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diff --git a/old/69808-0.txt b/old/69808-0.txt deleted file mode 100644 index 4752a2c..0000000 --- a/old/69808-0.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,11302 +0,0 @@ -The Project Gutenberg eBook of Numa Roumestan, by Alphonse Daudet - -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and -most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions -whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms -of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at -www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you -will have to check the laws of the country where you are located before -using this eBook. - -Title: Numa Roumestan - -Author: Alphonse Daudet - -Translator: Charles de Kay - -Release Date: January 15, 2023 [eBook #69808] - -Language: English - -Produced by: Henry Flower and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team - at https://www.pgdp.net (This file was produced from images - generously made available by The Internet Archive/American - Libraries.) - -*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK NUMA ROUMESTAN *** - - - - - -[Illustration: - - _Copyright, 1898, by Little Brown & C^o._ _Goupil & C^o. Paris_ -] - - - - -[Illustration: “‘_Qué, Valmajour! suppose you play something for the -pleasure of the pretty lady._’” - -Drawn by ADRIEN MOREAU. Photogravured by GOUPIL & CO. - - NUMA ROUMESTAN. _Frontispiece._ -] - - - - - NUMA - ROUMESTAN - - BY - ALPHONSE DAUDET - - TRANSLATED BY - CHARLES DE KAY - - [Illustration] - - BOSTON - LITTLE, BROWN & COMPANY - PUBLISHERS - - - - - _Copyright, 1899, 1900_, - BY LITTLE, BROWN, AND COMPANY. - - _All rights reserved._ - - University Press: - JOHN WILSON AND SON, CAMBRIDGE, U.S.A. - - - - -NUMA ROUMESTAN. - - - - -CHAPTER I. - -TO THE ARENA! - - -That Sunday--it was a scorching hot Sunday in July at the time of the -yearly competitions for the department--there was a great open-air -festival held in the ancient amphitheatre of Aps in Provence. All the -town was there--the weavers from the New Road, the aristocrats of the -Calade quarter, and some people even came all the way from Beaucaire. - -“Fifty thousand persons at the lowest estimate,” said the _Forum_ in -its account the next day; but then we must allow for Provençal puffing. - -The truth was that an enormous crowd was crushed together upon the -sun-baked stone benches of the old amphitheatre, just as in the palmy -days of the Antonines, and it was evident that the meet of the Society -of Agriculture was far from being the main attraction to this overflow -of the folk. Something more than the Landes horse-races was needed, -or the prize-fights for men and “half men,” the athletic games of -“strangle the cat” and “jump the swineskin,” or the contests for -fifers and tabor-players, as old a story to the townspeople as the -ancient red stones of the Arena; something more was needed to keep this -multitude standing for two hours under that blinding, murderous sun, -upon those burning flags, breathing in an atmosphere of flame and dust -flavored with gunpowder, risking blindness, sunstroke, fevers and all -the other dangers and tortures attendant on what is called down there -in Provence an open-air festival. - -The grand attraction of the annual competitions was Numa Roumestan. - -Ah, well; the proverb “No man is a prophet” etc. is certainly true when -applied to painters and poets, whose fellow-countrymen in fact are -always the last to acknowledge their claims to superiority for whatever -is ideal and lacking in tangible results; but it does not apply to -statesmen, to political or industrial celebrities, those mighty -advertised fames whose currency consists of favors and influence, fames -that reflect their glory on city and townsmen in the form of benefits -of every sort and kind. - -For the last ten years Numa, the great Numa, leader and Deputy -representing all the professions, has been the prophet of Provence; -for ten years the town of Aps has shown toward her illustrious son -the tender care and effusiveness of a mother, one of those mothers of -the South quick in her expressions, lively in her exclamations and -gesticulatory caresses. - -When he comes each summer during the vacation of the Chamber of -Deputies, the ovation begins as soon as he appears at the station! -There are the Orpheons swelling out their embroidered banners as they -intone their heroic choral songs. The railway porters are in waiting, -seated on the steps until the ancient family coach which always comes -for the “leader” has made a few turns of its big wheels down the alley -of big plane-trees on the Avenue Berchère; then they take the horses -out and put themselves into the shafts and draw the great man with -their own hands, amid the shouts of the populace and the waving of -hats, as far as the Portal mansion, where he gets out. This enthusiasm -has so completely passed into the stage of tradition in the rites of -his arrival that the horses now stop of themselves, like a team in a -post-chaise, at the exact corner where they are accustomed to be taken -out by the porters; no amount of beating could induce them to go a step -farther. - -From the first day the whole city has changed its appearance. Here is -no longer that melancholy palace of the prefect where long siestas are -lulled by the strident note of the locusts in the parched trees on -the Cours. Even in the hottest part of the day the esplanade is alive -and the streets are filled with hurrying people arrayed in solemn -black suits and hats of ceremony, all sharply defined in the brilliant -sunlight, the shadows of their epileptic gestures cut in black against -the white walls. - -The carriages of the Bishop and the President shake the highroad; then -delegations arrive from the aristocratic Faubourg where Roumestan is -adored because of his royalist convictions; next deputations from the -women warpers march in bands the width of the street, their heads held -high under their Arlesian caps. - -The inns overflow with the country people, farmers from the Camargue or -the Crau, whose unhitched wagons crowd the small squares and streets -as on a market day. In the evening the cafés crowded with people -remain open well on into the night, and the windows of the club of the -“Whites,” lighted up until an impossible hour, vibrate with the peals -of a voice that belongs to the popular god. - -Not a prophet in his own country? ’Twas only necessary to look at the -Arena under the intense blue sky of that Sunday of July 1875, note the -indifference of the crowd to the games going on in the circus below, -and all the faces turned in the same direction, toward the municipal -platform, where Roumestan was seated surrounded by braided coats and -sunshades for festivals and gay dresses of many-colored silks. ’Twas -only necessary to listen to the talk and cries of ecstasy and the -simple words of admiration coming in loud voices from this good people -of Aps, some expressed in Provençal and some in a barbarous kind of -French well rubbed with garlic, but all uttered with an accent as -implacable as is the sun down there, an accent which cuts out and gives -its own to every syllable and will not so much as spare us the dot over -an “i.” - -“_Diou! qu’es bèou!_ God! how beautiful he is!” - -“He is a bit stouter than he was last year.” - -“That makes him look all the more imposing.” - -“Don’t push so! there is room for everybody!” - -“Look at him, my son; there’s our Numa. When you are grown up you can -say that you have seen him, _qué!_” - -“His Bourbon nose is all there! and not one of his teeth missing!” - -“Not a single gray hair, either!” - -“_Té_, I should say not! he is not so very old yet. He was born in -’32--the year that Louis Philippe pulled down the mission crosses, -_pecaïré!_” - -“That scoundrel of a Philippe!” - -“They scarcely show, those forty-three years of his.” - -“Sure enough, they certainly don’t.... _Té!_ here, great star--” - -And with a bold gesture a big girl with burning eyes throws a kiss -toward him from afar that resounds through the air like the cry of a -bird. - -“Take care, Zette--suppose his wife should see you.” - -“The one in blue, is that his wife?” - -No, the lady in blue was his sister-in-law, Mlle. Hortense, a pretty -girl just out of the convent, but one, they say, who already straddled -a horse just as well as a dragoon. Mme. Roumestan was more dignified, -more thoroughbred in appearance, but she looked much haughtier. -These Parisian ladies think so much of themselves! And so, with the -picturesque impudence of their half-Latin language, the women, -standing and shading their eyes with their hands, proceeded in loud -voices deliberately to pick the two Parisians to pieces--their simple -little travelling hats, their close-fitting dresses worn without -jewelry, which were so great a contrast to the local toilettes, in -which gold chains and red and green skirts puffed out by enormous -bustles prevailed. - -The men talked of the services rendered by Numa to the good cause, of -his letter to the Emperor, and his speeches for the White Flag. Oh, if -we had only a dozen men in the Chamber like him, Henry V would have -been on his throne long ago! - -Intoxicated by this circumambient enthusiasm and wrought up by these -remarks, Numa could not remain quiet in one spot. He threw himself back -in his great arm-chair, his eyes shut, his expression ecstatic, and -swayed himself restlessly back and forth; then, rising, he strode up -and down the platform and leaned over toward the arena to breathe in as -it were all the light and cries, and then returned to his seat. Jovial -and unceremonious, his necktie loose, he knelt on his chair, his back -and his boot-soles turned to the crowd, and conversed with his Paris -ladies seated above and behind him, trying to inoculate them with his -own joy and satisfaction. - -Mme. Roumestan was bored--that was evident from the expression of -abstracted indifference on her face, which though beautiful in lines -seemed cold and a little haughty when not enlivened by the light of -two gray eyes, two eyes like pearls, true Parisian eyes, and by the -dazzling effect of the smile on her slightly open mouth. - -All this southern gayety, made up of turbulence and familiarity, and -this wordy race all on the outside and the surface, whose nature was -so much the opposite of her own, which was serious and self-contained, -grated on her perhaps unconsciously, because she saw in them multiplied -and vulgarized the same type as that of the man at whose side she had -lived ten years, whom she had learned to know to her cost. The glaring -hot blue sky, so excessively brilliant and vibrating with heat, was -also not to her liking. How could these people breathe? Where did they -find breath enough to shout so? She took it into her head to speak her -thought aloud, how delightful a nice gray misty sky of Paris would be, -and how a fresh spring shower would cool the pavements and make them -glisten! - -“Oh, Rosalie, how can you talk so!” - -Her husband and sister were quite indignant, especially her sister, a -tall young girl in the full bloom of youth and health, who, the better -to see everything, was making herself as tall as possible. It was her -first visit to Provence, and yet one might have thought that these -shouts and gestures beneath the burning Italian sky had stirred within -her some secret fibre, some dormant instinct, her southern origin, -in fact, which was revealed in the heavy eyebrows meeting over her -houri-like eyes, and her pale complexion, on which the fierce summer -sun left not one red mark. - -“Do, please, Rosalie!” pleaded Roumestan, who was determined to -persuade his wife. “Get up and look at that. Did Paris ever show you -anything like that?” - -In the vast theatre widening into an ellipse that made a great jag -in the blue sky, thousands of faces were packed together on the many -rows of benches rising in terraces; bright eyes made luminous points, -while bright colored and picturesque costumes spangled the whole mass -with butterfly tints. Thence, as from a huge caldron, rose a chorus -of joyous shouts, the ringing of voices and the blare of trumpets -volatilized, as it were, by the intense light of the sun. Hardly -audible on the lower stories, where dust, sand and human breath formed -a floating cloud, this din grew louder as it rose and became more -distinct and unveiled itself in the purer air. Above all rang out the -cry of the milk-roll venders, who bore from tier to tier their baskets -draped with white linen: “_Li pan ou la, li pan ou la!_” (Here’s your -milk bread, here’s your milk bread!) The sellers of drinking-water, -cleverly balancing their green glazed pitchers, made one thirsty just -to hear them cry: “_L’aigo es fresco! Quau voù beùre?_” (The water’s -fresh! Who will drink?) - -Up on the highest brim of the amphitheatre, high up, groups of children -playing and running noisily added a crown of sharp calls to the mass of -noise below, much like a flock of martins soaring high above the other -birds. - -And over all of it, how wonderful was the play of light and shadow, as -with the advance of day the sun turned slowly in the hollow of the vast -amphitheatre as it might on the disk of a sundial, driving the crowd -along, and grouping it in the zone of shade, leaving empty those parts -of the vast structure exposed to a terrible heat--broad stretches of -red flags fringed with dry grass where successive conflagrations have -left their mark in black. - -At times a stone would detach itself in the topmost tier of the ancient -monument, and, rolling down from story to story, cause cries of terror -and much crowding among the people below, as if the whole edifice were -about to crumble; then on the tiers there was a movement like the -assault of a raging sea on the dunes, for with this exuberant race the -effect of a thing never has any relation to its cause, enlarged as it -is by dreams and perceptions that lack all sense of proportion. - -Thus peopled and thus animated once more, the ancient ruin seemed to -live again, and no longer retain its appearance of a showplace for -tourists. Looking thereon, it gave one the sensation of a poem by -Pindar recited by a modern Greek, which means a dead language come -to life again, having lost its cold scholarly look. The clear sky, -the sun like silver turned to vapor, these Latin intonations still -preserved in the Provençal idiom, and here and there, particularly in -the cheap seats, the poses of the people in the opening of a vaulted -passage--motionless attitudes made antique and almost sculptural by the -vibration of the air, local types, profiles standing out like those on -ancient coins, with the short aquiline nose, broad shaven cheeks and -upturned chin that Numa showed; all this filled out the idea of a Roman -festival--even to the lowing of the cows from the Landes which echoed -through the vaults below--those vaults whence in olden days lions and -elephants were wont to issue to the combat. Thus, when the great black -hole of the _podium_, closed by a grating, stood open to the arena all -empty and yellow with sand, one almost expected to see wild beasts -spring out instead of the peaceful bucolic procession of men and of the -animals that had received prizes in the competitions. - -At the moment it was the turn of the mules led along in harness, -sumptuously arrayed in rich Provençal trappings, carrying proudly their -slender little heads adorned with silver bells, rosettes, ribbons -and feathers, not in the least alarmed at the fierce cracking of -whips clear and sharply cut, swung serpent-like or in volleys by the -muleteers, each one standing up full length upon his beast. In the -crowd each village recognized its champions and named each one aloud: - -“There’s Cavaillon! There’s Maussane!” - -The long, richly-colored file rolled its slow length around the arena -to the sound of musical bells and jingling, glittering harness, and -stopped before the municipal platform and saluted Numa with a serenade -of whip-crackings and bells; then passed along on its circular course -under the leadership of a fine-looking horseman in white tights and -high top-boots, one of the gentlemen of the local club who had planned -the function and quite unconsciously had struck a false note in its -harmony, mixing provincialism with Provençal things and thus giving to -this curious local festival a vague flavor of a procession of riders -at Franconi’s circus. However, apart from a few country people, no -one paid much attention to him. No one had eyes for anything but the -grand stand, crowded just then with persons who wished to shake hands -with Numa--friends, clients, old college chums, who were proud of -their relations with the great man and wished all the world to see -them conversing with him and proposed to show themselves there on the -benches, well in sight. - -Flood of visitors succeeded flood without a break. There were old -men and young men, country gentlemen dressed all in gray from their -gaiters to their little hats, managers of shops in their best clothes -creased from much lying away in presses, _ménagers_ or farmers from -the district of Aps in their round jackets, a pilot from Port St. -Louis twirling his big prisoner’s cap in his hands--all bearing their -“South” stamped upon their faces, whether covered to the eyes with -those purple-black beards which the Oriental pallor of their complexion -accentuates, or closely shaven after the ancient French fashion, -short-necked ruddy people sweating like terra cotta water coolers; -all of them with flaming black eyes sticking well out from the face, -gesticulating in a familiar way and calling each other “thee” and -“thou”! - -And how Roumestan did receive them, without distinction of birth or -class or fortune, all with the same unquenchable effusiveness! It was: -“_Té_, Monsieur d’Espalion! and how are you, Marquis?” “_Hé bé!_ old -Cabantous, how goes the piloting?” “Delighted to see you, President -Bédarride!” - -Then came shaking of hands, embraces, solid taps on the shoulder that -give double value to words spoken, which are always too cold for the -intense feeling of the Provençal. To be sure, the conversations were -of short duration. Their “leader” gave but a divided attention, and as -he chatted he waved how-d’ye-do with his hand to the new-comers. But -nobody resented this unceremonious way of dismissing people with a few -kind words: “Yes, yes, I won’t forget--send in your claim--I will take -it with me.” - -There were promises of government tobacco shops and collectors’ -offices; what they did not ask for he seemed to divine; he encouraged -timid ambitions and provoked them with kindly words: - -“What, no medal yet, my old Cabantous, after you have saved twenty -lives? Send me your papers. They adore me at the Navy Department. We -must repair this injustice.” - -His voice rang out warm and metallic, stamping and separating each -word. One would have said that each one was a gold piece rolling out -fresh from the mint. And every one went away delighted with this -shining coin, leaving the platform with the beaming look of the pupil -who has been awarded a prize. The most wonderful thing about this -devil of a man was his prodigious suppleness in assuming the air and -manner of the person to whom he was speaking, and perfectly naturally, -too, apparently in the most unconscious way in the world. - -With President Bédarride he was unctuous, smooth in gestures, his mouth -fixed affectedly and his arm stretched forth in a magisterial fashion -as if he were tossing aside his lawyer’s toga before the judge’s seat. -When talking to Colonel Rochemaure he assumed a soldierly bearing, his -hat slapped on one side; while with Cabantous he thrust his hands into -his pockets, bowed his legs and rolled his shoulders as he walked, just -like an old sea-dog. From time to time, between two embraces as it -were, he turned to his Parisian guests, beaming and wiping his steaming -brow. - -“But, my dear Numa!” cried Hortense in a low voice with her pretty -laugh, “where will you find all these tobacco shops you have been -promising them?” - -Roumestan bent his large head with its crop of close curling hair -slightly thinned at the top and whispered: “They are promised, little -sister, not given.” - -And, fancying a reproach in his wife’s silence, he added: - -“Do not forget that we are in Provence, where we understand each -other’s language. All these good fellows understand what a promise is -worth. They don’t expect to get the shops any more positively than -I count on giving them. But they chatter about them--which amuses -them--and their imaginations are at work: why deprive them of that -pleasure? Besides, you must know that among us Southerners words have -only a relative meaning. It is merely putting things in their proper -focus.” The phrase seemed to please him, for he repeated several times -the final words, “in their proper focus--in their proper focus--” - -“I like these people,” said Hortense, who really seemed to be amusing -herself immensely; but Rosalie was not to be convinced. “Still, words -do signify something,” she murmured very seriously, as if communing -with her own soul. - -“My dear, it is a simple question of latitude.” Roumestan accompanied -his paradox with a jerk of the shoulder peculiar to him, like that of -a peddler putting up his pack. The great orator of the aristocracy -retained several personal tricks of this kind, of which he had never -been able to break himself--tricks that might have caused him in -another political party to seem a representative of the common folk; -but it was a proof of power and of singular originality in those -aristocratic heights where he sat enthroned between the Prince of -Anhalt and the Duc de la Rochetaillade. The Faubourg St. Germain went -wild over this shoulder-jerk coming from the broad stalwart back that -carried the hopes of the French monarchy. - -If Mme. Roumestan had ever shared the illusions of the Faubourg she -did so no longer, judging from her look of disenchantment and the -little smile with which she listened to her husband’s words, a smile -paler with melancholy than with disdain. But he left them suddenly, -attracted by the sound of some peculiar music that came to them from -the arena below. The crowd in great excitement was on its feet shouting -“Valmajour! Valmajour!” - -Having taken the musicians’ prize the day before, the famous Valmajour, -the greatest taborist of Provence, had come to honor Numa with his -finest airs. In truth he was a handsome youth, this same Valmajour, as -he stood in the centre of the arena, his coat of yellow wool hanging -from one shoulder and a scarlet belt standing out against the white -linen of his shirt. Suspended from his left arm he carried his long -light tabor by a strap and with his left hand held a small fife to -his lips, while with his right hand and his right leg held forward he -played on his tabor with a brave and gallant air. The fife, though but -small, filled the whole place like a chorus of locusts; appropriate -music in this limpid crystalline atmosphere in which all sounds -vibrate, while the deep notes of the tabor supported this peculiar -singing and its many variations. - -The sound of the wild, sharp music brought back his childhood to -Numa more vividly than anything else that he had seen that day; he -saw himself a little Provence boy running about to country fairs, -dancing under the leafy shadow of the plane-trees, on village squares, -in the white dust of the highroads, or over the lavender flowers of -sun-parched hillsides. A delicious emotion passed through his eyes, -for, notwithstanding his forty years and the parching effects of -political life, he still retained a good portion of imagination, thanks -to the kindliness of nature, a surface-sensibility that is so deceptive -to those who do not know the true bottom of a man’s character. - -And besides, Valmajour was not an everyday taborist, one of those -common minstrels who pick up music-hall catches and odds and ends of -music at country fairs, degrading their instrument by trying to cater -to modern taste. Son and grandson of taborists, he played only the -songs of his native land, songs crooned during night watches over -cradles by grandmothers; and these he did know; he never wearied of -them. After playing some of Saboly’s rhythmical Christmas carols -arranged as minuets and quadrilles, he started the “March of the -Kings,” to the tune of which, during the grand epoch, Turenne conquered -and burned the Palatinate. Along the benches where but a moment before -one heard the humming of popular airs like the swarming of bees, the -delighted crowd began keeping time with their arms and heads, following -the splendid rhythm which surged along through the grand silences of -the theatre like mistral, that mighty wind; silences only broken by -the mad twittering of swallows that flew about hither and thither in -the bluish green vault above, disquieted, and as it were crazy, as -if trying to discover what unseen bird it was that gave forth these -wonderfully high and sharp notes. - -When Valmajour had finished, wild shouts of applause burst forth. -Hats and handkerchiefs flew into the air. Numa called the musician up -to the platform, and throwing his arms around his neck exclaimed: “You -have made me weep, my boy.” And he showed his big golden-brown eyes all -swimming in tears. - -Very proud to find himself in such exalted company, among embroidered -coats and the mother-of-pearl handles of official swords, the musician -accepted these praises and embraces without any great embarrassment. -He was a good-looking fellow with a well shaped head, broad forehead, -beard and moustache of lustrous black against a swarthy skin, one of -those proud peasants from the valley of the Rhône who have none of the -artful humility of the peasants of central France. - -Hortense had noticed at once how delicately formed were his hands under -their covering of sunburn. She examined the tabor with its ivory-tipped -drum-stick and was astonished at the lightness of the old instrument, -which had been in his family for two hundred years, and whose case -curiously carved in walnut wood, decked with light carvings, polished, -thin and sonorous, seemed to have grown pliable under the patina time -had lent it. They admired above all the little old fife, that simple -rustic flute with three stops only, such as the ancient taborists used, -to which Valmajour had returned out of respect for tradition and the -management of which he had conquered after infinite pains and patience. -Nothing more touching than to hear the little tale of his struggles and -victory in an odd sort of French. - -“It come to me in the night,” he said, “as I listened me to the -nightingawles. Thought I in meself--look there, Valmajour, there’s a -little birrd o’ God whose throat alone is equal to all the trills. Now, -what he can do with one stop, can’t you accomplish with the three holes -in your little flute?” - -He talked quietly, with a perfectly confident tone of voice, without a -suspicion of being ridiculous. No one indeed would have dared to smile -in the face of Numa’s enthusiasm, for he was throwing up his arms and -stamping so that he almost went through the platform. “How handsome he -is! What an artist!” And after him the Mayor and President Bédarride -and the General and M. Roumavage, the big brewer from Beaucaire, -vice-consul of Peru, tightly buttoned into a carnival costume all over -silver, echoed the sentiments of the leader, repeating in convinced -tones: “What a great artist!” - -Hortense agreed with them, and in her usual impulsive manner expressed -her sentiments: “Oh, yes, a great artist indeed” while Mme. Roumestan -murmured “You will turn his head, poor fellow.” - -But there seemed to be no fear of this for Valmajour, to judge by his -tranquil air; he was not even in the least excited on hearing Numa -suddenly exclaim: - -“Come to Paris, my boy, your fortune is assured!” - -“Oh, my sister never would let me go,” he explained with a quiet smile. - -His mother was dead and he lived with his father and sister on a farm -that bore the family name some three leagues distant from Aps on the -Cordova mountain. Numa swore he would go to see him before he returned -to Paris; he would talk to his relations--he was sure to make it a go. - -“And I will help you, Numa,” said a girlish voice behind him. - -Valmajour bowed without speaking, turned on his heel and walked down -the broad carpet of the platform, his tabor under his arm, his head -held high and in his gait that light, swaying motion of the hips -common to the Provençal, a lover of dancing and rhythm. Down below his -comrades were waiting for him and shook him by the hand. - -Suddenly a cry arose, “The farandole, the farandole,” a shout without -end doubled by the echoes of the stone passages and corridors from -which the shadows and freshness seemed to come which were now invading -the arena and ever diminishing the zone of sunlight. In a moment the -arena was crowded, crammed to suffocation with merry dancers, a regular -village crowd of girls in white neckscarfs and bright dresses, velvet -ribbons nodding on lace caps, and of men in braided blouses and colored -waistcoats. - -At the signal from the tabor that mob fell into line and filed off in -bands, holding each other’s hands, their legs all eager for the steps. -A prolonged trill from the fife made the whole circus undulate, and -led by a man from Barbantane, a district famous for its dancers, the -farandole slowly began its march, unwinding its rings, executing its -figures almost on one spot, filling with its confused noise of rustling -garments and heavy breathing the huge vaulted passage of the outlet in -which, bit by bit, it was swallowed up. - -Valmajour followed them with even steps, solemnly, managing his long -tabor with his knee, while he played louder and louder upon the fife, -as the closely packed crowd in the arena, already plunged in the bluish -gray of the twilight, unwound itself like a bobbin filled with silk and -gold thread. - -“Look up there!” said Roumestan all of a sudden. - -It was the head of the line of dancers pouring in through the arches -of the second tier, while the musician and the last line of dancers -were still stepping about in the arena. As it proceeded the farandole -took up in its folds everybody whom the rhythm forced to join in the -dance. What Provençal could have resisted the magic flute of Valmajour? -Upborne and shot forward by the rebounding undernote of the tabor, his -music seemed to be playing on every tier at the same time, passing the -gratings and the open donjons, overtopping the cries of the crowd. -So the farandole climbed higher and higher, and reached at last the -uppermost tier, where the sun was yet glowing with a tawny light. -The outlines of the long procession of dancers, bounding in their -solemn dance, etched themselves against the high panelled bays of the -upper tier in the hot vibration of that July afternoon, like a row of -fine silhouettes or a series of bas-reliefs in antique stone on the -sculptured pediment of some ruined temple. - -Down below on the deserted platform--for people were beginning to leave -and the lower tiers were empty--Numa said to his wife as he wrapped a -lace shawl about her to protect her from the evening chill: - -“Now, really, is it not beautiful?” - -“Very beautiful,” answered the Parisian, moved this time to the depths -of her artistic nature. - -And the great man of Aps seemed prouder of this simple word of -approbation than of all the noisy homage with which he had been -surfeited for the last two hours. - - - - -CHAPTER II. - -THE SEAMY SIDE OF A GREAT MAN. - - -Numa Roumestan was twenty-two years old when he came to Paris to -complete the law studies which he had begun at Aix. At that time -he was a good enough kind of a fellow, light-hearted, boisterous, -full-blooded, with big, handsome, prominent eyes of a golden-brown -color and somewhat frog-like, and a heavy mop of naturally curling hair -which grew low on his forehead like a woollen cap without a visor. -There was not the shadow of an idea, not the ghost of an ambition -beneath that encroaching thatch of his. He was a typical Aix student, -a good billiard and card player, without a rival in his capacity for -drinking champagne and “going on the cat-hunt with torches” until three -o’clock in the morning through the wide streets of the old aristocratic -and Parliamentary town. But he was interested in absolutely nothing. -He never read a book nor even a newspaper, and was deep in the mire -of that provincial folly which shrugs its shoulders at everything and -hides its ignorance under a pretence of plain common-sense. - -Arrived in Paris, the Quartier Latin woke him up a little, although -there was small reason for it. Like all his compatriots Numa installed -himself as soon as he arrived at the Café Malmus, a tall and noisy -barrack of a place with three stories of tall windows, as high as those -in a department shop, on the corner of the Rue Four Saint Germain. -It filled the street with the noise of billiard playing and the -vociferations of its clients, a regular horde of savages. The entire -South of France loomed and spread itself there; every shade of it! -Specimens of the southern French Gascon, the Provençal, the Bordeaux -man, the Toulousian and Marseilles man, samples of the Auvergnat -and Perigordian Southerner, him of Ariège, of the Ardèche and the -Pyrenees, all with names ending in “as,” “us” and “ac,” resounding, -sonorous and barbarous, such as Etcheverry, Terminarias, Bentaboulech, -Laboulbène--names that sounded as if hurled from the mouth of a -blunderbuss or exploded as from a powder mine, so fierce were the -ejaculations. And what shouts and wasted breath merely to call for a -cup of coffee; what resounding laughter, like the noise of a load of -stones shunted from a cart; what gigantic beards, too stiff, too black, -with a bluish tinge, beards that defied the razor, growing up into the -eyes and joining on to the eyebrows, sprouted in little tufts in the -broad equine nostrils and ears, but never able utterly to conceal the -youth and innocence of these good honest faces hidden beneath such -tropical growths. - -When not at their lectures, which they attended conscientiously, these -students passed their entire time at Malmus’s, falling naturally into -groups according to their provinces or even their parishes, seated -around the same old tables handed down to them by tradition, which -might have retained the twang of their patois in the echoes of their -marble tops, just as the desks of school-rooms retain the initials -carved on them by school-boys. - -Women in that company were few and far between, scarcely two or three -to a story, poor girls whom their lovers brought there in a shamefaced -way only to pass an evening beside them behind a glass of beer, looking -over the illustrated papers, silent and feeling very out of place -among these Southern youths who had been brought up to despise _lou -fémélan_--females. Mistresses? _Té!_ By Jove, they knew where to get -them whenever they wanted them for an hour or a night; but never for -long. Bullier’s ball and the “howlers” did not tempt them, nor the late -suppers of the _rôtisseuse_. They much preferred to stay at Malmus’s, -talk patois, and roll leisurely from the café to the schools and then -to the table d’hôte. - -If they ever crossed the Seine it was to go to the Théâtre Français to -a performance of one of the old plays; for the Southerner always has -the classic thing in his blood. They would go in a crowd, talking and -laughing loudly in the street, though in reality feeling rather timid, -and then return silent and subdued, their eyes dazed by the dust of the -tragic scenes they had just witnessed, and with closed blinds and gas -turned low would have another game before they went to bed. - -Sometimes, on the occasion of the graduation of one of their number, -an impromptu feed would make the whole house redolent of garlic stews -and mountain cheeses smelling strong and rotting nicely in their blue -paper wrappers. After his farewell dinner the new owner of a sheepskin -would take down from the rack the pipe that bore his initials and sally -forth to be notary or deputy in some far-away hole beyond the Loire, -there to talk to his friends in the provinces about Paris--Paris which -he thought he knew, but in which really he had never set his foot! - -In this narrow local circle Numa readily assumed the eagle’s place. -To begin with, he shouted louder than the others, and then his music -was looked upon as a sign of superiority; at any rate there was some -originality in his very lively taste for music. Two or three times a -week he treated himself to a stall at the opera and when he came back -he overflowed with recitatives and arias, which he sang quite agreeably -in a pretty good throaty voice that rebelled against all cultivation. -When he strode into the Café Malmus in a theatrical manner, singing -some bit of Italian music as he passed the tables, peals of admiration -welcomed him: “Hello, old artist!” the boys would shout from every -gang. It was just like a club of ordinary citizens in this respect: -owing to his reputation as a musical artist all the women gave him -a warm look, but the men would use the term enviously and with a -suggestion of irony. This artistic fame did him good service later -when he came to power and entered public life. Even now the name of -Roumestan figures high on the list of all artistic commissions, plans -for popular operas, reforms in exhibitions of paintings proposed in -the Chamber of Deputies. All that was the result of evenings spent in -haunting the music-halls. He learned there self-confidence, the actor’s -pose, and a certain way of taking up a position three-quarters front -when talking to the lady at the cashier’s desk; then his wonder-struck -comrades would exclaim: “_Oh! de ce Numa, pas moins!