed her white teeth, while she gravely nodded, -her young face radiant with happiness. "Thank -you, ladies and gentleman!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She jumped off the step and soon disappeared -among the bushes, chanting as she went the deep -and joyful notes of some Bretonne ballad.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Mme. Laroque had followed with evident rapture -all the details of this pastoral scene, which -harmonized deliciously with her favourite -fancies. She smiled and dreamed at the vision of -this happy, barefooted girl as if she were under a -spell. However, when Mlle. Ogadec was out of -sight, a strange notion came into Mme. Laroque's -head. After all, she thought, it would not have -been a bad thing to have given the girl a five-franc -piece—in addition to her admiration.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Call her back, Alain," she cried.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But, mother, why?" said Mlle. Marguerite -quickly, though so far she had apparently taken no -notice of the incident.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"My dear child, perhaps this girl does not -thoroughly understand how much I should enjoy, -and how much she ought to enjoy, running about -barefooted in the dust. It would be nice, at any -rate, to leave her some little souvenir."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Money!" replied Mlle. Marguerite. "Oh, -mother, don't! Don't soil her happiness with -money."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>This delicate sentiment—which, by the way, -poor Christine might not have appreciated—was -astonishing enough in the mouth of Mlle. Marguerite, -who did not, as a rule, pride herself on -such subtlety. Indeed, I thought she was joking, -though she showed no signs of amusement. -However that may be, her mother took the caprice -very seriously. It was decided enthusiastically to -leave this idyll to innocence and bare feet.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>After this pretty episode Mme. Laroque relapsed -into her smiling ecstasy, and Mlle. Marguerite -fanned herself more seriously than ever. -An hour later we reached our destination. Like -most of the farms in this country, where the -uplands and plateaux are the sterile </span><em class="italics">lande</em><span>, the farm -of Langoat lies in the hollow of a valley, with -a water-course running through it.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The farmer's wife was better, and at once set -to work preparing dinner, the chief elements of -which we had been careful to bring with us. It -was served on the natural lawn of a meadow, -under the shade of an enormous chestnut. -Mme. Laroque, though sitting in a most uncomfortable -attitude, on one of the cushions from the carriage, -seemed perfectly radiant. She said our party -reminded her of the groups of reapers we see -crowding under the shade of a hedge, whose -rustic feasts she had always envied. As for me, I -might perhaps at another time have found a -singular sweetness in the close and easy intimacy, -which an outdoor meal of this kind usually -creates among the guests. But, with a painful -feeling of constraint, I thrust away an enjoyment -that might inflict regret, and the bread of this -transient fraternity was bitter in my mouth.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Have you ever been up there?" said Mme. Laroque -to me as we finished dinner. She -indicated the top of a lofty hill which commanded -the meadow we were in.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No, madame."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, but you should go. You get such a -lovely view. You must see it ... Marguerite -will take you while they're putting the horses in. -Won't you?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I, mother? I have only been there once, -and it was a long time ago ... However, I -daresay I can find the way. Come, M. Odiot, -and be prepared for a stiff climb."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Mlle. Marguerite and I started at once to -climb a very steep path which wound along the -side of the mountain, passing in some places -through clumps of trees. The girl stopped from -time to time in her swift and easy ascent to see if -I were following her, and, panting a little, smiled -at me without speaking. On reaching the bare -heath which formed the plateau, I saw, a short -way off, a village church, the lines of its little -steeple sharply defined against the sky.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"That's where it is," said my young guide, -quickening her pace.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Beyond the church was a cemetery shut in by -walls. She opened the gate, and made her way -with difficulty through the tall grass and trailing -brambles, which choked the place of rest, towards -a kind of semicircular </span><em class="italics">perron</em><span> which stood at the -farther end. Two or three rough steps, defaced -by time and rather strangely ornamented with -massive balls, led to a narrow platform raised to -the level of the wall. A granite cross stood in -the centre of the semicircle.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Mlle. Marguerite had scarcely reached the -platform and looked into the space that opened -before her, when I saw her place her hand before -her eyes as if she were suddenly dazzled. I -hastened to join her. The beautiful day, nearing to -its end, lighted with its last splendours a scene so -vast, so strange, and so sublime, that I shall never -forget it.</span></p> -<div class="align-center auto-scaled figure margin" style="width: 62%" id="figure-84"> -<span id="i-fell-on-my-knees-i-could-not-keep-back-my-tears"></span><img class="align-center block" style="display: block; width: 100%" alt=""I fell on my knees, I could not keep back my tears" (see page 245)" src="images/img-162.jpg" /> -<div class="caption centerleft figure-caption margin"> -<span class="italics">"I fell on my knees, I could not keep back my tears" (see page </span><a class="italics reference internal" href="#id2">245</a><span class="italics">)</span></div> -</div> -<p class="pnext"><span>Facing us, and at a great depth below the -platform, extended, farther than we could see, a -sort of marsh studded with shining patches, and -looking like a region slowly emerging from a -deluge. This great bay stretched from under our -feet to the heart of the jagged mountains. On -the banks of mud and sand which separated the -shifting lagoons, a growth of reeds and sea plants -tinged with a thousand shades, sombre but -distinct, contrasted sharply with the gleaming -surfaces of the waters. At each of its rapid strides -to the horizon, the sun lit up or darkened some -of the many lakes which checkered the half-dried -gulf. He seemed to take in turn from his -celestial casket the most precious substances—silver -and gold, ruby and diamond—and make them -flash on each point of this gorgeous plain. As -the planet neared the end of his career, a strip -of undulating mist at the farther limit of the -marshes, reddened all at once with the glare of a -conflagration, and for a moment, kept the radiant -transparency of a cloud furrowed by lightning. -I was absorbed in the contemplation of a -picture so full of divine grandeur, and enriched as -with another ray of glory by the great memory -of Cæsar, when a low, half-stifled voice murmured:</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, how beautiful it is!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>I had not expected this sympathetic outburst -from my companion. I turned eagerly towards -her with a surprise that was not lessened, when the -emotion in her face, and the slight trembling of -her lips, had convinced me of the profound -sincerity of her admiration.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You admit that it is beautiful?" I said to her.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She shook her head; but at the same moment -two tears fell slowly from her great eyes. She -felt them rolling down her cheeks, made a gesture -of annoyance, and then throwing herself suddenly -on the granite cross, on the base of which she was -standing, she embraced it with both hands, pressed -her head close against the stone, and sobbed -convulsively.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>I did not think it right to say a word that -might trouble the course of this sudden emotion, -and I turned reverently away. After a moment, -seeing her raise her forehead, and hastily replace -her loosened hair, I came nearer.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I am ashamed of myself," she murmured.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You have more reason to rejoice. Believe -me, you must give up trying to destroy the source -of those tears; it is holy. Besides, you will never -succeed."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I must," said the girl desperately. "See, it -is done! This weakness took me by surprise. I -want to hate everything that is good and beautiful."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"In God's name, why?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Because I am beautiful, and I can never be -loved."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Then, as a long-repressed torrent bursts its -barriers at last, she continued, with extraordinary -energy:</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It is true."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She put her hand on her heaving bosom.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"God had put into this heart all the qualities -that I ridicule, that I blaspheme every hour of -the day. But when he condemned me to be rich, -he withdrew with one hand all that he had lavished -with the other. What is the good of my beauty? -What is the good of the devotion, tenderness, and -enthusiasm which I feel burning within me? -These are not the charms which make so many -cowards weary me with their homage. I see it -I know it—I know it too well. And if ever -some disinterested, generous, and heroic soul loved -me for what I am, and not for what I have ... I -should never know ... never believe it. -Eternal mistrust! That is my sentence—that is my -torture. So I have decided ... I will never -love. I will never pour into some vile, worthless, -and venal heart the pure passion which is burning -in mine. My soul will die virgin in my bosom. -Well, I am resigned, but—everything that is -beautiful, everything that sets me dreaming, everything -that speaks to me of realms forbidden, everything -that stirs these vain fires in me—I thrust it away, -I hate it, I will have nothing to do with it."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She stopped, trembling; then, in a lower tone, -she said:</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Monsieur, I did not seek this opportunity. -I have not chosen my words ... I did not mean -to tell you, but I have spoken ... you know all, -and if at any time I have wounded your feelings, -I think you will forgive me now."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She held out her hand. When my lips touched -that soft hand, still wet with tears, a mortal -languor stole through my veins. Marguerite turned -her head away, looked into the sombre sky, and -then slowly descended the steps.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Let us go," she said.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Another road, longer, but easier than the steep -ascent of the mountain, brought us into the -farmyard. Neither of us spoke a single word the -whole way. What could I have said, I who was -more to be suspected than any other? I felt that -every word from my overcharged heart would -separate me still further from this stormy, but -adorable soul.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Night had fallen, and hid from every one the -signs of our common emotion. We drove away. -After telling us again how much she had enjoyed -her day, Mme. Laroque gave herself up to dreaming -about it. Mlle. Marguerite, invisible and -motionless in the deep shadow, seemed also to be -sleeping; but when a bend in the road caused a -ray of pale light to fall upon her, the fixed and -open eyes showed that she was wakeful and silent, -beset by the thought that caused her despair. I -can scarcely say what I felt. A strange sensation -of deep joy and deep bitterness possessed me -entirely. I yielded to it as one sometimes yields -consciously to a dream the charm of which we are -not strong enough to resist.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>We reached home about midnight.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>I got down at the beginning of the avenue, -and took the short way through the park to my -quarters. Entering a dim alley, I heard a faint -sound of voices and approaching footsteps, and -saw vaguely in the darkness two shadowy figures. -It was late enough to justify me in stepping into -a clump of trees, to watch these nocturnal -wanderers. They passed slowly in front of me. I -recognised Mlle. Hélouin; she was leaning on -M. de Bévallan's arm. At this moment the sound of -the carriage alarmed them; they shook hands and -separated hurriedly, Mlle. Hélouin going towards -the château, the other to the woods.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>In my own room, fresh from my adventure, I -asked myself indignantly whether I was to allow -M. de Bévallan to carry on his double love affair -uninterrupted, and to let him find a </span><em class="italics">fiancée</em><span> and a -mistress in the same house. I am too much a -man of my age and time to feel the Puritan's -horror of certain weaknesses, and I am not hypocrite -enough to affect what I do not feel. But I -believe that the morality which is easiest and most -indulgent in this respect, still demands some -degree of dignity, self-respect, and delicacy. Even -in these devious ways a man must walk straight to -some extent. The real excuse of love is that it </span><em class="italics">is</em><span> -love. But M. de Bévallan's catholic tendernesses -exclude all possibility of self-forgetful passion. -Such love-affairs are not even sins; they are -something altogether lower in the moral scale; they are -but the calculations and the wagers of brutalized -horse-dealers.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The various incidents of this evening, combined -to convince me, that this man was utterly -unworthy of the hand and heart he dared to covet. -Such a union would be monstrous. But I saw at -once, that I should not be able to prevent it by -using the weapons that chance had put into my -hands. The best of objects does not justify base -methods, and nothing can excuse the informer. -This marriage will take place, and heaven will -permit one of its noblest creatures to fall into the -arms of a cold-hearted libertine. It will permit -that profanation. Alas, it allows so many others!</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>I tried to imagine how this young girl could -have chosen this man, by what process of false -reasoning she had come to prefer him to all others. -I think I have guessed. M. de Bévallan is very -rich; he brings a fortune nearly equal to the one -he acquires. That is a kind of guarantee; he -could do without this additional wealth; he is -assumed to be more disinterested than others, -because he is better off.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>How foolish an argument! What a terrible -mistake to estimate people's venality by the amount -of their wealth! In nine cases out of ten, -opulence increases greed! The most self-seeking are -not the poorest!</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Was there, then, no hope that Marguerite -would see the worthlessness of her choice, no hope -that her own heart would give her the counsel I -could not suggest? Might not a new, unlooked-for -feeling arise in her heart, and, breathing on the -vain resolutions of reason, destroy them? Was -not this feeling already born, indeed, and had I -not received irrefutable proofs of it? The strange -caprices, the humiliations, struggles, and tears of -which I had been so long the object, or the -witness, proclaimed beyond doubt a reason that -wavered, not mistress of itself. I had seen enough -of life, to know that a scene like that of which -chance had this evening made me the confidant, -and almost the accomplice, does not, however -spontaneous it may seem, occur in an atmosphere -of indifference. Such emotions, such shocks, prove -that there are two souls already shaken by the -same storm, or about to be so shaken.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>But if it were true, if she loved me, as too -certainly I loved her, I might say of that love what -she had said of her beauty: "What is the good of -it?" For I could never hope that it would be -strong enough to triumph over the eternal mistrust, -which is at once the defect, and quality, of -that noble girl. My character, I dare say it, -resents the outrage of this mistrust; but my situation, -more than that of any other, is calculated to -rouse it. What miracle is to bridge the abyss -between these suspicions, and the reserve they -force upon me?</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Finally, granting the miracle, if she offered me -the hand for which I would give my life, but for -which I will never ask, would our union be -happy? Should I not have to fear, early or late, -in this restless imagination, the slow awakening of -a half-stifled mistrust? Could I, in the midst of -wealth not mine, guard myself against misgivings? -Could I really be happy in a love that is sullied -by being a benefit as well? Our part as the -protector of women is so strictly laid upon us by all -sentiments of honour, that it cannot, even from -the highest motives, be reversed for an instant -without casting upon us some shadow of doubt -and suspicion. Truly, wealth is not so great an -advantage that we cannot find some counterpoise -to it. I imagine that a man who brings his wife, -in exchange for some bags of gold, a name that -he has made illustrious, acknowledged worth, a -great position, or the promise of a great future, -does not feel that he is under a crushing -obligation. But my hands are empty, my future is no -better than my present; of all the advantages -which the world worships I have only one—my -title—and I am determined not to bear it, that it -may not be said it was the price of a bargain. I -should receive all and give nothing. A king may -marry a shepherdess; that is generous and -charming, and we congratulate him with good reason; -but a shepherd who lets a queen marry him does -not cut so fine a figure.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>I have spent the night thinking these things -over, and seeking a solution that I have not yet -found. Perhaps I ought to leave this house and -this place at once. Prudence counsels it. This -business cannot end well. How often one minute -of courage and firmness would spare us a lifetime -of regret! I ought at least to be overwhelmed by -sadness; I have never had such good reason for -melancholy. But I cannot grieve. My brain, -distracted and tortured, yet holds a thought which -dominates everything, and fills me with more than -mortal joy. My soul is as light as a bird of the -air. I see—I shall always see—that little cemetery, -that distant ocean, that vast horizon, and on that -glowing hilltop, that angel of beauty bathed in -divine tears! Still, I feel her hand under my lips, -her tears in my eyes and in my heart. I love -her! Well, to-morrow, if so it must be, I will -decide. Till then, for God's sake, let me have a -little rest. I have not been overdone with -happiness. I may die of this love, but I will live in -peace with it for one day at least.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst right"><em class="italics">August 26th</em><span>.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>That day, the single day I asked, has not been -granted me. My brief weakness has not had long -to wait for its punishment, which will be lasting. -How could I have forgotten? Moral laws can -no more be broken with impunity than physical, -and their invariable action constitutes the -permanent intervention of what we call Providence in -the affairs of this world. A great, though weak -man, writing the gospel of a sage with the hand -of a quasi-maniac, said of the passions that were at -once his misery, his reproach, and his glory:</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"All are good while we are their masters; all -are bad when we let them enslave us. Nature -forbids us to let our attachments exceed our -strength; reason forbids us to desire what we -cannot obtain; conscience does not forbid us to -be tempted, it does forbid us to yield to temptation. -It does not rest with us to have or not to -have passions, but it does rest with us to control -them. All the feelings which we govern are -legitimate; all those that govern us are criminal. -Attach your heart only to the beauty that does -not perish; limit your desires by your conditions; -put your duties before your passions; extend the -law of necessity to things moral; learn to lose -what may be taken from you; learn to give up -everything at the command of virtue!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Yes, such is the law. I knew it; I have -broken it; I am punished. It is right. I had -scarcely set foot on my cloud of folly when I was -thrown violently off, and now, after five days, I -have barely courage to recount the almost -ridiculous details of my downfall.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Mme. Laroque and her daughter had gone in -the morning to pay another visit to Mme. de -Saint-Cast, and to bring back Mme. Aubry. I -found Mlle. Hélouin alone at the château. I had -brought her quarter's salary; for, though my -duties do not, in a general way, trench on the -maintenance and internal discipline of the house, -the ladies had wished, no doubt from consideration -for Mlle. Hélouin and for me, that I should -pay both our salaries. The young lady was -sitting in the small boudoir near the dining-room. -She received me with a pensive sweetness which -touched me. For at that moment I felt in myself -that fulness of heart which inclines us to -confidence and kindness. I quixotically resolved to -hold out a helping hand to this poor lonely -creature.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Mademoiselle," I said, abruptly, "you have -withdrawn your friendship from me, but my -friendship for you remains unaltered. May I -give you a proof of it?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She looked at me and murmured a timid assent.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well, my poor child, you are bent on your -own ruin."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She rose quickly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You saw me in the park that night!" she cried.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I did."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"My God!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She came towards me.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"M. Maxime, I swear to you that I am a -virtuous girl."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I believe it, mademoiselle, but I must warn -you that in this little romance, perfectly innocent, -no doubt, on your side, whatever it may be on the -other, you are imperilling your reputation and -your peace of mind. I beg you to reflect -seriously on this matter, and at the same time I beg -to assure you that no one but you will ever hear a -word on this subject from me."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>I was leaving the room, when she sank on her -knees before a couch, and burst out sobbing, -leaning her forehead against my hand, which she had -seized. It was not long since I had seen sweeter -and nobler tears, but still I was touched.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Come, my dear young lady," I said; "it is -not too late, is it?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She shook her head decisively.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Very well, my child. Be brave, and we will -save you. What can I do to help you—tell me? -Has this man any proof, any letter, I can demand -from him on your behalf? Command me as if I -were your brother."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She released my hand angrily.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"How hard you are!" she said. "You talk -of saving me ... it is you who are ruining me. -After pretending to love me, you repulsed me -... you have humiliated me and made me desperate. -You are the sole cause of what has happened."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Mademoiselle, you are unjust. I never pretended -to love you. I had a sincere affection for -you, and I have it still. I admit that your -beauty, your wit, and your talents fully entitle -you to look for more than fraternal friendship -from those who see you every day. But my -situation, and my duties to my family preclude my -indulging any other feeling for you without being -dishonourable. I tell you frankly that I think -you are charming, and I assure you that in -restricting my sentiments towards you within the -limits imposed by loyalty, I have not been -without merit. I see nothing humiliating for you in -that; what might, indeed, humiliate you, -mademoiselle, would be the determined pursuit of a -man determined not to marry you."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She gave me an evil look.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What do you know about it?" she said. -"Every man is not a fortune-hunter."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh! mademoiselle, are you a spiteful little -person?" I said, very calmly. "If so, I will wish -you good-day."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"M. Maxime!" she cried, rushing forward to -stop me, "forgive me! have pity on me! Alas! -I am so unhappy. Imagine what must be the -thoughts of a poor creature like me, who has been -given—cruelly—a heart, a soul, a brain ... and -who can only use them to suffer ... and to -hate! What is my life? What is my future? -My life is the perception of my poverty, -ceaselessly aggravated by the luxury which surrounds -me! My future will be to regret, some day, to -weep bitterly for even this life—this slave's life, -odious as it is! You talk of my youth, my wit, -and my talents. Would that I had never had the -capacity for anything higher than breaking stones -on the road! I should have been happier. My -talents! I shall have passed the best part of my -life in decking another woman with them, and -giving her thereby additional beauty, power—and -insolence. And when my best blood has passed -into this doll's veins, she will go off on the arm of -a happy husband to take her part in the best -pleasures of life, while, old, solitary, and deserted, -I shall go to die in some hole with the pension of -a lady's maid. What have I done to deserve this -fate, tell me that? Why should it be mine rather -than that of those other women? Because I am -not as good as they are? If I am bad, it is -because suffering has envenomed me, because -injustice has blackened my soul. I was born with a -disposition as great as theirs—perhaps greater—to -be good and loving and charitable. My God! benefits -cost little when you're rich, and kindness -is easy when you're happy. If I were in their -place, and they in mine, they would hate me -... as I hate them.... We do not love our masters. -Ah! this is horrible—what I am saying to you. -I know it, and this is the crowning bitterness—I -feel my own degradation, I blush for it ... and -increase it. Alas! now you despise me more -than ever ... you, whom I could have loved so -much, if you would have let me; you, who could -have given me all that I have lost hope, peace, -goodness, self-respect! Ah! there was a moment -when I believed that I was saved ... when for -the first time I dreamed of happiness, of hope, of -pride! ... Poor wretch! ..."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She had seized both my hands; her head fell -on them, and she wept wildly under her long, -flowing curls.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"My dear child," I said to her, "I know better -than any one the trials and humiliations of -your position, but let me tell you that you increase -them greatly by nourishing the sentiments you -have just expressed. They are hideous, and you -will end by deserving all the hardships of your lot. -But, after all, your imagination strangely -exaggerates those hardships. As for the present, -whatever you may say, you are treated like a friend -here; as to the future, I see nothing to prevent -you from leaving this house on the arm of a -happy husband, too. For my part, I shall be -grateful for your affection throughout my life; -but—I will tell you once more, and finish with the -subject forever—I have duties that bind me, and -I do not wish, nor am I able, to marry."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She looked at me suddenly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Not even Marguerite?" she said.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I do not see that it is necessary to introduce -Mlle. Marguerite's name."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>With one hand she threw back the hair which -fell over her face, and the other she held out at -me with a menacing gesture.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You love her!" she said in a hoarse voice. -"No, you love her money, but you shall not -have it!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Mademoiselle Hélouin!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ah!" she continued, "you must be a child -indeed if you think you can deceive a woman who -was fool enough to love you. I see through your -manoeuvres. Besides, I know who you are. I -was not far off when Mlle. de Porhoët conveyed -your well-calculated confidence to Mme. Laroque——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"So you listen at doors, mademoiselle!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I care nothing for your insults.... Besides, -I shall avenge myself, and soon, too.... Oh, -there's no doubt you're very clever, M. de -Chamcey! I congratulate you. Wonderfully well -have you played your little part of disinterestedness -and reserve, as your friend Laubépin advised -you to do when he sent you here. He knew the -person you would have to deal with. He knew -well enough this girl's absurd mania. And you -think you've already got your prey, don't you? -Adorable millions, aren't they? There are queer -stories about their origin. But, at any rate, they -will serve very well to furbish up your marquisate, -and regild your escutcheon. Well, from this -moment you can give up that idea ... for I swear -you shall not keep your mask a day longer, and -this hand shall tear it from you."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Mlle. Hélouin, it is quite time we brought -this scene to an end; we are verging on -melodrama. You have given me an opportunity -of forestalling you in tale-bearing and calumniation; -but you are perfectly safe. I give you -my word of honour that I shall not use those -weapons. And, mademoiselle, I am your humble -servant."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>I left the unhappy girl with a feeling of -mingled disgust and pity. I have always thought -that the highest organization must, from its very -nature, be galled and warped in a situation as -equivocal and humiliating as that which -Mlle. Hélouin occupies here. But I was not prepared -for the abyss of venom that had just opened -under my eyes. Most assuredly—when one -thinks the matter out—one can scarcely conceive -a situation which subjects a human soul to more -hateful temptations, or is better calculated to -develop and sharpen envy, to arouse the protests -of pride, and to exasperate feminine vanity and -jealousy. Most of the unhappy girls who are -driven to this occupation only escape the troubles -Mlle. Hélouin had not been able to guard herself -against, either by the moderation of their feeling, -or, by the grace of God, through the firmness -of their principles. Sometimes I had thought -that our misfortunes might make it necessary for -my sister to go as governess into some rich family. -I swore then that whatever future might be -reserved for us, I would rather share the hardest -life in the poorest garret with Hélène than let -her sit at the poisoned banquets of an opulent -and hateful servitude.