_” (Oh, that Numa! -what a fellow he is!) - -In his studies he had the same easy victory; he was lazy and hated -study and solitude, but he managed to pass his examination with no -little success through sheer audacity and Southern slyness, the slyness -which made him discover the weak spot in his professor’s vanity and -work it for all it was worth. Then his pleasant, frank expression and -his amiability were also in his favor, and it seemed as if a lucky star -lighted the pathway before him. - -As soon as he obtained his lawyer’s diploma his parents sent for him -to return home, because the slender pocket money which he cost them -meant privations they could no longer bear. But the prospect of burying -himself alive in the old dead town of Aps crumbling to dust with its -ancient ruins, an existence composed of a humdrum round of visits and -nothing more exciting than a few lawsuits over a parcel of party-walls, -held out no inducements to that undefined ambition that the southern -youth vaguely felt underlying his love for the stir and intellectual -life of Paris. - -With great difficulty he obtained an extension of two years more, in -which to complete his studies, and just as these two years had expired -and the irrevocable summons home had come, at the house of the Duchesse -de San Donnino he met Sagnier during a musical function to which he had -been asked on account of his pretty voice--Sagnier, the great Sagnier, -the Legitimist lawyer, brother of the duchess and a musical monomaniac. -Numa’s youthful enthusiasm appearing in the monotonous round of society -and his craze for Mozart’s music carried Sagnier off his feet. He -offered him the position of fourth secretary in his office. The salary -was merely nominal, but it was being admitted into the employment -of the greatest law office in Paris, having close relations with -the Faubourg Saint Germain and also with the Chamber of Deputies. -Unluckily old Roumestan insisted on cutting off his allowance, hoping -to force him to return when hunger stared him in the face. Was he not -twenty-six, a notary, and fit to earn his own bread? Then it was that -landlord Malmus came to the front. - -A regular type was this Malmus; a large, pale-faced, asthmatic man, -who from being a mere waiter had become the proprietor of one of the -largest restaurants in Paris, partly by having credit, partly by usury. -It had been his custom in early days to advance money to the students -when they were in need of it, and then when their ships came in, allow -himself to be repaid threefold. He could hardly read and could not -write at all; his accounts were kept by means of notches cut in a -piece of wood, as he had seen the baker boys do in his native town -of Lyon; but he was so accurate that he never made a mistake in his -accounts, and, more than all, he never placed his money badly. Later, -when he had become rich and the proprietor of the house in which he -had been a servant for fifteen years, he established his business, and -placed it entirely upon a credit basis, an unlimited credit that left -the money-drawer empty at the close of the day but filled his queerly -kept books with endless lines of orders for food and drink jotted down -with those celebrated five-nibbed pens which are held in such sovereign -honor in the world of Paris trade. - -And the honest fellow’s system was simplicity itself. A student kept -all his pocket money, all his allowance from home. All had full -credit for meals and drinks and favorites were even allowed a room in -his house. He did not ask for a penny during term time, letting the -interest mount up on very high sums. But he did not do this carelessly -or without circumspection. Malmus passed two months every year, his -vacation, in the provinces, making secret inquiry into the health and -wealth of the families of his debtors. His asthma was terrible as he -mounted the peaks of the Cévennes and descended the low ranges of -Languedoc. He was to be seen, gouty and mysterious, prowling about -among forgotten villages, with suspicious eyes lowering under the heavy -lids that are peculiar to waiters in all-night restaurants. He would -remain a few days in each place, interview the notary and the sheriff, -inspect secretly the farm or factory of his debtor’s father, and then -nothing was heard of him more. - -What he learned at Aps gave him full confidence in Numa. The latter’s -father, formerly a weaver, had ruined himself with inventions and -speculations and lived now in modest circumstances as an insurance -agent, but his aunt, Mme. Portal, the childless widow of a rich town -councillor, would doubtless leave all her property to her nephew; so, -naturally, Malmus wished Numa to remain in Paris. - -“Go into Sagnier’s office; I will help you.” - -As a secretary of a man in Sagnier’s position he could not live in the -Quartier Latin, so Malmus furnished a set of bachelor chambers for -him on the Quai Voltaire, on the courts, paying the rent and giving -him his allowance on credit. Thus did the future leader face his -destiny, everything on the surface seemingly easy and comfortable, -but in reality in the direst need; lacking pin and pocket money. The -friendship of Sagnier helped him to fine acquaintances. The Faubourg -welcomed him. But this social success, the invitations in Paris and to -country houses in summer, where he had to arrive in perfect fashionable -outfit, only added to his expense. After repeated prayers his Aunt -Portal helped him a little, but with great caution and stinginess, -always accompanying her gifts with long flighty stupidities and -Bible denunciations against “that ruinous Paris.” The situation was -untenable. - -At the end of a year he looked for other employment. Besides, Sagnier -required pioneers, regular navvies for hard work, and Roumestan was not -that sort of man. The Provençal’s indolence was ineradicable, and above -all things he had a loathing for office work or any hard and continuous -labor. The faculty of attention, which is nothing if not deep, was -absolutely wanting to this volatile Southerner. That was because his -imagination was too vivid, his ideas too jumbled-up beneath his dark -brows, his mind too fickle, as even his writing showed; it was never -twice the same. He was all on the surface, all voice, gestures, like a -tenor at the opera. - -“When I am not speaking I cannot think,” he said naïvely, and it was -true. Words with him never rushed forth propelled by the force of his -thought; on the contrary, at the mechanical sound of his own words the -thoughts formed themselves in advance. He was astonished and amused at -chance meetings of words and ideas in his mind which had been lost in -some corner of his memory, thoughts which speech would discover, pick -up and marshal into arguments. Whilst he held forth he would suddenly -discover emotions of which he had been unconscious; the vibrations -of his own voice moved him to such a degree that there were certain -intonations which touched his heart and affected him to tears. These -were the qualities of an orator, to be sure, but he did not recognize -them, as his duties at Sagnier’s had hardly been such as to give him a -chance to practise them. - -Nevertheless, the year spent with the great Legitimist lawyer had a -decisive effect upon his after life. He acquired convictions and a -political party, the taste for politics and a longing for fortune and -glory. - -Glory came to him first. - -A few months after he left his master, that title of “Secretary to -Sagnier,” which he clung to as an actor who has appeared once on the -boards of the Comédie Française forever calls himself “of the Comédie -Française,” was the means of getting him his first case, the defence of -a little Legitimist newspaper called “The Ferret,” much patronized in -the best society. His defence was cleverly and brilliantly made. Coming -into court without the slightest preparation, his hands in his pockets, -he talked for two hours with such an insolent “go” to him, and so much -good-natured sarcasm, that the judges were forced to listen to him to -the end. His dreadful southern accent, with its rolling “r’s,” which he -had always been too indolent to correct, seemed to make his irony only -bite the deeper. It had a power of its own, this eloquence with its -very Southern swing, theatrical and yet familiar, but above all lucid -and full of that broad light which is found in the works of people down -South, as in their landscapes, limpid to their remotest parts. - -Of course the paper was non-suited; Numa’s success was paid for by -costs and imprisonment. So from the ashes of many a play that has -ruined manager and author one actor may snatch a reputation. Old -Sagnier, who had come to hear Numa plead, embraced his pupil before -the assembled crowd. “Count yourself from this day on a great man, my -dear Numa!” said he, and seemed surprised that he had hatched such a -falcon’s egg. But the most surprised man was Numa himself, as with the -echo of his own words still sounding in his ears he descended the broad -railless staircase of the Palais de Justice, quite stunned, as if in a -dream. - -After this success and this ovation, after showers of eulogistic -letters and the jaundiced smiles of his brethren, the coming lawyer -naturally felt he was indeed launched upon a triumphal career. He sat -patiently waiting in his office looking out on the courtyard, before -his scanty little fire; but nothing came save a few more invitations to -dinner, and a pretty bronze from the foundry of Barbédienne, a donation -from the staff of _Le Furet_. - -The new great man found himself still facing the same difficulties, -the same uncertain future. Oh! these professions called liberal, which -cannot decoy and entrap their clients, how hard are their beginnings, -before serious and paying customers come to sit in rows in their little -rooms furnished on credit with dilapidated furniture and the symbolical -clock on the chimney-piece flanked by tottering candelabra! Numa was -driven to giving lessons in law among his Catholic and Legitimist -acquaintances; but he considered work like this beneath the dignity -of the man whose name had been so covered with glory by the party -newspapers. - -What mortified him most of all and made him feel his wretched plight -was to be obliged to go and dine at Malmus’s when he had no invitation -elsewhere, and no money for a dinner at a fashionable restaurant. -Nothing had changed at Malmus’s; the same cashier’s lady was enthroned -among the punch-bowls as of old; the same pottery stove rumbled away -near the old pipe-rack; the same shouts and accents, the same black -beards from every section of the South prevailed; but his generation -had passed, and he looked on the new generation with the disfavor which -a man at maturity, but without a position, feels for the youths who -make him seem old. - -How could he have existed in so brainless a set? Surely the students of -his day could not have been such fools! Even their admiration, their -fawning round him like a lot of good-natured dogs, was insupportable to -him. - -While he ate, Malmus, proud of his guest, came and sat on the little -red sofa which shook under his fits of asthma, and talked to him, while -at a table near by a tall, thin woman took her place, the only relic -of the old days left--a bony creature destitute of age known in the -quarter as “everyone’s old girl.” Some kind-hearted student now married -and settled far away had opened a credit for her at Malmus’s before -he went. Confined for so many years to this one pasture, the poor -creature knew nothing of what was going on in the outside world; she -had not even heard of Numa’s triumph, and spoke to him pityingly as to -one whom fortune had passed by, and in the same rank and category as -herself. - -“Well, poor old chum, how are things a-getting on? You know Pompon is -married, and Laboulbène has passed his deputy at Caen.” - -Roumestan hardly answered a word, hurried through his dinner and rushed -away through the streets, noisy with many beershops and fruit stalls, -feeling the bitterness of a life of failure and a general impression of -bankruptcy. - -Several years passed thus, during which his name became better known -and more firmly established, but with little profit to himself, except -for an occasional gift of a copy of some statuette in Barbédienne -bronze. Then he was called upon to defend a manufacturer of Avignon, -who had made seditious silk handkerchiefs. There was some sort of a -deputation pictured on them standing about the Comte de Chambord, but -very confusedly done in the printing, only with great imprudence he had -allowed the initials “H. V.” (Henry Fifth) to be left, surrounded by a -coat of arms. - -Here was Numa’s chance for a good bit of comedy. He thundered against -the stupidity that could see the slightest political allusion in that -H. V.! Why, that meant Horace Vernet--there he was, presiding over a -meeting of the French Institute! - -This “tarasconade” had a great local success that did him more service -than any advertisement won in Paris could; above all, it gained him the -active approbation of his Aunt Portal. At first this was expressed -by presents of olive oil and white melons, followed by a lot of other -articles of food--figs, peppers, potted ducks from Aix, caviar from -Martigues, jujubes, elderberry jam and St. John’s-bread, a lot of -boyish goodies of which the old lady herself was very fond, but which -her nephew threw into a cupboard to spoil. - -Shortly after arrived a letter, written with a quill in a large -handwriting, which displayed the brusque accents and absurd phrases -customary with his aunt, and betrayed her puzzle-headed mind by its -absolute freedom from punctuation and by the lively way in which she -jumped from one subject to the other. - -Still, Numa was able to discover the fact that the good woman desired -to marry him off to the daughter of a Councillor in the Court of -Appeals in Paris, one M. Le Quesnoy, whose wife, a Mlle. Soustelle -from Aps, had gone to school with her at the Convent of la Calade--big -fortune--the girl handsome, good morals, somewhat cool and haughty--but -marriage would soon warm that up. And if the marriage took place, what -would his old Aunt Portal give her Numa? One hundred thousand francs in -good clinking tin--on the day of the wedding! - -Under its provincialisms the letter contained a serious proposition, so -serious indeed that the next day but one Numa received an invitation to -dine with the Le Quesnoys. He accepted, though with some trepidation. - -The Councillor, whom he had often seen at the Palais de Justice, was -one of those men who had always impressed him most. Tall, slender, -with a haughty face and a mortal paleness, sharp, searching eyes, a -thin-lipped, tightly-closed mouth--the old magistrate, who originally -came from Valenciennes, seemed like that town to be surrounded by an -impregnable wall and fortified by Vauban. His cool Northern manner -was most disconcerting to Numa. His high position, gained by his -exhaustive study of the Penal Code, his wealth and his spotless life -would have given him a yet higher position had it not been for the -independence of his views and a morose withdrawal from the world and -its gayeties ever since the death of his only son, a lad of twenty. All -these circumstances passed before Numa’s mental vision as he mounted -the broad stone steps with their carved hand-rail of the Le Quesnoy -residence, one of the oldest houses on the Place Royale. - -The great drawing-room into which he was shown, with its lofty ceiling -reaching down to the doors to meet the delicate paintings of its piers, -the straight hangings with stripes in brown and gold-colored Chinese -silk framing the long windows that opened upon an antique balcony, -and also on one of the rose-colored corners of brick buildings on the -square--all this was not calculated to change his first impressions. - -But the welcome given him by Mme. Le Quesnoy soon put him at his ease. - -This fragile little woman with her sad sweet smile, wrapped in many -shawls and crippled by rheumatism, from which she had suffered ever -since she came to live in Paris, still preserved the accent and habits -of her dear South, and she loved anything that reminded her of it. -She invited Numa to sit down by her side, and looking affectionately -at him in the dim light, she murmured: “The very picture of Evelina!” -This pet name of his aunt, so long unheard by him, touched his quick -sensibility like an echo of his childhood. It appeared that Mme. Le -Quesnoy had long wished to know the nephew of her old friend, but her -house had been so mournful since her son’s death, and they had been so -entirely out of the world, that she had never sought him out. Now they -had decided to entertain a little, not because their sorrow was less -keen, but on account of their two daughters, the eldest of whom was -almost twenty years old; and turning toward the balcony whence they -could hear peals of girlish laughter, she called, “Rosalie, Hortense, -come in--here is Monsieur Roumestan!” - -Ten years after that visit Numa remembered the calm and smiling picture -that appeared, framed by the long window in the tender light of the -sunset, of that beautiful young girl, and the absence of all affected -embarrassment as she came towards him, smoothing the bands of her hair -that her little sister’s play had ruffled--her clear eyes and direct -gaze. - -He felt an instant confidence in and sympathy with her. - -Once or twice during dinner, nevertheless, when he was in the full -flow of animated conversation he was conscious that a ripple as of -disdain passed over the clear-cut profile and pure complexion of the -face beside him--without question that “cool and haughty” air which -Aunt Portal had mentioned, and which Rosalie got through her striking -resemblance to her father. But the little grimace of her pretty mouth -and the cold blue of her look softened quickly to a kindly attention, -and she was again under the charm of a surprise she did not try to -conceal. Born and brought up in Paris, Rosalie had always felt a fixed -aversion to the South; its accent, its manners, even the country -itself as she saw it in the vacations she occasionally spent at -Aps--everything was antipathetic to her. It seemed to be an instinct of -race, and was the cause of many gentle disputes with her mother. - -“Nothing would induce me to marry a Southerner,” Rosalie had laughingly -declared, and she arranged in her own mind a type--a coarse, noisy, -vacant fellow, combining an opera tenor and a drummer for Bordeaux -wines, but with a fine head and well-cut features. Roumestan came -pretty near to this clear-cut vision of the mocking little Parisian, -but his ardent musical speech, taking on that evening an irresistible -force by reason of the sympathy of those around him, inspired and -aroused him, seeming even to make his face more refined. After the -usual talk in low voices between neighbors at the table, those -_hors-d’œuvres_ of conversation that circulate with caviar and -anchovy, the Emperor’s hunting parties at Compiègne became the general -topic of conversation; those hunts in costume at which the invited -guests appeared as grandees and grand ladies of the Court of Louis -XV. Knowing M. Le Quesnoy to be a Liberal, Numa launched forth into a -magnificent diatribe, almost a prophetic one. He drew a picture of the -Court as a set of circus riders, women performers, grooms and jockeys -riding hard under a threatening sky, pursuing the stag to its death to -the accompaniment of lightning-flash and distant claps of thunder, and -then--in the midst of all this revelry--the deluge, the hunting horns -drowned, all this monarchical harlequinade ending in a morass of blood -and mire! - -Perhaps this piece was not entirely impromptu; probably he had got -it off before at the committee meeting; but never before had his -brilliant speech and tone of candor in revolt roused anywhere such -enthusiasm and sympathy as he suddenly saw reflected in one sweet, -serious countenance, that he felt turning toward him, while the gentle -face of Mme. Le Quesnoy lit up with a ray of fun and seemed to ask her -daughter: “Well, how do you like my Southerner now?” - -Rosalie was captivated. Deep in her inmost heart she bowed to the power -of that voice and to generous thoughts that accorded so well with all -her youthful enthusiasms, her passion for liberty and justice. As women -at a play will confound the singer with his song, the actor with his -_rôle_, so she forgot to make allowances for the artist’s imagination. -Oh, if she could but have known what an abyss of nothing lay below -these professional phrases, how little he troubled himself about the -hunting-parties at Compiègne! She did not know that he merely needed -an invitation with the imperial crest on it, and he would have joined -these self-same parties, in which his vanity, his tastes as actor and -pleasure-seeker, would have found complete satisfaction. But she was -under the charm. As he talked, it seemed to her the table grew larger, -the dull, sleepy faces of the few guests, a certain President of the -Chamber and an old physician, were transfigured; and when they returned -to the drawing-room, the chandelier, lighted for the first time since -her brother’s death, had almost the dazzling effect upon her of the sun -itself. - -The sun was Roumestan. - -He woke up the majestic old house, drove away mourning and the gloom -that was piled in all the corners, the particles of sadness that -accumulate in old dwellings; he seemed to make the facets of the -mirrors glisten and give new life to the delightful panel paintings on -the walls, which had been scarce visible for a hundred years. - -“Are you fond of painting, Monsieur?” - -“Fond of it, Mademoiselle? Oh, I should think so!” - -The truth was that he knew absolutely nothing about it, but he had a -stock of words and phrases ready for use on that subject as on all -others, and while the servants were arranging the card tables he made -the paintings on the well-preserved Louis XIII walls the pretext for a -quiet talk very near to the young girl. - -Of the two, Rosalie knew much the more about art. Having lived always -in an atmosphere of cultivation and good taste, the sight of a fine bit -of sculpture or a great painting thrilled her with a special vibratory -emotion which she felt rather than expressed, because of her reserved -character and because the false emotions in the world are apt to keep -down the real ones. At sight of them a superficial observer, however, -noting the eloquent assurance with which the lawyer talked and the -wide professional gestures he used, as well as the rapt attention of -Rosalie, might have taken him for some great master giving a lesson to -a pupil. - -“Mamma, can we go into your room? I want to show Monsieur Roumestan the -hunting panel.” - -At the whist table Mme. Le Quesnoy gave a quick inquiring glance at -him whom she always called, with a peculiar tone of renunciation -and humility in her voice, “Monsieur Le Quesnoy,” and, receiving an -affirmative nod from him which meant that the thing was in order, gave -the desired permission. - -They crossed a passage lined with books and found themselves in the -old people’s chamber, an immense room as majestic and antique as the -drawing-room. The panel was above a small door beautifully carved. - -“It is too dark to see it well,” said Rosalie. - -As she spoke she held up a double candlestick she had taken from -a card table, and with her arm raised, her graceful figure in fine -relief, she threw the light upon the picture which showed Diana, the -crescent on her brow, among her huntress maidens in the landscape of a -pagan Paradise. But at this gesture of a Greek torch-bearer the light -from the double candles fell upon her own head with its simple coiffure -and sparkled in her clear eyes with their high-bred smile and on the -virginal curves of her slender yet stately bust. She seemed more of -a Diana than the pictured goddess herself. Roumestan looked at her; -carried away by her charm of youthful innocence and candid chastity, -he forgot who she was and what his purpose had been in coming, yes, -all his dreams of fortune and ambition! He felt an insane desire to -clasp this supple form in his arms, to shower kisses on her fine hair, -the delicate fragrance of which intoxicated him, to carry off this -enchanting being to be the safeguard and joy of his whole life; and -something told him that if he attempted it she would permit it, and -that she was his, his entirely, conquered, vanquished at the first -sight. - -Fire and wind of the South, you are irresistible! - - - - -CHAPTER III. - -THE SEAMY SIDE OF A GREAT MAN (_continued_). - - -If ever people were unsuited for life side by side it was these two. -Opposites by instinct, by education and temperament, thinking alike on -no one subject, they were the North and the South face to face without -the slightest chance of fusion. Love feeds on contrasts like this and -laughs when they are pointed out, so powerful does it feel itself. But -later, when everyday life sets in, during the monotony of days and -nights passed beneath the same roof, that mist which constitutes love -disappears; the veil is lifted; they begin to see each other, and, what -is worse, to judge each other! - -It was some time before the awakening came to these young people; at -least with Rosalie the illusion lasted. Clear-sighted and clever on all -other subjects, for a long while she remained blind to Numa’s faults -and could not see how far in many ways she was his superior. It had not -taken him long to relapse into his old self again. Passion in the South -is short-lived because of its very violence. And then the Southerner is -so perfectly assured of the inferiority of women that, once married and -sure of his happiness, he installs himself like a bashaw in his home, -receiving love as homage due and not of much importance; for, after -all, it takes up a good deal of time to be loved, and Numa was much -preoccupied just then arranging the new life which his marriage, his -wealth and the high position in the law courts as son-in-law to M. Le -Quesnoy necessitated. - -The one hundred thousand francs given him by Aunt Portal sufficed to -pay his debts to Malmus and the furnisher and to wipe out forever the -dreary record of his straitened bachelor days. It was a delightful -change from the humble _frichti_ (lunch) at Malmus’s on the old sofa -with its worn red velvet, in company of “every one’s old girl,” to the -dining-room in his new house in the Rue Scribe where, opposite his -dainty little Parisian wife, he presided over the sumptuous dinners -that he offered to the magnates of the law and of music. - -The Provençal loved a life of eating, luxury and display, but he liked -it best in his own house, without any trouble or ceremony, where a -certain looseness was possible over a cigar and risky stories might be -told. Rosalie resigned herself to keeping open house, the table always -set, ten or fifteen guests every evening, and never anybody but men, -among whose black coats her evening dress made the only point of color. -There she stayed until with the serving of the coffee and the opening -of cigar boxes she would slip away, leaving them to their politics -and the coarse roars of laughter that accompany the close of bachelor -dinners. - -Only the mistress of a house knows what domestic complications arise -when such constant and unusual services are required every day of the -servants. Rosalie struggled uncomplainingly with this problem and -tried to bring some order out of chaos, carried away as she was by the -whirlwind of her terrible genius of a husband, who did not spare her -the turbulence of his own nature, yet between two storms had a smile -of approbation for his little wife. Her only regret was that she never -had him enough to herself. Even at breakfast, that hasty morning’s -meal for a busy lawyer, there was always a guest between them, namely -that male comrade without whom the man of the South could not exist, -that inevitable some one to answer a bright remark and call forth a -flash from his own wits, the arm on which condescendingly to lean, some -henchman to catch his handkerchief as he sallied forth to the Palace of -Justice! - -Ah, how she longed to accompany him across the Seine, how glad she -would have been to call for him on rainy days, wait, and bring him home -in her carriage, nestled up to him behind the windows blurred with -raindrops! She did not dare to suggest such things any more, so sure -was she of some excuse, an appointment in the Lawyers’ Hall with some -one of three hundred intimate friends of whom the Provençal would say -with deep emotion: - -“He adores me! He would go through fire and water for me!” - -That was his idea of friendship. But in other respects, no selection -whatever as to his friends! His easy good-nature and lively -capriciousness caused him to throw himself into the arms of each man -he met, but made him as easily drop him. Every week there was a new -craze for someone whose name came up incessantly, a name which Rosalie -wrote down conscientiously on the little menu card, but which presently -disappeared as suddenly as if the new favorite’s personality had been -as flimsy and as easily burned as the little colored card itself. - -Among these birds of passage one alone remained stationary, more -from force of childish habit than from anything else, for Bompard -and Roumestan were born in the same street at Aps. Bompard was an -institution in the house, found there in a place of honor when the -bride came home. He was a cadaverous creature with Don Quixote’s head -and a big eagle’s nose and eyes like balls of agate set in a pitted, -saffron-colored complexion that looked like Cordova leather; it was -lined and seamed with the wrinkles one sees only in the faces of clowns -and jesters which are forced constantly into contortions. - -Bompard had never been a comedian, however. Numa had found him again -in the chorus of the opera where he had sung for a short time. Beyond -this, it was impossible to say what was real in the shifting sands of -that career. He had been everywhere, seen everything and practised all -trades. No great man or great event could be mentioned without his -saying: “He is a friend of mine,” or “I was present at the time,” and -then would follow a long story to prove his assertion. - -In piecing together these fragments of his history most astonishing -chronological conclusions were arrived at; thus, at the same date -Bompard led a company of Polish and Caucasian deserters at the siege of -Sebastopol and was choir-master to the King of Holland and very close -to the king’s sister, for which latter indiscretion he was imprisoned -for six months in the fortress at The Hague--which did not prevent him -at the same time from making a forced march from Laghouat to Gadamès -through the great African desert. - -He told these wonderful tales with rare gestures, in a solemn tone, -using a strong Southern accent, but with a continual twitching and -contortion of his features as trying to the eyes as the shifting of the -bits of glass in a kaleidoscope. - -The present life of Bompard was as mysterious as his past. How and -where did he live? And on what? He was forever talking of wonderful -schemes for making money, such as a new and cheap manner of asphalting -one corner of Paris, or, all of a sudden, he was deep in the discovery -of an infallible remedy for the phylloxera and was only waiting for a -letter from the Minister to receive the prize of one hundred thousand -francs in order to be in funds to pay his bill at the little dairy -where he took his meals, whose managers he had almost driven insane -with his false hopes and extravagant dreams. - -This crazy Southerner was Roumestan’s delight. He took him about, -making a butt of him, egging him on, warming him up and exciting his -folly. If Numa stopped in the street to speak to any one, Bompard -stepped aside with a dignified air as if about to light a cigar. At -funerals or first nights he was always turning up to ask every one -in the most impressive haste: “Have you seen Roumestan anywhere?” -He came to be as well known as Numa himself. This type of parasite -is not uncommon in Paris; each great man has a Bompard dragging at -his heels, who walks on in his shadow and comes to have a kind of -personality reflected from that of his patron. It was a mere chance -that Roumestan’s Bompard really had a personality of his own, not -a reflection of his master. Rosalie detested this intruder on her -happiness, always between her and her husband, appropriating to himself -the few precious moments that might have been hers alone. The two old -friends always talked a patois that seemed to set her apart and laughed -uproariously at untranslatable local jokes. What she particularly -disliked about him was the necessity he was under of telling lies. At -first she had believed these inventions, so unsuspicious was her true -and candid nature, whose greatest charm was its harmony in word and -thought, a combination that was audible in the crystalline clearness -and steadiness of her musical voice. - -“I do not like him--he tells lies,” she said in deep disgust to -Roumestan, who only laughed. To defend his friend, he said: - -“No, he’s not a liar; he’s only gifted with a vivid imagination. He is -a sleeper awake who talks out his dreams. My country is full of just -such people. It is the effect of the sun and the accent. There is my -Aunt Portal--and even I myself--if I did not have myself well in hand--” - -She placed her little hand over his mouth: - -“Hush, hush! I could not love you if you came from that side of -Provence!” - -The sad fact was that he did come from that very countryside. His -assumed Paris manners and the veneer of society restrained him -somewhat, but she was soon to see that terrible South appear in him -after all, commonplace, brutal, illogical. The first time that she -realized it was in regard to religion, about which, as about everything -else, Numa was entirely in line with the traditions of his province. - -Numa was the Provençal Roman Catholic who never goes to communion, -never confesses himself except in cholera times, never goes to church -except to bring his wife home after mass, and then stands in the -vestibule near the holy-water basin with the superior air of a father -who has taken his children to a show of Chinese shadows--yet a man who -would let himself be drawn and quartered in defence of a faith he does -not feel, which in no way controls his passions or his vices. - -When he married he knew that his wife was of the same church as himself -and that at the wedding in St. Paul’s the priest had eulogized them in -due form as befitted all the candles and carpets and gorgeous flowers -that go with a first-class wedding. He had never worried further about -it. All the women whom he knew--his mother, his cousins, his aunt, -the Duchesse de San Donnino, were devout Catholics; so he was much -surprised after several months of marriage to observe that his wife -never went to church. He spoke of it: - -“Do you never go to confession?” - -“No, my dear,” she answered quietly, “nor you either, so far as I can -see.” - -“Oh, I--that is quite different!” - -“Why so?” - -She looked at him with such a sincerely puzzled expression--she seemed -so far from understanding her own inferiority as a woman, that he made -no reply and waited for her to explain. - -No, she was not a free-thinker, nor a strong-minded woman. Educated -in Paris at a good school, she had had for confessor a priest of -Saint-Laurent up to seventeen; when she left school, and even for some -time after, she had fulfilled all her religious duties at the side of -her mother, who was a bigoted Southerner. Then, one day, something -within her seemed suddenly to give way, and she declared to her parents -that she felt an insuperable repulsion for the confessional. Her pious -mother would have tried to overcome what she looked upon as a whim, but -her father had interfered: - -“Let her alone; it took hold of me just as it has seized her and at the -same age.” - -And since then she had consulted only her own pure young conscience -in regard to her actions. Otherwise she was a Parisian, a woman of the -world to her finger-tips, and disliked the bad taste in displays of -independence. If Numa wished to go to church she would go with him, as -for a long while she had gone with her mother; but at the same time -she would not lie or pretend to believe that in which she had lost all -faith. - -Numa listened to her in speechless amazement, alarmed to hear such -sentiments expressed with a firmness and conviction in her own moral -being that dissipated all his Southern ideas about the dependency of -women. - -“Then you don’t believe in God?” he asked in his best forensic -manner, his raised finger pointed solemnly toward the moldings of -the ceiling. She gave a cry of astonishment: “Is it possible to do -so?”--so spontaneously and with such conviction that it was as good as -a confession of faith. Then he fell back on what the world would say, -on social conventions, on the intimate connection between religion and -monarchy. All the ladies whom they knew went to church, the duchess -and Mme. d’Escarbès; they had their confessors to dine and at evening -parties. Her strange views would have a bad effect upon them socially, -were they known. He suddenly ceased speaking, feeling that he was -floundering about in commonplaces, and the discussion ended there. -For several Sundays in succession he went through a grand and hollow -form of taking his wife to mass, whereby Rosalie gained the boon of -a pleasant walk on her husband’s arm; but he soon wearied of the -business, pleaded important engagements and let the religious question -drop. - -This first misunderstanding made no breach between them. As if seeking -pardon, the young wife redoubled her devotion to her husband and her -usual clever, smiling deference to his wishes. No longer so blind as -in the earlier days, perchance she sometimes felt a vague premonition -of things that she would not admit even to herself; but she was happy -still, because she wished to be so, and because she lived in that -dreamlike atmosphere enveloping the new life of a young married woman -still surrounded by the dreams and uncertainty which are like the -clouds of white tulle of the wedding dress that drape the form of -a bride. The awakening was bound to come; to her it was sudden and -frightful. - -One summer day--they were staying at Orsay, a country seat belonging -to the Le Quesnoys--her father and husband had already gone up to -Paris, as they did every morning, when Rosalie discovered that the -pattern for a little garment she was making was not to be found. The -garment was part of the outfit for the expected heir. It is true there -are beautiful things to be bought ready-made at the shops, but real -mothers, the women who feel the mother-love in advance, like to plan -and cut and sew; and as the pile of little clothes increases in the -box, as each garment is finished, feel that they are hastening the -matter and each object is bringing the advent of the longed-for birth -one step nearer. Rosalie would not for worlds have allowed any other -hand to touch this tremendous work which had been begun five months -before--as soon as she was sure of her coming happiness. On the bench -where she sat under the big catalpa tree down there at Orsay were -spread out dainty little caps that were only big enough to be tried on -one’s fist, little flannel skirts and dresses, the straight sleeves -suggesting the stiff gestures of the tiny form for which they were -designed--and now, here she was without this most important pattern! - -“Send your maid up town for it,” suggested her mother. - -A maid, indeed! What should she know about it? “No, no, I shall go -myself. I will have finished my shopping by noon, and then I shall go -and surprise Numa and eat up half his luncheon.” - -It was a beautiful idea, this bachelor luncheon with her husband, alone -in the half-darkened house in the Rue Scribe, with the curtains all -gone and the furniture covered up; it would be a regular spree! She -laughed to herself as all alone she ran up the steps, her errands done, -and put her key softly in the lock so that she might surprise him. “It -is pretty late, he has probably finished.” - -Indeed, she did find only the remnants of a dainty meal for two upon -the table in the dining room, and the footman in his checked jacket -hard at it emptying all the bottles and dishes. She thought of nothing -at first but that her want of punctuality had spoiled her little plan. -If only she had not loafed so long in that shop over those adorable -little garments, all lace and embroideries! - -“Has your master gone out?” - -The slowness of the servant in answering, the sudden pallor that -overspread his big impudent face framed in long whiskers, did not at -first strike her. She only saw a servant embarrassed at being caught -helping himself to his master’s wines and good things. Still it was -absolutely necessary to say that his master was still there, but that -he was very much occupied and would be occupied for quite a while. But -it took him some time to stammer out this information. How the fellow’s -hands trembled as he cleared off the table and began to rearrange it -for his mistress’s luncheon! - -“Has he been lunching alone?” - -“Yes, Madame; at least, only Monsieur Bompard.” - -She had suddenly caught sight of a black lace scarf lying on a chair. -The foolish fellow saw it at the same moment, and as their eyes were -fixed on the same object the whole thing stood before her in a flash. -Quickly, without a word, she crossed the little waiting room, went -straight to the door of the library, opened it wide, and fell flat on -the floor. They had not even troubled themselves to lock the door! - -And if you had seen the woman! Forty years old, a washed-out blonde -with a pimply complexion, thin lips and eyelids wrinkled like an old -glove! Under her eyes were purple scars, signs of her evil life; her -shoulders were bony and her voice harsh. But--she was high-born, the -Marquise d’Escarbès! which to the Southerner means everything. The -escutcheon concealed her defects as a woman. Separated from her husband -through an unsavory divorce suit, disowned by her family and no longer -received in the great houses of the Faubourg, Mme. d’Escarbès had gone -over to the Empire and had opened a political diplomatic salon, one -of those which are for the police rather than politicians, where one -could find the most notorious persons of the day--without their wives. -Then, after two years of intrigues, having gathered together quite a -following, she determined to appeal her law case. Roumestan, who had -been her lawyer in the first suit, could not very well refuse to take -up the second. He hesitated, nevertheless, for public opinion was -very strong against her. But the entreaties of the Marquise took such -convincing steps and the lawyer’s vanity was so flattered by the steps -themselves that he had yielded. Now that the case was soon to be on, -they saw each other every day, either at her house or his own, pushing -the affair vigorously and from two standpoints. - -This terrible discovery nearly killed Rosalie; it struck her doubly in -her sensibility to pain as a woman with child, bearing as she did two -hearts within her, two spots for suffering. The child was killed, but -the mother lived. But after three days of unconsciousness, when she -regained memory and the power of suffering, her tears poured forth in a -torrent, a bitter flood that nothing could stem. When she had wept her -heart out over the faithlessness of her husband, the empty cradle and -the dainty little garments resting useless under the transparent blue -curtains caused her anguish to break forth again in tears--but without -a cry or lament! - -Poor Numa was in almost as deep despair as she was. The hope of a -little Roumestan, “the eldest,” who is always a great personage in -Provençal families, was gone forever, destroyed by his own fault. The -pale face of his wife with its resigned expression, her compressed lips -and smothered sobs, nearly broke his heart--her grief was so different -from his way of acting, from the coarse, superficial sensibility -that he showed as he sat at the foot of his victim’s bed, saying at -intervals with swimming eyes and trembling lips, “Come now, Rosalie, -come now!” That was all he could find to say; but what vanity in that -“Come now,” uttered with the Southern accent that so easily takes on -a sympathetic tone; yet beneath it all one seemed to hear: “Don’t let -it worry you, my darling little pet! Is it really worth while? Does it -keep me from loving you just the same?” - -It is true that he did love her just as much as his shallow nature was -capable of loving constantly any one. He could not bear to think of any -one else presiding over his house, caring for him, or petting him. - -“I must have devotion about me,” he said naïvely, and he well knew that -the devotion she had to give was the perfection of everything that a -man could desire; so the idea of losing her was horrible to him. If -that is not love, what is? - -Rosalie, alas, was thinking on quite another line. Her life was -wrecked, her idol fallen, her confidence in him forever lost. And yet -she had forgiven him. She had forgiven him, however, as a mother yields -to the child that cries and begs for her pardon; also for the sake of -their name, her father’s honored name that the scandal of a separation -would have tarnished, and because every one believed her happy and she -could not let them know the truth. - -But let him beware! After this pardon so generously accorded, she -warned him, a repetition of such an outrage would not find the same -clemency. Let him never try it again, or their lives would be separated -cruelly and forever under the eyes of the whole world. There was a -firmness in her tone and look as she said this, which showed her -capable of revenging her wounded woman’s pride upon a society that held -her imprisoned in its bonds. - -Numa understood; he swore in perfect good faith that he would sin no -more. He was still upset at the risk he had run of losing his happiness -and that repose which was so necessary to him, all for an intrigue -which had only appealed to his vanity. It was an immense relief to -be rid of his great lady, his bony marquise, who but for her noble -coat-of-arms was hardly more desirable than poor “every one’s old -girl” at the Café Malmus; to have no more love-letters to write and -rendezvous to make and keep. The knowledge that this silly sentimental -nonsense which had so tried his ease-loving nature was over and done -with enchanted him as much as his wife’s forgiveness and the restored -peace of his household. - -He was as happy as before all this had happened. No apparent change -took place in their mode of life--the table always laid, the same crowd -of guests, the same round of entertainments and receptions at which -Numa sang and declaimed and strutted, unconscious that at his side sat -one whose beautiful eyes were evermore open and aware of facts under -their veil of actual tears. She understood her great man now: all words -and gestures, kind-hearted and generous at times, but kind only a -little while, made up of caprice, a love of showing off and a desire to -please like a coquette. She realized the shallowness of such a nature, -undecided in his beliefs as in his dislikes; above all she feared for -both their sakes the weakness hidden under his swelling words and -resounding voice, a weakness which angered and yet endeared him to her, -because, now that her wifely love had vanished, she felt the yearning -towards him that a mother feels to a wayward child. Always ready to -sacrifice herself and to be devoted in spite of treachery, the secret -fear haunted her still: “If only he does not wear out my patience!” - -Clear-sighted as she was, Rosalie quickly observed a change in her -husband’s political opinions. His relations with the Faubourg St. -Germain had begun to cool. The nankin waistcoat and fleur-de-lis pin -of old Sagnier no longer awed him. Sagnier’s mind, he said, was not -what it had been. It was his shadow alone that presided at the Palace, -a sleepy ghost that recalled far too well the epoch of the Legitimacy -and its morbid inactivity, the next thing to death. - -So it was that Numa slowly, gently developed towards the Empire, -opening his doors to notable men among the Imperialists whom he had met -at the house of Mme. d’Escarbès, whose influence had prepared him for -this very change. - -“Look out for your great man; I am afraid he is going to moult,” said -the councillor to his daughter at dinner one day, when the lawyer -had been letting his coarse satire loose regarding the affair of -Froschdorf, which he compared to the wooden horse of Don Quixote, -stationary and nailed down, while his rider with bandaged eyes believed -he was careering far through heavenly space. - -She did not have to ask many questions. Deceitful as he might be, his -lies, which he scorned to cover with complications or with finesse, -were so careless that they betrayed him at once. - -Going into the library one morning she found him absorbed in writing a -letter, and leaning over him with her head near his she inquired: - -“To whom are you writing?” - -He stammered, tried to invent something, but the clear eyes searched -him through and through like a conscience; he had an impulse to be -frank because he could not help it. - -It was a letter to the emperor accepting the position of councillor of -state, written in the dry but emphatic style, that style at the bar -which he employed when addressing the Bench whilst he gesticulated with -his long sleeves. It began thus: “A Vendean of the South, raised in the -belief in the monarchy and a respectful reverence for the past, I feel -that I shall not do violence to my honor or to my conscience--” - -“You must not send that!” said she quickly. - -He flew into a rage, talked loudly and brutally like a shopman at Aps -laying down the law in his own household. What business was it of hers, -after all was said and done? What did she mean by it? Did he interfere -with her about the shape of her bonnets or the models of her gowns? -He stormed and thundered as if he had a public audience, but Rosalie -maintained a tranquil, almost disdainful silence at such violence as -this, mere remnant of a will already broken, sure of her victory in the -end. These crises which weaken and disarm them are themselves the ruin -of exuberant natures. - -“You must not send that letter. It would give the lie to your whole -life, to all your obligations--” - -“My obligations! and to whom?” - -“To me. Remember how we first knew each other, how you won my heart by -your protestations and disgust at the emperor’s masquerades. It was not -so much the sentiments that I admired in you as the fixed purpose that -you showed to uphold a righteous cause once adopted--your steady manly -will!” - -But he defended his conduct. Ought he eat his heart out all his life -long in a party frozen stiff, without springs of action, a camp -deserted and abandoned under the snow? Besides, it was not he who went -to the Empire, it was the Empire that came to him. The emperor was an -excellent man, full of ideas, much superior to his court--in fine, -he brought to bear all the good arguments for playing the traitor. -But Rosalie would accept none of them, and tried to show him that his -conduct would not only be treacherous but short-sighted: - -“Do you not see how uneasy these people are, how they feel that the -earth is mined and hollow beneath their feet? The slightest jar from a -rolling stone and the whole thing will crumble! And into what a gulf!” - -She talked with perfect clearness, gave details, repeated many things -that she, always a silent person, had picked up after dinner from -the talks when the men would leave the women, intelligent or not, to -languish over toilets and worldly scandal in conversation that even -such topics could not enliven. - -“Odd little woman!” thought Roumestan. Where had she learned all that -she was saying? He could not get over the fact that she was so clever; -and, following one of those sudden changes that make these gusty -natures so lovable, he took this reasoning little head, so charming -with youth and yet so intelligent, between his hands and covered it -with a passion of tender kisses. - -“You are right, a thousand times right! I ought to write just the -opposite!” - -He was going to tear up the rough copy, but he noted that in the -opening sentence there was a phrase that pleased him, one that might -still serve his turn if it were changed a bit, somewhat in this way: - -“A Vendean of the South, raised in the belief in the monarchy and a -respectful reverence for the past, I feel that I should do violence to -my honor and conscience, if I accepted the post which your Majesty--” -etc. - -This polite but firm refusal published in all the Legitimist papers -raised Roumestan to a very different place in public opinion; it made -his name a synonym for incorruptibility. “Cannot be rent,” wrote the -_Charivari_ under an amusing cartoon which represented the toga of the -great jurist resisting the violent tugging of the several political -parties. - -Shortly after this the Empire went to pieces and when the Assembly -of Bordeaux met Numa had the choice between three departments which -had elected him their Deputy to the House, entirely on account of his -letter to the emperor. His first speeches, delivered with a somewhat -forced and turgid eloquence, soon made him leader of all the parties of -the Right. - -He was only the small change of old Sagnier, but in these days of -middle-class races, blue blood rarely came to the front, and so the -new leader triumphed on the benches of the Chamber as easily as on the -old red divans at Father Malmus’s café. - -Councillor-general in his own department, the idol of the entire South, -and raised still higher by the position of his father-in-law, who -after the fall of the Empire had become first president of the court -of appeals, Numa without doubt was marked out to become sooner or -later a cabinet minister. In the meantime a great man in the eyes of -every one but his own wife, he carried his fresh glories about, from -Paris to Versailles and down to Provence, amiable, familiar, jolly and -unconventional, bringing his aureola with him, it is true, but only too -willing to leave it in its band-box, like an opera hat when no ceremony -calls for its presence. - - - - -CHAPTER IV. - -A SOUTHERN AUNT--REMINISCENCES OF CHILDHOOD. - - -The Portal mansion in which the great man dwells when he is in -Provence is one of the show-places of Aps. It is mentioned by the -Joanne guide-book in the same category as the temple of Juno, the -amphitheatre, the old theatre and the tower of the Antonines, relics -of the old Roman days of which the town is very proud and always keeps -well furbished up. But it is not the heavy ancient arched gate of the -old provincial residence itself, embossed with immense nails, nor the -high windows, bristling with iron bars, spikes and pike-heads of a -threatening sort, that they point out to the stranger who comes to see -the town. It is only a little balcony with its black iron props on the -first floor, corbelled out above the porch. For it is here that Numa -shows himself to the crowd when he arrives and it is from here that he -speaks. The whole town is witness that the iron balcony, which was once -as straight as a rule, has been hammered into such an original shape, -into such capricious curves, by the blows showered upon it by the -powerful fist of the orator. - -“_Té, vé!_ our Numa has molded the iron!” - -This they will say with bulging eyes and so much earnestness as to -leave no room for doubt--say it with that imposing rolling of the “r” -thus: _pétrrri le ferrr!_ - -They are a proud race, these good people of Aps, and kindly withal, but -vivid in their impressions and most exaggerated in their language, of -which Aunt Portal, a true type of the local citizenry, gave a very fair -idea. - -Immensely fat, apoplectic, her blood rushing to her pendulous cheeks -purple like the lees of wine in fine contrast with her pale complexion, -the skin of a former blonde. So far as one saw it the throat was very -white, and her neat handsome iron-gray curls showed from beneath a -cap decorated with lilac ribbon. Her bodice was hooked awry, but -she was imposing nevertheless, having a majestic air and a pleasant -smile and manner. It was thus that she appeared in the half-light of -her drawing-room, always kept hermetically sealed after the Southern -custom. You would say she looked like an old family portrait, or one -of Mirabeau’s old marquises, and very appropriate to her old house, -built a hundred years ago by Gonzague Portal, chief councillor of the -Parliament of Aix. - -It is not uncommon to find people and houses in Provence that seem as -if they belong to olden times, as if the last century, while passing -out through those high panelled doors, had let a bit of her gown full -of furbelows stick in the crack of the door. - -But if in conversing with Aunt Portal you should be so unlucky as to -hint that Protestants are as good as Catholics, or that Henry V may not -ascend the throne at any moment, the old portrait will spring headlong -out of its frame, and with the veins on its neck swelling and the hands -tearing at the neatly hanging curls, will fly into an ungovernable -passion, swear, threaten and curse! These outbursts have passed into -tradition in the town and many wonderful tales are told upon the -subject. At an evening party in her house a servant let fall a tray of -wineglasses; Aunt Portal fell into one of her fits of rage, shouting -and exciting herself with cries, reproaches and lamentations; finally -her voice failed, and almost choking in her frenzy, unable to beat the -unlucky servant, who had promptly fled, she raised the skirt of her -dress and wrapped it about her head and face to conceal her groans -and her visage disfigured by rage, quite regardless of the voluminous -display of a portly, white-fleshed lady to which she was treating her -guests. - -In any other part of the country she would have been considered -mad, but in Aps, the land of hot brains and explosive natures, they -were satisfied to say that she “rode a high horse.” It is true that -passers-by on the quiet square before her doors on restful afternoons, -when the cloistral stillness of the town is only broken by the chirping -of the locusts or a few notes on a piano, are wont to hear such words -as “monster,” “thief,” “assassin,” “stealers of priests’ property,” -“I’ll cut your arm off,” “I’ll rip the skin off your stomach!” -Then doors would slam and stairways tremble beneath the vaults of -whitewashed stone; windows would open noisily, as though the mutilated -bodies of the unhappy servants were to be thrown from them! But nothing -happens; the servants placidly continue their work, accustomed to these -tempests, knowing perfectly that they are mere habits of speech. - -An excellent person, all things considered, ardent, generous, with a -great desire to please and to sacrifice herself--a noble trait in these -impulsive people, and one by which Numa had profited. Since he had been -chosen deputy the house on the Place Cavalerie belonged to him, his -aunt only reserving the right to remain there the rest of her life. And -then, what a delight it was to her when the party from Paris arrived, -with the receptions, the visits, the morning music and the serenades -which the presence of the great man brought into that lonely life of -hers, eager for excitement! Besides, she adored her niece Rosalie, -partly because they were so entirely the opposite of each other and -also because of the respect she felt for the daughter of the chief -magistrate of France. - -It really needed a world of patience on Rosalie’s part and all the love -of family inculcated in her by her parents to endure for two whole -months the whims and tiresome caprices of this disordered imagination, -always over-excited and as restless in mind as she was indolent in -her big body. Seated in the large vestibule, as cool as a Moorish -court, but yet close and musty from the exclusion of air and sunshine, -Rosalie, holding a bit of embroidery in her hands--for like a true -Parisian she never could be idle--was obliged to listen for hours at -a time to her surprising confidences. The enormous lady sat before -her in an arm-chair, with her hands free in order to gesticulate, -and recapitulated breathlessly the chronicles of the whole town. -She sometimes depicted her maid-servants and coachman as monsters, -sometimes as angels, according to the caprice of the moment. She would -select some one against whom she apparently had some grudge, and cover -the detested one with the foulest, bloodiest, most venomous abuse, -relating stories like those in the _Annals of the Propagation of the -Faith_. Rosalie, who had lived with Numa, had luckily become accustomed -to these frantic objurgations. She listened abstractedly; for the most -part they passed in at one ear and out at the other; hardly did she -stop to wonder how it came about that she, so reserved and discreet, -could ever have entered such a family of theatrical persons who draped -themselves with phrases and overflowed with gestures. It had to be a -very strong bit of gossip to make her hold up Aunt Portal with an “Oh, -my dear aunt!” thrown out with a far-away air. - -“Perhaps you are right, my dear, perhaps I do exaggerate a little.” - -But Aunt Portal’s tumultuous imagination was soon off again, recounting -some comic or tragic tale with so much mimicry and dramatic effect -that she gave one the impression of wearing alternately the two masks -borne by ancient actors of tragedy and of comedy. She only calmed down -when she described her one visit to Paris and related the wonders of -the arrival in the “Passage Somon,” where she had stopped at a small -hotel patronized by all the travelling salesmen of her native province, -where they “took the air” in a glass-covered passage as stuffy and hot -as a melon-frame. Of all her remarkable stories of Paris this place -was the central point from which everything else evolved--it was the -elegant, fashionable spot beyond all others. - -These tiresome, empty tirades had at least the spice of being uttered -in the strangest and most amusing kind of language, in which an -old-school stilted French, the French of books of rhetoric, was mixed -with the oddest provincialisms. Aunt Portal detested the Provençal -tongue, that dialect so admirable in color and sonorousness, which only -the peasants and people talk, which contains an echo of Latin vibrating -across the deep blue sea. She belonged to the burgher class of Provence -who translate _pécaïré_ by _péchère_ (sinner) and fancy they talk -correctly. - -When her coachman Ménicle (Dominick) in his frank way said to her in -Provençal: - -“_Voù baia de civado au chivaou_” (I am going to give the horses -oats)--she would assume an austere air and say: - -“I do not understand you--speak French, my good fellow!” - -Then Ménicle, like a docile schoolboy, would say: - -“_Je vais bayer dé civade au chivau._” - -“That is right, now I understand you!”--and he would go away thinking -that he had been speaking the language. It is a fact that most of the -people in the South below Valence only know this hybrid kind of French. - -But besides all this Aunt Portal played upon her words by no means -according to her fancy but in accordance with the rules of some local -grammar. Thus she said _déligence_ for _diligence_, _achéter_ for -_acheter_, _anédote_ for _anecdote_, _régitre_ for _régistre_. She -called a pillow-slip (_taie d’oreiller_) a _coussinière_, an umbrella -was an _ombrette_, the foot-warmer which she used at all seasons of -the year was a _banquette_. She did not cry, she “fell to tears;” and -though very “overweighted” she never took more than “half hour” for -her round of the city. All this twaddle was larded with those little -words and expressions without precise meaning which Provençals scatter -through their speech, those verbal snips which they stuff between -sentences to lessen their stress or increase their strength, or keep up -the multifold character of the accent, such as - -“_Aie, ouie, avai, açavai, au moins, pas moins, différemment, allons!_” - -This contempt of Mme. Portal for the language of her province extended -to its usages and its traditions and even to its costume. Just as she -did not permit her coachman to lapse into Provençal, in the same way -she never would have allowed a servant to enter her house wearing the -head-dress and neck-kerchief of Arles. - -“My house is neither a _mas_ (farm) nor a weaver’s loft,” said she. -Nor would she let them wear a _chapo_ either. To wear a bonnet is -the distinctive hieratic sign of the ascendancy of the citizen in -the provinces. The title of “madame” is one of its attributes, a -title refused to any of the baser sort. It is amusing to see the -condescension of the wife of a retired officer or municipal employee -who earns eight hundred francs a year, doing her own marketing in an -enormous bonnet, when she speaks to the wife of an immensely rich -farmer from the Crau, in her picturesque headgear trimmed with real old -thread lace. In the Portal mansion the ladies had worn bonnets for over -a century. This made Mme. Portal very arrogant toward poor people and -was the cause of a terrible scene between her and Roumestan a few days -after the festival in the amphitheatre. - -It was a Friday morning at breakfast, a regular Provençal breakfast, -pretty and attractive to the eye although strictly a fast-day meal, -for Aunt Portal was very keen about her orders. On the white cloth -in picturesque array were big green peppers, alternating with -blood-red figs, almonds and carved water-melons, that looked like big -rose-colored magnolias, anchovy patties and little white rolls such as -are to be found nowhere else--all very light dishes set among decanters -of fresh water and bottles of light home-made wine. Outside in the sun -the locusts and rays were chirping and glittering, and a broad band of -golden light slid through a crevice into the great dining-room, vaulted -and resounding like the refectory of a convent. - -In the middle of the table on a chafing dish were two large cutlets -designed for Numa. Notwithstanding that his name was uttered in all the -prayers, perhaps because of it, the great man of Aps, alone of all the -family, had obtained a dispensation from fasting from the cardinal. So -there he sat feasting and carving his juicy cutlets, while his aunt and -his wife and sister-in-law breakfasted on figs and watermelon. - -Rosalie was used to it. The two days’ fast every week was but a part -of her yearly burden, as much a matter of course as the sunshine, the -dust, the hot mistral wind, the mosquitoes, her aunt’s gossip and -the Sunday services at the church of St. Perpétue. But the youthful -appetite of Hortense revolted against this continual fasting and -it took all the gentle authority of the elder sister to prevent an -outburst from the spoiled child, which would have shocked all Aunt -Portal’s ideas of the conduct becoming to a young person of refinement -and education. So Hortense had to content herself with her husks, -revenging herself by making the most awful grimaces, rolling up her -eyes, snuffing up the smell of the cutlets and murmuring under her -breath for Rosalie’s benefit alone: - -“It always happens so. I took a long ride this morning. I am as hungry -as a tramp!” - -She still wore her habit, which was as becoming to her tall, slim -figure as was the straight, high collar to her irregular saucy little -face, still flushed by her exercise in the open air. Her ride had given -her an idea. - -“Oh Numa, how about Valmajour? When are we going to see him?” - -“Who is Valmajour?” answered Numa, whose fickle brain had already -discarded all memory of the taborist. “_Té_, that’s a fact, Valmajour! -I had forgotten all about him. What a genius he is!” - -It all came back to him--the arches of the amphitheatre echoing to the -farandole with the dull vibration of the tabor; it fired his memory and -so excited him that he called out decisively: - -“Aunt Portal, do lend us the landau; we will set off directly after -breakfast.” - -His aunt’s brow darkened above her big eyes, flaming like those of a -Japanese idol. - -“The landau? _Avai!_ What for? At least you’re not going to take your -wife and sister to see that player of the _tutu-panpan!_” - -This word “tutu-panpan” so perfectly mimicked the sound of the fife -and tabor that Roumestan burst out laughing, but Hortense took up the -defence of the old Provençal tabor with much earnestness. Nothing that -she had seen in the South had impressed her so much. Besides, it would -not be honest to break one’s word to the nice boy. - -“He is a great artist! Numa, you said so yourself.” - -“Yes, yes, little sister, you are right; we must certainly go.” - -Aunt Portal in a towering rage said that she could not understand -how a man like her nephew, a deputy, could put himself out for -peasants, farmers, whose people from father to son had made music for -the villages. Then, in her usual spirit of mimicry, she stuck out a -disdainful lip and played with the fingers of one hand on an imaginary -fife, while with the other she beat upon the table to represent the -tabor, taking off the tabor-player’s gestures. - -“Nice people to take ladies to see! No one but Numa would dream of -doing such a thing. Calling on the Valmajours! Holy mother of angels!” -And becoming more and more excited, she accused them of crimes enough -to make them out a brood of monsters as bloody and dreadful as the -Trestaillon family, when suddenly across the table she caught the eye -of her butler Ménicle, who came from the same village as the Valmajours -and was listening to her lies, every feature strained in astonishment. -At once she shouted to him in a terrible voice to “go and change -himself quickly” and have the landau at the door at “two o’clock a -quarter off.” All the rages of Aunt Portal ended in this fashion. - -Hortense threw down her napkin and ran and kissed the old lady -rapturously on her fat cheeks. She was in a tumult of gayety and -bounded for joy: - -“Come, Rosalie, let us hurry!” - -Aunt Portal looked at her niece: - -“Well, I hope, Rosalie, that you are not going to vagabondize with -these feather-heads!” - -“No, no, aunt, I will stay with you” answered Rosalie, amused at -the character of elderly relative that her unvarying amiability and -resignation had created for her in that house. - -At the right moment the carriage came promptly to the door, but they -sent it on ahead, telling Ménicle to wait for them at the amphitheatre -square, and Roumestan set out on foot with his little sister on his -arm, full of curiosity and pride at seeing Aps in his company, to visit -the house in which he was born and to retrace with him the streets -through which he had so often walked when a child. - -It was the hour of the midday rest. The whole town slept, silent -and deserted, rocked by the south wind blowing in great fanlike -gusts, cooling and freshening the fierce Provençal summer heat, but -making walking difficult, especially along the Corso, which offered -no resistance to it, where it roared round the little city with the -bellowings of a loosened bull. Hortense, with her head down, her -hands tightly clasped about her brother’s arm, out of breath and -bewildered, enjoyed the sensation of being raised and borne along by -the gusts which were like resistless waves, noisy and complaining, -white with foamlike dust. Sometimes they had to stop and cling to the -ropes stretched along the ramparts for use on windy days. Owing to -the whirlwinds in which bits of bark and plane-tree seeds spun round, -and owing to its solitude the Corso had an air of distress in its -wide desolation, still soiled as it was with the remains of the recent -market, strewn with melon-rinds, straw litters, empty casks, as if the -mistral alone had charge of the street cleaning. - -Roumestan was anxious to reach the carriage as soon as possible, but -Hortense enjoyed this battle with the hurricane and insisted on walking -farther, panting and overborne by the gust that curled her blue veil -three times around her hat and molded her short walking skirt against -her figure as she walked. She was saying: - -“It is queer how different people are! Rosalie, now, hates the wind. -She says it blows away all her ideas, keeps her from thinking. Now me -the wind excites, intoxicates!” - -“So it does me!” said Numa, clinging on to his hat, his eyes full of -water, and then suddenly, as they turned a corner: - -“Ah, here is my street--I was born here.” - -The wind was going down, at least they felt it less; it was blowing -farther away with a sound as of billows breaking on a beach, as -one hears them from the quiet inner bay. The street was a largish -one, paved with pointed stones, without sidewalks, and the house an -insignificant little gray structure standing between an Ursuline -convent shaded with big plane-trees and a fine old seignorial mansion -on which was carved a coat of arms and the inscription “Hôtel de -Rochemaure.” Opposite stood a very old and characterless building -with broken columns, defaced statues and grave-stones with Roman -inscriptions carved on them; it had the word “Academy” in faded gilt -letters over a green door. - -In that little gray house the great orator first saw the light on the -15th of July, 1832; it was easy to draw more than one parallel between -his narrow, classical talent and his education as a Catholic and a -Legitimist, and that little house of needy citizens with a convent on -one side and a seignorial residence on the other, and a provincial -academy in front of it. - -Roumestan was filled with emotion, as he always was over anything -concerning himself. He had not visited this spot for perhaps thirty -years; it needed the whim of this young girl to bring him here. He was -much struck with the immutability of things. He recognized in the wall -a shutter-catch that his childish hand had turned and played with every -morning as he passed on his way up the street. The columns and precious -torsos of the academy threw their shadows on the same spot as of old. -The rose-laurel bushes had the same spicy odor and he showed Hortense -the narrow window where his mother had sat and signed to him to hurry -when he came from the friars’ school: - -“Come up quickly, father has come in!” His father did not like to be -kept waiting. - -“Tell me, Numa, is it really true? were you really educated by the -friars?” - -“Yes, little sister, until I was twelve years old, and then Aunt Portal -sent me to the Assumption, the most fashionable boarding-school in the -town; but it was the Ignorantins over there in that big barrack with -yellow shutters who taught me to read.” - -As he called to mind the pail of brine under the Brother’s chair in -which were soaked the straps with which they beat the boys, to make the -pain greater, he shuddered; he remembered the large paved class-room -where they were made to say their lessons on their knees and had to -crawl up holding out their hands to be punished on the slightest -pretext; he recalled how the Brother in his shabby black gown stood -stiff and rigid, with his habit rolled up beneath his arm, the better -to strike his pitiless blows--Brother Crust-to-cook, as he was called, -because he was the cook. He remembered how the dear Brother cried “ha!” -and how his little inky fingers tingled with the pain as if ants were -biting them. As Hortense cried aloud in dismay at the brutality of such -punishments, he related others still more dreadful; for example, they -were obliged to clean the freshly watered pavements with their tongues, -the dust and water making a muddy substance that injured the tender -palates of the naughty children. - -“It is shameful! and you defend such people and speak in their favor in -the Chamber?” - -“Ah, my dear, that is politics!” said Roumestan calmly. - -As they talked they were threading a labyrinth of small, dingy streets, -almost oriental in their character, where old women lay asleep on their -doorsteps, and other streets, though not so sombre, where long pieces -of printed calicoes fluttered in explanation of signboards on which -were painted: “Haberdashery,” “Shoes,” “Silks.” - -Thence they came out on what was called in Aps the “Little Square,” -with its asphalt melting in the hot sun and surrounded by shops, at -this hour closed and silent, in the narrow shadow of whose walls -boot-blacks slept peacefully, their heads resting on their boxes, their -limbs stretched out like those of drowned people, wrecks of the tempest -that has just swept over the town. An unfinished monument occupied -the centre of the little square. Hortense wished to know what was -ultimately to be the statue placed upon it and Roumestan smiled in an -embarrassed way. - -“It is a long story!” he answered, hurrying on. - -The town of Aps had voted a statue to Numa, but the Liberals of the -“Vanguard” had strongly disapproved of this apotheosis of a living man -and so his friends had not dared to go on with it. The statue was all -ready, but now probably they would wait for his death before raising -it. Surely it’s a glorious thought that after your funeral you will -have civic recognition and that you die only to rise again in bronze or -marble; but this empty pedestal shining in the sun seemed to Roumestan, -whenever he passed it, as gloomy as a majestic family vault; it was -not until they had reached the amphitheatre that he could dispel his -funereal thoughts. - -The old structure, divested of its Sunday cheerfulness and returned to -its solemnity of a great and useless ruin, seemed damp and cheerless -as it loomed darkly against the rays of the setting sun, with its dark -corridors and floors caved in here and there and stones crumbling -beneath the footsteps of the centuries. - -“How dreadfully sad it is!” said Hortense, regretting the music of -Valmajour’s fife; but to Numa it did not seem sad. His happiest days -had been passed there--his childish days with all their pleasures and -longings. Oh, the Sundays at the bull-fights, prowling around the -gates with other poor children who lacked ten sous to pay for their -tickets! In the hot afternoon sun they crawled into some corner where -a glimpse of the arena could be obtained. What pleasures of forbidden -fruits!--the red-stockinged legs of the bull-fighters, the wrathful -hoofs of the bull, the dust of the combat rising from the arena amid -the cries of “Bravo!” and the bellowings and the roar of the multitude! -The yearning to get inside was not to be resisted. While the sentinel’s -back was turned the bravest of them would wriggle through the iron bars -with a little effort. - -“I always got through!” said Roumestan in ecstasy. The history of -his whole life was expressed in those few words. By chance or by -cleverness--no matter how close were the bars--the Southerner always -wriggled through. - -“I was thinner in those days, all the same,” he said with a sigh and he -looked with comic regret at the narrow bars of the grille and then at -his big white waistcoat, within which lay the solid sign of his forty -years. - -Behind the enormous amphitheatre they found the carriage, safely -harbored from wind and sun. They had to wake up Ménicle, who was -sleeping peacefully on the box between two large baskets of provisions, -wrapped in his heavy cloak of royal blue. But before getting in Numa -pointed out to Hortense an old inn at a distance whose sign read: “To -the Little St. John, coach and express office,” the whitewashed front -and large open sheds of which took up one whole corner of the square. -In these sheds were ancient stage-coaches and rural chaises long -unused, covered with dust, their shafts raised high in air from beneath -their gray covers. - -“Look there, little sister,” he cried with emotion. “It was from this -spot that I set out for Paris one-and-twenty years ago. There was no -railway then; we went by coach as far as Montélimar, then up the Rhône. -Heavens, how happy I was! and how your big Paris frightened me! It was -evening--I remember it so well....” - -He spoke quickly, reminiscences crowding each other in his mind. - -“The evening, ten o’clock, in November, beautiful moonlight. The -guard’s name was Fouque, a great person! While he was harnessing we -walked about with Bompard--yes, Bompard--you know we were already -great friends. He was, or thought he was, studying for a druggist and -meant to join me in Paris. We made many plans for living together and -helping each other along in the world to get ahead quicker--in the -meantime he encouraged me, gave me good advice--he was older than I. My -great bugbear was the fear of being ridiculous--Aunt Portal had ordered -for me a travelling wrap called a Raglan; I was a little dubious about -that Raglan, so Bompard made me put it on and walk before him in it. -_Té!