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Though I had firmly resolved to leave the -field free to Mlle. Hélouin, and on no account to -engage personally in the recriminations of a -degrading contest, I could not regard without -misgiving the probable consequences of the treacherous -war just declared against me. Evidently, I -was threatened where I was most sensitive—in my -love and in my honour. Mistress of the secret -of my heart, mingling truth and falsehood with -the skilful perfidy of her sex, Mlle. Hélouin -might easily show my conduct in an unfavourable -light, turn all the precautions and scruples of my -delicacy against me, and give my simplest actions -the appearance of deliberate intrigue. I could -not foresee the form her malevolence would take, -but I could depend upon her to choose the most -effectual methods. Better than any one, she -knew the weak places in the imaginations she -wished to impress. Over Mlle. Marguerite and -her mother she had the advantage which dissimulation -usually has over frankness, and cunning -over simplicity. They trusted her with the trust -that is born of long use and daily association. -Her masters, as she called them, were not likely -to suspect that under the pretty brightness and -obsequious consideration which she assumed with -such consummate art she concealed a frenzy of -pride and ingratitude which was eating her -miserable heart away. It was too probable that a hand -so sure and skilful would pour its poison with -complete success into hearts thus prepared. It -was true Mlle. Hélouin might be afraid that by -yielding to her resentment she would thrust -Mlle. Marguerite's hand into that of M. de Bévallan, -and hasten a marriage which would be the ruin -of her own ambition; but I knew that the woman -who hates does not calculate, and risks everything. -So I awaited from her the swiftest and blindest -of vengeance, and I was right.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>In painful anxiety I passed the hours that -should have been given to sweeter thoughts. All -that a proud spirit finds most galling in dependence, -the suspicion hardest for a loyal conscience, -the scorn most bitter to a loving heart, I endured -in anticipation. Never in my worst hours had -adversity offered me a cup so full. However, I -tried to work as usual. About five o'clock I went -to the château. The ladies had returned during -the afternoon. In the drawing-room I found -Mlle. Marguerite, Mme. Aubry, M. de Bévallan, and -two or three casual guests. Mlle. Marguerite did -not appear to be aware of my presence, but -continued to talk to M. de Bévallan in a more -animated style than usual. They were discussing an -impromptu dance, which was to take place the -same evening at a neighbouring château. She was -going with her mother, and urged M. de Bévallan -to accompany them. He excused himself on the -ground that he had left his house that morning -before receiving the invitation, and that his -costume was inadmissible. With an eager and -affectionate coquetry which evidently surprised even -him, Mlle. Marguerite persisted, saying that -there was still time to go back and dress and -return to fetch them. She promised that a nice -little dinner should be kept for him. M. de -Bévallan said that his carriage horses were not -available, and that he could not ride back in evening -dress.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Very well," replied Mlle. Marguerite; "they -shall drive you over in the dog-cart."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>At the same moment she turned towards me -for the first time, with a look in which I saw the -thunderbolt that was about to fall.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"M. Odiot," she said in a sharp, imperious -tone, "go and tell them to put the horse in."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>This imperious order was so little in harmony -with such as I was accustomed to receive here, or -such as I could be expected to tolerate, that the -attention and curiosity of the most indifferent were -excited.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>There was an awkward silence. M. de Bévallan -glanced in surprise at Mlle. Marguerite; then -he looked at me, and got up with a very serious -air. If they thought I should give way to some -mad prompting of anger they were mistaken. It -was true that the insulting words which had just -fallen on me from a mouth so beautiful, so -beloved, and so cruel, had struck the icy coldness of -death to the very depths of my being. A blade -of steel piercing my heart could hardly have caused -me keener pain. But never had I been calmer. -The bell which Mme. Laroque uses to summon -her servants stood on a table within my reach. I -touched it with my finger. A man-servant entered -almost directly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I think," I said to him, "Mlle. Marguerite -has some orders to give you."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>At this speech, which she had heard in amazement, -Marguerite shook her head quickly, and dismissed -the man. I longed to get out of this -room, where I seemed to be choking, but, in view -of M. de Bévallan's provoking manner, I could -not withdraw.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Upon my word," he murmured, "there's -something very strange about all this."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>I took no notice of him. Mlle. Marguerite -said something to him under her breath.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I obey, mademoiselle," he said in a louder -tone; "but you will allow me to express my -sincere regret that I have not the right to interpose -here."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>I rose immediately.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"M. de Bévallan," I said, standing within a -pace or two of him, "that regret is quite superfluous, -for though I have not thought fit to obey -Mlle. Laroque's orders, I am entirely at yours -... and I shall expect to receive them."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Very good, very good, sir; nothing could be -better," replied M. de Bévallan, waving his hand -airily to reassure the ladies.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>We bowed to one another and I went out. I -dined alone in my tower. Poor Alain waited on -me as usual. No doubt he had heard of what -had occurred, for he kept looking at me mournfully, -sighed often and deeply, and, contrary to his -custom, preserved a gloomy silence, only breaking -it to reply, in answer to my question, that the -ladies had decided not to go to the ball.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>After a hurried meal, I put my papers in order -and wrote a few words to M. Laubépin. In view -of a possible contingency I recommended Hélène -to his care. The thought that I might leave her -unprotected and friendless nearly broke my heart, -without in the least affecting my immovable -principles. I may deceive myself, but I have always -thought that honour in our modern life is -paramount in the hierarchy of duties. It takes the -place of so many virtues which have nearly faded -from our consciences, of so many dormant beliefs; -it plays such a tutelary part in the present state of -society, that I would never consent to weaken its -claims, or lessen its obligations. In its indefinite -character, there is something superior to law -and morality: one does not reason about it; one -feels it. It is a religion. If we have no longer -the folly of the Cross, let us keep the folly of -Honour! Moreover, no sentiment has ever taken -such deep root in the human soul without the -sanction of reason. It is better that a girl or a -wife should be alone in the world, than that she -should be protected by a dishonoured brother or -husband.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Each moment I expected a letter from M. de -Bévallan. I was getting ready to go to the -collector of taxes in the town, a young officer who -had been wounded in the Crimea, and ask him to -be my second, when some one knocked at my -door. M. de Bévallan himself came in. Apart -from a slight shade of embarrassment, his face -expressed nothing but a frank and joyful kindliness.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"M. Odiot," he said, as I looked at him in -surprise, "this is rather an unusual step, but, -thank Heaven, my service-records place my -courage beyond suspicion. On the other hand, I have -such good reason for feeling happy to-night that I -have no room for rancour or enmity. Lastly, I -am obeying orders which will now be more sacred -to me than ever. In short, I come to offer you -my hand."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>I bowed gravely and took his hand.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Now," he went on as he sat down, "I can -execute my commission comfortably. A little -while ago Mlle. Marguerite, in a thoughtless -moment, gave you some instructions which most -assuredly did not come within your province. -Very properly, your susceptibility was aroused, -we quite recognise that, and now the ladies -charge me to beg that you will accept their -regrets. They would be in despair if the -misconception of a moment could deprive them of your -good offices, which they value extremely, and put -an end to relations which they esteem most highly. -Speaking for myself, I have this evening acquired -the right to add my entreaties to those of the -ladies. Something I have long desired has been -granted me, and I shall be personally indebted -to you if you will prevent the happy memories -of this day from being marred by a separation -which would be at once disadvantageous and -painful to the family into which I shall shortly -enter."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"M. de Bévallan," I said, "I fully recognise -and appreciate all that you have said on behalf of -the ladies, as well as on your own account. You -will excuse me from giving a final answer -immediately. This is a matter which requires more -judicial consideration than I can give it at present.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"At least," said M. de Bévallan, "you will let -me take back a hopeful report. Come, M. Odiot, -since we have the opportunity, let us break -through the barrier of ice that has kept us apart -till now. As far as I am concerned, I am quite -willing. In the first place, Mme. Laroque, -without revealing a secret that does not belong to her, -has given me to understand that under the kind -of mystery with which you surround yourself, -there are circumstances which reflect the highest -credit on you. And, besides, I have a private -reason for being grateful to you. I know that -you have lately been consulted in reference to -my intentions towards Mlle. Laroque, and that -I have cause to congratulate myself on your -opinion."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"My dear sir, I do not think I deserve——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, I know!" he continued, laughing. "You -didn't praise me up to the skies, but, at all events, -you did me no harm. And I admit that you -showed real insight. You said that though -Mlle. Marguerite might not be absolutely happy with me, -she would not be unhappy. Well, the prophet -Daniel could not have spoken better. The truth -is, the dear child will never be absolutely happy -with any one, because she will not find in the -whole world a husband who will talk poetry to -her from morning to night.... They're not to -be had. I am no more capable of it than any one -else, I own; but—as you were good enough to -say—I am an honourable man. And really, when -we know one another better, you will be -convinced of it. I am not a brute; I am a good -fellow. God knows I have faults ... one -especially: I am fond of pretty women.... I am, -I can't deny it. But what does it matter? It -shows that one has a good heart. Besides, here I -am in port ... and I am delighted, because—between -ourselves—I was getting into a bit of a -mess. In short, I mean only to think about my -wife and children in future. So, like you, I -believe Marguerite will be perfectly happy—that -is to say, as far as she could be in this world with -ideas like hers. For, after all, I shall be good to -her; I shall refuse her nothing, and I shall do -even more than she desires. But if she asks me -for the moon and the stars, I can't go and fetch -them to please her ... that's not possible.... -And now, my dear friend, your hand once more."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>I gave it him. He got up.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Good! I hope that you will stay with us -now.... Come, let me see that a brighter -face! We will make your life as pleasant as -possible, but you'll have to help us a bit, you know. -You cultivate your sadness, I fancy. You live, if -I may say so, too much like an owl. You're a -kind of Spaniard such as one rarely sees. You -must drop that sort of thing. You are young -and good-looking, you have wit and talents; -make the best of those qualities. Listen. Why -not try a flirtation with little Hélouin.... It -would amuse you. She is very charming, and she -would suit you. But, deuce take me! I am -rather forgetting my promotion to high -dignities! ... And now, good-bye, Maxime, till to-morrow, -isn't it?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Till to-morrow, certainly."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>And this honest gentleman—who is the sort -of Spaniard one often sees!—left me to my reflections.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst right"><em class="italics">October 1st</em><span>.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>A strange thing has happened. Though the -results are not, so far, very satisfactory, they have -done me good. The blow I had received had left -me numb with grief. This at least makes me feel -that I am alive, and for the first time for three long -weeks I have had the courage to open this book -and take up my pen. Every satisfaction having -been given to me, I thought there was no longer -any reason for leaving, at least suddenly, a -position and advantages which, after all, I need, and -could not easily replace. The mere prospect -of the personal sufferings I had to face, which, -moreover, were the result of my own weakness, -could not entitle me to shirk duties which -involved other interests than my own. And more; -I did not intend that Mlle. Marguerite should -interpret my sudden flight as the result of pique at -the loss of a good match. I made it a point of -honour to show her an unruffled front up to the -altar itself. As for my heart—that she could not -see. So I contented myself with informing -M. Laubépin that certain things incident to my -situation might at any moment become unbearable, -and that I eagerly desired some less lucrative but -more independent occupation.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The next day I appeared at the château, where -M. de Bévallan received me cordially. I greeted -the ladies with all the self-possession I could -command. There was, of course, no explanation. -Mme. Laroque seemed moved and thoughtful; -Mlle. Marguerite was a little highly strung still, -but polite. As for Mlle. Hélouin, she was very -pale, and kept her eyes fixed on her work. The -poor girl could not have been very much delighted -with the final result of her diplomacy. She -endeavoured once or twice to dart a look of scorn -and menace at M. de Bévallan; but though this -stormy atmosphere might have troubled a -neophyte, M. de Bévallan breathed, moved, and -fluttered about in it entirely at his ease. His regal -self-possession evidently irritated Mlle. Hélouin, -but it quelled her at the same time. I am sure, -however, that she would have played him the -same sort of trick she had played me the day -before, and with far more excuse, if she had not been -afraid of ruining herself as well as her accomplice. -But it was most likely that if she yielded to her -jealous rage, and admitted her ingratitude and -duplicity, she would ruin herself only, and she was -quite clever enough to see this. In fact, M. de -Bévallan was not the kind of man to have run any -risks with her, without having provided himself -with some very effective weapon which he would -use with pitiless indifference. Of course, -Mlle. Hélouin might tell herself that the night before -they had believed her when she made other false -accusations, but she knew that the falsehood -which flatters or wounds is much more readily -believed than mere general truth. So she suffered -in silence, not, I suppose, without feeling keenly -that the sword of treachery sometimes turns -against the person who makes use of it. During -this day and those which followed I had to bear a -kind of torture I had foreseen, though without -realizing how painful it would be. The marriage -was fixed for a month later. All the preparations -had to be made at once and in great haste. -Regularly each morning came one of Mme. Provost's -bouquets. Laces, dresses, jewels poured in and -were exhibited every evening to interested and -envious ladies. I had to give my opinion and my -advice on everything. Mlle. Marguerite begged -for them with almost cruel persistence. I -responded as graciously as I could, and then -returned to my tower and took from a secret -drawer the tattered handkerchief I had won at -the risk of my life, and I dried my tears with it. -Weakness again! But what would you have? -I love her. Treachery, enmity, hopeless -misunderstandings, her pride and mine, separate us -forever! So let it be, but nothing can prevent me -from living and dying with my heart full of her.