_ I can see yet my shadow beside me as I walked, and gravely, with -that knowing air he has, he said: ‘That is all right, old boy; you -don’t look ridiculous.’--Ah, youth, youth!” - -Hortense, who was beginning to fear that they should never get away -from this town where every stone was eloquent of reminiscences for the -great man, led the way gently towards the carriage. - -“Let us get in, Numa. We can talk just as well as we drive along.” - - - - -CHAPTER V. - -VALMAJOUR. - - -It takes hardly more than two hours to drive from Aps to Cordova -Mountain provided the wind is astern. Drawn by the two old horses from -the Camargue, the carriage went almost by itself, propelled by the -mistral which shook and rattled it, beating on its leather hood and -curtains or blowing them out like sails. - -Out here it did not bellow any more as it did round the ramparts and -through the vaulted passages of the town; but, free of all obstacles, -driving before it the great plain itself, where a solitary farm and -some peasant manses here and there, forming gray spots in the green -landscape, seemed the scattering of a village by the storm, the wind -passed in the form of smoke before the sky, and like sudden dashes of -surf over the tall wheat and olive orchards, whose silvery leaves it -made to flutter like a swarm of butterflies. Then with sudden rebounds -that raised in blond masses the dust that crackled under the wheels -it fell upon the files of closely pressed cypresses and the Spanish -reeds with their long rustling leaves, which made one feel that there -was a river flowing beside the road. When for one moment it stopped, -as if short of breath, one felt all the weight of summer; then a -truly African heat rose from the earth, which was soon driven off by -the wholesome, revivifying hurricane, extending its jovial dance to -the very farthest point on the horizon, to those little dull, grayish -mounds which are seen on the horizon in all Provençal landscapes, but -which the sunset turns to iridescent tints of fairyland. - -They did not meet many people. An occasional huge wagon from the -quarries filled with hewn stones, blinding in the sunlight; an old -peasant woman from Ville-des-Baux bending under a great _couffin_ or -basket of sweet-smelling herbs; the robe of a mendicant friar with -a sack on his back and a rosary round his waist, his hard, tonsured -head sweating and shining like a Durance pebble; or else a group of -people returning from a pilgrimage, a wagon-load of women and girls in -holiday attire, with fine black eyes, big chignons and bright-colored -ribbons, coming from Sainte Baume or Notre-Dame-de-Lumière. Well, the -mistral gave to all these people, to hard labor, to wretchedness and -to superstition the same flow of health and good spirits, gathering up -and scattering again during its rushes the hymn of the monk, the shrill -canticles of the pilgrims, the bells and jingling blue glass beads of -the horses and the “_Dia! hue!_” of the carters, as well as the popular -refrain that Numa, intoxicated by the breeze of his native land, poured -forth with all the power of his lungs and with wide gesticulations that -were waved from both the carriage doors at once: - - “_Beau soleil de la Provence, - Gai compère du mistral!_” - (Splendid sun of old Provence, - Of the mistral comrade gay!) - -Suddenly he cried to the coachman: “Here! Ménicle, Ménicle!” - -“Monsieur Numa?” - -“What is that stone building on the other side of the Rhône?” - -“That, Monsieur Numa, is the _jonjon_ of Queen Jeanne.” - -“Oh, yes, that’s so--I remember; poor _jonjon!_ Its name is as much of -a ruin as the tower itself!” - -And then he told Hortense the story of the royal dungeon, for he was -thoroughly grounded in his native legends. - -That ruined and rusty tower up there dated from the time of the Saracen -invasion, although more modern than the ruin of the abbey near it, a -bit of whose half crumbled wall still remained standing near at hand, -with its row of narrow windows showing against the sky and its big -ogival doorway. He showed her, against the rocky slope, a worn pathway -leading to a pond that shone like a cup of crystal, where the monks -used to go to fish for eels and carp for the table of the abbot. As -they looked at the lovely spot Numa remarked that the men of God had -always known how to select the choicest spots in which to pass their -comfortable, restful lives, generally choosing the summits where they -might soar and dream, but whence they descended upon the quiet valleys -and levied their toll on all the good things from the surrounding -villages. - -Oh, Provence in the Middle Ages! land of the troubadours and courts of -beauty! - -Now briers dislocate the stones of the terraces erstwhile swept by -the trains of courtly beauties--Stephenettes or Azalaïses--while -ospreys and owls scream at night in the place where the dead and gone -troubadours used to sing! But was there not still a perfume of delicate -beauty, a charming Italian coquetry pervading this landscape of the -Alpilles, like the quiver of a lute or viol floating through the pure, -still air? - -Numa grew excited, forgetting that he had only his sister-in-law and -old Ménicle’s blue cloak for audience, and, after a few commonplaces -fit for local banquets and meetings of the Academy, broke forth into -one of those ingenious and brilliant impromptus that proved him to be -indeed the descendant of the light Provençal troubadours. - -“There is Valmajour!” said Ménicle all at once, pointing upwards with -his whip as he leaned round on the box. - -They had left the highroad and were climbing a zigzag path up the -side of Cordova Mountain, narrow and slippery with the lavender whose -fragrance filled the air with a smell of burnt incense as the carriage -wheels passed. On a plateau half way up, at the foot of a black, -dilapidated tower, the roofs of the farmstead could be seen. Here it -was that for years and years the Valmajours had lived, from father -to son, on the site of the old château whose name abided with them. -And who knows? perhaps these peasants really were the descendants of -the princes of Valmajour, related to the counts of Provence and to -the house of Baux. This idea, imprudently expressed by Roumestan, was -eagerly taken up by Hortense, who thus accounted to herself for the -really high-bred manners of the taborist. - -As they conversed in the carriage on the subject Ménicle listened to -their talk in amazement from his box. The name of Valmajour was common -enough in the province; there were mountain Valmajours and Valmajours -of the valley, according as they dwelt on upland or on plain. “So they -are all noblemen!” he wondered. But the astute Provençal kept his -thoughts on the subject to himself. - -As they advanced further into this desolate but beautiful landscape the -imagination of the young girl, excited by Numa’s animated conversation, -gave free vent to its romantic impressions, stimulated by the -brightly-colored fantasies of the past; and looking upward and seeing -a peasant woman sitting on a buttress of the ruined tower, watching -the approach of the strangers, her face in profile, her hand shading -her eyes from the sun, she imagined she saw some princess wearing the -mediæval wimple gazing down upon them from her feudal tower--like an -illustration in an old book. - -The illusion was hardly dispelled when, on leaving the carriage, they -saw before them the sister of the taborist, who was making willow -screens for silk worms. She did not rise, although Ménicle had shouted -to her from a distance: “_Vé!_ Audiberte, here are visitors for your -brother!” Her face with its delicate, regular features, long and green -as an unripe olive, expressed neither pleasure nor surprise, but kept -the concentrated look that brought the heavy black eyebrows together in -front and seemed to tie a knot below her obstinate brows, as if with a -hard, fixed line. Numa, somewhat taken aback by this frigid reception, -said hastily: “I am Numa Roumestan, the deputy--” - -“Oh, I know who you are well enough,” she answered gravely, and -throwing down her work in a heap by her side: “Come in a moment, my -brother will be here presently.” - -When she stood up their hostess lost her imposing appearance; short of -stature, with a large bust, she walked with an ungraceful waddle that -spoiled the effect of her pretty head charmingly set off by the little -Arles head-dress and the picturesque fichu of white muslin with its -bluish shadow in every fold which she wore over her shoulders. She led -her guests into the house. This peasant’s cottage, leaning up against -its ruined tower, seemed to have imbibed a distinguished air, with its -coat-of-arms in stone over a door shaded by an awning of reeds cracked -by the heat of the sun and its big curtain of checked muslin stretched -across the door to keep out the mosquitoes. The old guard-room, with -its ceiling riddled by cracks, its tall, ancient chimneypiece and its -white walls, was lighted only by small green-glass windows and the -curtain stretched across the door. - -In the dim light could be seen the black wooden kneading-trough, shaped -like a sarcophagus, carved with designs of wheat and flowers; over it -hung the open-work wicker bread-basket, ornamented with little Moorish -bells, in which the bread is kept fresh in Provençal farm-houses. Two -or three sacred images, the Virgin, Saint Martha and the _tarasque_, -a small red copper lamp of antique form hanging from the beak of a -mocking-bird carved in white wood by one of the shepherds, and on each -side of the fireplace the salt and the flour boxes, completed the -furniture of the big room, not forgetting a large sea-shell, with which -they called the cattle home, glittering on the mantelpiece above the -hearth. - -A long table ran lengthwise through the hall, on each side of which -were benches and stools. From the ceiling hung strings of onions black -with flies, that buzzed loudly whenever the door curtain was raised. - -“Take a seat, sir--a seat, madame; you must share the _grand boire_ -with us.” - -The _grand boire_ or “big drink” is the lunch partaken of wherever the -peasants are working--out in the fields, under the trees, in the shade -of a mill, or in a roadside ditch. But the Valmajours took theirs in -the house, as they were at work near by. The table was already laid -with little yellow earthen dishes in which were pickled olives and -romaine salad shining with oil. In the willow stand where the bottles -and glasses are kept Numa thought he saw some wine. - -“So you still have vineyards up here?” he asked smilingly, trying to -ingratiate himself with this queer little savage. But at the word -“vineyards” she sprang to her feet like a goat bitten by an asp, and in -a moment her voice struck the full note of indignation. Vines! oh, yes! -nice luck they had had with their vineyards! Out of five only one was -left to them--the smallest one, too, and that they had to keep under -water half the year,--water from the _roubine_ at that, costing them -their last sou! And all that--who was to blame for it? the Reds, those -swine, those monsters, the Reds and their godless republic, that had -let loose all the devils of hell upon the country! - -As she spoke in this passionate manner her eyes grew blacker with -the murky look of an assassin; her pretty face was all convulsed and -disfigured, her mouth was distorted and her black eyebrows made with -their knot a big lump in the middle of her brow. The strangest of all -was that in spite of her fury she continued her peaceful avocations, -making the coffee, blowing the fire, coming and going, gesticulating -with whatever was in her hand, the bellows or the coffee-pot, or a -blazing brand of vine-wood from the fire, which she brandished like the -torch of a Fury. Suddenly she calmed down. - -“Here is my brother,” she said. - -The rustic curtain, brushed aside, let in a flood of white sunlight -against which appeared the tall form of Valmajour, followed by a little -old man with a smooth face, sunburned until it was as black and gnarled -as the root of a diseased vine. Neither father nor son showed any more -excitement at the sight of the visitors than Audiberte. - -The first greeting over, they seated themselves at the table, on which -had been spread the contents of the two baskets that Roumestan had -brought in the carriage, at sight of which the eyes of old Valmajour -shone with little joyous sparkles. Roumestan, who could not recover -from the want of enthusiasm about himself shown by these peasants, -began at once to speak of the great success on the Sunday at the -amphitheatre. That must have made him proud of his son! - -“Yes, yes,” mumbled the old man, spearing his olives with his -knife. “But I too in my time used to get prizes myself for my -tabor-playing”--and he smiled the same wicked smile that had played on -his daughter’s lips in her recent gust of temper. Very peaceful just -now, Audiberte sat upon the hearthstone with her plate upon her knees; -for, although she was the mistress of the house and a very tyrannical -one at that, she still obeyed the ancient Provençal custom that did -not allow the women to sit at the table and eat with their men. But -from that humble spot she listened attentively all the while to what -they were saying and shook her head when they spoke of the festival -at the amphitheatre. She did not care for the tabor, herself--_nani!_ -no indeed! Her mother had been killed by the bad blood her father’s -love for it had occasioned. It was a profession, look you, fit for -drunkards; it kept people from profitable work and cost more money than -it made. - -“Well then, let him come to Paris,” said Roumestan. “Take my word for -it, his tabor will coin money for him there....” - -Spurred on by the utter incredulity of the country girl, he tried to -make her understand how capricious Paris was and how the city would pay -almost anything to gratify its whims. He told her of the success of old -Mathurin, who used to play the bagpipes at the “Closerie des Genets,” -and how inferior were the Breton bagpipes, coarse and shrieking, fit -only for Esquimaux in the Polar Circle to dance to, when compared -with the tabor of Provence, so pretty, so delicate and high-bred! He -could tell them that all the Parisian women would go wild over it and -all wish to dance the _farandole_. Hortense also grew excited and put -in her oar, while the taborist smiled vaguely and twirled his brown -moustache with the fatuous air of a lady-killer. - -“Well now, come! Give me an idea what he would earn by his music!” -cried the peasant girl. Roumestan thought a moment. He could not say -precisely. One hundred and fifty to two hundred francs-- - -“A month?” quoth the old man excitedly. - -“Heavens! no--a day!” - -The three peasants started and then looked at each other. From any one -else but M. Numa the deputy, member of the General Council, they would -have suspected a joke, a _galéjade!_ But with him of course the matter -was serious. Two hundred francs a day--_foutré!_ The musician himself -wished to go at once, but his more prudent sister would have liked to -draw up a paper for Roumestan to sign; and then quietly, with lowered -eyelids, that the money greed in her eyes might not be seen, she began -to canvass the matter in her hypocritical voice. - -Valmajour was so much needed at home, _pécaïré!_ He took care of the -property, ploughed, dressed the vines, his father being too old now for -such work. What should they do if her brother went away? And he--he -would be sure to be homesick alone in Paris, and his money, his two -hundred francs a day, who would take care of it in that awful great -city? And her voice hardened as she spoke of money that she could not -take care of and stow carefully away in her most secret drawer. - -“Well,” said Roumestan, “come to Paris with him.” - -“And the house?” - -“Leave it or sell it. You can buy a much better one when you come back.” - -He hesitated as Hortense glanced warningly at him, and, as if -remorseful for disturbing the quiet life of these simple people, he -said: - -“After all, there is a great deal besides money in this life. You are -lucky enough as you are.” - -Audiberte interrupted him sharply: “Lucky? Existence is a struggle; -things are not as they used to be!”--and she began again to whine about -the vineyards, the silk-worms, the madder, the vermilion and all the -other vanished riches of the country. Nowadays one had to work in the -sun like cart-horses. It is true that they expected to inherit the -fortune of Cousin Puyfourcat, the colonist in Algiers, but Algeria -is so far away; and then the astute little peasant, in order to warm -Numa up, whom she reproached herself for causing to lose some of his -enthusiasm on the subject, turned in a catty way to her brother and -said in her coaxing, singsong voice: - -“_Qué_, Valmajour! suppose you play something for the pleasure of the -pretty young lady.” - -Ah, clever girl! she was not mistaken. At the first blow of the stick, -at the first pearly notes of the fife Roumestan was trapped once more -and went into raptures. - -The musician leaned against the curb of an old well in front of -the farmhouse door. Over the well was an iron frame, round which a -wild fig-tree had wound itself and made a marvellously picturesque -background for his handsome figure and swarthy face. With his bare -arms, his dusty, toil-worn garments, his uncovered sun-browned breast, -he looked nobler and prouder than he had appeared when in the arena, -where his natural grace had a somewhat tawdry touch through a certain -striving after theatrical effect. The old airs that he played on his -rustic instrument, made poetic by the solitude and silence of the -mountains and waking the ancient golden ruins from their slumbers in -stone, floated like skylarks round the slopes all gray with lavender or -checkered with wheat and dead vines and mulberry-trees with their broad -leaves casting longer but lighter shadows on the grass at their feet. -The wind had gone down. The setting sun played upon the violet line of -the Alpilles and poured into the hollows of the rocks a very mirage of -lakes, of liquid porphyry and of molten gold. - -All along the horizon there seemed as it were a luminous vibration, -like the stretched cords of a lyre, to which the song of the crickets -and the hum of the tabor furnished the sonorous base. Silent and -delighted, Hortense, seated on the parapet of the old tower, leaning -her elbow on the fragment of a broken column near which a pomegranate -grew, listened and admired while she let her romantic little mind -wander, filled with the legends and stories that Roumestan had told her -on the way to the farm. - -She pictured to herself the old château rising from its ruins, its -towers rebuilt, its gates renewed, its cloister-like arches peopled -with lovely women in long-bodiced gowns, with those pale, clear -complexions that the sun cannot injure. She herself was a princess of -the house of Baux with a pretty name of some saint in a missal and the -musician who was giving her a morning greeting was also a prince, the -last of the Valmajours, dressed in the costume of a peasant. - -“Of a certes, ywis, the song once finished,” as the chroniclers of the -courts of love of old used to say, she broke from the tree above her a -bunch of pomegranate blossoms and held it out to the musician as the -prize won by his playing. He received it with gallantry and wound it -round the strings of his tabor. - - - - -CHAPTER VI. - -CABINET MINISTER! - - -Three months have passed since that expedition to Mount Cordova. - -Parliament had met at Versailles in a deluge of November rain, which -brought the low cloudy sky down to the lakes in the parks, enveloped -everything in mist and wrapped the two Chambers in a dreary dampness -and darkness; but it had done nothing to cool the heat of political -hatreds. The opening was stormy and threatening. Train after train -filled with deputies and senators followed and crossed each other, -hissing, whistling, spluttering, blowing defiant smoke at each other -as if animated by the same passions and intrigues they were carrying -through the torrents of rain. During this hour in the train, discussion -and loud-voiced conversation prevail above all the tumult of rushing -wheels in the different carriages, as violently and furiously as if -they were in the Chamber. - -The noisiest, the most excited of all is Roumestan. He has already -delivered himself of two speeches since Parliament met. He addresses -committees, talks in the corridors, in the railway station, in the -café, and makes the windows tremble in the photographer’s shop where -all the Rights assemble. Little else is seen but that restless outline -and heavy form, his big head always in motion, the roll of his broad -shoulders, so formidable in the eyes of the Ministry, which he is about -to “down” according to all the rules, like one of the stoutest and most -supple of his native Southern wrestlers. - -Ah! the blue sky, the tabors, the cicadas, all the bright pleasures of -his vacation days--how far away they seem, how utterly dislocated and -vanished! Numa never gives them a moment’s thought nowadays, entirely -carried away as he is by the whirl of his double life as politician and -man of the law. Like his old master Sagnier, when he went into politics -he did not renounce the law, and every evening from six o’clock to -eight his office in the Rue Scribe is thronged with clients. - -It looked like a legation, this office managed by Roumestan. The -first secretary, his right-hand man, his counsellor and friend, was a -very good legal man of business named Méjean, a Southerner, as were -all Numa’s following; but from the Cévennes, the rocky region of the -South, which is more like Spain than Italy, where the inhabitants -have retained in their manners and speech the prudent reserve and -level-headed common-sense of the renowned Sancho. - -Vigorous, robust, already a little bald, with the sallow complexion -of sedentary workers, Méjean alone did all the work of the office, -clearing away papers, preparing speeches, trying to reconcile -facts with his friend’s sonorous phrases--some say his future -brother-in-law’s. The other secretaries, Messieurs de Rochemaure and -de Lappara, two young graduates related to the noblest families in the -province, are only there for show, in training for political life under -Roumestan’s guidance. - -Lappara, a handsome tall fellow with a neat leg, a ruddy complexion -and a blond beard, son of the old Marquis de Lappara, chief of the -Right in the Bordeaux district, is a fair type of that Creole South; he -is a gabbler and adventurer, with a love for duels and prodigalities -(_escampatives_). Five years of life in Paris, one hundred thousand -francs gone in “bucking the tiger” at the clubs, paid for with his -mother’s diamonds, had sufficed to give him a good boulevard accent and -a fine crusty tone of gold on his manners. - -Viscount Charlexis de Rochemaure, a compatriot of Numa, is of a very -different kind. Educated by the Fathers of the Assumption, he had made -his law studies at home under the superintendence of his mother and an -abbé; he still retained from that early education a candid look and the -timid manners of a theological student that contrasted vividly with his -goatee in the style of Louis XIII, the combination making him seem at -one and the same time foxy and a muff. - -Big Lappara tries hard to initiate this young Tony Lumpkin into the -mysteries of Parisian life. He teaches him how to dress himself, what -is _chic_ and what is not _chic_, to walk with his neck forward and -his mouth drawn down and to seat himself all of a piece, as it were, -with his legs extended in order not to wrinkle his trousers at the -knees. He would like to shake his simple faith in men and things, to -cure him of that love of superstitions which simply classes him among -the quill-drivers. - -Not a bit of it! the viscount likes his work and when he is not at the -Palace or the Chamber with Roumestan, as to-day for instance, he sits -for hours at the secretaries’ table in the office next to the chief’s -and practises engrossing. The Bordeaux man, on the contrary, has drawn -an arm-chair up to the window, and in the twilight, with a cigar in -his mouth and his legs stretched out, lazily watches through the -falling rain and the steaming asphalt the long procession of carriages -driving up to the doors with every whip in the air; for to-day is Mme. -Roumestan’s Thursday. - -What a lot of people! and still they come; more and more carriages! -Lappara, who boasts of knowing thoroughly the liveries of the great -people in Paris, calls out the names as he recognizes them: “Duchesse -de San Donnino, Marquis de Bellegarde--hello! the Mauconseils, too! Now -I’d like to know what that means?” and turning towards a tall, thin -person who stands by the mantelpiece drying his worsted gloves and his -light-colored trousers, too thin for the season, carefully turned up -over his cloth shoes: “Have you heard anything, Bompard?” - -“Heard anythink? Sartainly I have,” was the answer in a broad accent. - -Bompard, Roumestan’s mameluke, has the honorary position of a fourth -secretary who does outside business, goes to look for news and sings -his patron’s praises about the streets. This occupation does not -seem to be a lucrative one, judging from his appearance, but that is -really not Numa’s fault. Aside from the midday meal and an occasional -half-louis, this singular kind of parasite could never be induced to -accept anything; and how he supported existence remained as great a -mystery as ever to his best friends. To ask him if he knows anything, -to doubt the imagination of Bompard, is to show a fine simplicity of -soul! - -“Yes, gentlemen, and somethink vary serious.” - -“What is it?” - -“The Marshal has just been shot at.” For one moment consternation -reigns; the young men look at each other. Then Lappara stretches -himself in his chair and asks languidly: - -“How about your asphalt affair, old man--how is it getting on?” - -“_Vai!_ the asphalt--I have something much better than that.” - -Not at all surprised that his news of the attempted assassination of -the Marshal had produced so little effect, he now proceeded to unfold -to them his new scheme. A wonderful thing, and so simple! It was to -scoop the prizes of one hundred and twenty thousand francs that the -Swiss governments offers yearly at the Federal shooting-matches. He had -been a crack shot at larks in his day; with a little practice he could -easily get his hand in again and secure a hundred and twenty thousand -francs annually to the end of his life. Such an easy way to do it, _au -moins!_ Traversing Switzerland by short marches, going slowly, from -canton to canton, rifle on _showlder_. - -The man of schemes grew warm with his subject, climbed mountains, -crossed glaciers, descended vales and torrents and shook down -avalanches before his astonished young listeners. Of all the imaginings -of that disordered brain this was certainly the most astonishing, -delivered with an air of perfect conviction, with a fire and flame -that, burning inwardly, covered his brow with corrugated wrinkles. - -His ravings were only hushed by the breathless arrival of Méjean, who -came rushing in much excited: - -“Great news!” he said throwing his bag upon the table. “The Ministry is -fallen!” - -“It can’t be possible!” - -“Roumestan takes the Ministry of Public Instruction....” - -“I knew that,” said Bompard; and as they smiled, he added: -“_Par-fait-emain_, gentlemen! I was there; I have just come from there.” - -“And you didn’t mention it before!” - -“Why should I? No one ever believes me. I think it is my _agsent_,” he -added resignedly and with a candid air, the fun of which was lost in -the prevailing excitement. - -Roumestan a Cabinet Minister! - -“Ah, my boys, what a shifty, smart fellow the chief is!” Lappara kept -saying, throwing himself back in his chair with his legs near the -ceiling. “Hasn’t he played his cards well!” - -Rochemaure looked up indignant: - -“Don’t talk of smartness and shiftiness, my friend; Roumestan is -conscientiousness itself. He goes straight ahead like a bullet--” - -“In the first place, there are no bullets nowadays, my child--only -shells; and shells do this--” and with the tip of his boot he indicated -the curving course of a trajectory: - -“Scandal-monger!” - -“Idiot!” - -“Gentlemen, gentlemen!” - -Méjean wondered to himself over this extraordinary man Roumestan, this -complicated nature whom even those who knew him most intimately could -judge so differently. - -“A shifty fellow!--conscientiousness itself!” - -The public judged of him in the same double way. He who knew him -thoroughly was conscious of the shallowness and indolence that modified -his tireless ambition and made him at the same time better and -worse than his reputation. But was it really true, this news of his -Ministerial portfolio? Anxious to know the truth, Méjean glanced in the -glass to see if he was in proper shape, and, stepping across the hall, -entered the apartments of Mme. Roumestan. - -From the antechamber where the footmen waited with their ladies’ wraps -could be heard the hum of many voices deadened by the heavy, luxurious -hangings and high ceilings. Rosalie generally received in her little -drawing-room, furnished as a winter garden with cane seats and pretty -little tables, the light just filtering in between the green leaves -of the plants that filled the windows. That had always sufficed her -in her lowly position as a simple lady overshadowed by her husband’s -greatness, perfectly without social ambition and passing among those -who did not know her superiority for a good-enough person of no great -importance. But to-day the two large drawing-rooms were humming and -crowded to overflowing; new people were constantly arriving, friends to -the remotest degree, even to the slightest acquaintanceship, people to -whose faces it would have puzzled Rosalie to attach a name. - -Dressed very simply in a gown of violet, most becoming to her slender -figure and the whole harmonious personality of her being, she received -every one alike with her gentle little smile, her manner somewhat -haughty--her _réfréjon_, or “uppish” air, as Aunt Portal had once -expressed it. Not the slightest elation at her new position--rather a -little surprise and uneasiness, but her feelings kept well concealed! - -She went from group to group as the daylight faded rapidly in the lower -story of the city house and the servants brought lamps and lighted -the candles. The rooms assumed their festal air as at their evening -receptions, the rich shining hangings and oriental rugs and tapestries -glittering like colored stones in the light. - -“Ah, Monsieur Méjean!” and Rosalie came up to him, glad to feel an -intimate friend near her in this crowd of strangers. They understood -each other perfectly. This Southerner who had learned to be cool and -the emotional Parisian had similar ways of seeing and judging things, -and together they acted as counterweights to the weaknesses and -extravagances of Numa. - -“I came in to see if the news were true. But there is no doubt about -it,” said he, glancing at the crowded rooms. She handed him the -telegram she had received from her husband and said in a low voice: - -“What do you think of it?” - -“It is a great responsibility, but you will be there.” - -“And you too,” she answered, pressing his hand, and then turned away to -meet other new-comers. - -The fact was that more people kept arriving but no one went away. They -were waiting for Roumestan; they wished to hear all the particulars -of the affair from his own lips--how with one lift of his shoulder he -had managed to upset them all. Some of the new arrivals who had just -come from the Chamber were already bringing with them bits of news and -scraps of conversations. Every one crowded about them in pleasurable -excitement. The women especially were wildly interested. Under the big -hats which came into fashion that winter their pretty cheeks flushed -with that fine rosy tint, that fever one sees in the players round the -tables at the gambling house at Monte Carlo. The fashion of hats this -year was a revival of the days of the Fronde, soft felt hats with long -feathers; perhaps it was this that made their wearers so interested in -politics. But all these ladies appeared well up in such matters; they -talked in purest parliamentary language, emphasizing their remarks with -blows from their little muffs; all of them sang the praises of the -leader. In fact this exclamation could be heard on every side: “What a -man! what a man!” - -In a corner sat old Béchut, a professor at the Collège de France, a -very ugly man all nose--an immense scientist’s nose that seemed to have -elongated itself from poking into books. He was taking the success -of Roumestan as the text for one of his favorite theories--that all -the weakness in the modern world comes from the too prominent place -in it given to women and children. Ignorance and toilets, caprice and -brainlessness! “You see, sir, that is where Roumestan is so strong! -He has no children and he has known how to escape the influence of -woman. So he has followed one straight, firm path; no turning aside, -no deviation!” The solemn personage whom he was addressing, councillor -at the Court of Cassation, a simple-looking, round-headed little man -whose ideas rattled about in his empty skull like corn in a gourd, drew -himself up approvingly in a magisterial way, as who should say: “I also -am a superior man, sir! I also have escaped from the influences to -which you refer.” - -Seeing that people were listening, the professor spoke louder and cited -the great names of history, Cæsar, Richelieu, Frederick, Napoleon, -scientifically proving at the same time that in the scale of thinking -creatures woman was on a much lower grade than man. “And, as a matter -of fact, if we examine the cellular tissues....” - -But what was much more amusing to examine was the expression on the -faces of the wives of these two gentlemen, who were sitting side by -side, all attention, taking a cup of tea--which genial meal, with its -goodies hot from the oven, its steaming samovar and rattle of spoons -on costly china, was just being served to the guests. The younger -lady, Mme. de Boë, had made of her gourd-headed husband, a used-up -nobleman with nothing but debts, a magistrate in the Court of Cassation -through the influence of her family; people shuddered to think of this -spendthrift, who had quickly wasted all his wife’s fortune and his own, -having the public moneys in his control. Mme. Béchut, a former beauty -and still beautiful, with long-lidded, intelligent eyes and delicate -features, showed only by a contraction of her mouth that she had been -at war with the world for years and was consumed with a tireless and -unscrupulous ambition. Her sole effort had been to push into the front -rank her very commonplace professor. By means that unfortunately were -only too well known she had compelled the doors of the Institute -and the Collège de France to open to him. There was a whole world -of meaning in the grim smile that these two women exchanged over -their teacups--and perhaps, if one were to search carefully among the -gentlemen, there were a good many other men in the throng who had not -been exactly injured by feminine influence. - -Suddenly Roumestan appeared. Disregarding the shouts of welcome and -congratulations of the guests, he crossed the room quickly, went -straight to his wife and kissed her on both cheeks before she could -prevent this rather trying demonstration before the public. But what -could have better disproved the assertion of the professor? All the -ladies cried “bravo!” Much hand-shaking and embracing ensued and then -an attentive silence as Numa, leaning against the chimney-piece, began -to relate briefly the results of the day. - -The great blow arranged a week ago to be struck to-day, the plots -and counter-plots, the wild rage of the Left at its defeat, his own -overwhelming triumph, his rush to the tribune, even to the very -intonation he had used to the Marshal when he replied: “That depends on -you, Mr. President”--he told everything, forgot nothing, with a gayety -and warmth that were contagious. - -Then, becoming grave, he enumerated the great responsibilities of his -position; the reform of the University with its crowd of youths to be -brought up hoping for the realization of better things--this allusion -was understood and greeted with loud applause; but he meant to surround -himself with enlightened men, to beg for the good will and devotion of -all. With moist eyes he mustered the groups about him. “I call on you, -friend Béchut, and you, my dear De Boë--” - -They were all so in earnest that no one stopped to ask in what manner -the dull wits of the councillor at the Court of Cassation could aid -in the reform of the University. But then the number of persons of -that sort whom Roumestan had urged that afternoon to aid him in his -tremendous duties of the Public Instruction was really incalculable. -As regards the fine arts, however, he felt more at ease, so he said; -there they would not refuse help! A flattering murmur of laughter and -exclamations stopped his further words. - -As to that department there was but one voice in all Paris, even -among his worst enemies--Numa was the man for the work. Now at last -there would be a jury for art, a lyric theatre, an official art! But -the Minister cut these dithyrambics off and remarked in a gay and -familiar tone that the new Cabinet was composed almost exclusively of -Southerners. Out of eight members Provence, Bordeaux, Périgord and -Languedoc had supplied six; and then, growing excited: “Aha, the South -is climbing, the South is climbing! Paris is ours. We have everything. -It rests with you, gentlemen, to profit by it. For the second time the -Latins have conquered Gaul!” - -He looked indeed like a Latin of the conquest, his head like a -medallion with broad flat surfaces on the cheeks, with his dark -complexion and unceremonious ways, his carelessness, so out of place in -this Parisian drawing-room. In the midst of the cheers and laughter -greeting his last speech Numa, always a good actor, knowing well how to -leave as soon as he had shot his bolt, suddenly quitted the fireplace -and signing to Méjean to follow him passed from the room by one of the -smaller doors, leaving Rosalie to make his excuses for him. He was to -dine at Versailles with the Marshal; he had hardly the time to dress -and sign a few papers. - -“Come and help me dress,” said he to a servant who was laying the -table with three plates, for Roumestan, Madame and Bompard, around -that basket of flowers which Rosalie had fresh at every meal. He felt -a thrill of delight that he was not to dine there; the tumult of -enthusiasm that he had left behind him in the drawing-room excited in -him the desire for more gayety and more brilliant company. Besides, a -Southerner is never a domestic man. The Northern nations alone have -invented to meet their wretched climate the word “home,” that intimate -family circle to which the Provençal and the Italian prefer the gardens -of cafés and the noise and excitement of the streets. - -Between the dining-room and the office was a small reception room, -usually full of people at this hour, anxiously watching the clock and -looking abstractedly at the illustrated papers, but quite preoccupied -by their legal woes. Méjean had sent them all away to-day, for he did -not think Numa could attend to them. One, however, had refused to -go: a big fellow in ready-made garments and awkward as a corporal in -citizen’s dress. - -“Ah, God be with ye, Monsieur Roumestan; how are things? I have been -hoping so long that you would come!” - -The accent, the swarthy face, that jaunty air--Numa had seen them -somewhere before, but where? - -“You have forgotten me?” said the stranger. “Valmajour, the taborist.” - -“Oh yes, yes, of course.” - -He was about to pass on, but Valmajour planted himself before him and -informed him that he had arrived the day before yesterday. “I couldn’t -get here before, because when one moves a whole family, it takes a -little time to get installed.” - -“A whole family?” said Numa with bulging eyes. - -“_Bé!_ yes; my father and my sister. We have done as you advised.” - -Roumestan looked distressed and embarrassed, as he always did when -called upon to redeem notes like this or fulfil a promise, lightly -given in order to make himself agreeable, but with little idea of -future acceptance. Dear me, he was only too glad to be of use to -Valmajour! He would consider it and see what he could do. But this -evening he was very much hurried--exceptional circumstances--the -invitation of the President. But as the peasant made no sign of going: -“Come in here,” said he, and they went into the study. - -As Numa sat at his desk reading over and signing several papers -Valmajour glanced about the handsome room, richly furnished and -carpeted, with book-shelves covering all the walls, surmounted by -bronzes, busts and works of art, reminiscences each one of glorious -causes--a portrait of the king signed by his own royal hand. And he was -much impressed by the solemnity of it all--the stiffness of the carved -chairs, the rows of books, above all the presence of the servant, -correct in his severe black costume, coming and going and arranging -quickly on chairs his master’s evening clothes and immaculate linen. -But over there in the light of the lamps the big kind face and familiar -profile of Roumestan that he knew so well reassured him. His letters -finished, Roumestan began to dress, and while the servant drew off his -master’s trousers and shoes he asked Valmajour questions and learned to -his dismay that before leaving home they had sold everything that they -owned in the world--mulberry-trees, vineyards, farm, everything! - -“You sold your farm, foolish fellow?” - -“Well, my sister was somewhat afraid, but my father and I insisted upon -it. I said to them, ‘What risk is it when we are going to Numa and when -he is getting us to come?’” - -It needed all the taborist’s naïveté to dare talk in that free and -easy way before a Minister. It was not Valmajour’s simplicity that -struck Numa most; it was the thought of the great crowd of enemies -that he had made for himself by this incorrigible mania for promises. -Now I ask you--what need was there to go and disturb the quiet life -of these poor people? and he went over in his memory all the details -of his visit to Mount Cordova, the scruples of the peasant girl and -the pains that he took to overcome them. What for? what devil tempted -him? He, this peasant, was dreadful. And as to his talent, he did -not remember much about it, concerned as he was at having this whole -family on his shoulders. He knew beforehand how his wife would reproach -him--remembered her cold look as she said: “Still, words must mean -_something!_” And now, in his new position at the source and spring of -favors, what a lot of trouble he was going to create for himself as a -result of his own fatal benevolence! - -But the gladsome thought that he was a Minister and the consciousness -of his power restored his spirits almost at once. On such pinnacles as -his, why should such small things worry him? Master of all the fine -arts, with all the theatres and places of amusement under his thumb, -it would be a trifle to make the fortune of these luckless people. -Restored to his own self-complacency, he changed his tone and in order -to keep the peasant in his place told him solemnly and from a lofty -place to what important distinction he had been that day appointed. -Unhappily he was at that moment only half dressed, his feet in silk -stockings rested on the floor and his portly form was arrayed in -white flannel underclothes trimmed with pink ribbons. Valmajour could -not connect the word “Minister” in his mind with a fat man in his -shirt-sleeves, so he continued to call him _Moussu_ Numa, to talk to -him about his own “music” and the new songs that he had learned. Ah, -he feared no tabor-player in all Paris now! - -“Listen, I will show you.” - -He flew toward the next room to get his tabor but Roumestan stopped him. - -“I tell you I am in a great hurry, deuce take you!” - -“All right, all right, another time then,” said the peasant -good-naturedly. - -And seeing Méjean approaching he thought it necessary to begin to tell -him the story of the fife with three stops. - -“It come to me right in the middle of the night, listening to the -singing of the nightingoyle; thought I to meself: ‘How is it, -Valmajour--’” - -It was the same little story that he had told them in the amphitheatre: -having found it successful, he cleverly clung to it, repeating it word -for word. But this time his manner became less assured, a certain -embarrassment gaining from moment to moment as Roumestan finished his -toilet and stood before him in all the severity of his black evening -clothes and enormous shirt-front of fine linen with its studs of -Oriental pearls, which the valet handed him piece by piece. - -Moussu Numa seemed to him to have grown taller, his head, held stiffly, -solemnly, for fear of disarranging his immaculate white muslin tie, -seemed lighted up by the pale beams radiating from the cross of Saint -Anne around his neck and the big order of Isabella the Catholic, like -a sun, pinned upon his breast. And suddenly the peasant, seized by -a wave of respect and fright, realized that he stood in the presence -of one of those privileged beings of the earth, that strange, almost -superhuman creature, the powerful god to whom the prayers and desires -and supplications of his worshippers are sent only on large stamped -paper, so high up, indeed, that humbler devotees are never privileged -to see him, so haughty that they only whisper his name with fear and -trembling, in a sort of restrained fear and ignorant emphasis--the -Minister! - -Poor Valmajour! He was so upset by this idea that he hardly heard -Roumestan’s kind words of farewell, asking him to come again in a -fortnight when he would be installed in his new quarters at the -Ministry. - -“All right, all right, your Excellency.” - -He backed towards the door, still dazzled by the orders and -extraordinary expression of his transfigured compatriot. Numa was -delighted at this sudden timidity, which was a tribute to what he -henceforward called his “ministerial air,” his curling lip, his -frowning brow and his severe, reserved manner. - -A few moments later his Excellency was rolling towards the railway -station, forgetting this tiresome episode and lulled by the gentle -motion of the coupé with its bright lamps as he flew to meet his new -and exalted engagements. He was already preparing the telling points in -his first speech, composing his plan of campaign, his famous letter to -the rectors and thinking of the excitement caused all over Europe when -they should read his nomination in to-morrow’s papers, when, at the -turn of the boulevard, in the light of a gas-lamp reflected in the wet -asphalt, he caught sight of the taborist, his tabor hanging from his -arm, deafened and frightened, waiting for an opportunity to cross the -street which was at that hour, as all Paris hastened to re-enter its -gates, a moving mass of carriages and wagons, while crowded omnibuses -jolted swaying along and the horns of the tramway conductors sounded -at intervals. In the falling shades of night and the steam of dampness -which the rain threw up from the hurrying crowd, in this great jostling -crowd the poor boy seemed so lost, exiled and overwhelmed by the tall, -unfriendly buildings around him--he seemed so pitifully unlike the -handsome Valmajour at the door of his _mas_, giving the rhythm to the -locusts with his tabor, that Roumestan turned away his head and, for -a few moments, a feeling of remorse threw a cloud over the radiant -pathway of his triumph. - - - - -CHAPTER VII. - -THE PASSAGE DU SAUMON. - - -While awaiting a more complete settling than was possible before the -arrival of their furniture, which was coming by slow freight, the -Valmajours had taken rooms temporarily at the famous Passage du Saumon, -where from time immemorial teachers from Aps and its district have -stopped, and of which Aunt Portal still retained such astonishing -recollections. There, up under the roof, they had two small rooms, -one of which was without light or air, a kind of wood-closet which -was occupied by the men; the other was not much larger but seemed to -them fine in comparison, with its worm-pierced black walnut furniture, -its moth-eaten ragged carpet on the worn wooden floor and the dormer -windows that let in only a bit of a sky as lowering and yellow as the -long donkey-backed skylight over the Passage. - -In these poor quarters they kept up the memory of home with a strong -smell of garlic and fried onions, which foreign food they cooked for -themselves on a little stove. Old Valmajour, who loved good eating and -was also fond of company, would have liked to dine at the hotel table, -where the white linen and plated salt-cellars and service seemed very -handsome to him, and also to have joined in the noisy conversations -and mingled with shouts of laughter of the commercial gentlemen who at -meal times filled the house to the very top floor with their noise and -jollity. But Audiberte opposed this flatly. - -Amazed not to find at once on their arrival the promises of Numa -fulfilled and the two hundred francs an evening which had filled her -little head with piles of money ever since the visit of the Parisians; -horrified at the high price of everything, from the first day she had -been seized with the craze that the Parisians call “fear of wanting.” -For herself she could get along with anchovies and olives as in -Lent--_té, pardi!_ but her men were perfect wolves, worse than in their -own country because it is colder in Paris, and she was obliged to be -constantly opening her _saquette_, a large calico pocket made by her -own hands, in which she carried the three thousand francs that they had -received for their farm and chattels. - -Each coin that she spent was a struggle, a pang, as if she were handing -over the stones of her farmhouse or the last vines of her vineyard. -Her peasant greed and her suspiciousness, that fear of being cheated -by a tenant which caused her to sell her farm instead of letting it, -were redoubled in this gloomy, unknown Paris, this city which from her -garret she heard roaring with a sound that did not cease day or night -at this noisy corner of the city market, causing the glasses near the -hotel water-bottle on the table to rattle at every hour. - -No traveller lost in a wood of sinister repute ever clung more -convulsively to his baggage than did Audiberte to her _saquette_ as she -walked through the streets in her green skirt and her Arles head-dress, -which the passers-by turned to stare at. When she entered a shop with -her countrywoman’s gait, the way she had of calling things by a lot of -outlandish names, saying _api_ for celery, _mérinjanes_ for aubergines, -made her, a woman from the south of France, as much a stranger in her -country’s capital as if she had been a Russian from Nijni Novgorod or a -Swede from Stockholm. - -Sweet and humble of manner at first, if she detected a smile on the -face of a clerk or received a rough answer on account of her mania -for bargaining, she would suddenly fly into a gust of rage; her -pretty virginal brown face twitching with frantic gesticulations she -would pour forth a torrent of noisy, vainglorious words. Then she -would tell about the expected legacy from Cousin Puyfourcat, the two -hundred francs a night to be earned by her brother, the friendship -that Roumestan had for them--sometimes calling him Numa, sometimes -the _Menister_--all this with an emphasis more grotesque than her -familiarity. Everything was jumbled together in a flood of gibberish -composed of the _langue d’oil_ tinged with French. - -Then her habitual caution would return to her; she would fear that -she had talked imprudently, and, seized by a superstitious terror at -her own gossip, she would stop, suddenly mute, and close her lips as -tightly as the strings of her _saquette_. - -At the end of a week she had become a legendary character in the -quarter of the Rue Montmartre, a street of shops where, at their -ever-open doors, the vendors of meats, green-groceries and colonial -wares discussed the affairs and secrets of all the inhabitants of the -neighborhood. The constant teasing of these people, the saucy questions -with which they plied her as she made her frugal purchases each -morning--as to why her brother’s appearance was delayed and when the -legacy was coming from the Arab--all these insults to her self-respect, -more than the fear of poverty staring them in the face, exasperated -Audiberte against Numa, against those promises which at first she had -suspected, true child of the South that she was, knowing well that the -promises of her country-people down South vanish easier than those of -other folks--all because of the lightness of the air. - -“Oh, if we had only made him sign a paper!” - -This idea became a fixture in her mind and she felt daily in her -brother’s pockets for the stamped document when Valmajour set out for -the Ministry, in order to be sure it was there. - -But Roumestan was engaged in signing another kind of paper and had many -things to think of more important than the taborist. He was settling -down in his new office with the generous ardor and enthusiasm, with -the fever of a man who comes to his own. Everything was a novelty to -him--the enormous rooms of the Ministry as well as the large ideas -necessitated by his position. To arrive at the top, to “reconquer -Gaul,” as he had said, that was not so difficult; but to sustain -himself satisfactorily, to justify his elevation by intelligent reforms -and attempts at progress! Full of zeal, he studied, questioned, -consulted, literally surrounded himself with shining lights. With -Béchut, that great professor, he studied the evils of the college -system and the means to extirpate the spirit of free-thinking in the -schools. He employed the experience of his chief in the fine arts, M. -de la Calmette, who had behind him twenty-nine years of office, and of -Cadaillac, the manager of the grand opera, who was still erect after -three failures, in order to remodel the Conservatory, the Salon and the -Academy of Music in accordance with brand-new plans. - -The trouble was that he never listened to these counsellors, but -talked himself for hours at a time and then, suddenly glancing at his -watch, would rise and hastily dismiss them: “Bad luck to it--I had -forgotten the council meeting! What a life, not a moment to oneself! I -understand--just send me your memorial right off!” - -Memorials were piling up on Méjean’s desk, who, notwithstanding his -good intentions and intelligence, had none too much time for current -work and so permitted these grand reforms to slumber in their dust. -Like all Ministers when they arrive at a portfolio, Roumestan had -brought with him all his clerks from the Rue Scribe--Baron de Lappara -and Viscount de Rochemaure, who gave a flavor of aristocracy to the new -Ministry, but who were otherwise perfectly incompetent and ignorant of -their duties. - -The first time that Valmajour came there he was received by Lappara, -who occupied himself by preference with the fine arts and whose -duties consisted principally in sending invitations in large official -envelopes at all hours by staff officers, dragoons or cuirassiers -to the young ladies of the minor theatres, asking them to supper. -Sometimes the envelope was empty, being merely a pretext to display in -front of the lady’s door that reassuring orderly from the Ministry the -day before some debt came due. - -Lappara received him with a kindly, easy air, a bit top-loftical, -like that of a feudal lord receiving one of his vassals. His legs -outstretched, so as not to crease his gray-blue trousers, he talked -mincingly without stopping a moment the polishing of his nails. - -“Not easy just now--the Minister is busy--perhaps in a few days. We’ll -let you know, my good fellow!” - -And when in his simplicity the musician ventured to say that his matter -was somewhat urgent, that they only had enough for a short time left, -the baron, carefully placing his file upon the edge of the desk with -his most serious air, suggested to him to have a crank attached to his -tabor. - -“A crank attached to my tabor?--for what purpose?” - -“Why, my dear fellow, so as to use it as a box for _plaisirs_ (cakes) -while you are out of work.” - -The next time Valmajour came to see Roumestan he was received by -Rochemaure. The viscount raised his head of hair frizzed with hot -irons from the dusty ledger over which he was bending and in his -conscientious manner asked to have the mechanism of the fife explained -to him, took notes, tried to understand and said finally that he was -not there for art matters, but more especially for religious questions. - -After that the unhappy peasant never could find any one--they had all -betaken themselves to that inaccessible retreat where His Excellency -had hidden himself. Still he did not lose calmness or heart and always -responded to the evasive answers and shrugging shoulders of the -attendants with the surprised but steady look and shrewd half-smile -peculiar to the Provençal. - -“All right, I will come again.” - -And he did come again. But for his high gaiters and the tabor hanging -on his arm, he might have been taken for an employee of the house, he -came so regularly. But each time he came it was harder than the last. - -Now the mere sight of the great arched door made his heart beat. -Beyond the arch was the old Hôtel Augereau with its large courtyard -where they were already stacking wood for the winter and the double -staircase so hard to ascend under the mocking gaze of the servants. -Everything combined to harass him--the silver chains of the porters, -the gold-laced caps, the endless gorgeous things that made him feel the -distance that separated him from his patron. But he dreaded more than -all this the dreadful scenes that he went through at home, the terrible -frowning brows of Audiberte; that is why he still desperately insisted -on coming. At last the hall porter took pity upon him and gave him the -advice to waylay the Minister at the Saint-Lazare station when he was -going down to Versailles. - -He took his advice and did sentry work in the big lively waiting room -on the first story at the hour of the Parliament train when it took -on a very special look of its own. Deputies, senators, journalists, -members of the Left, of the Right and all the parties jostled each -other there, forming as variegated a throng as the blue, red and green -placards that covered the walls. They watched each other, talked, -screamed, whispered, some sitting apart rehearsing their next speech, -others, the orators of the lobbies, making the windows rattle with -loud voices that the Chamber was never destined to hear. Northern -accents and Southern accents, divers opinions and sentiments, swarming -ambitions and intrigues, the noisy tramp of the restless crowd--this -waiting-room with its delays and uncertainties was an appropriate -theatre for politics, this tumult of a journey at a fixed hour which -would soon, at bid of the whistle, be speeding over the rails down a -perspective of tracks, disks and locomotives, over a country full of -accidents and surprises. - -Five minutes later he saw Numa enter, leaning on the arm of one of his -secretaries who carried his portfolio. His coat was flung open, his -face beaming just as he had looked that day on the platform in the -amphitheatre and at a distance he recognized the facile voice, the warm -words, his protestations of friendship: “Count on me,--put yourself in -my hands,--it is as good as granted....” - -The Minister just then was in the honey-moon of prosperity. Except for -political enmities--not always as bitter as they are supposed to be, -simply the result of rivalry between public speakers or quarrels of -lawyers on opposite sides of a case--Numa had no enemies, not having -been in power long enough to discourage those who sought his services. -His credit was still good. Only a few had begun to be impatient and dog -his footsteps. To these he threw a loud, hasty “How are you, friend?” -that anticipated their reproaches and in a way denied their arguments, -while his familiar manner flattered the baffled office-seekers and yet -kept their demands at a distance. It was a great idea, was this “How -are you?” It sprang from instinctive duplicity. - -At sight of Valmajour, who came swinging towards him, his smile showing -his white teeth, Numa felt inclined to throw him his fatal, careless -“How are you, friend?”--but how could he treat this peasant lad in -a little felt hat as a friend as he stood there in his gray jacket, -from the sleeves of which his brown hands protruded like those in a -cheap village photograph? He preferred to pass him by without a word, -with his “Ministerial air,” leaving the poor boy amazed, crushed -and knocked about by the crowd that was following the great man. -Still Valmajour returned to his station the next day and several days -thereafter, but he did not dare approach the Minister; he sat on the -edge of a bench with that touching air of sorrowful resignation that -one so often sees in a railway station on the faces of soldiers and -emigrants, who are going to a strange country, prepared to meet all the -chances of their evil destiny. - -Roumestan could not evade that silent figure on his path with its -dumb appeal. He might pretend not to see it, turn aside his glance, -talk louder as he passed; the smile on his victim’s face was there -and remained there until the train had gone. Of a certainty he would -have preferred a noisy demand and a row, when he could have called a -policeman and given the disturber of his complacency in charge and so -got rid of him. He, the Minister, went so far as to take a different -station on the left bank of the Seine to avoid this trouble of his -conscience. Thus in many instances is the greatest man’s life made -wretched by some little thing of no account, like a pebble in the -seven-league boots. - -But Valmajour would not despair. - -“He must be ill,” he said to himself and stuck obstinately to his post. -At home his sister watched for his coming in a fever of impatience. - -“Well, _bé!_ have you seen the Menister? Has he signed that paper?” - -His eternal “No, not yet!” exasperated her, but more his calmness -as he threw into a corner his tabor whose strap left a dent on his -shoulder--it was the calmness of indolence and shiftlessness, as common -as vivacity among Southern nations. Then the queer little creature -would fall into one of her furious fits. What had he in his veins in -place of blood?--was there to be no end to this?--“Look out, or I -will attend to it myself!” Very calm, he made no answer, but let the -storm blow over, took his instruments from their cases, his fife and -mouth-piece with its ivory tip, and rubbed them well with a bit of -cloth for fear of dampness and promised to try at the Ministry again -to-morrow, and, if he could not see Numa, ask to see Mme. Roumestan. - -“O, _vaï!_ Mme. Roumestan! You know she does not like your music--but -the young lady, though--she will be sure to help you; yes indeed!” And -she tossed her head. - -“Madame or Mademoiselle, they don’t either of them care anything about -you,” said the old man, who was cowering over a turf fire that his -daughter had economically covered with ashes, a fire about which they -were eternally quarrelling. - -In the bottom of his heart the old man was not displeased at his son’s -want of success, from professional jealousy. All these complications -and the uprooting of their lives had been most welcome to the Bohemian -tastes of the old wandering minstrel; he was delighted at first with -the journey and the idea of seeing Paris, that “Paradise of females and -purgatory of hosses,” as the carters of his country put it, imagining -that in Paris one would see women like houris arrayed in transparent -garments and horses distorted, leaping about in the midst of flames. - -Instead he had found cold, privations and rain. From fear of Audiberte -and respect for Roumestan he had contented himself with grumbling and -shivering in a corner, only an occasional word or wink hinting at his -dissatisfaction. But Numa’s treachery and his daughter’s fits of wrath -gave him also an excuse for opening hostilities. He revenged himself -for all the blows to his vanity that his son’s musical proficiency had -inflicted on him for ten years and shrugged his shoulders as he heard -him trying his fife. - -“Music, music, oh, yes--much good your music is going to do you!” - -And then in a loud voice he asked if it wasn’t a sin to bring an old -man like him so far--into this _Sibelia_, this wilderness, to let him -perish of cold and hunger. He called on the memory of his sainted wife, -whom, by the way, he had killed with unhappiness--“made a goat of her,” -as Audiberte put it. He would whine for hours at a time, his head in -the fire, red-faced and sullen, until his daughter, wearied with his -lamentations, gave him a few pennies and sent him out to get a glass -of country wine for himself. In the wine-shop his sorrows fled away. -It was comfortable by the roaring stove; in the warmth the old wretch -soon recovered his low vein of an actor in Italian comedy, which his -grotesque figure, big nose and thin lips made more apparent, taken in -connection with his little wiry body, like Punch in the show. - -He was soon the delight of the customers in the wine-shop with his -buffooneries and his boasting. He jeered his son’s tabor and told them -how much trouble it gave them at the hotel; for in order to be ready -for his coming out Valmajour, kept at tension by the delay of hopes, -persisted in practising up to midnight; but the other tenants objected -to the continual thunder of the tabor and the ear-piercing cry of the -fife--the very stairs shook with the sound, as if an engine were in -motion on the fifth floor. - -“Go ahead,” Audiberte would say to her brother when the proprietor came -to them with complaints. It was pretty queer if one hadn’t the right to -make music in this Paris that makes so much noise one cannot sleep at -night! So he continued to practise. Then the proprietor demanded their -rooms. But when they left the Passage du Saumon, the hostelry so well -known in their native province, one that recalled their native land, -they felt as if their exile were heavier to bear and that they had -journeyed still a bit farther North. - -The night before they left, after another long, unfruitful journey -taken by Valmajour, Audiberte hurried her men through dinner without -speaking a word, but with the light of firm resolution shining in -her eyes. When it was over she threw her long brown cloak over her -shoulders and went out, leaving the washing of the dishes to the men. - -“Two months, almost two months since we came to Paris,” she muttered -through her clenched teeth. “I’ve had enough, I am going to speak to -this Menister myself--” - -She arranged the ribbon of her head-dress, that, perched over her wavy -hair in high bows, stood up like a helmet, and rushed violently from -the room, her well-blacked boot-heels kicking at every step the heavy -material of her gown. Father and son stared at each other alarmed, but -did not dare to restrain her; they knew that any interference would but -exasperate her anger. They passed the afternoon alone together, hardly -speaking as the rain battered against the windows, the one polishing -his bag and fife, the other cooking the stew for supper over a good, -big fire that he took advantage of Audiberte’s absence to kindle, and -over which he was for once getting thoroughly warm. - -Finally her quick steps, the short steps of a dwarf, were heard in the -corridor. She entered beaming. - -“Too bad our windows do not look out upon the street,” she said, -removing her cloak, which was perfectly dry. “You might have seen the -beautiful carriage in which I came home.” - -“A carriage! you are joking!” - -“_And_ two servants, _and_ liveries--it is making a great stir in the -hotel!” - -Then in a wondering silence she described and acted out her -adventure. In the first place and to start with--instead of going to -the Minister, who would not have received her, she found out the -address--one can get anything if one talks politely--of the sister of -Mme. Roumestan, the tall young lady who came to see them at Valmajour. -She did not live at the Ministry but with her parents in a quarter -full of little, badly-paved streets that smelt of drugs and reminded -Audiberte of her own province. It was ever so far away and she was -obliged to walk. She found the place at last in a little square -surrounded with arcades like the _placette_ at Aps. - -The dear young lady--how well she had received her, without any -haughtiness, although everything looked very rich and handsome in the -house, much gilding, and many silken curtains hung round on this side -and that, in every direction: - -“Ah, God be with you! So you have come to Paris? Where from? Since -when?” - -Then, when she heard how Numa had disappointed them, she rang for her -governess, she too a lady in a bonnet, and all three set off for the -Ministry. It was something to see the bows and reverences made to them -by all those old beadles who ran ahead of them to open the doors. - -“So you have seen him, then, the Minister?” timidly ventured Valmajour -as his sister stopped to breathe. - -“Seen him! I certainly have; what did I tell you, you poor _bédigas_ -(calf), that you must get the young lady on your side! She arranged the -whole thing in no time. There is to be a great musical function next -week at the Minister’s and you are to play before the directors of the -Conservatory of Music. And after that, _cra-cra!_ the contract drawn up -and signed!” - -But the best of all was that the young lady had driven her home in the -carriage of the Minister. - -“And she was very anxious to come upstairs with me,” added the peasant -girl, winking at her father and distorting her pretty face with a -meaning grimace. The father’s old face, with its complexion like a -dried fig, wrinkled up in a look of slyness which meant: “I understand; -not a word!” He no longer taunted the taborist. Valmajour himself, very -quiet, did not understand his sister’s perfidious meaning; he could -think only of his coming appearance, and, taking down his instruments, -he passed all his pieces in review, sending the notes as a farewell all -over the house and down the glass-covered passage in floods of trills -on rolling cadences. - - - - -CHAPTER VIII. - -RENEWAL OF YOUTH. - - -The Minister and his wife had finished breakfast in their dining-room -on the first floor, a room much too big and showy, that never could -be thoroughly thawed out, even with heavy curtains and the heat of a -furnace that warmed the whole house, and the steam from the hot dishes -of a copious repast. By some chance that morning they were alone -together. On the table amidst the dessert, always a great feature -in the Southerner’s meal, lay a box of cigars and a cup of vervain, -which is the tea of the Provençal, and large boxes filled with cards -of invitation to a series of concerts to be given by the Minister. -They were addressed to senators, deputies, clergymen, professors, -academicians, people of society--all the motley crowd that is generally -bidden to public receptions; and some larger boxes for the cards to the -privileged guests asked to the first series of “little concerts.” - -Mme. Roumestan was running them over, occasionally pausing at some -name, watched by her husband out of the corner of his eye as he -pretended to be absorbed in selecting a cigar, while really his furtive -glance was noting the disapprobation and reserve on her quiet face at -the promiscuous way this first batch of invitations had been selected. - -But Rosalie asked no questions; all these preparations did not -interest her. Since their installation at the Ministry she had felt -herself farther off than ever from her husband, separated by his -many engagements, too many guests and a public way of living that -had destroyed all intimacy. To this was added the ever-bitter sorrow -of childlessness; never to hear about her the pattering of tireless -little feet, nor any of those peals of baby laughter that would have -banished from their dining-room that icy look as if a hotel where they -were stopping for a day or two, with its impersonal air on tablecloth, -furniture, silver and all the sumptuous things to be found in any -public place. - -In the embarrassing silence could be heard the distant sound of hammers -interspersed with music and singing. The musicians were rehearsing, -while carpenters were busy putting up and hanging the stage on which -the concert was to take place. The door opened; Méjean entered, his -hands full of papers. - -“Still more petitions!” - -Roumestan flew into a rage: No, it was really too bad!--if it were the -Pope himself there would be no place to give him. Méjean calmly placed -before him the heap of letters, cards and scented notes: - -“It is very difficult to refuse--you promised them, you know--” - -“I promised? I haven’t spoken to one of them!” - -“Listen a moment: ‘My dear Minister--I beg to remind you of your kind -speech,’ and this one, ‘The General informs me that you were so kind as -to offer him,’ and this, ‘Reminding the Minister of his promise.’” - -“I must be a somnambulist, then!” said Roumestan in astonishment. - -The fact was that as soon as the day for the concert was decided upon -Numa had said to every one whom he met in the Senate or Chamber: “I -count on you for the 10th, you know,” and as he added “Quite a private -affair,” no one had failed to accept the flattering invitation. - -Embarrassed at being caught in the act by his wife, he vented his -irritability upon her as usual. - -“It’s the fault of your sister with her taborist. What need have I -of all this fuss? I did not intend to give our concerts until much -later--but that girl, such an impatient little person! ‘No, no, right -away;’ and you were in as much of a hurry as she was! _L’azé me fiche_ -if I don’t believe this taborist has turned your heads.” - -“O no, not mine,” answered Rosalie gayly. “Indeed I am dreadfully -afraid that this foreign music may not be understood by the Parisians. -We ought to have brought the atmosphere of Provence, the costumes, the -farandole--but first of all,” she added seriously, “it is necessary -that you must keep your promise.” - -“Promise, promise? It will be impossible to talk at all very soon!” - -Turning towards his secretary, who was smiling, he added: - -“By Jove, all Southerners are not like you, Méjean, cold and -calculating and taciturn. You are a false one, a renegade Southerner, -a _Franciot_, as they say with us. A Southerner?--you? A man who -has never lied and who does not like vervain tea!” he added with a -comically indignant tone. - -“I am not so _franciot_ as I seem, sir,” answered Méjean calmly. -“When I first came to Paris twenty years ago I was a terrible -Southerner--impudence, gesticulations, assurance--as talkative and -inventive as--” - -“As Bompard,” prompted Roumestan, who never liked other people to -ridicule his dearest friend, but did not deny himself the privilege. - -“Yes, really, almost as bad as Bompard. A kind of instinct urged me -never to tell the truth. One day I began to feel ashamed of this and -resolved to correct it. Outward exaggeration could be mastered at least -by speaking in a low voice and keeping my arms pressed tightly against -my sides; but the inward--the boiling, bubbling torrent--that was -more difficult. Then I made an heroic resolution. Every time I caught -myself in an untruth I punished myself by not speaking for the rest of -the day; that is how I was able to reform my nature. Nevertheless the -instinct is there under all my coolness. Sometimes I have broken off -short in the middle of a sentence--it isn’t the words I lack, quite the -contrary--I hold myself in check because I feel that I am going to lie.” - -“The terrible South--there is no way of escaping from it!” said the -genial Numa, philosophically, blowing a cloud of smoke from his cigar -up to the ceiling. “The South holds me through the mania I have to -make promises, that craziness of throwing myself at people’s heads and -insisting on their happiness whether they want it or not--” - -A footman interrupted him, opened the door and announced with a knowing -and confidential air: - -“M. Béchut is here.” - -The Minister was furious at once. “Tell him I am at breakfast! I wish -people would let me alone.” - -The footman asked pardon, but said M. Béchut claimed that he had an -appointment with his Excellency. Roumestan softened visibly: - -“Well, well, I will come. Let him wait in the library.” - -“Not in the library,” said Méjean, “it is occupied; there’s the -Superior Council! You appointed this hour to see them.” - -“Well, in M. de Lappara’s room, then--” - -“I have put the Bishop of Tulle in there,” said the footman timidly; -“your Excellency said--” - -Every place was occupied with office-seekers whom he had confidentially -told that the breakfast hour was the time when they would be sure to -find him--and most of them were personages that could not be made to -“do antechamber” like the ordinary herd. - -“Go into my morning room,” said Rosalie as she rose. “I am going out.” - -And while the secretary and the footman went to reassure and quiet the -waiting petitioners Numa hastily swallowed his cup of vervain, scalding -himself badly, exclaiming: “I am at my wits’ end, overwhelmed.” - -“What can that sorry fellow Béchut be after now?” asked Rosalie, -instinctively lowering her voice in that crowded house where a stranger -was lurking behind every door. - -“What is he after? After the manager’s position of course. _Té!