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>As for M. de Bévallan, I did not hate him; he -was not worthy of it. He is a vulgar but harmless -soul. Thank God! I could receive the overtures -of his shallow friendliness without hypocrisy, and -put my hand tranquilly in his. But if he was too -insignificant for my resentment, that did not lessen -the deep and lacerating agony with which I -recognised his unworthiness of the rare creature he -would soon possess—and never know. I cannot, -and I dare not, describe the flood of bitter -thoughts, of nameless sensations which have been -aroused in me at the thought of this odious -</span><em class="italics">mésalliance</em><span>, and have not yet subsided. Love, real -true love, has something sacred in it, which gives -an almost superhuman character to its pain as to -its joy.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>To the man who loves her, a woman has a sort -of divinity of which no other man knows the -secret, which belongs only to her lover, and to see -even the threshold of this mystery profaned by -another gives us a strange and indescribable shock—a -horror, as of sacrilege. It is not merely that -a precious possession is taken from you; it is an -altar polluted, a mystery violated, a god defiled! -This is jealousy. At least, it is mine. In all -sincerity it seemed to me that in the whole world I -only had eyes to see, intelligence to understand, -and a heart to worship in its full perfection the -beauty of this angel. With any other she would -be cast away, and lost; body and soul, she was -destined for me from all eternity. So vast was my -pride! I expiated it with suffering as immeasurable.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Nevertheless, some mocking demon whispered -that in all probability Marguerite would find more -peace and real happiness in the kindly friendship -of a judicious husband, than she would have -enjoyed in the poetic passion of a romantic lover. -Is it true? Is it possible? I do not believe it. -She will have peace! Granted. But peace, after -all, is not the best thing in life, nor the highest -kind of happiness. If insensibility and a petrified -heart sufficed to make us happy, too many people -who do not deserve it would be happy. By dint -of reasoning and calculation we come to blaspheme -against God, and to degrade his work. God -gives peace to the dead; to the living he gives -passion! Yes, in addition to the vulgar interests -of daily life, which I am not so foolish as to -expect to set aside, a certain poetry is permitted, -nay, enjoined. That is the heritage of the -immortal soul. And this soul must feel, and -sometimes reveal itself, whether by visions that -transcend the real, by aspirations that out-soar the -possible, by storms, or by tears. Yes, there is -suffering which is better than happiness, or, rather, -which is itself happiness—that of a living -creature who knows all the agonies of the heart, and -all the illusions of the mind, and who accepts -these noble torments with an equable mind and -a fraternal heart. That is the romance which -every one who claims to be a man, and to justify -that claim, may, and indeed is bound to put into -his life.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>And, after all, this boasted peace will not be -hers. The marriage of two stolid hearts, of two -frozen imaginations, may produce the calm of -lifelessness. I can believe that, but the union of -life with death cannot be endured without a -horrible oppression and ceaseless anguish.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>In the midst of these personal miseries, which -increased each day in intensity, my only refuge -was my poor old friend, Mlle. de Porhoët. She -did not know, or pretended not to know, the -state of my heart; but with her remote and -perhaps involuntary allusions she touched my -bleeding wounds with a woman's light and delicate -hand. And this soul, the living symbol of sacrifice -and resignation, which seemed already to float -above our earth, had a detachment, a calmness, -and a gentle firmness, which seemed to descend -on me. I came to understand her innocent -delusion, and to share it with something of the same -simplicity. Bent over the album, I wandered with -her for hours through the cloisters of her -cathedral, and breathed for a while the vague perfumes -of an ideal serenity.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>I further found at the old lady's house another -kind of distraction. Habit gives an interest to -every kind of work. To prevent Mlle. de Porhoët -from suspecting the final loss of her case, I -regularly continued the exploration of the family -archives. Among the confused mass I occasionally -came across traditions, legends, and traces of -old-world customs which awakened my curiosity -and carried back my thoughts to far-off days -remote from the crushing reality of life. My -perseverance maintained Mlle. de Porhoët in her -illusions, and she was grateful to me beyond my -deserts. For I had come to take an interest in -this work—-now practically useless—which repaid -me for all my trouble, and gave me a wholesome -distraction from my grief.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>As the fateful day approached, Mlle. Marguerite -lost the feverish vivacity which had -seemed to inspire her since the date of the -marriage had been fixed, and relapsed at times into -the fits of indolence and sombre reverie formerly -habitual to her. Once or twice I surprised her -watching me in wondering perplexity. Mme. Laroque, -too, often looked at me with an anxious -and hesitating air, as if she wished and yet -feared to discuss some painful subject with me. -The day before yesterday I found myself by -chance alone with her in the </span><em class="italics">salon</em><span>, which -Mlle. Hélouin had just left to give some order. The -trivial conversation in which we had been -engaged ceased suddenly, as by common consent. -After a short silence, Mme. Laroque said, in a -voice full of emotion:</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"M. Odiot, you are not wise in your choice -of confidants."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Confidants, madame? I do not follow you. -Except Mlle. de Porhoët, I have had no confidant -in this place."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Alas!" she replied, "I wish to believe -you ... I </span><em class="italics">do</em><span> believe you ... but that is not -enough——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>At this moment Mlle. Hélouin came in, and -no more could be said.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The day after—yesterday—I had ridden over -in the morning to superintend some wood-cutting -in the neighbourhood. I was returning to the -château about four in the afternoon, when, at a -sharp turn of the road, I found myself face to -face with Mlle. Marguerite. She was alone. I -prepared to pass her with a bow, but she stopped -her horse.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What a fine autumn day!" she said.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, mademoiselle. You are going for a ride?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"As you see. I am making the best of my -moments of independence, and, in fact, I -have been rather abusing my liberty, for I am -somewhat tired of solitude. But Alain is wanted -at the house.... Poor Mervyn is lame.... -You would not care to take his place?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"With pleasure. Where are you going?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well ... I thought of riding as far as the -tower of Elven."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>With her whip she indicated the misty summit -of a hill which rose on the right of the road.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I think," she went on, "you've never made -that pilgrimage?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I have not. I have often meant to, but -until now I have always put it off. I don't -know why."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well, that is fortunate; but it is getting -late; we must make haste, if you don't mind."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>I turned my horse and we set off at a gallop.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>As we rode along, I tried to account for this -unexpected fancy which had an air of premeditation. -I imagined that time and reflection had -weakened the first impression that calumnies had -made on Mlle. Marguerite. Apparently, she had -conceived some doubts of Mlle. Hélouin's -veracity, and had seized an opportunity to make, in -an indirect way, a reparation which might be due -to me. My mind full of such preoccupations, I -gave little thought to the particular object of this -strange ride. Still, I had often heard the tower -of Elven described as one of the most interesting -ruins of the country. I had never gone along -either of the roads—from Rennes or from -Josselin—which lead to the sea, without looking -longingly at the confused mass rearing up -suddenly among the distant heaths like some huge -stone on end. But I had had neither time nor -opportunity to examine it.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Slackening our pace, we passed through the -village of Elven, which preserves to a remarkable -extent the character of a mediæval hamlet. The -form of the low, dark houses has not changed for -five or six centuries. You think you are dreaming, -when, looking into the big arched bays which -serve as windows, you see the groups of mild-eyed -women in sculpturesque costume plying their -distaffs in the shade, and talking in low tones an -unknown tongue. These gray spectral figures seem -to have just left their tombs to repeat some -scene of a bygone age, of which you are the -only witness. It gives a sense of oppression. -The sluggish life that stirs around you in the -single street of the village has the same stamp -of archaic strangeness transmitted from a -vanished world.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>A little way from Elven we took a cross-road -that brought us to the top of a bare hillock. -Thence, though still some distance off, we could -plainly see the feudal colossus crowning a wooded -height in front of us. The </span><em class="italics">lande</em><span> we were on -sloped steeply to some marshy meadows inclosed -by thickets.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>We descended the farther side and soon -entered the woods. Then we struck a narrow -causeway, the rugged pavement of which must once -have rung to the hoofs of mail-clad horses. For -some time I had lost sight of the tower of Elven, -and could not even guess where it was, when all -at once it stood out like an apparition from among -the foliage a few paces in front of us. The tower -is not a ruin; it preserves its original height of -more than a hundred feet, and the irregular -courses of granite which make up its splendid -octagonal mass give it the appearance of a huge -block cut out but yesterday by some skilful chisel. -It would be difficult to imagine anything more -proud, sombre, and imposing than this old donjon, -impassible to the course of ages, and lost in the -depths of the forest. Full-grown trees have -sprung up in the deep moats which surround it, -and their tops scarcely touch the openings of the -lowest windows. This gigantic vegetation, which -entirely conceals the base of the edifice, completes -its air of fantastic mystery. In this solitude, -among these forests, before this mass of weird -architecture, which seems to start up suddenly out -of the earth, one thinks involuntarily of those -enchanted castles in which beautiful princesses -slept for centuries awaiting a deliverer.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"So far," said Mlle. Marguerite, to whom I -had endeavoured to convey these impressions, -"this is all I have seen of it, but if you want to -wake the princess, we can go in. I believe there is -always somewhere near a shepherd or shepherdess -who has the key. Let us tie up the horses and -search, you for the shepherd, and I for the -shepherdess."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>We put the horses into a small inclosure near -and separated for a little while, but found neither -shepherd nor shepherdess. Of course this -increased our desire to visit the tower. Crossing -a bridge over the moat, we found to our great -surprise that the heavy door was not closed. We -pushed it and entered a dark and narrow space -choked with rubbish, which may have been the -guard-room. We passed thence into a large, -almost circular hall, where an escutcheon in the -chimneypiece still displayed the bezants of a -crusader. A large window faced us, divided by -the symbolic cross clearly carved in stone. It -lighted all the lower part of the room, leaving the -vaulted and ruined ceiling in shadow. At the -sound of our steps a flock of birds whirled off, -sending the dust of ages on to our heads.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>By standing on the granite benches, which ran -like steps along the side of the walls, in the -embrasure of the window, we could see the moat -outside and the ruined parts of the fortress. But -as we came in we had noticed a staircase cut out -of the solid wall, and we were childishly eager -to extend our discoveries. We began the ascent, -I leading, and Mlle. Marguerite following bravely, -and managing her long skirts as best she could. -The view from the platform at the top is vast -and exquisite. The soft hues of twilight tinged -the ocean of half-golden autumnal foliage, the -gloomy marshes, the fresh pastures, and the -distant horizons of intersecting slopes, which mingled -and succeeded each other in endless perspective. -Gazing on this gracious landscape, in its infinite -melancholy, the peace of solitude, the silence of -evening, the poetry of ancient days fell like some -potent spell upon our hearts and spirits. This -hour of common contemplation and emotions of -purest, deepest pleasure, no doubt the last I should -spend with her, I entered into with an almost -painful violence of enjoyment. I do not know -what Marguerite was feeling; she had sat down -on the ledge of the parapet, and was gazing into -the distance in silence.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>I cannot say how many moments passed in -this way. When the mists gathered in the lower -meadows, and the distant landscape began to fade -into the growing darkness, Marguerite rose.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Come," she said in a low voice, as if the -curtain had fallen on some beautiful spectacle; -"come; it's over."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She began to descend the stairs, and I followed her.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>But when we tried to get out of the donjon, to -our great surprise we found the door closed. Most -likely the doorkeeper, not knowing that we were -there, had locked it while we were on the -platform. At first this amused us. The tower was -really an enchanted tower. I made some vigorous -efforts to break the spell, but the huge bolt -of the old lock was firmly fixed in its granite -socket, and I had to give up all hope of moving -it. I attacked the door itself, but the massive -hinges and the oak panels studded with iron -stolidly resisted all my efforts. Some stone -mullions, which I found among the rubbish and -hurled against the door, only shook the vault -and brought some fragments from it to our feet. -Mlle. Marguerite at last made me give up a task -that was hopeless, and not without danger. I then -ran to the window and shouted, but no one -replied. For ten minutes I continued shouting, and -to no purpose. We took advantage of the last -rays of light to explore the interior of the -donjon very carefully. But the door, which was as -good as walled up for us, and the large window, -thirty feet above the moat, were the only exits -we could discover.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Meanwhile, night had fallen on the fields, and -the shadows deepened in the old tower. The -moonbeams shone in through the window, streaking -the steps with oblique white lines. Mlle. Marguerite's -gaiety had gradually died away, and she -had even ceased to answer the more or less -probable conjectures with which I still tried to calm -her apprehensions. While she kept silent and -immovable in the shadow, I sat in the full light -on the step nearest the window, still shouting at -intervals for help; but, to speak the truth, the -more uncertain the success of my attempts -became, the more I was conscious of a feeling of -irresistible joyfulness. For suddenly I saw the -eternal and impossible dream of lovers realized -for me; I was shut in the heart of a desert and -in the most complete solitude with the woman I -loved. For long hours there would be but she -and I in the world, but her life and mine. I -thought of all the sweet evidences of protection -and of tender respect it would be my right and -my duty to show her. I imagined her fears at -rest, her confidence restored, finally her slumbers -guarded by me. I told myself, in rapture, that -this auspicious night, though it could not give -me her love, would at least insure me her -unalterable respect.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>As I yielded, with the egotism of passion, to -my secret ecstasy, some trace of which, perhaps, -expressed itself in my face, I was suddenly -awakened by these words, spoken in a dull tone, and -with affected calm:</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"M. le Marquis de Champcey, have there been -many cowards in your family before you?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>I rose, and immediately fell back again on the -stone bench, looking stupidly into the darkness, -where I saw dimly the ghostly figure of the -young girl. Only one idea occurred to me—a -terrible idea—that grief and fear had affected her -reason—that she was going mad.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Marguerite!" I cried, without knowing that -I spoke.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The word no doubt put a climax to her irritation.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"My God, this is hateful!" she continued. -"It is cowardly. I repeat, it is cowardly."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>I began to see the truth. I descended one of -the steps.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What is the matter?" I said coldly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She replied with abrupt vehemence: "You -paid that man or child, whichever it was, to shut us -up in this wretched tower. To-morrow I shall be -ruined ... my reputation lost ... then I shall -have perforce to belong to you. That was your -calculation, wasn't it? But, I warn you, it will -not serve you any better than the rest. You still -know me very little if you think I would not -prefer dishonour, the convent, death, anything, to -the vileness of yielding my hand—my life—to -yours. And suppose this infamous trick had -succeeded, suppose I had been weak enough—which -of a surety I never shall be—to yield myself, -and what you covet more, my fortune to -you, what kind of a man can you be? What -mud are you made of, to desire wealth and a -wife by such means? Ah! you may thank me -for not yielding to your wishes. They are -imprudent, believe me; for if ever shame and -public ridicule drove me to your arms, I have such -a contempt for you that I would break your -heart. Yes, were it as hard and cold as these -stones, I would press blood and tears from it!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Mademoiselle," I said, with all the calm I -could command, "I beg you to return to yourself, -to your senses. On my honour I assure you -that you do me injustice. Think for a moment. -Your suspicions are quite absurd. In no possible -way could I have accomplished the treachery of -which you accuse me; and even if I could have -done so, when have I ever given you the right to -think me capable of it?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Everything I know of you gives me this -right!" she cried, lashing the air with her whip. -"I will tell you once for all what has been in my -thoughts for a long time. Why did you come -into our house under a false name, in a false -character? My mother and I were happy and -at peace. You have brought trouble, anxiety, -and sorrow upon us. To attain your object, to -restore your fallen fortunes, you usurped our -confidence ... you destroyed our peace ... you -have played with our purest, deepest, and holiest -feelings ... you have bruised and shattered our -hearts without pity. That is what you have done -or tried to do, it doesn't matter which. Well, I -am utterly weary of, utterly disgusted with, all -this. I tell you plainly. And when now you -offer to pledge your honour as a gentleman, the -honour that has already allowed you to do so -many unworthy things, certainly I have the right -not to believe in it—I do not believe in it."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>I lost all control of myself. I seized her -hands in a transport of violence which daunted -her. "Marguerite, my poor child, listen. I love -you, it is true, and a love more passionate, more -disinterested, more holy, never possessed the heart -of man. But you—you love me too! Unhappy -girl, you love me and you are killing me. You -talk of a bruised and a broken heart. What have -you done to mine? But it is yours. I give it up -to you. As for my honour, I keep it ... it is -intact, and before long I shall compel you to -acknowledge this. And on that honour I swear -that if I die, you will weep for me; that if I -live—worshipped though you are—never, never, -were you on your knees before me, would I -marry you unless you were as poor as I, or I as -rich as you. And now pray! pray! Ask God -for a miracle; it is time!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Then I pushed her roughly far from the -embrasure, and sprang on to the highest step. A -desperate idea had come to me. I carried it -out with the precipitation of positive madness. -As I have said, the tops of the beeches and -oaks that grew in the moat were on the level -of the window. With my bent whip I drew the -ends of the nearest branches to me, seized them -at random, and let myself drop into the void. I -heard my name—"Maxime!"—uttered with a wild -cry above my head. The branches I held bent -their full length towards the abyss; there was -an ominous crack, and they broke under my -weight. I fell heavily on the ground. The -muddy nature of the soil must have deadened -the shock, for I felt that I was alive, though a -good deal hurt. One of my arms had struck the -stonework of the moat, and I was in such pain -that I fainted. Marguerite's despairing voice -recalled me to myself.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Maxime! Maxime!" she cried, "for pity's -sake, for God's sake, speak to me! Forgive me!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>I got up and saw her in the bay of the window, -standing in an aureole of pale light, her head -bare, her hair loose, her hands grasping the bar of -the cross, while her glowing eyes searched the -dark abyss.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Don't be alarmed," I said; "I'm not hurt. -Only be patient for an hour or two. Give me -time to get to the château—that is the best place -to go. You may be sure I shall keep your secret -and save your honour, as I have just saved my -own."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>I scrambled painfully out of the moat and -went to look for my horse. I used my handkerchief -as a sling for my left arm, which was quite -disabled and gave me great pain. The night was -clear and I found the way easily. An hour later -I was at the château. They told me that -Dr. Desmarets was in the drawing-room. I hurried -there and found him and a dozen others, all -looking anxious and alarmed.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Doctor," I said lightly as I came in, "my -horse shied at his own shadow and came down in -the road. I think my left arm is put out. Will -you see?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Eh, what?—put out?" said M. Desmarets, -after he had removed the handkerchief. "Your -arm's broken, my poor boy."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Mme. Laroque started up with a little scream -and came towards me.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It seems we are to have an evening of -misfortunes," she said.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What else has happened?" I asked, as if surprised.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I am afraid my daughter must have had an -accident. She went out on horseback about -three; it is now eight, and she has not returned!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Mlle. Marguerite? Why, I met her..."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Met her? When? Where? Forgive a -mother's selfishness, M. Odiot."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, I met her on the road, about five. She -told me she thought of going as far as the tower -of Elven."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"The tower of Elven! She has lost her way -in the woods. We must send at once and search."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>M. de Bévallan ordered horses to be got ready -immediately. At first I pretended that I meant -to be of the party, but Mme. Laroque and the -doctor would not hear of it. Without much -trouble I was persuaded to take to my bed, which, -truth to tell, I needed badly. M. Desmarets -attended to my arm, and then drove away with -Mme. Laroque, who was to await the result of -the search inaugurated by M. de Bévallan at the -village of Elven.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>About ten o'clock Alain came to tell me that -Mlle. Marguerite had been found. He related -the story of her imprisonment without omitting -any details, except, of course, those known only -to me and the young girl. The news was soon -confirmed by the doctor, and afterwards by -Mme. Laroque, and I had the satisfaction of seeing that -no one suspected what had actually occurred.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>I passed the night in repeating the dangerous -leap from the window of the donjon with all the -grotesque complications of fever and delirium. I -did not get used to it. Every moment the -sensation of falling through emptiness caught me by -the throat, and I awoke breathless. At last day -came, and I got calm. At eight o'clock Mlle. de -Porhoët came in and took her place at my bedside -with her knitting in her hand. She did the -honours of my room to the visitors who followed one -another throughout the day. Mme. Laroque was -the first after my old friend. As she held my -hand and pressed it earnestly I saw tears on her -face. Has her daughter confided in her?</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Mlle. de Porhoët told me that old M. Laroque -had been confined to his bed since yesterday. -He had a slight attack of paralysis. To-day -he cannot speak, and they are much alarmed -about him. The marriage is to be hastened. -M. Laubépin has been sent for from Paris; he -is expected to-morrow, and the contract will be -signed the following day, under his direction.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>I have been able to sit up for some hours this -evening, but, according to M. Desmarets, I should -not have written while the fever was on me, and -I am a great idiot.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst right"><em class="italics">October 3d</em><span>.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Really it seems as if some malign power were -hard at work devising the strangest and most -cruel tests for my conscience and heart alternately.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>M. Laubépin not having arrived this morning, -Mme. Laroque has asked me to give her some -of the information necessary for drawing up the -general conditions of the contract, which is to be -signed to-morrow. As I am obliged to keep my -room for some days yet, I asked Mme. Laroque -to send me the title-deeds and private documents -in her father-in-law's possession, as they were -indispensable for the clearing up of the points she -had mentioned to me.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Very soon they brought me two or three -drawers full of papers which they had taken out of -M. Laroque's cabinet while he was asleep, for the -old gentleman would never let any one touch his -secret archives. On the first paper that I took -up I saw my family name repeated several times. -My curiosity was irresistibly aroused. Here is -the literal text of the document:</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst"><span>To MY CHILDREN</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The name I bequeath to you, and which I -have honoured, is not mine. My father's name -was Savage. He was overseer of a large -plantation in the Island of St. Lucia (then French), -which belonged to a rich and noble family of -Dauphiné—the Champcey d'Hauterives. In 1793 -my father died, and, though I was quite young, I -succeeded to the trust the Champceys reposed in -him. Towards the end of that disastrous year -the French Antilles were taken by the English or -given up to them by the rebel colonists. The -Marquis of Champcey d'Hauterive (Jacques-Auguste), -whom the orders of the Convention had -not yet struck down, then commanded the </span><em class="italics">Thetis</em><span> -frigate, which had been cruising on this coast for -three years. A good number of the French -colonists of the Antilles had succeeded in realizing -their fortunes, which had been in imminent peril. -They had arranged with the Commandant de -Champcey to get together a fleet of light -transports, to which their property had been -transferred, and which was to sail for France under the -protection of the guns of the </span><em class="italics">Thetis</em><span>. In view of -imminent disasters, I had myself received, a long -time back, an order and authority to sell the -plantation at any price. On the night of November 14, -1793, I put out alone in a boat for the Point of -Morne-au-Sable and secretly left St. Lucia, already -occupied by the enemy. I brought with me in -English notes and guineas the amount I had -received for the plantation. M. de Champcey, -thanks to his intimate knowledge of the coast, -had slipped past the English cruiser and had -taken refuge in the dangerous and unknown -channel of Gros-Ilet. He had instructed me to -join him there this night, and only awaited my -arrival to leave the channel with his convoy and -make for France. In crossing, I fell into the -hands of the English. These experts in treason -gave me the choice of being shot on the spot or -of selling them, for the million I had with me, -which they agreed to leave in my hands, the -secret of the channel where the fleet was hiding. -I was young ... the temptation was too great. -Half an hour later the </span><em class="italics">Thetis</em><span> was sunk, the convoy -taken, and M. de Champcey seriously wounded. -A year passed—a year without sleep.... I was -going mad.... I determined to make the -cursed English pay for the remorse I suffered. -I went to Guadeloupe; I changed my name; I -devoted the larger part of the money I had -received to the purchase of an armed brig, and -I fell upon the English. For fifteen years I -washed in their blood and my own the stain -that in an hour of weakness I had brought on -my country's flag. Though three parts of my -fortune have been acquired in honourable combats, -its origin was, nevertheless, the price of my -treachery.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Returning to France in my old age, I ascertained -the position of the Champcey d'Hauterives, -and found that they were happy and wealthy. I -kept my own counsel. I ask my children to -forgive me. While I lived I had not the courage to -blush before them. My death will reveal this -secret to them. They must use it as their -consciences may direct. For myself I have only one -prayer to address to them. Soon or late there -will be a final war between France and her -neighbour. We hate one another too much; there's -nothing else to be done; either we must devour -them or they must devour us. If this war should -be declared during the life of my children or -grand-children, I desire that they give to the state a -corvette fully armed and completely equipped, on -one condition, that it shall be called the Savage, -and be commanded by a Breton. At each broadside -she shall send on to the Carthaginian shore -my bones will tremble with joy in my grave.