_ he -is Dansaert’s shark--he expects him to be thrown overboard for him to -devour.” - -She approached him hastily: - -“Is M. Dansaert to be dropped from the Cabinet?” - -“Do you know him?” - -“My father often spoke of him--he was a compatriot and old friend of -his. He considers him an upright man and very clever.” - -Roumestan stammered out his reasons: “Bad tendencies--free-thinker--it -was necessary to make reforms, and then, he was a very old man.” - -“And you will put Béchut in his place?” - -“O, I know the poor man lacks the gift of pleasing the ladies.” - -She smiled a fine scornful smile. - -“His impertinences are as indifferent to me as his compliments would -be. What I cannot forgive in him is his assumption of clerical learning -and piety. I respect all forms of religion--but if there is one thing -more detestable in this world than another, it is hypocrisy and deceit.” - -Unconsciously her voice rose warm and vibrating; her rather cold -features beamed with a glow of honesty and rectitude and flushed with -righteous indignation. - -“Hush, hush,” said Numa pointing towards the door. Perhaps it was not -perfectly just; he allowed that old Dansaert had rendered good service -to his country; but what was to be done? He had given his word. - -“Take it back,” said Rosalie. “Come, Numa, for my sake--I implore you!” - -The tender request was emphasized by the gentle pressure of her little -hand upon his shoulder. He was much touched. His wife had not seemed -interested in his affairs of late; she had given only an indulgent -but silent attention to his plans, which were ever changing their -direction. This urgent request was flattering to him. - -“Can any one resist you, my darling?” - -He pressed upon her finger tips a kiss so fervid that she felt it all -up her narrow sleeve. She had such beautiful arms! It was most painful, -however, to say anything disagreeable to a man’s face and he rose -reluctantly: - -“I will be here, listening!” she said with a pretty threatening -gesture. - -He went into the next room, leaving the door ajar to give himself -courage and so that she might hear all that was said. Oh, the beginning -was firm and to the point! - -“I am in despair, my dear Béchut--but it is utterly impossible for me -to do for you as I promised--” - -The answer of the professor was inaudible, but rendered in a tearful, -supplicating voice through his huge tapir-like nose. To her surprise -Roumestan did not waver, but began to sound the praises of Dansaert -with a surprising accent of conviction for a man to whom all his -arguments had only just been suggested. True, it was very hard for him -to take back a promise once given, but was it not better than to do -an act of injustice? It was his wife’s thought modulated and put to -music and uttered with wide, heartfelt gestures that made the hangings -vibrate. - -“Of course I will make up to you in some way this little -misunderstanding,” he added, changing his tone hastily. - -“Oh, good Lord!” cried Rosalie under her breath. Then came a shower -of new promises--the cross of commander in the Legion of Honor on -the first of January next, the next vacancy in the Superior Council, -the--the--Béchut tried to protest, just for decency’s sake, but said -Numa: “Permit me, permit me, it’s only an act of justice--such men as -you are too uncommon--” - -Intoxicated with his own benevolence, stammering from sheer -affectionateness--if Béchut had not gone Numa would have offered him -his own portfolio next. But suddenly remembering the concert, he called -to him from the door: - -“I count on seeing you next Sunday, my dear professor; we are starting -a series of little concerts, very unceremonious you know--the very ‘top -of the basket’--” - -Then returning to Rosalie, he said: - -“Well, what do you think of it? I hope I have been firm enough!” - -It was really so amusing that she burst into a peal of laughter. When -he understood her amusement and that he had made a number of new -promises, he seemed alarmed. - -“Well, well, people are grateful to one all the same.” - -She left him, smiling one of her old smiles, quite gay from her kind -deed and perhaps above all delighted to find a feeling for him reviving -in her heart that she had long thought dead. - -“Angel that you are!” said Numa to himself as he watched her go, tears -of tenderness in his eyes; and when Méjean came in to remind him of the -waiting council: - -“My friend, listen: when one has the luck to possess a wife like -mine--marriage is an earthly Paradise. Hurry up and marry!” - -Méjean shook his head without answering. - -“How now? Isn’t your affair prospering?” - -“I fear not. Mme. Roumestan promised to sound her sister for me, but as -she has never said anything more--” - -“Don’t you want me to manage it for you? I get on splendidly with my -little sister-in-law.... I bet you I can make her decide....” - -There was still a little vervain left in the teapot, and as he poured -out a fresh cup Roumestan overflowed with protestations to his first -secretary. “Ah! no, success had not altered him; as always, Méjean was -his best, his chosen friend! Between him and Rosalie he indeed felt -himself stronger and more complete.... - -“O, my friend, that woman, that woman--if you only knew what her -goodness is! how noble and forgiving! When I think that I was capable -of--” - -Positively it was with difficulty that he restrained himself from -launching the confidence that rose to his lips along with a heavy sigh. -“If I did not love her, I should be guilty indeed.” - -Baron de Lappara came in quickly and whispered with a mysterious air: - -“Mlle. Bachellery is here.” - -Numa turned scarlet and a flash dried the tenderness from his eyes in a -moment. - -“Where is she? In your room?” - -“Monsignor Lipmann was there already,” said Lappara, smiling a little -at the idea of the possible meeting. “I put her downstairs in the large -drawing-room. The rehearsal is over.” - -“Very well; I will go.” - -“Don’t forget the Council,” Méjean tried to say, but Roumestan did -not hear and sprang down the steep stairway leading to the Minister’s -private apartments on the reception floor. - -He had steered clear of serious entanglements since the trouble over -Mme. d’Escarbès, avoiding adventures of the heart or of vanity, because -he feared an open rupture that might ruin his household forever. He -was not a model husband, certainly, but the marriage contract, though -soiled and full of holes, was still intact. Though once well warned, -Rosalie was much too honest and high-minded to spy jealously upon her -husband, and although she was always anxious, never sought for proofs. -Even at that moment, if Numa had had any idea of the influence this -new fancy of his was to have upon his life, he would have hastened to -ascend the stairs much more quickly than he had come down them; but -our destiny delights to come to us in mask and domino, doubling the -pleasure of the first meeting with the touch of mystery. How could Numa -divine that any danger threatened from the pretty little girl whom he -had seen from his carriage window crossing the courtyard several days -before, jumping over the puddles, holding her umbrella in one hand and -her coquettish skirts gathered up in the other, with all the smartness -of a true Parisian woman, her long lashes curving above a saucy, -turned-up nose, her blond hair, twisted in an American knot behind, -which the moist air had turned to curls at the ends, and her shapely, -finely-curved leg quite at ease above her high-heeled boot--that was -all he had seen of her. So during the evening he had said to De Lappara -as if it were a matter of very little importance: - -“I will wager, that little charmer I met in the courtyard this morning -was on her way to see you.” - -“Yes, your Excellency, she came to see me, but it was on your account -she came.” - -And then he had named little Bachellery. - -“What! the _débutante_ at the Bouffes? How old is she? Why, she’s -hardly more than a child!” - -The papers were talking a great deal that winter about this Alice -Bachellery, whom a fashionable _impresario_ had discovered in a small -theatre in the provinces, whom all the world was crowding to hear when -she sang the “Little Baker’s Boy,” the chorus to which-- - - “Hot, hot, little oat-cakes”-- - -she gave with an irresistible drollery. She was one of those divas half -a dozen of whom the boulevard devours each season, paper reputations -inflated by gas and puffery, which make one think of the little -rose-colored balloons that live their single day of sunshine and dust -in the public gardens. And what think you she had come to ask for at -the Minister’s? Permission to appear on the programme at his first -concert! Little Bachellery and the Department of Public Instruction! -It was so amusing and so crazy that Numa wanted to hear her ask it -himself; so by a Ministerial letter that smelt of the leather and -gloves of the orderly who took it he gave her to understand that he -would receive her next day. But the next day Mlle. Bachellery did not -appear. - -“She must have changed her mind,” said Lappara, “she is such a child!” - -But Roumestan felt piqued, did not mention the subject for two days and -on the third sent for her. - -And now she was awaiting him in the great drawing-room for official -functions, all in gold and red, so imposing with its long windows -opening into the garden now bereft of flowers, its Gobelin tapestries -and its marble statue of Molière sitting in a dreamy posture in the -background. A grand piano, a few music-stands used at the rehearsal, -scarcely filled one corner of the big room whose dreary air, like an -empty museum, would have disconcerted any one but little Bachellery; -but then she was such a child! - -Tempted by the broad floor, all waxed and shiny, here she was, amusing -herself by taking slides from one end of the room to the other, wrapped -in her furs, her hands in a muff too small for them, her little nose -upraised under her jaunty pork-pie hat, looking like one of the dancers -of the “ice ballet” in _The Prophet_. Roumestan caught her at the game. - -“Oh! Your Excellency!” - -She was dreadfully embarrassed, her eyelashes quivering, all out of -breath. He had come in with his head up and a solemn step in order -to give some point to a somewhat irregular interview and put this -impertinent huzzy, who had kept Ministers waiting, in her proper place. -But the sight of her quite disarmed him. What could you expect? - -She laid her simple ambition so cleverly before him as an idea that had -come to her suddenly, to appear at the concerts which every one was -talking about so much--it would be of so much advantage to her to be -heard otherwise than in comic opera and music hall extravaganzas, which -bored her to death! But then, on reflection, a panic had seized her: -“Oh, I tell you, a regular panic! Wasn’t it, Mamma?” - -Then for the first time Roumestan perceived a stout woman in a velvet -cloak and a much beplumed bonnet advancing toward him with regular -reverences every three steps. Mme. Bachellery, the mother, had been -a singer in a concert-garden. She had the Bordeaux accent, a little -nose like her daughter’s sunk in a large face like a dish--one of -those terrible mothers, who, in the company of their daughters, seem -the hideous prophecy of what their beauty will come to! But Numa was -not engaged in a philosophical study. He was too much engrossed by the -grace of this hoyden that shone from a finished body, a body adorably -finished, as well as by her theatrical slang mingled with her childlike -laugh, “her sixteen-year-old laugh,” as the ladies of her acquaintance -called it. - -“Sixteen! then how old could she have been when she went on the stage?” - -“She was born there, your Excellency. Her father, now retired, was the -manager of the Folies Bordelaises.” - -“A daughter of the regiment,” said Alice, showing thirty-two sparkling -teeth, as close and evenly ranked as soldiers on parade. - -“Alice, Alice, you forget yourself in the presence of his Excellency.” - -“Let her alone--she is only a child!” - -He made her sit down by him on the sofa in a kindly, almost paternal -manner, complimented her on her ambition and her sentiment for real -art, her desire to escape from the easy and demoralizing successes of -comic opera; but then she would have to work hard and study seriously. - -“O, as for that,” she answered, brandishing a roll of music, “I study -two hours every day with Mme. Vauters.” - -“Mme. Vauters? Yes, hers is an excellent method,” and he opened the -roll of music and examined its contents with a knowing air. - -“What are we singing now? Aha! The waltz of _Mireille_, the song of -Magali. Why, they are the songs of my part of the country!” - -He half closed his eyes and keeping time with his head he began softly -to hum: - - “O Magali, ma bien-aimée, - Fuyons tous deux sous la ramée - Au fond du bois silencieux....” - -And she took it up: - - “La nuit sur nous étend ses voiles - Et tes beaux yeux--” - -And Roumestan sang out loud: - - “Vont faire pâlir les étoiles....” - -“Do wait a moment,” she cried, “Mamma will play us the accompaniment.” - -Pushing aside the music-stands and opening the piano, she led her -reluctant mother to the piano-stool. Ah, she was such a determined -little person! The Minister hesitated a moment with his finger on the -page of the duet--what if any one should hear them? Never mind; there -had been rehearsals going on every day in the big salon.... They began. - -They were singing together from the same sheet of music as they stood, -while Mme. Bachellery played from memory. Their heads were almost -touching, their breaths mingled together with caressing modulations of -the music. Numa got excited and dramatic, raising his arms to bring -out the high notes. For many years now, ever since his political life -had absorbed him, he had done more talking than singing. His voice had -become heavy like his figure, but he still loved to sing, especially -with this child. - -He had completely forgotten the Bishop of Tulle and the Superior -Council which was wearily awaiting him round the big green table. -Several times the pallid face of the chamberlain on duty, his official -silver chain clanking, peered into the room but quickly disappeared -again, terrified lest he should be caught gazing at the Minister of -Public Instruction and Religions singing a duet with an actress from -one of the minor theatres. But a Minister Numa was no longer, only -Vincent the basket-maker pursuing the unapproachable Magali through -all her coquettish transformations. And how well she fled! how well, -with childish malice, she did make her escape, her ringing laughter -clear as pearls rippling over her sharp little teeth, until at last, -overcome, she yields and her mad little head, made dizzy by her rapid -course, sinks on her lover’s shoulder!... - -Mme. Bachellery broke the charm and recalled them to their senses as -soon as the song was finished. Turning round, she cried: - -“What a voice, Excellency! What a noble voice!” - -“Yes, I used to sing when I was young” he said, somewhat fatuously. - -“But you still sing _maganifisuntly!_ Say, Baby, what a contrast to M. -de Lappara!” - -Baby, who was rolling up her music, shrugged her shoulders as much -as to say, that was too much of a truism to be discussed or to need -further answer. A little anxious, Roumestan asked: - -“Indeed? M. de Lappara?” - -“O, he sometimes comes to eat _bouillabaise_ with us; then after dinner -Baby and he sing duets together.” - -Hearing the music no longer, the chamberlain ventured at last into the -room, as cautiously as a lion-tamer going into a cage of lions. - -“Yes, yes, I am coming,” said Roumestan, and addressing the little -actress with his best “Excellency air” in order to make her feel the -difference in position between him and his secretary: - -“I am very much pleased with your singing, Mademoiselle; you have a -great deal of talent, a great deal! And if you care to sing for us on -Sunday next, I gladly grant you that favor.” - -She gave a joyful, childlike cry: “Really? O, how lovely of you!”--and -in an instant flung her arms about his neck. - -“Alice! Alice! Well, I declare!” cried her mother. - -But she was gone; she had taken flight through the great rooms where -she looked so tiny in the long perspective--a child! O, such a perfect -child! - -Much agitated by her caress, Roumestan paused a few moments before he -went upstairs. Outside in the wintry garden one pale sun-ray shone on -the withered lawn and seemed to warm and revive the winter. He felt -penetrated to the heart by a similar warmth as if the contact with this -supple youthful form communicated some of its spring-like vitality to -him. “Ah! how charming is youth!” - -Instinctively he glanced at himself in the mirror; a mournfulness came -over him that he had not felt for years. How changed things were, _boun -Diou!_ He had grown very stout from want of exercise, much sitting at -his desk and the too constant use of his carriage; his complexion was -injured by staying up late at night, his hair thin and grizzled at the -temples; he was even more horrified at the fatness of his cheeks and -the vast flat expanse between his nose and his ears. “I have a mind to -grow a beard to cover that.” But then the beard would be white--and -yet he was only forty-five. Alas, politics age one so! - -He was suffering there, in those few moments, the frightful anguish a -woman feels when she realizes that all is over--her power of inspiring -love is gone, while her own power to love still remains. His reddened -lids swelled with tears; there in the midst of his masterful place -this sorrow profoundly human, in which ambition had no part, seemed to -him bitter almost beyond endurance. But with his usual versatility of -feeling he consoled himself quickly by thinking of his talents, his -fame and his high position. Were they not just as strong as beauty or -as youth in order to make him loved? - -“Come, come!” - -He quite despised himself for his folly, and, driving off his troubles -with the customary jerk of his shoulder, went upstairs to dismiss the -Council, for he had no time left to preside to-day. - - * * * * * - -“What has happened to you, my dear Excellency, you seem to have renewed -your youth?” - -This question was asked him a dozen times in the lobby of the Chambers, -where his good humor was remarked upon and where he caught himself -humming, “O Magali, my well-beloved.” Sitting on the Bench he listened -with an attention most flattering to the speaker during a long-winded -discourse about the tariff, smiling beatifically beneath his lowered -eyelids. - -So the Left, whom his character for astuteness held in awe, said -timidly one to the other: “Let us hold fast, Roumestan is preparing a -coup!” In reality he was engaged in bringing before his mental vision, -through the empty hum of the wearying discourse, the outlines of little -Bachellery, trotting her out, as it were, before the Ministerial Bench, -passing her attractions in review, her hair waving like a golden net -across her brow, her wild-rose complexion, her bewitching air of a girl -who was already a woman! - -Nevertheless, that evening he had another attack of moodiness on the -train returning from Versailles with some of his colleagues of the -Cabinet. In the heated carriage where every one was smoking they were -discussing, in the free and easy manner that Numa always carried about -with him, a certain orange-colored velvet bonnet in the diplomats’ -gallery that framed a pale Creole face; it had proved an agreeable -diversion from the tariff question and caused all the honorable noses -to rise, just as the sudden appearance of a butterfly in a school-room -will fix the attention of the class in the middle of a Greek lesson. -Who was she? No one knew. - -“You must ask the General,” said Numa gayly, turning to the Marquis -d’Espaillon d’Aubord, Minister of War, an old rake, tireless in love. -“That’s all right--do not try to get out of it--she never looked at any -one but you.” - -The General cut a sinister grimace that caused his old yellow goat’s -moustache to fly up under his nose as if it were moved by springs. - -“It is a good while since women have bothered themselves about -me--they only care for bucks like that!” - -In this extremely choice language peculiar to noblemen and soldiers -he indicated young De Lappara, sitting modestly in a corner of the -carriage with Numa’s portfolio on his lap, respectfully silent in the -company of the big-wigs. - -Roumestan felt piqued, he did not know exactly why, and replied hotly. -In his opinion there were many other things that women preferred to -youth in a man. - -“They tell you that, of course.” - -“I ask the opinion of these gentlemen.” - -These gentlemen were all elderly, some so fat that their coats would -hardly meet across their stomachs, some thin and dried up, bald or -quite white, with defective teeth and ugly mouths, many of them -in failing health--these Ministers and Under-secretaries of State -all agreed with Numa. The discussion became very animated as the -Parliamentary train rushed along with its noise of wheels and loud talk. - -“Our Ministers are having a great row,” said the people in the -neighboring compartments. - -Several newspaper reporters tried to hear through the partitions what -they were saying. - -“The well-known man, the man in power!” thundered Numa, “that is what -they like. To know that the man who is kneeling before them with his -head on their knees is a great man, a powerful man, one who moves the -world--that works them up!” - -“Yes, indeed!” - -“You are right, quite right.” - -“I am of your opinion, my dear colleague.” - -“Well, as for me, I tell you that when I was only a poor little -lieutenant on the staff and went out on my Sunday leave, dressed in my -best, with my five and twenty years and my new shoulder-straps, I used -to get many long, fond glances from the women whom I met, those glances -like a whip that make your whole body tingle from head to foot, looks -that cannot be got by a big epaulette of my age. And so, now, when I -want to feel the warmth and sincerity in looks of that sort from lovely -eyes, silent declarations in the open street, do you know what I do? I -take one of my aides-de-camp, young, cocky, with a fine figure and--get -them by promenading by his side, S--d--m--s--!” - -Roumestan did not speak again until they reached Paris. As in the -morning, he was again plunged in gloom, but furious also against those -fools of women who could be so blind as to go crazy over boobies and -fops. - -What was there particularly fascinating about De Lappara he would like -to know? Throughout the discussion he had sat fingering his beard with -a fatuous air, looking conceited in his perfect clothes and low-cut -shirt collar, and not saying a word. He would have liked to slap him. -Probably it was that air he took when he sang _Mireille_ with little -Bachellery--who was probably his mistress. The idea was horrible to -him--but still he would have liked to know the truth about it and -convince himself. - -As soon as they were alone and driving to the Ministry in the coupé he -said to Lappara suddenly, brutally, without looking at him: - -“Have you known these women long?” - -“Which women, your Excellency?” - -“The Bachellerys, of course; O, come!” - -He had been thinking of them so constantly himself that he felt as if -every one else must be doing the same thing. Lappara laughed. - -O, yes--he had known them a long time; they were countrywomen of his. -The Bachellery family and the Folies Bordelaises were part of the -jolliest souvenirs of his youth. He had been desperately enough in love -with the mother when he was a lad to make all his school-boy buttons -split. - -“And to-day in love with the daughter?” asked Roumestan playfully, -rubbing the misty window with his glove to look out into the dark rainy -street. - -“Ah!--the daughter is a horse of another color. Although she seems to -be so light and frisky, she is really a very serious and cool young -person. I don’t know what she is aiming at, but I feel that it is -something that I can never have the chance to offer her.” - -Numa felt comforted: “Really--and yet you continue to go there!” - -“O, yes, they are so amusing, the Bachellery family. The father, the -retired manager, writes comic songs for the concert-gardens. The -mother sings and acts them while frying eels in oil and making a -_bouillabaise_ that Roubion’s own isn’t a patch on. Noise, disorder, -bits of music, rows--there you have the Folies Bordelaises at home. -Alice rules the roost, rushes about like mad, runs the supper, sings; -but never loses her head for one moment.” - -“Well, gay boy, you expect her to lose it some day, do you not? and in -your favor!” Suddenly becoming very serious the Minister added: “It is -not a good place for you to go to, young man. The devil! You must learn -to take life more seriously than you do. The Bordelaise folly cannot -last all your life.” - -He took his hand: “Do you never think of marrying?” - -“No, indeed, Excellency. I am perfectly content as I am--unless, -indeed, I should find some uncommon bonanza.” - -“We could find you the bonanza--with your name, your connections ... -what would you say to Mlle. Le Quesnoy?” - -“O, Excellency--I never should have dared....” - -Notwithstanding all his boldness, the Bordeaux man grew pale with joy -and astonishment. - -“Why not? You must, you must--you know how highly I esteem you, my dear -boy; I should like to have you as a member of my family--I should feel -stronger, more rounded out--” - -He stopped suddenly, remembering that he had used these same words to -Méjean that same morning. - -“Well, I can’t help it--it’s done now.” - -He jerked his shoulder and sank into a corner of the coupé. - -“After all, Hortense is free to choose for herself; she can decide. -I shall have saved this boy anyhow from spending his time in bad -company.” And in fact Roumestan really thought that this motive alone -had made him act as he did. - - - - -CHAPTER IX. - -AN EVENING PARTY AT THE MINISTRY. - - -There was an unusual look to the Faubourg St. Germain that evening. -Quiet little streets that were sleeping peacefully at an early hour -were awakened by the jolting of omnibuses turned from their usual -course; while other streets, where usually the uninterrupted stream and -roar of great Parisian arteries prevail, were like a river-bed from -which the water has been drained. Silent, empty, apparently enlarged, -the entrance was guarded by the outline of a mounted policeman or by -the sombre shadows across the asphalt of a line of civic guards, with -hoods drawn up over their caps and hands muffled in their long sleeves, -saying by a gesture to carriages as they approached: “No one can pass.” - -“Is it a fire?” asked a frightened man, putting his head out of the -carriage window. - -“No, sir; it is the evening party of the Public Instruction.” - -The sentry passed on and the coachman drove off, swearing at being -obliged to go so far out of his way on that left bank of the Seine, -where the little streets planned without system are still somewhat -confusing, after the fashion of old Paris. - -At a distance, sure enough, the brilliant lights from the two fronts -of the Ministry, the bonfires lighted in the middle of the streets -because of the cold, the gleam from lines of lanterns on the carriages -converging to one spot, threw a halo round the whole quarter like the -reflection of a great conflagration, made more brilliant by the limpid -blueness of the sky and the frosty dryness of the air. On approaching -the house, however, one was reassured by the perfect arrangements of -the party; for the conflagration was but the glare of the even white -light rising to the eaves of the nearer houses, that rendered visible, -as distinctly as by day, the names in gold upon the different public -buildings--“Mayory of the Seventh District,” “Ministry of Posts and -Telegraphs,” fading off in Bengal flames and fairylike illumination -among the branches of some big and leafless trees. - -Among those who lingered notwithstanding the chill wind and formed -a hedge of curious gazers near the hotel gates was a little pale -shadow with awkward, ducklike gait, wrapped from head to foot in a -long peasant’s cloak, which allowed nothing of her but two piercing -eyes to be visible. She walked up and down, bent with the cold, her -teeth chattering, but insensible to the biting frost in the fever and -intoxication of her excitement. Occasionally she would rush at some -carriage in the row advancing slowly up the Rue de Grenelle with a -luxurious noise of jingling harness and champing bits of impatient -horses, where dainty forms clad in white were dimly seen behind the -misty carriage windows. Then she would return to the entrance where the -privilege of a special ticket allowed the carriage of some dignitary to -break the line and enter. She pushed the people aside: “Excuse me--just -let me look a moment.” Under the blaze from the lamp-stands built in -the form of yew trees, under the striped awning of the marquees, the -carriage doors, opening with a bang, discharged upon the carpets their -freight of rustling satin, billowy tulle and glowing flowers. - -The little figure leaned eagerly forward and hardly withdrew herself -quickly enough to avoid being crushed by the next carriage to come on. - -Audiberte was determined to see for herself how such an entertainment -was managed. How proudly she gazed on this crowd and these lights, the -soldiers ahorse and afoot, the police and these brilliant goings-on, -all this part of Paris turned topsy-turvy in honor of Valmajour’s -tabor! For it was being given in his honor and she was sure that his -name was on the lips of all these fine and beautiful gentlemen and -ladies. From the front entrance on Grenelle Street she rushed to that -on Bellechasse Street, through which the empty carriages drove out; -there she mingled with the civic guards and the coachmen in immense -coats with capes round a _brasero_ flaming in the middle of the street, -and was astonished to hear these people talking of every-day matters, -the sharp cold of that winter, potatoes freezing in the cellars, -of things absolutely foreign to the function and her brother. The -slowness of the crawling line of carriages particularly irritated her; -she longed to see the last one drive up and be able to say: “Ready at -last! Now it will begin. This time it is really commencing.” - -But with the deepening of the night the cold became more penetrating; -she could have cried with the pain of her nearly frozen feet; but it is -pretty rough to cry when one’s heart is so happy! - -At last she made up her mind to go home, after taking in all this -gorgeousness in one last look and carrying it off in her poor, savage -little head as she passed along the dismal streets through the icy -night. Her temples throbbed with the fever of ambition and almost burst -with dreams and hopes, whilst her eyes were forever dazzled and, as -it were, blinded by that illumination to the honor and glory of the -Valmajours. - -But what would she have said, had she gone in, had she seen all those -drawing-rooms in white and gold unfolding themselves in perspective -beneath their arcaded doorways, enlarged by mirrors on which fell -the flames of the chandeliers, the wall decorations, the dazzling -glitter of diamonds and military trappings, the orders of all -kinds--palm-shaped, in tufted form, broochlike, or big as Catherine -wheels, or small as watch-charms, or else fastened about the neck with -those broad red ribbons which make one think of bloody decapitations! - -Pell-mell among great names belonging to the Faubourg St. Germain there -were present ministers, generals, ambassadors, members of the Institute -and the Superior Council of the University. Never in the arena at Aps, -no, not even at the tabor matches in Marseilles, had Valmajour had such -an audience. To tell the truth, his name did not occupy much space at -this festival which was given in his honor. The programme was decorated -with marvellous borders from the pen of Dalys, and certainly mentioned -“Various Airs on the Tabor” with the name of Valmajour in combination -with that of several lyrical pieces; but people did not look at the -programme. Only the intimate friends, only those people who are -acquainted with everything that is going on, said to the Minister as he -stood to receive at the entrance to the first drawing-room: - -“So you have a tabor-player?” And he answered, with his thoughts -elsewhere: - -“Yes, a whim of the ladies.” - -He was not thinking much of poor Valmajour that evening, but of another -appearance much more important to him. What would people say? Would -she be a success? Had not the interest he had taken in the child made -him exaggerate her talent? And, very much in love, although he would -not have owned it yet to himself, bitten to the bone by the absorbing -passion of an elderly man, he felt all the anxiety of the father, -husband, lover or milliner of a _débutante_, one of those sorrowful -anxieties such as one often sees in somebody restlessly wandering -behind the scenes on the night of a first representation. That did not -prevent him from being amiable, warm and meeting his guests with both -hands outstretched; and what guests, _boun Diou!_ nor from simpering, -smiling, neighing, prancing, throwing back his body, twisting and -bending with unfailing if somewhat monotonous effusion--but with shades -of difference, nevertheless. - -Suddenly quitting, almost pushing aside, the guest to whom he was -speaking in a low voice and promising endless favors, he flew to meet a -stately lady with crimson cheeks and authoritative manner: “Ah, Madame -la Maréchale,” and placing in his own the august arm encased in a -twenty-button glove, he led his noble guest through the rooms between -a double row of obsequious black coats to the concert room, where Mme. -Roumestan presided, assisted by her sister. - -As he passed through the rooms on his return he scattered kind -words and hand-shakes right and left. “Count on me! It’s a settled -thing!”--or else he threw rapidly his “How are you, friend?”--or again, -in order to warm up the reception and put a sympathetic current flowing -through all this solemn society crowd, he would present people to each -other, throwing them without warning into each other’s arms: “What! you -do not know each other? The Prince of Anhalt!--M. Bos, Senator!” and -never noticed that the two men, their names hardly uttered, after a -hasty duck of the head and a “Sir”--“Sir,” merely waited till he was -gone to turn their backs on each other with a ferocious look. - -Like the greater number of political antagonists, our good Numa had -relaxed and let himself out when he had won the fight and come to -power. Without ceasing to belong to the party of moral order, this -Vendean from the South had lost his fine ardor for the Cause, permitted -his grand hopes to slumber, and began to find that things were not -so bad after all. Why should these savage hatreds exist between nice -people? He yearned for peace and a general indulgence. He counted on -music to operate a fusion among the parties, his little fortnightly -concerts becoming a neutral ground for artistic and sociable enjoyment, -where the most bitterly hostile people might meet each other and learn -to esteem one another in a spot apart from the passions and torments of -politics. - -That was why there was such a queer mixture in the invitations; thence -also the embarrassment and lack of ease among the guests; therefore -also colloquies in low tones suddenly interrupted and that curious -going and coming of black coats, the assumed interest seen in looks -raised to the ceiling, examining the gilded fluting of the panels, the -decorations of the time of the Directory, half Louis XVI, half Empire, -with bronze heads on the upright lines of the marble chimneypieces. -People were hot and at the same time cold, as if, one might believe, -the terrible frost outside, changed by the thick walls and the wadding -of the hangings, had been converted into moral cold. From time to time -the rushing about of De Lappara and De Rochemaure to find seats for the -ladies broke in upon the monotonous strolling about of bored men, or -else a stir was made by the sensational entrance of the beautiful Mme. -Hubler, her hair dressed with feathers, her profile dry like that of an -indestructible doll, with a smile like a stamped coin drawn up to her -very eyebrows--a wax doll in a hair-dresser’s window. But the cold soon -returned again. - -“It is the very devil to thaw out these rooms of the Public -Instruction. I am sure the ghost of Frayssinous walks here at night.” - -This remark in a loud tone was made by one of a group of young -musicians gathered obsequiously round Cadaillac, the manager of the -opera, who was sitting philosophically on a velvet couch with his back -against the statue of Molière. Very fat, half deaf, with a bristling -white moustache, his face puffy and impenetrable, it was hard to find -in him the natty and politic young _impresario_ under whose care -the “Nabob” had given his entertainments; his eyes alone told of -the Parisian joker, his ferocious science of life, his spirit, hard -as a blackthorn with an iron ferule, toughened in the fire of the -footlights. But full and sated and content with his place and fearful -of losing it at the end of his contract, he sheathed his claws and -talked little and especially little here; his only criticism on this -official and social comedy being a laugh as silent and inscrutable as -that of Leather-Stocking. - -“Boissaric, my good fellow,” he asked in a low voice of an ambitious -young Toulousian who had just had a ballet accepted at the opera after -only ten years of waiting--a thing nobody could believe--“you who know -everything, tell me who that solemn-looking man with a big moustache -is who talks familiarly to every one and walks behind his nose with as -thoughtful an air as if he were going to the funeral of that feature: -he must belong to the shop, for he talked theatre to me as one having -authority.” - -“I don’t think he is an actor, master, I think he is a diplomat. I just -heard him say to the Belgian Minister that he had been his colleague a -long time.” - -“You are mistaken, Boissaric. He must be a foreign general; only a -moment ago I heard him perorating in a crowd of big epaulettes and he -was saying: ‘Unless one has commanded a large body of men--’” - -“Strange!” - -They asked Lappara, who happened to pass; he laughed. - -“Why, it’s Bompard!” - -“_Quès aco Bompard?_” (Who is this Bompard?) - -“A friend of Roumestan’s. How is it you have never met him?” - -“Is he from the South?” - -“_Té!