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="noindent pfirst"><span>RICHARD SAVAGE, called LAROQUE.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>The memories that this terrible confession -awakened convinced me that it was correct. -Twenty times I had heard my father relate with -pride and indignation this incident in my -ancestor's career. But in the family we believed that -Richard Savage—I remember the name quite well—had -been the victim, and not the contriver of -the treason or mischance which had betrayed the -commandant of the </span><em class="italics">Thetis</em><span>. Now I understand -the peculiarities I had often noticed in the old -sailor's character, and especially his thoughtful and -timid bearing towards me. My father had always -told me that I was the living portrait of my -grandfather, the Marquis Jacques, and perhaps -some dim perception of this resemblance had -penetrated to the old man's troubled brain.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>This revelation threw me into a terrible perplexity. -I felt but little resentment against the -unhappy man who had redeemed a moment of -weakness by a long life of repentance, and by a -passion of desperation and hatred which was not -without greatness. Nor could I, without admiration, -breathe the wild blast which animated the -lines written by this guilty but heroic hand. Still, -what was I to do with this terrible secret? My -first thought was that it removed all obstacles -between Marguerite and me; that henceforth the -fortune that had kept us apart would be almost an -obligatory bond, for I was the only person in the -world who could regularize her title to it by -sharing it with her. But in truth this secret did not -belong to me, and though I had learned it by -the purest of accidents, strict honesty, perhaps, -demanded that I should leave it to come at its -own time into the hands for which it was destined. -But while I waited for that moment the irreparable -would be accomplished. Eternal bonds were -to be forged. The tomb was to close over my -love, my hopes, and my sorrowful heart. And -should I allow it when I might prevent it by a -single word? And the day these poor women -learned the truth, and blushed with shame to learn -it, perhaps they would share my regret and -despair. They would be the first to cry:</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ah! if you knew, why did you not speak?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>No, neither to-day nor to-morrow, nor ever, -shall those noble women blush for shame if I can -prevent it. My happiness shall not be bought at -the price of their humiliation. This secret is mine -alone. The old man, henceforth speechless, -cannot betray himself. The secret does not exist; -the flames have destroyed it. I pondered it well. -I know what I have dared to do. It was a will, a -sacred document, and I have destroyed it. Moreover, -it did not benefit me alone. My sister, who -is intrusted to my care, might have found a -fortune there, and, without consulting her, I have -plunged her back into poverty. I know all that, -but I will not allow two pure proud souls to be -crushed and dishonoured by the burden of a crime -of which they are ignorant. There is a principle -of equity at stake far superior to mere literal -justice. If, in my turn, I have committed a crime, I -will answer for it. But the struggle has exhausted -me. I can do no more now.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst right"><em class="italics">October 4th</em><span>.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>M. Laubépin, after all, arrived yesterday. He -came to see me. He was brusque, preoccupied, -and seemed ill-pleased. He spoke briefly of the -marriage.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"A very satisfactory business!" he said; "in -all respects an excellent combination, where -nature and society both receive the guarantees they -have the right to require in such matters. And -so, young man, good-night. I have to smooth -the delicate ground of the preliminary agreements, -that the hymeneal car of this interesting union -may reach its goal without jolting."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>At one o'clock this afternoon the family -assembled in the drawing-room with all the -preparations and formalities observed at the signing of -a marriage contract. I could not attend this -ceremony, and I blessed my broken arm for sparing -me the trial. About three I was writing to little -Hélène, and taking care to assure her more -strongly than ever of my complete devotion to -her, when M. Laubépin and Mlle. de Porhoët -came into my room. In his frequent visits to -Laroque, M. Laubépin has learnt to appreciate my -venerable friend, and the two old people have -formed a respectful and Platonic attachment, -which Dr. Desmarets tries in vain to misrepresent. -After an exchange of ceremonies, of interminable -bows and courtesies, they took the chairs I offered -them, and both set about considering me with an -air of grave beatitude.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well," I said, "it's over?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes," they replied in chorus, "it's over."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It went off well?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Very well," said Mlle. de Porhoët.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Wonderfully well," said M. Laubépin. After -a pause he added: "Bévallan's gone to the -devil!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And the young Hélouin after him!" continued -Mlle. de Porhoët.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>I exclaimed in surprise:</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Good God! what has happened?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"My friend," said M. Laubépin, "the contemplated -union had every possible advantage, and it -would have without doubt insured the common -happiness of both the parties concerned, if -marriage were a purely commercial partnership; but -it is nothing of the sort. As my assistance had -been asked, I thought it my duty to bear in mind -the inclination of the hearts and the agreement of -the character just as much as the relative -proportions of the estates. Now, from the first, I had -the impression that the contemplated marriage -had one drawback. It pleased no one, neither my -excellent friend Mme. Laroque, nor the amiable -</span><em class="italics">fiancée</em><span>, nor their most sensible friends—no one, in -fact, except perhaps the </span><em class="italics">fiancé</em><span>, about whom I -trouble myself very slightly. It is true (I quote -here from Mlle. de Porhoët), it is true, I say, that -the </span><em class="italics">fiancé is *gentilhomme</em><span>...."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"A </span><em class="italics">gentleman</em><span>, if you please," Mlle. de Porhoët -interrupted severely.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"A </span><em class="italics">gentleman</em><span>," continued M. Laubépin, accepting -the correction, "but it is a kind of </span><em class="italics">gentleman</em><span> -I don't care for."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Nor I," said Mlle. de Porhoët. "There are -curious specimens of the kind. Dissipated -stablemen, such as those whom we saw last century -deserting their English stables under the direction of -the Duc de Chartres to come over here and -prepare the Revolution."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, if they had only prepared the Revolution," -said M. Laubépin, sententiously, "we should -forgive them."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"A million apologies, my dear sir; but—speak -for yourself! Besides, that is not the question; -will you go on?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"So," continued M. Laubépin, "seeing that -every one was approaching this wedding as if it -were a funeral, I searched for some honourable -and legal means, not to break the engagement -with M. de Bévallan, but to get him to withdraw -voluntarily. This proceeding was the more -justifiable, as in my absence M. de Bévallan had -profited by the inexperience of my excellent friend, -Mme. Laroque, and the weakness of my colleague -in the neighbouring town, to make the most -exorbitant demand in his own interests. Without -departing from the wording of the agreements, I -succeeded in materially altering their spirit. But -there were limits which honour and the engagements -already entered into forbade me to pass. -And the contract remained favourable enough -to be accepted with confidence by any high-minded -man who had a sincere affection for his betrothed. -Was M. de Bévallan such a man? We had to -take that risk. I confess that I was not free from -emotion when I began to read the irrevocable -document before an imposing audience this morning."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"As for me," interrupted Mlle. de Porhoët, -"I hadn't a drop of blood left in my veins. The -first part of the contract conceded so much to the -enemy that I thought all was lost."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No doubt, mademoiselle; but, as we augurs -say among ourselves, 'the sting is in the tail,' </span><em class="italics">in -cauda venenum</em><span>.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It was comical, my friend, to see the faces -of M. de Bévallan and my </span><em class="italics">confrère</em><span> from Rennes, -who assisted him, when I suddenly unmasked -my batteries. At first they looked at each other -in silence; then they whispered together; at -last they rose, and, coming to the table where -I sat, asked me in a low voice for an explanation.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"'Speak up, gentlemen, if you please,' I said -to them. 'We must have no mysteries here. -What have you to say?'</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"The company began to prick up their ears. -Without raising his voice, M. de Bévallan -suggested to me that the contract showed mistrust.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"'Mistrust, sir!' I replied, in my most -impressive tone. 'What do you intend to convey by -that? Do you make that strange imputation -against Mme. Laroque, or against me, or against -my </span><em class="italics">confrère</em><span> here present?'</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"'S-s-sh! Silence! No wrangling!' said the -Rennes notary discreetly; 'But listen: it was -agreed in the first place that the legal system -of dotation should not be insisted on.'</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"'The legal system? And where do you find -that mentioned?'</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"'Oh, my dear sir, you know that you have -practically reconstituted it by a subterfuge.'</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"'Subterfuge, monsieur? Allow me, as your -senior, to advise you to withdraw that word from -your vocabulary.'</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"'But, after all,' murmured M. de Bévallan, -'I'm tied hand and foot, and treated like a -school-boy.'</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"'Indeed, sir! What, in your opinion, are we -here for at this moment—a contract or a will? -You forget that Mme. Laroque is living; that -her father is living, and that it is a question of -marriage, not of inheritance—at least, not yet.... -Really, you must have a little patience; you -must wait a little.'</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"At these words Mlle. Marguerite rose.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"'That is enough,' she said.—'M. Laubépin, -throw that contract into the fire. Mother, let -this gentleman's presents be returned.'</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Then she rose and left us like an outraged -queen. Mme. Laroque followed her, and at the -same time I threw the contract into the fireplace.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"'Sir,' said M. de Bévallan in a threatening -tone, 'there's some trickery in this, and I will -find it out.'</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"'Sir,' I replied, 'allow me to explain it to -you. A young lady, who, with a just pride, -values herself very highly, feared that your offer -might have been influenced by her wealth; she -wished to be certain; she has no longer any -doubts. I have the honour to wish you good-day!'</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Thereupon, my friend, I went after the -ladies, and—upon my honour—they embraced me.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"A quarter of an hour later, M. de Bévallan -left the château with my colleague from Rennes. -His departure and disgrace have naturally -loosened the servants' tongues, and very soon his -imprudent intrigue with Mlle. Hélouin was -revealed. The young lady, already suspected on -other grounds for some time past, has asked to be -released from her duties, and the request has been -granted. It is needless to say that our ladies will -secure her future.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well, my dear fellow, what do you say to -all this? Are you worse? You're as pale as -death!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>This unexpected news had aroused so many -emotions—pleasant and painful—that I felt -myself on the point of losing consciousness.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>M. Laubépin, who has to leave at daybreak -to-morrow, came back this evening to wish me -farewell. After some embarrassed remarks from -us both, he said:</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Never mind, my dear boy, I'll not cross-examine -you on what is going on here; but if -you should require a confidant and a counsellor, -I ask you to give me the preference."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>As a matter of fact, I could not confide in a -heart more sympathetic or more friendly. I gave -the worthy old gentleman the particulars of my -relations with Mlle. Marguerite. I even read -some pages of this journal to him to show him -more exactly the state of affairs, and also the state -of my heart. I hid nothing from him save -M. Laroque's secret.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>When I had finished, M. Laubépin, who had -suddenly become very thoughtful, began:</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It is useless to conceal from you, my friend, -that when I sent you here I intended you to -marry Mlle. Laroque. At first everything went -as I wished. Your hearts, which I believe are -worthy of one another, could not associate without -sympathizing, but this strange event, of which -the tower of Elven was the romantic scene, -entirely disconcerts me, I must confess. Allow me -to tell you, my young friend, that to jump out -of window at the risk of breaking your neck -was in itself a more than sufficient proof of your -disinterestedness. It was quite superfluous to -add to this honourable and considerate proceeding -a solemn oath never to marry this poor girl -except in contingencies we cannot possibly expect -to see realized. I pride myself on being a man -of resource—but I fully recognise that I cannot -give you two hundred thousand francs, or take -them away from Mlle. Laroque."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Then tell me what to do, sir. I have more -confidence in you than in myself, for I see that -misfortune, which is always exposed to suspicion, -has made me excessively susceptible on questions -of honour. Speak. Do you counsel me to -forget the imprudent but still solemn oath which -alone at this moment separates me from the -happiness you had imagined for your adopted son?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>M. Laubépin rose; his thick eyebrows drawn -down over his eyes, he strode about the room for -some minutes, then, stopping in front of me and -seizing my hand, he said:</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Young man, it is true that I love you like -my own child; but, even at the cost of breaking -your heart and my own, I will not be false to -my principles. It is better in matters of honour -do too much than too little, and as regards -oaths, all those that are not extorted at the point -of the knife or the mouth of a pistol, should -either not be taken or should be kept. That is -my opinion."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It is mine too. I will leave with you to-morrow -morning."