_ I should say so!” - -In truth, Bompard, buttoned tightly into a grand new suit with a -velvet collar, his gloves thrust into his waistcoat, was really trying -to help his friend in the entertainment of his guests by a varied but -continuous conversation. Quite unknown in the official world, where -he appeared to-day for the first time, he may be said to have made a -sensation as he carried his faculty for invention from group to group, -telling his marvellous visions, his stories of royal love affairs, -adventures and combats, triumphs at the Federal shooting-matches -in Switzerland, all of which produced the same effects upon his -audience--astonishment, embarrassment and disquiet. Here at least there -was an element of gayety, but it was only for a few intimates who knew -him. Nothing could dispel the cloud of _ennui_ that penetrated even -into the concert room, a large and very picturesque apartment with its -two tiers of galleries and its glass ceiling that gave the impression -of being under the open sky. - -A decoration of green palms and banana-trees, whose long leaves hung -motionless in the light of the chandeliers, made a fresh background to -the toilettes of the women sitting on numberless rows of chairs placed -close together. It was a wave of white moving necks, arms and shoulders -rising from their bodices like half-opened flowers, heads dressed with -jewelled stars, diamonds flashing against the blue depths of black -tresses or waves of gold from the locks of blondes; a mass of lovely -figures in profile, full of health, with lines of beauty from waist -to throat, or fine slender forms, from a narrow waist clasped by a -little jewelled buckle up to a long neck circled with velvet. Fans of -all colors, bright with spangles, shot with hues, danced in butterfly -lightness over all and mingled the perfumes of “white rose” or opoponax -with the feeble breath of white lilacs and natural fresh violets. - -The bored expression on the faces of the guests was deeper here as -they reflected that for two mortal hours they must sit thus before the -platform on which was spread out in a semicircular row the chorus, the -men in black coats, the women in white muslin, impassive as if sitting -in front of a camera, while the orchestra was concealed behind copses -of green leaves and roses, out of which the arms of the bass-viols -reared themselves like instruments of torture. Oh, the torment of the -“music stocks”! All of them knew it, for it was one of the cruelest -fatigues of the season and of their worldly burden. That is why, -looking everywhere, the only happy, smiling face to be found in the -immense room was that of Mme. Roumestan--not that ballet-dancer’s -smile, common to professional hostesses, which so easily changes to a -look of angry fatigue when no one is watching. Hers was the face of a -happy woman, a woman loved, just starting on a new life. - -O, the endless tenderness of an honest soul which has never throbbed -but for one person! She had begun to believe again in her Numa; he -had been so kind and tender for some time back. It was like a return; -it seemed as if their two hearts were closely knit again after a long -parting. Without asking whence came this renewal of affection in her -husband, she found him loverlike and young once more, as he was the -night that she showed him the panel of the hunt; and she herself was -still the same fair young Diana, supple and charming in her frock of -white brocade, her fair hair simply banded on her brow, so pure and -without an evil thought, looking five years younger than her thirty -summers! - -Hortense was very pretty to-night also; all in blue--blue tulle that -enveloped her slender figure like a cloud and lent a soft shade to -her brunette face. She was much preoccupied with the début of her -musician. She wondered how the spoiled Parisians would like this music -from the provinces and whether, as Rosalie had said, the tabor-player -ought not to be framed in a landscape of gray olive-trees and hills -that look like lace. Silently, though very anxious in the rustle of -fans, conversations in low voice and the tuning of the instruments, she -counted the pieces that must come before Valmajour appeared. - -A blow from the leader with his bow on his desk, a rustling of paper -on the platform as the chorus rises, music in hand, a long look of -the victims toward the high doorway clogged with black coats, as if -yearning to flee, and the first notes of a choral by Glück ring through -the room and soar upward to the glassy ceiling where the winter’s night -lays its blue sheets of cold. - -“_Ah, dans ce bois funeste et sombre...._” - -The concert has begun. - -The taste for music has increased greatly in France within the last -few years. Particularly in Paris, the Sunday concerts and those given -during Holy Week, and the numberless musical clubs, have aroused the -public taste and made the works of the great masters known to all, -making a musical education the fashion. But at bottom Paris is too -full of life, too given over to intellect, really to love music, that -absorbing goddess who holds you motionless without voice or thought in -a floating web of harmony, and hypnotizes you like the ocean; in Paris -the follies that are done in her name are like those committed by a fop -for a mistress who is the fashion; it is a passion of _chic_, played to -the gallery, commonplace and hollow to the point of _ennui!_ - -_Ennui!_ - -Yes, boredom was the prevailing note of this concert at the Ministry of -Public Instruction. Beneath that forced admiration, that expression of -simulated ecstasy which belongs to the worldly side of the sincerest -woman, the look of boredom rose higher and higher; there soon appeared -unmistakable signs that dimmed the brilliant smile and shining eyes -and changed completely their charming, languishing poses, like the -motion of birds upon the branches or when sipping water drop by drop. -On the long rows of endless chairs these fine ladies, one woman after -the other, would make their fight, trying to reanimate themselves with -cries of “Bravo! Divine! Delicious!” and then, one after another, would -succumb to the rising torpor which ascended like the mists above a -sounding sea, driving far away into the distance of indifference all -the artists who defiled before them one by one. - -And yet the most famous and illustrious artists of Paris were there, -interpreting classical music with all the scientific exactness it -demands, which, alas, cannot be acquired save at the expense of years. -Why, it is thirty years now that Mme. Vauters has been singing that -beautiful romanza of Beethoven “L’Apaisement,” and yet never has she -done it with more passion than this evening. But it seems as if strings -were lacking to the instrument; one can hear the bow scraping on the -violin. And behold! of the great singer of former days and of that -famous classical beauty there remains nothing else but well studied -attitudes, an irreproachable method and that long white hand which at -the last stanza brushes aside a tear from the corner of her eye, made -deep with charcoal--a tear that translates a sob which her voice can no -longer render. - -What singer save Mayol, handsome Mayol, has ever sighed forth the -serenade from “Don Juan” with such ethereal delicacy--that passion -which is like the love of a dragon-fly? Unfortunately people don’t -hear it any longer. There is no use for him to rise atiptoe with -outstretched neck and draw out the note to its very end, while -accompanying it with the easy gesture of a yarn-spinner seizing her -wool with two fingers--nothing comes out, nothing! Paris is grateful -for pleasures which are past and applauds all the same; but these -used-up voices, these withered and too well-known faces, medals whose -design has been gradually eaten away by passing from hand to hand, -can never dissipate the heavy fog which infests the Minister’s party. -No, notwithstanding every effort which Roumestan makes to enliven it, -notwithstanding the enthusiastic bravos which he hurls in his loudest -voice into the phalanx of black coats, nor the “Hush!” with which he -frightens people who attempt to converse two apartments away, and who -thereafter prowl about silent as spectres in that strong illumination -and change their places with every precaution in the hopes of finding -some distraction, their backs rounded and their arms swinging--or fall -completely crushed upon the low arm-chairs, their opera hats suspended -between their legs--idiotic and with faces empty of expression! - -At one time, it is true, the appearance of Alice Bachellery on the -stage wakes up and enlivens the audience; a struggling bunch of curious -people assails each of the two doors of the hall in order to see the -little diva in her short skirt on the platform, her mouth half open -and her long lashes quivering as if with surprise at seeing all this -multitude. - -“_Chaud! chaud! les p’tits pains d’ gruau!_” hum the young club-men -as they imitate the low-lived gesture that accompanies the end of her -refrain. Old gentlemen belonging to the University approach, trembling -all over, and turning their good ear toward her, in order not to lose a -bit of the fashionable vulgarity. So there is a disappointment when, -in her somewhat shrill and limited voice, the little pastry-cook’s boy -begins to produce one of the grand airs from “Alceste,” prompted by -Mme. Vauters, who is encouraging her from the flies. Then the faces -fall and the black coats disperse and begin once more their wandering -with all the more freedom, now that the Minister is not watching them; -for he has slipped off to the end of the last drawing-room on the arm -of M. de Boë, who is quite stunned by the honor accorded him. - -Eternal infancy of Love! What though you may have twenty years of law -at the Palace of Justice behind you and fifteen years on the Bench; -what though you may be sufficiently master of yourself to preserve -in the midst of the most agitated assemblies and most ferocious -interruptions the fixed idea and the cold-bloodedness of a gull that -is fishing in the heart of a storm--nevertheless, if passion shall -once enter into your life, you will find yourself the feeblest among -the feeble, trembling and cowardly to the point of hanging desperately -to the arm of some fool, rather than listen bravely to the slightest -criticism of your idol. - -“Excuse me--I must leave you--here is the _entr’acte_--” and the -Minister hurries away, casting the young _maître des requêtes_ back -into that original obscurity of his from which he shall never emerge -again. The crowd struggles toward the sideboards; the relieved -expression on the faces of all these unfortunate listeners, who have -at last regained the right to move and speak, is sufficient to make -Numa believe that his little _protégée_ has just won a tremendous -success. People press about him and felicitate him--“Divine! -Delicious!” But there is nobody to talk positively to him about the -thing that interests him, so that at last he grabs hold of Cadaillac, -who is passing near him, walking sidewise and splitting the human -stream with his enormous shoulder as a lever. - -“Well? well? How did you like her?” - -“Why, whom do you mean?” - -“The little girl,” said Numa in a tone which he tries to make perfectly -indifferent. The other man, who is good enough at fencing, comprehends -at once and says without blenching: - -“A revelation!” - -The lover flushes up as if he were twenty years old--as when, at the -Café Malmus, “everybody’s old girl” pressed his foot under the table. - -“Then--you think that at the opera--?” - -“No sort of question!--but she would have to have a good one to put -her on the stage,” said Cadaillac with his silent laugh. And while the -Minister rushes off to congratulate Mlle. Alice, the “good one to put -her on the stage” continues his march in the direction of the buffet -which can be seen, framed by an enormous mirror without a border, at -the end of a drawing-room which is all brown and gilded woodwork. -Notwithstanding the severity of the hangings and the impudent and -pompous air of the butlers, who are certainly chosen from University -men who have missed their examination, at this spot the nasty tempers -and boredom have disappeared in front of the enormous counter crammed -with delicate glasses, fruits and pyramids of sandwiches; humanity -has regained its rights and these evil looks give way to attitudes of -desire and voracity. Through the narrowest space that remains open -between two busts or between two heads bending over toward the bit -of salmon or chicken wing on their little plate, an arm intrudes, -attempting to seize a tumbler or fork or roll of bread, scraping off -rice powder on shoulders or on a black sleeve or a brilliant, crude -uniform. People chatter and grow animated, eyes glitter, laughter rises -under the influence of the foaming wines. A thousand bits of speech -cross each other--interrupted remarks, answers to questions already -forgotten. In one corner one hears little screams of indignation: “What -a brute! How disgusting!” about the scientist Béchut, that enemy of -women, who is going on reviling the weaker sex. Then a quarrel among -musicians. “But, my dear fellow, beware--you are denying altogether the -increase of the _quinte_.” - -“Is it really true she is only sixteen?” - -“Sixteen years of the cask and some few extra years of the bottle.” - -“Mayol!--O, come now! Mayol!--finished, empty! and to think that the -opera gives two thousand francs every night to that thing!” - -“Yes, but he has to spend a thousand francs of seats to get his -auditorium warm, and then, on the sly, Cadaillac gets all the rest of -it away from him playing écarté.” - -“Bordeaux!--chocolate!--champagne!--” - -“--will have to come and explain himself before the commission.” - -“--by raising the ruche a little with bows of white satin.” - -In another part of the house Mlle. Le Quesnoy, closely surrounded by -friends, recommends her tabor player to a foreign correspondent with -an impudent head as flat as that of a _choumacre_ and begs him not -to leave before the end of the play; she scolds Méjean, who is not -supporting her properly, and calls him a false Southerner, a _franciot_ -and a renegade. In the group near by a political discussion has -started. One mouth opens in a hateful way with foam about the teeth and -says, chewing on the words as if they were musket balls and he would -like to poison them: - -“Whatever exists in the most destructive of demagogies--” - -“--Marat the conservative!” said a voice--but the rest of the sentence -was lost in a confused noise of conversations mixed with clattering of -plates and glasses, which the coppery tones of Roumestan’s voice all -of a sudden dominated: “Ladies! hurry, ladies!--or you will miss the -sonata in _fa!_” - -There is a silence as of the dead. Then the long procession of trailing -trains begins to cross the drawing-room and settle itself once more -into the rows of chairs. The women have that despairing face one sees -on captives who are returned to prison after an hour’s walk in the open -fields. And so the concertos and symphonies follow each other, note -after note. Handsome Mayol begins again to draw out that intangible -note of his and Mme. Vauters to touch again the loosened cords of her -voice. All of a sudden a sign of life appears, a movement of curiosity, -just as it was a little while ago when the small Mlle. Bachellery made -her entrance. It is the tabor-player Valmajour, the apparition of that -proud peasant, his soft felt hat over one ear, his red belt around -his waist and his plainsman’s jacket on one shoulder. It was an idea -of Audiberte’s, an instinct in her natural feminine taste, to dress -him in this way in order to give him greater effect in the midst of -all the black coats. Well, well, at last, this at least is new and -unexpected--this long tabor which hangs to the arm of the musician, the -little fife on which his fingers move hither and yon, and the charming -airs to the double music whose movement, rousing and lively, gives a -moire-like shiver of awakening to the satin of those lovely shoulders! -That worn-out public is delighted with these songs of morning, so fresh -and embalmed with country fragrances--these ballads of Old France. - -“Bravo! Bravo! Encore!” - -And when, with a large and victorious rhythm which the orchestra -accompanies in a low note, he attacks the “March of Turenne,” deepening -and supporting his somewhat shrill instrument, the success is wild. -He has to come back twice, ten times, being applauded first of all -by Numa, whom this solitary success has warmed completely and who now -takes credit to himself for this “fancy of the ladies.” He tells them -how he discovered this genius, explains the great mystery of the fife -with three holes and gives various details concerning the ancient -castle of the Valmajours. - -“Then he really is called Valmajour?” - -“Certainly--belongs to the Princes des Baux--he is the last of the -line.” - -And so this legend starts, scatters, expands, enlarges and becomes at -last a regular novel by George Sand. - -“I have the _parshemints_ at my house,” corroborates Bompard in a tone -which permits of no question. - -But in the midst of all this worldly enthusiasm more or less fabricated -there is one little heart which is moved, one young head which is -completely intoxicated and takes all these bravos and fables seriously. -Without speaking a word, without even applauding, her eyes fixed and -lost, her long, supple figure following in the balancing motion of a -dream the bars of the heroic march, Hortense finds herself once more -down there in Provence on the high terrace overlooking the sun-baked -plain, whilst her musician plays for her a morning greeting, as if -to one of those ladies in the Courts of Love, and then sticks her -pomegranate flower on his tabor with a savage grace. This recollection -moves her delightfully, and leaning her head on her sister’s shoulder -she murmurs very low: “O, how happy I am!” uttering it with a deep and -true accent which Rosalie does not notice at once, but which later on -shall become more definite in her memory and shall haunt her like the -stammered news of some misfortune. - -“_Eh! bé!_ My good Valmajour, didn’t I tell you? What a success!--eh?” -cried Roumestan in the little drawing-room where a stand-up supper was -being served for the performers. As to this success, the other stars -of the concert considered it a bit exaggerated. Mme. Vauters, who -was seated in readiness to leave while she waited for her carriage, -concealed her spite in a great big cape of lace filled with violent -perfumes, while handsome Mayol, standing in front of the buffet, -showing in his back his slack nerves and weariness by a peculiar -gesture, tore to pieces with the greatest ferocity a poor little plover -and imagined that he had the tabor-player under his knife. But little -Bachellery did not stoop to any such bad temper. In the midst of a -group of young fops, laughing, fluttering and digging her little white -teeth into a ham sandwich, like a schoolboy assailed by the hunger of a -growing child, she played her game of infancy. She tried to make music -on Valmajour’s fife. - -“Just see, M’sieur le ministre!” - -Then, noticing Cadaillac behind his Excellency, with a sharp twirl of -her feet she advanced her forehead like that of a little girl for him -to kiss. - -“Howdy, uncle!--” - -It was a relationship purely fantastic such as they adopt behind the -scenes. - -“What a make-believe madcap!” grunted the “right man to put one on the -stage” behind his white moustache, but not in too loud a voice, because -in all probability she was going to become one of his pensioners and a -most influential pensioner. - -Valmajour stood erect before the chimneypiece with a fatuous -air, surrounded by a crowd of women and journalists. The foreign -correspondent put his questions to him brutally, not at all in that -hypocritical tone he used when interrogating ministers in special -audiences; but, without being troubled in the least thereby, the -peasant answered him with the stereotyped account his lips were -used to: “It all come to me in the night while I listened me to the -_nightingawles_ singin’--” - -He was interrupted by Mlle. Le Quesnoy, who offered him a glass of wine -and a plate heaped up with good things especially for him. - -“How do you do? You see this time I myself am bringing you the -_grand-boire_.” She had made her speech for a purpose, but he answered -her with a slight nod of the head, and, pointing to the chimneypiece, -said “All right, all right, put it down there,” and went on with his -story. - -“So, what the birrud of the Lord could do with one hole....” Without -being discouraged, Hortense waited to the end and then spoke to him -about his father and his sister. - -“She will be very much delighted, will she not?” - -“O, yes; it has gone pretty well.” - -With a silly smile he stroked his moustache while looking about -him with restless eyes. He had been told that the director of the -opera desired to make him an offer and he was on the watch for him -afar, feeling even at this early moment the jealousy of an actor -and astonished that anybody could spend so much time with that -good-for-nothing little singing-girl. Filled with his own thoughts, he -took no trouble to answer the beautiful young girl standing before him, -her fan in her hand, in that pretty, half-audacious attitude which the -habit of society gives. But she loved him better as he was, disdainful -and cold toward everything which was not his art; she admired him for -accepting loftily the compliments which Cadaillac poured upon him with -his off-hand roundness: - -“Yes, I tell you ... yes, indeed!... I tell you exactly what I mean -... great deal of talent ... very original, very new; I hope no other -theatre save the Opera shall have your first appearance.... I must find -some occasion to bring you forward. From to-day on, consider yourself -as one of the House!” - -Valmajour thought of the paper with the government stamp on it which -he had in the pocket of his jacket; but the other man, just as if he -divined the thought that possessed him, stretched out his supple hand: -“There, that engages us both, my dear fellow;” and pointing out Mayol -and Mme. Vauters--who were luckily occupied elsewhere, for they would -have laughed too loud--he continued: - -“Ask your comrades what the given word of Cadaillac means!” At this he -turned on his heel and went back into the ball. - -Now it had become a party which had spread into less crowded but -more animated rooms, and the fine orchestra was taking its revenge -for three hours of classical music by giving waltzes of the purest -Viennese variety. The lofty personages and solemn people having left, -the floors now belonged to the young people, those maniacs of pleasure -who dance for the love of dancing and for the intoxication of flying -hair and swimming eyes and trains whipped round about their feet. But -even then politics could not lose its rights and the fusion dreamt -of by Roumestan did not take place. Even of the two rooms where they -danced one of them belonged to the Left Centre and the other to the -White, a flower de luce White without a stain, in spite of the efforts -Hortense made to bind the two camps together! Much sought out as the -sister-in-law of the Minister and daughter of the Chief Judge, she -saw about her big marriage portion and her influential connections a -perfect flock of waistcoats with their hearts outside. - -While dancing with her, Lappara, greatly excited, declared that His -Excellency had permitted him--but just there the waltz ended and she -left him without listening to the rest and came toward Méjean, who did -not dance and yet could not make up his mind to leave. - -“What a face you make, most solemn man, man most reasonable!” - -He took her by the hand: “Sit down here; I have something to say to -you--by the authority of my Minister--” - -Very much overcome, he smiled, and while noting the trembling of his -lips Hortense understood and rose very quickly. - -“No, no, not this evening--I can listen to nothing--I am dancing--” - -She flew away on the arm of Rochemaure, who had just come to fetch her -for the cotillion. He too was very much taken; just in order to imitate -Lappara, the good young fellow ventured to pronounce a word which -caused her to break out in a gale of gayety that went whirling with her -round the entire room, and when the shawl figure was finished she went -over toward her sister and whispered in her ear: - -“Here we are in a nice mess! Here is Numa, who has promised me to each -of his three secretaries!” - -“Which one are you going to take?” - -Her answer was cut short by the rolling of the tabor. - -“The farandole! The farandole!” - -It was a surprise for his guests from the Minister--the farandole to -close the cotillion--the South to the last go! and so--_zou!_ But -how do people dance it? Hands meet each other and join and the two -dancing-rooms come together this time. Bompard gravely explains: “This -is the way, young ladies,” and he cuts a caper. - -And then, with Hortense at its head, the farandole unrolls itself -across the long rows of rooms, followed by Valmajour playing with a -superb solemnity, proud of his success and of the looks which his -masculine and robust figure in that original costume earn for him. - -“Isn’t he beautiful!” cried Roumestan, “isn’t he handsome! a regular -Greek shepherd!” - -From room to room the rustic dance, more and more crowded and lively, -follows and chases the spectre of Frayssinous. Reawakened to life by -these airs from the ancient time, the figures on the great tapestries, -copied from the pictures of Boucher and Lancret, agitate themselves and -the little naked backs of the cupids who are rolling about along the -frieze take on a movement in the eyes of the dancers as of a rushing -hunt as wild and crazy as their own. - -Away down there at the end of the vista Cadaillac has edged up to the -buffet with a plate and a glass of wine in his hand; he listens, eats -and drinks, penetrated to the very centre of his scepticism by that -sudden heat of joy: - -“Just remember this, my boy,” said he to Boissaric, “you must always -remain to the end at a ball. The women are prettier in their moist -pallor, which does not reach the point of fatigue any more than that -little white line there at the windows has reached the point of being -daylight. There is a little music in the air, some dust that smells -nicely, a semi-intoxication which refines a sensation and which -one ought to savor as one eats a hot chicken wing washed down with -champagne frappé.--There! just look at that, will you.” - -Behind the big mirror without a frame the farandole was lengthening -out, with all arms stretched, into a chain alternate of black and -light notes softened by the disorder of the toilets and hair and the -mussiness that comes from two hours’ dancing. - -“Isn’t that pretty, eh?--And the bully boy at the end there, isn’t he -smart!” Then he added coldly, as he put down his glass: - -“All the same, he will never make a cent.” - - - - -CHAPTER X. - -THE NORTH AND THE SOUTH. - - -There never had been any great sympathy between President Le Quesnoy -and his son-in-law. The lapse of time, frequent intercourse and the -bonds of relationship had not been able to narrow the gap between -these two natures, or to vanquish the intimidating coolness which -the Provençal felt in the presence of this big, silent man, with his -pale and haughty face, from whose height a steely-gray look, which -was the look of Rosalie without her tenderness and indulgence, fell -upon his lively nature with freezing effect. Numa, with his mobile and -floating nature, always overwhelmed by his own conversation, at one -and the same time a fiery and a complicated nature, was in a state of -constant revolt against the logic, the uprightness, the rigidity of his -father-in-law. And while he envied him these qualities, he placed them -to the credit of the coldness of nature in this man of the North, that -extreme North which the President represented to him. - -“Beyond him, there’s the wild polar bear--beyond that, nothing at -all--the north pole and death.” - -All the same he flattered the President, endeavored to cajole him with -adroit, feline tricks, which were his baits to catch the Gaul. But -the Gaul, subtler than he was himself, would not permit himself to be -taken in, and on Sunday, in the dining-room at the Place Royale, at the -moment when politics were discussed, whenever Numa, softened by the -good dinner, attempted to make old Le Quesnoy believe that in reality -the two were very close to an understanding, because both wanted the -same thing, namely, liberty--it was a sight to see the indignant toss -of the head with which the President penetrated his armor. - -“Oh! Not at all, not the same by any means!” - -In half-a-dozen clear-cut, hard arguments, he established the distances -between them, unmasked fine phrases and showed that he was not the man -to be taken in by their humbuggery. Then the lawyer got out of the -affair by joking, though extremely angry at bottom and particularly on -account of his wife, who looked on and listened without ever mixing -herself up with political talk. But then in the evening, while going -home in the carriage, he took great pains to prove to her that her -father was lacking in common-sense. Ah! if it had not been for her -presence, how finely he would have put the President to his trumps! In -order not to irritate him, Rosalie avoided taking part with either. - -“Yes, it is unfortunate--you don’t understand each other....” But in -her own heart she agreed with the President. - -When Roumestan arrived at a Minister’s portfolio the coolness between -the two men only became greater. M. Le Quesnoy refused to show himself -at his son-in-law’s receptions in the Rue de Grenelle and he explained -the matter very precisely to his daughter. - -“Now, please tell your husband this--let him continue to visit me here, -and as often as possible; I shall be most delighted. But you must not -expect ever to see me at the Ministry. I know well enough what those -people are preparing for us: I don’t want to have the appearance of -being an accomplice.” - -After all, the situation between them was saved in the eyes of -society by that heartfelt sorrow, that mourning of the heart, which -had imprisoned the Le Quesnoys in their own home for so many years. -Probably the Minister of Public Instruction would have been very much -embarrassed to feel the presence in his drawing-room of that sturdy -old contradictor, in whose presence he always remained a little boy. -Still, he made believe to appear wounded by that decision; he struck an -attitude on account of it, a thing which is very precious to an actor, -and he found a pretext for not coming to the Sunday dinners except -very irregularly, making as a plea one of those thousand excuses, -engagements, meetings, political banquets, which offer so wide a -liberty to husbands in politics. - -Rosalie, on the contrary, never missed a Sunday, arriving early in the -afternoon, delighted to find again in the home circle of her parents -that taste of the family which her official life hardly permitted her -the leisure to satisfy. Mme. Le Quesnoy being still at vespers and -Hortense at church with her mother, or carried off to some musical -matinée by friends, she was always certain to find her father in his -library, a long room crammed from top to bottom with books. There he -was, shut in with his silent friends, his intellectual intimates, the -only ones with whom his sorrow had never found fault. The President did -not seat himself to read; he passed the shelves in review, stopping -in front of some finely bound books; standing there, unconscious what -he did, he would read for an hour at a time without recognizing the -passage of time or that he was weary. When he saw his eldest daughter -enter, he would give a pale smile. After a few words were exchanged, -because neither one nor the other was exactly garrulous, she also -passed in review her beloved authors, choosing and turning over the -leaves of some book in his immediate neighborhood in that somewhat -dusky light of the big courtyard in the Marais, where the bells, -sounding vespers near by, fell in heavy notes amidst the stillness that -Sunday brings to the commercial quarters of a city. Sometimes he gave -her an open book: - -“Read that!” and put his finger under a passage; and when she had read -it: - -“That’s fine, is it not?” - -There was no greater pleasure for that young woman, to whom life was -offering whatever there was of brilliant and luxuriant things, than -the hour passed beside that mournful and aged father in whom her -daughterly adoration was raised to a double power by other and intimate -bonds altogether intellectual. - -It was to him she owed the uprightness of her thought and that feeling -for justice which made her so courageous; to him also her taste for -the fine arts, her love of painting and of fine poetry--because with -Le Quesnoy the continuous pettifoggery of the law had not succeeded in -ossifying the man in him. - -Rosalie loved her mother and venerated her, not without some little -revolt against a nature which was too simple, too gentle, annihilated -as it were in her own home; a nature which sorrow, that elevates -certain souls, had crushed to the earth and forced into the most -ordinary feminine occupations--into practical piety, into housekeeping -in its smallest details. Although she was younger than her husband, she -appeared to be the elder of the two, judged by her old woman’s talk; -she was like one rendered old and sorrowful, who searched all the warm -corners of her memory and all the souvenirs of her infancy in a land -hot with the sun of Provence. But above all things the church had taken -possession of her; since the death of her son she was in the habit of -going to church in order to put her sorrow to slumber in the silent -freshness and half-light and half-noise of the lofty naves, as though -it were in the peace of a cloister barred by heavy double gates against -the roar of the outer life. This she did with that devout and cowardly -egotism of sorrows which kneel upon a _prie-Dieu_ and are released -from all anxieties and duties. - -Rosalie, who was a young girl already at the moment of their mishap, -had been struck by the very different way in which her parents -suffered. Mme. Le Quesnoy, renouncing everything, was steeped in a -tearful religion, but Le Quesnoy set out to obtain strength from daily -work accomplished. Her tender preference for her father arose in her -through the exercise of her reason. Marriage, life in common with all -the exaggerations, lies and lunacies of her Southerner, caused her to -feel the shelter of the silent library all the more pleasantly because -it was a change from the grandiose, cold and official interior of the -Ministry. In the midst of their quiet chat, the noise of a door was -heard, a rustling of silk, and Hortense would enter. - -“Ah, ha! I knew I should find you here!” - -She did not love to read, Hortense did not. Even novels bored her; they -were never romantic enough to suit her exalted frame of mind. After -running up and down for about five minutes with her bonnet on, she -would cry: - -“How these old books and papers do smell stuffy! Don’t you find it so, -Rosalie? Come on, come a little with me! Papa has had you long enough. -Now it’s my turn.” - -And so she would carry her off to her bedroom, their bedroom; for -Rosalie also had used it until she was twenty years old. - -There, during an hour of delightful chat, she saw about her all those -things which had been a part of herself--her bed with cretonne -curtains, her desk, her étagère, her library, where a bit of her -childhood still lingered about the titles of the volumes and about the -thousand childish things preserved with all due devotion. Here she -found again her old thoughts lying about the corners of that young -girl’s bedroom, more coquettish and ornamented, it is true, than it was -in her time. There was a rug on the floor; a night lamp in the shape of -a flower hung from the ceiling and fragile little tables stood about -for sewing or writing, against which one knocked at every step; there -was more elegance and less order. Two or three pieces of work begun -were hanging over the backs of the chairs and the open desk showed a -windy scattering of note-paper with monograms. When you entered there -was always a minute or two of trouble. - -“O, it’s the wind,” said Hortense with a peal of laughter. “The wind -knows I adore him; he must have come to see if I was at home.” - -“They must have left the window open,” answered Rosalie quietly. “How -can you live in such an interior? For my part I am not able to think if -anything is out of place.” - -She rose to straighten the frame of a picture fastened to the wall; it -irritated her eyes, which were as exact as her nature. - -“O, well! it’s just the contrary with me. It puts me in form. It seems -to me that I am travelling.” - -This difference in their natures was reflected on the faces of the two -sisters. Rosalie had regular features with great purity in their lines, -calm eyes of a color changing constantly like that of a deep lake; -the other’s features were very irregular, her expression clever, her -complexion the pale tint of a Creole woman. There were the North and -the South in the father and the mother, two very different temperaments -which had united without merging together; each was perpetuating its -own race in one of the children, and all this, notwithstanding the -life in common, the similar education in a great boarding-school for -young girls, where, under the same masters, and only a few years -later, Hortense was taking up the scholastic tradition which had -made of her sister an attentive, serious woman, always ready to the -minute, absorbed in her smallest acts. That same education had left -her tumultuous, fantastic, unsteady of soul and always in a hurry. -Sometimes, when she saw her so agitated, Rosalie cried out: - -“I must say I am very lucky; I have no imagination.” - -“As for me, I haven’t anything else,” said Hortense; and she reminded -her how at boarding school, when M. Baudouy was given the task of -teaching them style and the development of thought, during that course -which he pompously termed his imagination class, Rosalie had never had -any success, because she expressed everything in a few concise words, -whereas she, on the other hand, given an idea as big as your nail, was -able to blacken whole volumes with print. - -“That’s the only prize I ever got--the imagination prize!” - -Despite it all they were a tenderly united couple, bound to each other -by one of those affections between an elder and a younger sister into -which an element of the filial and maternal enters. Rosalie took her -about with her everywhere, to balls, to her friends’ houses, on her -shopping trips in which the taste of Parisian women is exercised; even -after leaving the boarding-school she remained her younger sister’s -little mother. And now she is occupying herself with getting her -married, with finding for her some quiet and trustworthy companion, -indispensable for such a madcap as she is, the powerful arm which is -needed to offset her enthusiasms. - -It was plain that the man she meant was Méjean; but Hortense, who at -first did not say no, suddenly showed an evident antipathy. They had a -long talk about it the day following the ministerial reception, when -Rosalie had detected the emotion and trouble of her sister. - -“O, he is kind and I like him well enough,” said Hortense, “he is one -of those loyal friends such as one would like to have about one all -one’s life; but that is not the sort of husband that will do for me.” - -“Why?” - -“You will laugh at me. He does not appeal to my imagination enough; -there it is! A marriage with him--why it makes me think of the house -of a burgher, right-angled and stiff, at the end of an alley of trees -which stand as straight as the letter I; and you know well enough that -I love something else--the unexpected, surprises--” - -“Well, who then? M. de Lappara?” - -“Thank you! In order that I should be just a wee bit preferred to his -tailor?” - -“M. de Rochemaure?” - -“What, that model red-tapist?