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No, Maxime, stay here a little longer. I do -not believe in miracles, but I believe in God, who -seldom allows us to be ruined by our virtues. -Give Providence more time. I know that I am -asking a very courageous effort from you, but I -claim it formally from your friendship. If within -a month you do not hear from me—well—then -you can leave."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He embraced me and left me to my quiet -conscience and my desolate heart.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst right"><em class="italics">October 12th</em><span>.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>It is now two days since I have been able to -leave my retirement and appear at the château. -I had not seen Mlle. Marguerite since we -separated at the tower of Elven. She was alone in -the </span><em class="italics">salon</em><span> when I entered. Recognising me, she -made—involuntarily—an effort to rise. Then she -sat motionless, and a flood of burning crimson -dyed her face. It was infectious, for I felt that I -was blushing to the forehead.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"How are you, M. Odiot?" she said, holding -out her hand, and she spoke these simple words so -gently, so humbly—alas! so tenderly too—that I -longed to throw myself on my knees before her. -But I had to answer in a tone of icy politeness. -She looked sadly at me, lowered her great -eyes with an air of resignation, and went on with -her work.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Almost at the same moment her mother -called to her to come to her grandfather, whose -condition had become most alarming. For some -days now he had lost voice and movement; the -paralysis was almost total. The last gleams of -mental life were extinguished; only physical -sensibility and the capacity for suffering remained. -The end was not far off, but in this energetic -heart life was too deeply rooted to be -relinquished without an obstinate struggle. The -doctor had foretold that his agony would last a long -time. Still, at the first appearance of danger, -Mme. Laroque and her daughter had tended him -with the passionate self-sacrifice and utter -devotion which are the special virtue and glory of -their sex. The day before yesterday they broke -down exhausted. M. Desmarets and I offered to -take their places by M. Laroque to-night, and -they agreed to have a few hours' rest. The -doctor, who was very much fatigued, soon told me -that he was going to throw himself on the bed in -the next room.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I am no use here," he said; "the thing is -over. You see the poor old fellow doesn't suffer -any more. That lethargic state is not painful. -The awakening will be death. So we can be -quiet. Call me if you see any change, but I think -it won't come till to-morrow. I'm dying for a -sleep."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He gave a great yawn and went out. His -language and his conduct before the dying man -had shocked me. He is an excellent man; but -to render to death the respect that is due to it, -one must not see only the brute matter it -dissolves, but believe in the immortal essence it -releases.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Left alone in the chamber of death, I sat near -the foot of the bed, where the curtains had been -withdrawn, and I tried to read by a lamp that -stood on a little table near me. The book slipped -from my hands. I could think only of the strange -combination of events which, after so many years, -gave this guilty old man the grandson of his -victim as witness and guardian of his last sleep. -Then, in the tranquility of that hour and place, -I recalled, in spite of myself, the scenes of -tumult and bloody violence which had filled the -life that was now ebbing away. I looked for -traces of it on the face of the dying old man and -on the large features defined in the shadow with -the pale distinctness of a plaster mask. I saw -only the solemnity and premature peace of the -tomb. At intervals I went to the bedside to make -sure that the weakened breast still heaved with -vital breath. Towards the middle of the night an -irresistible torpor seized me, and I slept, leaning -my forehead on my hand. Suddenly I was awakened -by a strange and sinister sound. I looked -up, and a shudder ran through the marrow of my -bones. The old man was half-sitting up in bed, -staring at me with an intent, astonished look, -and an expression of life and intelligence that -I had not seen in him before. When our eyes -met he started, stretched out his arms, and -said, in a beseeching voice, whose strange -unknown quality almost stopped the beating of -my heart:</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Marquis, forgive me!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>In vain I tried to rise, to speak. I sat -petrified in my chair.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>After a silence, during which the dying man's -eyes were still fixed on mine beseechingly, he -repeated:</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Marquis, deign to forgive me."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>At last I summoned up strength to go to him. -As I approached he drew back fearfully, as if -shrinking from a dreadful contact. I raised my -hand, and lowering it gently before his staring -and terror-stricken eyes:</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Rest in peace," I said; "I forgive you."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Before I had done speaking, his withered face -lighted up with a flash of joy and youth. Two -tears burst from his dry and sunken orbits. He -stretched a hand to me, then suddenly the hand -stiffened in a threatening gesture, and I saw his -eyes roll between their dilated lids, as if a ball had -gone through his heart.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, the English!" he whispered, and immediately -fell back on the pillow like a log. He -was dead. I called quickly, and the others came. -Soon he was surrounded by pious mourners, -weeping and praying for him. I retired, my soul -deeply moved by this extraordinary scene, which -I had resolved should ever remain a secret between -myself and the dead man.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>This sad event brought me cares and duties -which I needed to justify me in my own eyes -for remaining in the house. I cannot fathom -M. Laubépin's motives for advising me to delay -my departure. What did he hope from it? To -me he seems to have yielded to a vague presentiment -and childish weakness, to which a man of -his stamp should never have given way, and to -which I also was wrong to submit. Why did he -not see that besides bringing additional suffering -on me, he put me in a position that is neither -manly nor dignified? What am I to do here now? -Would they not have good reason to reproach me -with trifling with sacred feelings? My first -interview with Mlle. Marguerite had shown me how -hard and how unbearable was the trial to which I -had been condemned. The death of M. Laroque -would make our relations easier, and give my -presence a sort of propriety.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><em class="italics">October 26th, Rennes</em><span>.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>All is over! God, how strong that tie was! -How it held my heart, and how it has torn it as it -broke! Yesterday evening about nine, as I leaned -on my open window, I was surprised to see a faint -light coming towards my house through the dark -alleys of the park, and from a direction which the -servants at the château do not frequent. A -moment afterward there was a knock at my door and -Mlle. de Porhoët came in breathless.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Cousin," she said, "I have business with you."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>I looked straight at her.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"A misfortune?" I said.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No, it is not precisely that. Besides, you -shall judge for yourself. My dear child, you have -passed two or three evenings this week at the -château. Have you noticed nothing unusual, nothing -peculiar, in the attitude of the ladies?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Nothing."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Have you not even noticed an unusual serenity -in their appearance?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Perhaps I have. Allowing for the melancholy -due to their recent sorrow, they seemed -calmer and happier than before."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No doubt. Other things would have struck -you if, like me, you had lived in daily intimacy -with them for fifteen years. Thus, I have -observed signs of some secret understanding and -mysterious agreement between them. Moreover, -their habits have been largely altered. -Mme. Laroque has given up her </span><em class="italics">braséro</em><span>, her sentry-box, -and all her little Creole fancies. She rises at -marvellous hours, and at daybreak instals herself with -Marguerite at the work-table. They are both -taken with a sudden passion for embroidery, and -have ascertained how much a woman can earn at -that work in a day. In short, there is a riddle to -which I cannot find the answer. But it has been -told me, and though I may be intruding on your -secrets, I thought it right to inform you at once."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>I assured Mlle. Porhoët of my absolute confidence -in her, and she continued:</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Mme. Aubry came to see me this evening -secretly. She began by throwing her wretched -arms round my neck, which displeased me very -much. Then, to the accompaniment of a thousand -jeremiads about herself—which I will spare -you—she begged me to stop her relations on the -brink of ruin. This is what she has heard, -through listening at doors, according to her pretty -habit: The ladies are trying to get permission to -transfer all their property to a community at -Rennes, so as to do away with the difference of -fortune which separates you and Marguerite. As -they can't make you rich, they will make -themselves poor. I thought it impossible to let you -remain ignorant of this determination, which is -equally worthy of those generous souls and of -those Quixotic heads. You will forgive my -adding that it is your duty to put an end to this -design at any cost. I need not point out the regrets -it will infallibly bring to our friends, nor the -terrible responsibility it will throw on you. That -you will see at a glance. If, my friend, you can -from this moment accept the hand of Marguerite, -everything will end in the best way possible. But -in that respect you have tied yourself by an -engagement which is not the less binding because it -was made imprudently and blindly. There is then -only one thing for you to do—to leave this -country and resolutely extinguish all the hopes that -your presence here must inevitably encourage. -When you are no longer here I shall have less -difficulty in bringing these two children to -reason."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Very well. I am ready. I will go this very -night."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Good!" she said. "When I give you this -advice I obey a very rigorous law of honour. -You have made the last moments of my long -solitude pleasant, and you have given me back -the illusion of the sweet attachments of life, -which I had lost for so many years. In -sending you away I make my last sacrifice; it is -immense."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She rose and looked at me for a moment without -speaking.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"At my age we do not embrace young people," -she continued, smiling sadly; "we bless -them. Adieu, dear child, and thank you. May -God keep you!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>I kissed her trembling hands, and she left me -hastily.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>I hurriedly prepared for my departure, and -then wrote a few lines to Mme. Laroque. I -begged her to renounce a decision the effect of -which she could not foresee, and which, for my -part, I was determined to have no share in. I -gave her my word—which she knew she could -rely on—that I would never accept my happiness -at the cost of her ruin. And I finished—for the -sake of dissuading her from her fantastic project—by -speaking vaguely of a future which might -bring me fortune.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>At midnight, when everything was silent, I -said farewell, a bitter farewell, to the old tower -where I had suffered—and loved—so much. I -slipped into the château by a secret door of -which I had the key. Furtively, like a criminal, -I passed along the empty and resounding galleries, -guiding myself as I best could in the dark. -At last I reached the </span><em class="italics">salon</em><span> where I had first seen -her. She and her mother had not long left it, -and their recent presence was revealed by a sweet -and pleasant perfume which transported me. I -searched, and I touched the basket where a few -moments before she had replaced her embroidery. -Alas, my poor heart!</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>I fell on my knees before the seat she generally -occupies, my forehead against the marble. -I wept. I sobbed like a child. God, how I -loved her!</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The last hours of the night I spent in reaching -the little town secretly, and thence I drove to -Rennes this morning:</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>To-morrow evening I shall be in Paris. O -poverty, solitude, and despair, which I had left -there, I shall find you again! Last dream of -youth—dream of heaven, farewell!</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst right"><span>PARIS.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The next day, in the morning, as I went to -the railway station, a post-chaise stood in the -courtyard of the </span><em class="italics">hôtel</em><span>, and I saw old Alain get -out. His face brightened as he saw me.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, sir, what good luck! You've not -gone! Here is a letter for you."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>I recognised M. Laubépin's writing. He said -that Mlle. de Porhoët was seriously ill and was -asking for me. I only allowed time to change the -horses, and threw myself into the chaise, after -forcing Alain to get in with me. I questioned -him eagerly, and made him repeat his news, which -seemed incredible.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The evening before, Mlle. de Porhoët had -received an official despatch through M. Laubépin, -announcing her succession to the entire Spanish property.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And it seems," said Alain, "that she owes it -to you, sir, for finding some old papers in the -pigeon-house that have proved the old lady's title. -I don't know how much truth there is in this, but -if it is so, what a pity she has those ideas about -the cathedral and won't give them up, for she's -more bent on it than ever. When she first got -the news she fell flat on the floor, and we thought -she was dead. But an hour after she began -talking about her cathedral, the choir, and the -nave, the north aisle and the south, the -chapter, and the canons. To calm her we had to -fetch an architect and masons, and put the -plans of her blessed building on her bed. At -last, after three hours of that kind of talk, she -quieted down a bit and dozed. When she awoke -she asked for you, sir—M. le Marquis" (Alain -bowed, closing his eyes)—"and I had to run -after you. It seems she wants to consult you -about the rood-loft."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>This strange event took me entirely by -surprise. Nevertheless, my memory, aided by the -confused details given me by Alain, enabled me to -find an explanation, which more precise information -completely confirmed. As I have before -said, the affair of the Spanish inheritance of the -Porhoëts had gone through two phases. There -had first been a long lawsuit between Mlle. de -Porhoët and one of the great families of -Castile, which my old friend had finally lost. Then -there had been a new suit between the Spanish -heirs and the Crown, the latter claiming on the -grounds of intestacy.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Shortly after this, while pursuing my researches -in the Porhoët archives, I had, about -two months before leaving the château, laid hands -upon a curious document, which I will here -transcribe:</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>"Don Philip, by the Grace of God, King of -Castile, Leon, Aragon, the two Sicilies, -Jerusalem, Navarre, Grenada, Toledo, Valencia, -Galicia, Majorca, Seville, Sardinia, Cordova, Cadiz, -Murcia, Jaen, of the Algarves, of Algeciras, -Gibraltar, the Canary Islands, the West and -East Indies, the islands and continents of the -ocean, the Archduchy of Austria; Duke of -Burgundy, Brabant, and Milan; Count of Hapsburg, -Flanders, the Tyrol, and Barcelona; Lord of -Biscay and Molina, etc.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"To thee, Hervé-Jean Jocelyn, Lord of Porhoët-Gaël, -Count of Torre Nuevas, etc., who hast -followed me throughout my dominions, and served -me with exemplary fidelity, I promise, by special -favour, that in case of the extinction of thy direct -and legitimate progeny, the possessions of thy -house shall return, even to the detriment of my -Crown, to the direct and legitimate descendants -of the French branch of the Porhoët-Gaëls, as -long as any such shall exist.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And I make this covenant for myself and -for my successors on my royal faith and word.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Given at the Escorial, April 10, 1716.</span></p> -<p class="noindent pnext"><span>"YO EL REY."</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>Together with this document, which was -merely a translator's copy, I found the original -text, bearing the arms of Spain. The importance -of this document had not escaped me, but -I had feared to exaggerate it. I greatly doubted -whether the validity of a title of such ancient -date, and prior to so many momentous events, -would be recognised by the Spanish Government. -I even doubted whether it would have the power -to give effect to it, even if it had the will. I -had therefore decided to say nothing to Mlle. de -Porhoët about a discovery, the consequences of -which seemed to me most problematic, and I had -contented myself with sending the document to -M. Laubépin. As I had heard nothing more of -it, I had soon forgotten it in the midst of the -personal cares with which I was overwhelmed at the -time. However, contrary to my unjust suspicions, -the Spanish Government had not hesitated -to carry out Philip V's covenant, and at the very -moment when a supreme decree had handed -over the vast possessions of the Porhoëts to the -Crown, it had nobly restored them to the -legitimate heir.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>About nine that evening I stopped at the -humble house where this royal fortune had arrived -so tardily. The little servant opened the door. -She was crying.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>From the staircase above came the grave voice -of M. Laubépin.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It is he," said the voice.</span></p> -<p class="pnext" id="id2"><span>I went up the stairs quickly. The old man -grasped my hand warmly, and took me into -Mlle. de Porhoët's room. The doctor and the curé -stood silent in the shadow of the window. -Mme. Laroque knelt at the bedside; her daughter was -arranging the pillow where the pale face of my -old friend rested. When the sick woman saw me -a faint smile flickered across her face. Painfully -she moved one of her arms. I took her hand; I -fell on my knees; I could not keep back my tears.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"My child," she said, "my dear child!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Then she looked intently at M. Laubépin. -The old notary took from the bed a piece of -paper, and, as if he were continuing to read after an -interruption, he went on:</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>"For these reasons," he read, "I appoint by -this holograph will Maxime-Jacques-Marie Odiot, -Marquis de Champcey d'Hauterive, noble by heart -as by descent, sole and universal legatee of all my -property in Spain as well as in France, without -reserve or condition. Such is my will.</span></p> -<p class="noindent pnext"><span>"JOCELYNDE JEANNE, -<br />"COMTESSE DE PORHOËT-GAËL."</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>In my astonishment I had risen and was about -to speak, when Mlle. de Porhoët, gently retaining -my hand, placed it in Marguerite's. At this -sudden contact the dear creature trembled. She bent -her young forehead on the mournful pillow, and, -blushing, whispered something in the dying -woman's ear. I could not speak. I fell on my knees, -and prayed to God. Some minutes passed in -solemn silence, when Marguerite suddenly -withdrew her hand with a gesture of alarm. The -doctor came up hastily. I rose. Mlle. de Porhoët's -head had fallen back; with a fixed and radiant -glance she looked towards heaven; her lips -half-opened, and as if she were speaking in a dream, -she whispered:</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"God! the good God! I see Him there ... -up there.... Yes ... the choir ... the golden -lamps ... the windows ... the sun -everywhere.... Two angels kneeling before the -altar ... in white robes ... their wings -move ... God, they are alive!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>This cry died on her lips, which remained -smiling. She closed her eyes as if she were going -to sleep, and suddenly an air of immortal youth -fell on her face, making it almost unrecognisable -to us.</span></p> -<div class="align-center auto-scaled figure margin" style="width: 61%" id="figure-85"> -<span id="i-felt-her-lips-on-minei-thought-my-soul-was-escaping-from-me"></span><img class="align-center block" style="display: block; width: 100%" alt=""I felt her lips on mine——I thought my soul was escaping from me" (see page 246)" src="images/img-246.jpg" /> -<div class="caption centerleft figure-caption margin"> -<span class="italics">"I felt her lips on mine——I thought my soul was escaping from me" (see page </span><a class="italics reference internal" href="#id3">246</a><span class="italics">)</span></div> -</div> -<p class="pnext"><span>Such a death, after such a life, had lessons -with which I desired to fill my soul. I begged to -be left alone with the priest in the room. This -pious vigil will not, I believe, be unavailing. -From that face, irradiated with a glorious peace, -where a supernatural light seemed to glow, more -than one forgotten or questioned truth came home -to me with irresistible force. Noble and holy -friend, well I knew that the virtue of sacrifice was -yours! Now I see that you have entered into -your reward.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>About two hours after midnight, yielding to -fatigue, I longed to breathe the fresh air for a -moment. I went down the dark staircase and into -the garden, avoiding the </span><em class="italics">salon</em><span> on the ground -floor, where I had seen a light. The night was -profoundly dark. As I approached the arbour at -the end of the little inclosure, I heard a faint -sound, and at the same moment a shadowy form -detached itself from the foliage. I felt a sudden -rapture; my heart leaped, and I saw the heavens -fill with stars.</span></p> -<p class="pnext" id="id3"><span>"Marguerite!" I cried, holding out my arms. -I heard a little cry, then my name murmured -faintly, then silence ... and I felt her lips on -mine. I thought that my soul was escaping -from me.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst"><span>* * * * *</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>I have given Hélène half my fortune. Marguerite -is my wife. I close these pages forever. -I have nothing more to intrust to them. What -has been said of nations may be said of men: -"Happy are those who have no history."</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst"><span>* * * * * * * *</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst"><span class="bold large">THE PORTRAITS OF OCTAVE FEUILLET</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>In spite of the fashionable -popularity achieved by -Octave Feuillet as early as -the year 1855, a popularity -which never waned to his -last hour, it seems that his -life, which we should have -pictured excessively -brilliant and public, was -in reality quiet and retired. -The author of "M. de -Camors" and of the -"Roman d'un Jeune -Homme pauvre" was, as -his portraits attest, -melancholy of temperament and -contemplative of mind, a man who was happiest in his own -study, who preferred the distant echoes of his literary triumphs -in his home, to noisy manifestations thereof in the world -of social pleasure.</span></p> -<div class="align-left auto-scaled figure margin" style="width: 40%" id="figure-86"> -<span id="in-1850-after-a-drawing-by-the-engraver-monciau"></span><img class="align-center block" style="display: block; width: 100%" alt="OCTAVE FEUILLET (In 1850) After a drawing by the engraver Monciau" src="images/img-251.jpg" /> -<div class="caption centerleft figure-caption margin"> -<span class="italics">OCTAVE FEUILLET (In 1850) After a drawing by the engraver Monciau</span></div> -</div> -<p class="pnext"><span>Feuillet was the official novelist of the Second Empire, the -pet writer of the </span><em class="italics">Revue des Deux Mondes</em><span>. He was received -at Court among the distinguished guests who had the </span><em class="italics">entrée</em><span> at -Compiègne and Fontainebleau. His plays and </span><em class="italics">proverbes</em><span> were -acted in the Imperial theatres, at fashionable watering-places, -and on the miniature stages of marionettes. The Empress -treated him with marked distinction. It is difficult to -understand why an author so honoured and so much sought after -should have left so few portraits—canvases, medallions, -water-colours or engravings. Feuillet evidently was not lavish -of his time in his sittings to artists, for neither Dubufe, -nor Carolus-Duran, nor Winterhalter reproduced his features—a -fact we find it almost hard to believe of a man who -enjoyed the popularity of -Feuillet. But we must -accept the fact.</span></p> -<div class="align-left auto-scaled figure margin" style="width: 39%" id="figure-87"> -<span id="in-1879-after-a-sketch-made-in-geneva"></span><img class="align-center block" style="display: block; width: 100%" alt="OCTAVE FEUILLET (In 1879) After a sketch made in Geneva" src="images/img-252.jpg" /> -<div class="caption centerleft figure-caption margin"> -<span class="italics">OCTAVE FEUILLET (In 1879) After a sketch made in Geneva</span></div> -</div> -<p class="pnext"><span>Madame Octave Feuillet, -to whom I went for final -confirmation of this -supposed dearth of artistic -documents relating to her -deceased husband, showed -me everything she had as -mementoes of the delicate -psychologist to whose -success she so largely -contributed by her feminine -diplomacy, her social -observations, and her subtle and very cultivated mind.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Alas!" she said, "I do not know why I am not richer in -pictures of my dear lost one, for he had endless opportunities -of being painted, but he was always too nervous and too -busy to undertake the sittings proposed by various artists. -This is why I can only show you a little portrait painted -by Bonvin just before 1850, which represents him with a -Musset-like face, and agrees pretty closely with a drawing -of the same period by the engraver Monciau, which could -easily be reproduced."</span></p> -<div class="align-right auto-scaled figure margin" style="width: 37%" id="figure-88"> -<span id="after-a-photograph-taken-in-1880"></span><img class="align-center block" style="display: block; width: 100%" alt="OCTAVE FEUILLET After a photograph taken in 1880" src="images/img-253a.jpg" /> -<div class="caption centerleft figure-caption margin"> -<span class="italics">OCTAVE FEUILLET After a photograph taken in 1880</span></div> -</div> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Beyond these souvenirs of -Octave Feuillet as a young man," -continued his widow, "I have -nothing but a drawing by Dantan, -made at the time of the great -success of the </span><em class="italics">Sphinx</em><span> at the -Comedie Française, that is to say, -about ten years before his death, -and a large canvas by Hirch, a -full-length, painted after 1880. But -isn't it too dark for reproduction?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>To these portraits of the author -of "Julia de Trécoeur" we may -add a number of photographs, all -of them taken after 1860. First, -the large full-length portrait published by Goupil about 1869 in -the "Galerie Contemporaine." In spite of the defects inherent -in all photographs, this is the most like him of all his portraits: -it is reproduced as the frontispiece of this volume. We have -given several others, among -them one from Monciau's -drawing, which shows us an Octave -Feuillet of thirty-five, who is -nevertheless somewhat -morose-looking, and various -presentments of the quinquagenarian -Academician, with the white -hair and grey beard of a man -still in his prime, which offer a -much nobler and more attractive -semblance of the writer who -has been called "The family Musset."</span></p> -<div class="align-left auto-scaled figure margin" style="width: 41%" id="figure-89"> -<span id="the-last-photograph-taken-in-1889"></span><img class="align-center block" style="display: block; width: 100%" alt="OCTAVE FEUILLET The last photograph taken in 1889" src="images/img-253b.jpg" /> -<div class="caption centerleft figure-caption margin"> -<span class="italics">OCTAVE FEUILLET The last photograph taken in 1889</span></div> -</div> -<p class="pnext"><span>After the death of the famous -novelist and playwright, the sculptor Crauck executed a fine -bust of him with the aid of instructions given him by one of -the author's sons, Richard Feuillet. Another bust, of little -interest and a poor likeness, is at the Hôtel de Ville of St. Lo, -where Feuillet was born, and where he often came to rest at -his property during the summer.</span></p> -<div class="align-center auto-scaled figure margin" style="width: 64%" id="figure-90"> -<span id="sketch-by-dantan-about-1878"></span><img class="align-center block" style="display: block; width: 100%" alt="OCTAVE FEUILLET Sketch by Dantan, about 1878" src="images/img-254.jpg" /> -<div class="caption centerleft figure-caption margin"> -<span class="italics">OCTAVE FEUILLET Sketch by Dantan, about 1878</span></div> -</div> -<p class="pnext"><span>Octave Feuillet's iconological record certainly does not -arrest attention by any curious, startling, or hitherto -unpublished elements. We have no childish or youthful portraits, -nothing but the cold countenance of the man who had already -"arrived;" no whimsical artistic sketch, not even any satirical -caricature, to compromise, enliven, or give a Bohemian touch -to the dignified attitude and severe correctness of the writer of -the </span><em class="italics">Revue des Deux Mondes</em><span>. It is, we think, to be regretted. -Octave Feuillet remains an over-official figure for us, -bearing too obviously the stamp of the photographer's solemn -poses, and sacramental "Quite still, please."</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="noindent pfirst"><span>OCTAVE UZANNE.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 6em"> -</div> -<!-- -*- encoding: utf-8 -*- --> -<div class="backmatter"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst" id="pg-end-line"><span>*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK </span><span>THE ROMANCE OF A POOR YOUNG MAN</span><span> ***</span></p> -<div class="cleardoublepage"> -</div> -<div class="language-en level-2 pgfooter section" id="a-word-from-project-gutenberg" xml:lang="en" lang="en"> -<span id="pg-footer"></span><h2 class="level-2 pfirst section-title title"><span>A Word from Project Gutenberg</span></h2> -<p class="pfirst"><span>We will update this book if we find any errors.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>This book can be found under: </span><a class="reference external" href="http://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/45200"><span>http://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/45200</span></a></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no one -owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation (and -you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without -permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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