--and I who have a perfect horror of red -tape!” - -And when the disquiet which Rosalie showed pushed her to the wall, for -she wished to know everything and interrogated her closely: - -“What I should like to do,” said the young girl, while a faint flame -like a fire in straw rose into the pallor of her complexion, “what I -should like to do--” Then in a changed voice and with an expression of -fun: - -“I should like to marry Bompard! Yes, Bompard; he is the husband of my -dreams--at any rate he has imagination, that fellow, and some resources -against deadly dulness!” - -She rose to her feet and passed up and down the room with that gait, a -little inclined over, which made her seem even taller than her figure -warranted. People did not recognize Bompard’s worth; but what pride and -what dignity of existence were his, and, with all his craziness, what -logic! - -“Numa wanted to give him a place in the office close to him; but he -would not take it, he preferred to live in honor of his chimera. And -people actually accuse the South of France of being practical and -industrious!--but there is the man to give that legend the lie. Why, -look here--he was telling me this the other night at the ball--he is -going to brood out ostrich eggs--an artificial brood machine--he is -positive that he will make millions,--and he is far more happy than if -he had those millions! Why, it is a perpetual life in fairy-land with a -man of that sort. Let them give me Bompard; I want nobody but Bompard!” - -“Well, well, I see I shall learn nothing more to-day either,” said the -big sister to herself, who divined underneath these lively sallies -something deep down below. - -One Sunday when she reached her old home Rosalie found Mme. Le Quesnoy -awaiting her in the vestibule, who told her with an air of mystery: - -“There’s somebody in the drawing-room--a lady from the South.” - -“Aunt Portal?” - -“You shall see--” - -It was not Mme. Portal, but a saucy Provençal girl whose deep curtsy in -the rustic way came to an end in a peal of laughter. - -“Hortense!” - -Her skirt reaching to the tops of her black shoes, her waist increased -by the folds of tulle belonging to the big scarf, her face framed among -the falling waves of hair kept in place by a little bonnet made of cut -velvet and embroidered with butterflies in jet, Hortense looked very -like the _chatos_ whom one sees on Sunday practising their coquetries -on the Tilting Field at Arles, or else walking, two and two, with -lowered lashes, through the pretty columns of St. Trophyme cloisters, -whose denticulated architecture goes very well with those ruddy Saracen -reds and with the ivory color of the church in which a flame of a -consecrated candle trembles in the full daylight. - -“Just see how pretty she is!” said her mother, standing in ecstasy -before that lively personification of the land of her youthful days. -Rosalie, on the other hand, shuddered with an inexplicable sadness, as -if that costume had taken her sister far, far away from her. - -“Well, that is a fantastic idea! It is very becoming to you, but I like -you far better as a Parisian girl. And who dressed you so well?” - -“Audiberte Valmajour. She has just gone out.” - -“How often she comes here!” said Rosalie, going into their room to take -off her bonnet. “What a friendship it is! I shall begin to get jealous.” - -Hortense excused herself, a little bit embarrassed; this head-dress -from Provence gave so much pleasure to their mother in the sober house. - -“Is it not true, mother?” cried she, going from one room into the -other. “Besides, that poor girl feels so outlandish in Paris and is so -interesting with her blind devotion to the genius of her brother.” - -“Oh! Genius, is it?” said the big sister, tossing her head a bit. - -“What! You saw it yourself the other night at your house, the effect it -produced--everywhere just the same thing!” - -And when Rosalie answered that one must estimate at their real value -these successes won in the world of society and due to politeness, a -caprice of an evening, the last fad: - -“Well, I don’t care, he is in the opera!” - -The velvet band on the little head-dress bristled up in sign of -revolt, as if it were really covering one of those enthusiastic heads -above whose profile it floats, down there in Provence. Besides, the -Valmajours were not peasants like others, but the last remnants of a -reduced family of nobles. - -Rosalie, standing in front of the tall mirror, turned about laughing: - -“What! You believe in that legend?” - -“Why, of course I do. They descend in direct line from the Princes des -Baux. There are the parchments and there are the coats of arms at their -rustic doorway. Any day that they should wish--” - -Rosalie shuddered. Behind the peasant who played the flute there was -the prince besides. Given a strong imagination--and that might become -dangerous. - -“None of that story is true,” and this time she did not laugh any more. -“In the district of Aps there are ten families bearing that so-called -princely name. Anybody who told you otherwise told a falsehood through -vanity or through--” - -“But it was Numa--it was your husband. The other night at the Ministry -he gave us all sorts of details.” - -“O! You know how it is with him--you have got to consider the focus, as -he says himself.” - -Hortense was not listening. She had gone back into the drawing-room, -and, seated at the piano, she began in a loud voice: - - “Mount’ as passa ta matinado, - Mourbieù, Marioun....” - -It was an old popular ballad of Provence, sung to an air as grave as -a church recitative, that Numa had taught his sister-in-law; one that -he enjoyed hearing her sing with her Parisian accent, which, sliding -over the Southern articulations, made one think of Italian spoken by an -Englishwoman. - - “Où as-tu passé ta matinée, morbleu, Marion? - A la fontaine chercher de l’eau, mon Dieu, mon ami. - Quel est celui qui te parlait, morbleu, Marion? - C’est une de mes camarades, mon Dieu, mon ami. - Les femmes ne portent pas les brayes, morbleu, Marion. - C’est sa robe entortillée, mon Dieu, mon ami. - Les femmes ne portent pas l’épée, morbleu, Marion. - C’est sa quenouille qui pendait, mon Dieu, mon ami. - Les femmes ne portent pas les moustaches, morbleu, Marion. - C’est des mûres qu’elle mangeait, mon Dieu, mon ami. - Le mois de mai ne porte pas de mûres, morbleu, Marion. - C’était une branche de l’automne, mon Dieu, mon ami. - Va m’en chercher une assiettée, morbleu, Marion. - Les petits oiseaux les ont toutes mangées, mon Dieu, mon ami. - Marion! ... je te couperai ta tête, morbleu, Marion. - Et puis que ferez-vous du reste, mon Dieu, mon ami? - Je le jetterai par la fenêtre, morbleu, Marion, - Les chiens, les chats en feront fête....” - -She interrupted herself in order to fling out his words with the -gesture and intonation that Numa used when he got excited. “There, look -you, me children! ’tis as foine as Shakespeare.” - -“Yes, a picture of manners and customs,” said Rosalie, coming up to -her, “the husband gross and brutal, the wife catlike and mendacious--a -true household in Provence!” - -“Oh, my dear child,” said Mme. Le Quesnoy, in a tone of gentle reproof, -the tone that is used when ancient quarrels have become the habit. -The piano-stool whisked quickly around and brought face to face with -Rosalie the cap of the furious little Provence girl. - -“’Tis really too much! what harm has it ever done to you, our South? -as for me, I adore it! I did not know it at the time, but that voyage -you made me take revealed to me my real country. It is no use to have -been baptized at St. Paul’s; I belong down there, I do--I am a child -of the ‘little square.’ Do you know, Mamma, some one of these days we -will just leave these cold Northerners planted right here, and we two -will go down to live in our beautiful South, where people sing and -dance--the South of the winds, of the sun, of the mirage, of everything -that makes one poetic and widens one’s life-- - - ‘It is there I would wish to dw-e-e-ll.’” - -Her two agile hands fell back upon the piano, scattering the end of her -dream in a tumult of resounding notes. - -“And not one word about the tabor-player!” thought Rosalie. “That’s a -serious thing!” - -It was a good deal more serious than she imagined. - -From the day when Audiberte had seen Mlle. Le Quesnoy fasten a flower -on the tabor of her brother, from that very moment there arose in her -ambitious soul a splendid vision of the future, which had not been -without its effect on their transplantation to Paris. The reception -which Hortense gave her, when she came to complain about her brother’s -obstination in running after Numa, defined and strengthened her in her -still vague hope. And since then, gradually, without opening her mind -to her men-folks otherwise than through half words, she prepared the -path with the duplicity of the peasant woman who is nearly an Italian, -gliding and crawling forward. From her seat in the kitchen in the Place -Royale, where she began by waiting timidly in a corner on the edge of -a chair, she crept into the drawing-room and installed herself, always -neat and trig, in the position of a poor relation. - -Hortense was crazy about her, showed her to her friends as if she were -a pretty piece of bric-à-brac brought from that land of Provence which -she always spoke of with enthusiasm. And the other girl played herself -off as more simple than nature allows, exaggerated her savage rages, -her tirades of wrath with clenched fist against the muddy sky of Paris, -and would often use a charming little exclamation, _Boudiou_, the -effect of which she arranged and watched like a kittenish girl on the -stage. The President himself had smiled at this _Boudiou_, and just to -think of having made the President smile! - -But it was in the young girl’s bedroom, when they were alone, that she -put all her tricks in play. All of a sudden she would kneel at her -feet, would seize her hand, go into ecstasies over the smallest points -of her toilet, her way of making a bow in a ribbon, her manner of -dressing her hair, letting slip those heavy compliments directly in her -face, which give great pleasure all the same, so spontaneous and naïve -do they appear. - -Oh, when the young lady stepped out of the carriage in front of the -_mas_ [the farm-house], she thought she saw the queen of the angels -in person! and she was for a time speechless at the sight, and her -brother, _pécaïré_, when he heard on the stones of the descending -road the noise of the carriage which took back the little Parisian, -he said it was as if those stones, one by one, were falling on his -heart. She played a great rôle with regard to this brother, his pride -and his anxieties--his anxieties, now why? I just ask you why--since -that reception at the “Menistry” he was being talked about in all the -papers and his portrait was seen everywhere and such invitations as -he got in the Faubourg Saint-Germoine--why he couldn’t meet them all! -Duchesses, countesses, wrote him notes on splendid paper--they had -coronets on their letters just like those on the carriages which they -sent to bring him in; and still--well, no, he wasn’t happy, the “pore” -man! All these things whispered in Hortense’s ear gave her some share -of the fever and magnetic will-power of the peasant girl. Then, without -looking at Audiberte, she asked if perhaps Valmajour did not have down -there in Provence a betrothed who was waiting for him. - -“He a betrothed?--_avaï!_ you do not know him--he has much too much -belief in himself to desire a peasant girl. The richest girls have been -on his track, the Des Combette girl, and then still another, and a lot -of gay ladies--you know what I mean! He did not even look at them. Who -knows what it is he is revolving in his head? Oh, these artists--” - -And that word, a new one for her, assumed on her ignorant lips an -expression hard to define, somewhat like the Latin spoken at mass, or -some cabalistic formula picked up in a book of magic. The heritage -which would come from Cousin Puyfourcat returned again and again during -the course of this adroit gossip. - -There are very few families in the South of France, whether artisans -or burghers, who do not possess a Cousin Puyfourcat, an adventurer who -has departed in early youth in search of fortune and has never written -since, whom they love to imagine enormously rich. He is like a lottery -ticket running for an indefinite time, a chimerical vista opening up -fortune and hope in the distance, which at last they end by taking for -a fact. Audiberte believed firmly in the fortune of that cousin and -she talked about it to the young girl, less for the purpose of dazzling -her than in order to diminish the social gap which separated them. When -Puyfourcat should die, her brother was to buy Valmajour back again, -cause the castle to be rebuilt and his patent of nobility acknowledged, -because everybody said that the necessary papers were extant. - -At the close of such chats as these, which were sometimes prolonged -deep into the twilight, Hortense remained for a long time silent, her -forehead pressed against the pane, and saw the high towers of that -reconstructed castle as they lifted themselves in the rose-colored -winter sunset, the terrace shining with torches and resounding with -concerts in honor of the chatelaine. - -“_Boudiou_, how late it is,” cried the peasant girl, seeing that she -had brought her to the point where she desired, “and the dinner for my -men is not ready yet! I must fly!” - -Very often Valmajour came and waited for her downstairs; but she never -allowed him to come upstairs. She felt that he was so awkward and -coarse, and cold, besides, toward any idea of flattering. She had no -use for him yet. - -Somebody who was very much in her way, too, but difficult to escape, -was Rosalie, with whom her feline ways and her false innocency did not -take at all. In her presence Audiberte, her terrible black brows knit -across her forehead, did not say a single word; and in that Southern -silence there rose up along with the racial hatred that anger of the -weak person, underhand and vindictive, which turns against the obstacle -most dangerous to its projects. Her real grievance was Rosalie, but -she talked about quite other ones to her little sister. For example, -Rosalie did not like tabor-playing; then “she did not do her religious -duties--and a woman who does not do her religion, you know....” -Audiberte did her religion and in the most tremendous way; she never -missed a single mass and she went to communion on the proper days. But -all that did not hinder in any way her actions; intriguer, liar and -hypocrite as she was, violent to the verge of crime, she drew from the -Bible texts nothing but excuses for vengeance and hatred. Only she kept -her honor in the feminine sense of the word. With her twenty-eight -years and her pretty face, in those low quarters where the Valmajours -were moving nowadays, she preserved the severe chastity of her thick -peasant’s scarf, bound about a heart which had never beat with any -emotion beside ambition for her brother. - - * * * * * - -“Hortense makes me anxious--look at her there.” - -Rosalie, to whom her mother whispered this confidentially in a corner -of the drawing-room at the Ministry, thought that Mme. Le Quesnoy -shared her own anxiety, but the observation made by the mother referred -merely to the physical condition of Hortense, who had not been able to -cure herself of a bad cold. Rosalie looked at her sister; always the -same dazzling complexion, liveliness and gayety; she coughed a little, -but what of that? only as all Parisian girls do after the ball season! -The summer would certainly put her back again in good shape very -quickly. - -“And have you spoken to Jarras about her?” - -Jarras was a friend of Roumestan, one of the old boys of the Café -Malmus. He assured her that it was nothing and suggested a course at -the waters of Arvillard. - -“All right, then; you must get off quickly,” said Rosalie with -vivacity, delighted with this pretext of getting Hortense away. - -“Yes, but there is your father, who would be alone--” - -“I will go and see him every day--” - -Then, sobbing, the poor mother acknowledged the horror which such a -trip with her daughter caused her. During an entire year it had been -necessary for her to run from one watering place to another for the -sake of the child they had already lost. Was it possible that she -would have to begin again the same pilgrimage, with the same frightful -results in prospect? And the other, too,--the disease had seized him at -the age of twenty, in his full health, in his full powers-- - -“Oh Mamma, do be quiet!” - -And Rosalie scolded her gently: Come, now; Hortense was not ill; the -doctor said that the trip would only be a pleasure party; Arvillard, -in the Alps of Dauphiny, was a marvellous country; she herself would -like nothing better than to accompany Hortense in her mother’s place; -unfortunately, she could not do it. Reasons most serious-- - -“Yes, yes. I understand--your husband, the Ministry--” - -“O, no. It isn’t that at all!” - -And to her mother, in that nearness of heart which they so seldom found -affecting them: “Listen, then, but for you alone--nobody knows it, not -even Numa ...” she acknowledged a still very fragile hope of a great -happiness which she had quite despaired of, the happiness which made -her wild with joy and fear, the entirely new hope of a baby who might -perhaps be born to them. - - - - -CHAPTER XI. - -A WATERING-PLACE. - - - ARVILLARD LES BAINS, - 2d August, ’76. - -“Well, it is queer enough, this place from which I am writing to -you. Imagine a square hall, very lofty, paved with stones, done in -stucco work--a sonorous hall, where the daylight falling through two -enormous windows is veiled down to the lowest pane with blue curtains -and further obscured by a sort of floating vapor, having a taste of -sulphur in it, which clings to one’s clothes and tarnishes one’s gold -ornaments. In this hall are people seated near the walls, on benches, -chairs and stools round little tables--people who look at their watches -every minute, get up and go out, leaving their seats to others, letting -one see each time through the half-open door a mob of bathers moving -about in the brightly lit vestibule and the flowing white aprons of the -serving women who dash here and there. In spite of all this movement, -no noise, but a continual murmur of conversation in low voices, -newspapers being unfolded, badly oxidized pens scratching on paper, a -solemnity as in a church--the whole place bathed and refreshed by the -big stream of mineral water arranged in the middle of the hall, the -rush of which breaks itself against a disk of metal, is crushed to -pieces, separates in jets and turns to powder above the great basins -placed one upon the other and all dripping with moisture. This is the -inhalation hall. - -“I must let you know, my dear girl, that everybody does not inhale in -the same way. For instance, the old gentleman who sits in front of me -at this moment follows the prescriptions of the doctor to the letter, -for I recognize them all. Our feet placed upon a stool and our chest -pushed forward, let us pull in our elbows and keep our mouth open all -the time to make the inspiration easy. Poor, dear man! How he does -inhale, with what a confidence in the result! What little round eyes he -has, credulous and devout, which seem to be saying to the spring: - -“‘O spring of Arvillard, cure me well; see how I inhale you, see what -faith I have in you--’ - -“Then we have the skeptic, who inhales without inhaling, his back -bent, shrugging his shoulders and rolling up his eyes. Then there are -the discouraged ones, the people who are really sick and feel the -uselessness and nothingness of all this. One poor lady, my neighbor, -I see putting her finger quickly to her mouth every little while to -see if her glove is not stained at the tip with a red blot. But, all -the same, people find some means to be gay. Ladies who belong in the -same hotel push their chairs near to each other, form groups, do their -embroidery, gossip in a low voice, discuss the newspaper of the baths -and the list of strangers just arrived. Young persons bring out their -English novels in red covers, priests read their breviaries--there are -a great many priests at Arvillard, particularly missionaries with big -beards, yellow faces, voices hoarse from having preached so long the -word of God. As to me, you know I don’t care about novels, particularly -those novels of to-day in which everything happens just like things in -everyday life. So for my part I take up my correspondence with two or -three designated victims--Marie Tournier, Aurélie Dansaert and you, -great big sister whom I adore! Look out for regular journals! Just -think, two hours of inhalation in four times, and that every day! -Nobody here inhales as much as I do, which is as much as saying that I -am a real phenomenon. People look at me a good deal for this reason and -I have no little pride in it. - -“As to the rest of the treatment--nothing else except the glass of -mineral water which I go and drink at the spring in the morning and -evening, and which ought to triumph over the obstinate veil which this -horrid cold has thrown over my voice. There is the special point of the -Arvillard waters and for that reason the singers and songstresses make -this place their rendezvous. Handsome Mayol has just left us, with his -vocal cords entirely renewed. Mlle. Bachellery, whom you remember--the -little diva at your reception--has found herself so well in consequence -of the treatment that after having finished three regular weeks she -has begun three more, wherefore doth the newspaper of the baths bestow -upon her great praise. We have the honor of dwelling in the same hotel -with that young and illustrious person, adorned with a tender Bordeaux -mother, who at the _table d’hôte_ advertises ‘good appetites’ in the -salad and talks of the one-hundred-and-forty-franc bonnet which her -young lady wore at the last Longchamps races--a delicious couple, and -greatly admired among us all! We go into ecstasies over the childish -graces of Bébé, as her mother calls her, over her laughter, her trills, -the tossings of her short skirt. We crowd together in front of the -sanded courtyard of the hotel in order to see her do her game of -croquet with the little girls and little boys--she will play with none -but the little ones--to see her run and jump and send her ball like a -real street boy. - -“‘Look out, I’m going to roquet you, Master Paul!’ - -“Everybody says of her, ‘What a child she is!’ As for me, I believe -that those false childish ways are a part of a rôle which she is -playing, just like her skirts with big bows on them and her hair looped -up postillon-style. Then she has such an extraordinary way of kissing -that great big Bordeaux woman, of suspending herself to her neck, of -allowing herself to be cradled and held in her lap before all the -world! You know well enough how caressing I am--well, honor bright! it -makes me feel embarrassed when I kiss mamma. - -“A very singular family, too, but less amusing, consists of the -Prince and Princess of Anhalt, of Mademoiselle their daughter, and -the governess, chamber-women and suite, who occupy the entire first -floor of the hotel and are the grand personages thereof. I often meet -the princess on the stair going up step by step on the arm of her -husband--a handsome gallant, bursting with health under his military -hat turned up with blue. She never goes to the bathing-hall except in -a sedan chair and it is heartrending to see that wrinkled and pale -face behind the little pane of the chair; father and child walk at the -side, the child very wretched-looking, with all the features of her -mother and very likely also all of her malady. This little creature, -eight years old, who is not allowed to play with the other children and -who looks down sadly from the balcony on the games of croquet and the -riding-parties at the hotel, bores herself to death. They think that -her blood is too blue for such common joys and prefer to keep her in -the gloomy atmosphere of that dying mother, by the side of that father -who shows his sick wife to the public with an impudent and worn-out -face, or give the child over to the servants. - -“But heavens, it’s a kind of pest, it’s an infectious disease, this -nobility business! These people take their meals by themselves in -a little dining-room; they inhale by themselves--because there are -separate halls for families--and you can imagine the mournfulness of -that companionship--that woman and the little girl together in a great -silent vault! - -“The other evening we were together in considerable number in the -big room on the ground floor where the guests unite to play little -games, sing and even occasionally to dance. Mamma Bachellery had just -accompanied Bébé in a cavatina from an opera--you know ‘we’ want to -enter the opera; in fact, we have come to Arvillard to ‘cure up our -voice for that’ according to the elegant expression of the mother. All -of a sudden the door opened and the princess made her appearance, with -that grand air which is her own--near her end but elegant, wrapped in -the lace mantle which hides the terrible and significant narrowness of -her shoulders. The little girl and the father followed. - -“‘Go on, I beg of you--’ coughed the poor woman. - -“And would you believe it? that idiot of a little singer must choose -out of all her repertory the most harrowing, the most sentimental -ballad ‘_Vorrei morir_,’ something like our ‘Dying Leaves’ in Italian, -a ballad of a sick woman who fixes the date of her death in autumn, in -order to give herself the illusion that all nature will die along with -her, enveloped in the first autumnal fog as in a winding sheet! - - “‘_Vorrei morir nella stagion dell’ anno._’ - (Oh! let me pass away when dies the year.) - -“It is a graceful air, but with a sadness in it which is increased by -the caressing sound of the Italian words; and there in the middle of -that big drawing-room, into which penetrated all sorts of perfumes -through the open window, the little breezes, too, and the freshness of -a fine summer night, this longing to live on until autumn, this truce -and surcease asked of the malady took on something too poignant to -bear. Without saying a word, the princess stood up and quickly left the -room. In the shadows of the garden I heard a sob, one long sob, then -the voice of a man scolding, and then those tearful complaints which a -child makes when it sees its mother sorrowing. - -“That is the mournfulness of such watering-places: these miseries -concerning health which meet one everywhere, these persistent coughs -scarcely deadened by the hotel partitions, these precautions taken with -handkerchiefs pressed upon the mouth in order to keep off the air, -these chats and confidences, the miserable meaning of which one divines -from the hand moving toward the chest or toward the back near the -shoulder-blade, from the sleepy manner, the dragging gait and the fixed -idea of misfortune. - -“Mamma, poor mamma, who knows the stages in sickness of the lungs, -says that at Eaux-Bonnes or at Mont Dore it is a very different thing -from what it is here. To Arvillard people send only convalescents -like myself or else desperate cases for which nothing can do any more -good. Luckily at our hotel Alpes Dauphinoises we have only three sick -persons of that sort, the princess and two young Lyon people, brother -and sister, orphans and very rich, they say, who appear to be on their -last legs; especially the sister, with that pallid complexion of the -Lyon women, as if seen under water; she’s wound up in morning gowns -and knit shawls, without one jewel or ribbon--not a single glimpse of -coquetry about her! - -“She looks poverty-stricken, that rich girl; she is certainly lost and -she knows it; she is in despair and abandons herself to despair. On -the other hand, in the bent figure of the young man, tightly squeezed -into a fashionable jacket, there is a certain terrible determination to -live, an incredible force of resistance to the malady. - -“‘My sister has no spring in her--but I have plenty!’ said he the other -day at the _table d’hôte_, in a voice quite eaten away, which is as -difficult to hear as the _ut_ note of Vauters the diva when she sings. -And the fact is, he does have springs in the most surprising way; he -is the make-fun of the hotel, the organizer of games, card-parties -and excursions; he goes out riding and driving in sleds, that kind of -little sled laden with fagots on which the mountaineers of this country -toboggan you down the steepest slopes; he waltzes and fences, shaken -with the terrible spasms of coughing which never stop him for a moment. - -“We have, beside, a medical luminary here--you remember him--Dr. -Bouchereau, the man whom mamma went to consult about our poor Andrew. I -do not know whether he has recognized us, but he never bowed--a regular -old bear! - -“I have just come from drinking my half-glass of water at the spring. -This precious spring is ten minutes away, as one ascends in the -direction of the high peak, in a gorge where a torrent all feathery -with foam rolls and thunders, having come from the glacier which closes -the view, a glacier shining and clear between the blue Alps that -seems to be forever crumbling and dissolving its invisible and snowy -base into that white mass of beaten water. Great black rocks dripping -constantly among the ferns and lichens, the groves of pine and a dark -green foliage, a soil in which spicules of mica glitter in the coal -dust--that is the place; but something that I cannot express to you -is the tremendous noise of the torrent tearing among the stones and -of the steam-hammer of a lumber mill, which the water sets in action; -and then, besides, in this narrow gorge, on its single road, which -is always crowded, there are coal-carts, long files of mules, riding -parties of excursionists and the water drinkers going and coming. I -forgot to mention the apparition at the doors of wretched dwellings of -some horrible male or female cretin, displaying a hideous goitre, a -great big idiotic face with an open and grumbling mouth! Cretinism is -one of the products of the country; it seems that Nature here is too -strong for human beings and that the minerals and the rest--copper, -iron and sulphur--seize, strangle and suffocate them; that that water -flowing from the peaks chills them as it does those wretched trees -which one sees growing all dwarfed between two crags. There’s another -of those impressions made upon a new arrival, the mournfulness and -horror of which disappear in the course of a few days. - -“For now, instead of flying from them, I have my special pet sufferers -from goitre, one in particular, a frightful little monster, perched on -the border of the road in a chair fit for a child of three years old; -but he is sixteen, exactly the age of Mlle. Bachellery. When I near -him, he dodders about his head, as heavy as a stone, and gives forth -a hoarse cry, a crushed cry without understanding and without style; -and as soon as he has received his piece of silver, he raises it in -triumph toward a charcoal-woman, who is watching him from the corner of -a window. He is a piece of good fortune envied by a great many mothers, -for this hideous creature takes in, by himself alone, more than his -three brothers do, who are at work at the furnaces of La Debout. His -father does nothing at all; afflicted with consumption, he passes the -winter by his poor man’s hearth and in summer installs himself on a -bench with other unhappy ones in the warm mist which the hot springs -create as they pour forth. - -“The young lady of the springs, in her white apron and with dripping -hands, fills the glasses which are held out to her, as they come along, -while in the courtyard near by, separated from the road by a low wall, -heads are seen, the bodies of which one cannot perceive, heads thrown -backward, contorted with their efforts, grinning in the sunshine, their -mouths wide open; ’tis an illustration for the Inferno of Dante: the -sinners damned to gargling! - -“Sometimes, when we leave, we go the big round while returning to the -establishment and descend by the country way. Mamma, whom the noise of -the hotel fatigues and who particularly fears lest I should dance too -much in the drawing-room, had indulged the dream of hiring a little -house in Arvillard, where there is plenty of choice at every door; on -every story there are bills, which flutter among the potted plants -between the fresh and tempting curtains. One asks oneself what on earth -becomes of the inhabitants during the season; do they camp in bands -on the surrounding mountains, or do they go and live in the hotel at -fifty francs a day? It would surprise me if it were so, for that magnet -which they carry in their eye when they look at the bather seems to me -terribly rapacious--there is something in it which glitters and catches -hold. - -“Yes, that same shining something, that sudden gleam on the forehead of -my little boy with the goitre, reflected from his piece of silver--I -find it everywhere; on the spectacles of the little nervous doctor -who auscults me every morning, in the eyes of the good sugarly-sweet -ladies who ask you in to examine their houses, their most convenient -little gardens, crammed with holes full of water and kitchens on the -ground floor to serve the apartments in the third story; in the eyes -of carmen with their short blouses and lacquered hats decked with big -ribbons, who make signs to you from the boxes of their carryalls; in -the look cast by the donkey-boy standing in front of the wide-open barn -in which long ears switch to and fro; yes, even in the glances of these -donkeys, in their long look of obstinacy and gentleness, I have seen -that metallic hardness which the love of money gives; I have seen it, -it exists. - -“After all, their houses are frightful, huddled together and mournful, -having no outlook, full of disagreeable points of all kinds which are -impossible to ignore, because your attention has been drawn to them -in the house next door. Decidedly we shall stick to our caravansary, -the Alpes Dauphinoises, which lies hot in the sun on its height and -steeps its red bricks and uncountable green shutters in the middle -of an English park not yet of age, a park with hedges, labyrinth and -sanded roads, the enjoyment of which it shares with five or six other -overgrown hotels of the country--La Chevrette, La Laita, Le Bréda, La -Planta. - -“All these hotels with Savoy names are in a state of ferocious rivalry; -they spy upon each other, watch each other across the copses, and there -is a merry war as to which shall put on the most style with its bells, -its pianos, the whip-cracking of its postilions, its expenditure of -fireworks; or which one shall throw its windows widest open in order -that the animation there, the laughter, songs and dances shall appeal -to the visitors lodged in the opposite hotel and make them say: - -“‘How they do amuse themselves down there! What a lot of people they -must have!’ - -“But the place where the hottest battle goes on between the rival -taverns is in the columns of the _Bathers’ Gazette_, where those lists -of new arrivals are printed, which the little sheet gives with minute -exactness, twice a week. - -“What envious rage at the Laita or the Planta when, for example, they -read: - -“‘_Prince and Princess of Anhalt and their suite, ... Alpes -Dauphinoises._’ - -“Everything becomes colorless in the light of that crushing line. What -response can there be? They rack their brains; they try their wits; if -you are possessed of a _de_ or some title, they drag it out and flaunt -it. Why, here’s La Chevrette has been serving us up the very same -Inspector of Forests three times under as many different species, as -Inspector, as Marquis, and as Chevalier of Saints Maurice and Lazarus; -but the Alpes Dauphinoises is still wearing the cockade, though you may -be sure it is not on our account. Great heavens! You know how retiring -mamma always is, and afraid of her shadow; well, she took good care -to forbid Fanny saying who we were, because the position of papa and -that of your husband might have drawn about us too much idle curiosity -and social riffraff. The newspaper said merely _Mesdames Le Quesnoy -de Paris, ... Alpes Dauphinoises_; and as Parisians are few and far -between our incognito has not been unveiled. - -“We are very simply arranged, but comfortably enough--two rooms on -the second floor, the whole valley lying before us, an amphitheatre -of mountains black with pine woods far below--mountains which show -various shades and get lighter and lighter as they rise with their -streaks of eternal snow; barren steeps close upon little farms which -look like squares in green and yellow and rose, among which the -haycocks look no larger than bee-hives. - -“But this beautiful landscape does little to keep us in our rooms. -In the evening there is the drawing-room, in the day time we wander -through the park to carry out the treatment. In connection with an -existence so full and yet so empty, the treatment takes hold of -and absorbs you. The amusing hour is the one after breakfast, when -groups are formed about the little tables for coffee under the big -lime-tree at the entrance of the garden; this is the hour for arrivals -and departures. People exchange good-byes and shake hands about the -carriage which is taking off the bathers; the hotel people press -forward, their eyes brilliant with that shiny look, that famous sheen -of the Savoyard; we kiss people whom we hardly know; handkerchiefs are -waved; the horse-bells jangle, and then the heavy and crowded wagon -disappears, swaying along the narrow road on the side of the hill, -carrying off with it those names and faces which for a moment have -made a part of our life in common, those faces unknown yesterday and -to-morrow forgot. - -“Others come and install themselves after their own fashion. I imagine -that this is like the monotony of packet-ships, with the change of -faces at every port. All this going and coming amuses me, but poor -dear mamma continues to be very sorrowful, very much absorbed, in spite -of the smile which she tries to give when I look at her. I can guess -that every detail of our lives brings with it for her a heartrending -souvenir, a memory of the gloomiest images. Poor thing, she saw so -many of those caravansaries of sick people during that year when she -followed her poor dying boy from stage to stage, in the lowlands or on -the mountains, beneath the pines or at the edge of the sea, with hope -always deceived and that eternal resignation which she was ever obliged -to show during her martyrdom. - -“I do think that Jarras might have arranged to save her from the memory -of this sorrow; for as for me, I am not sick, I cough hardly at all, -and with the exception of my disgusting huskiness, which leaves me with -a voice fit for crying vegetables in the street, I have never been so -well in my life. A real devilish appetite, would you believe it? fits -of hunger so terrible that I can hardly wait for a meal! Yesterday, -after a breakfast with thirty dishes, with a menu more involved than -the Chinese alphabet, I saw a woman stemming raspberries before our -door. All of a sudden a desire seized me; two bowls full, my dear girl, -two bowls full of the great big fresh raspberries, ‘the fruit of the -country,’ as our waiter calls them, and there you have my appetite! - -“All the same, my dear, how lucky it is that neither you nor I have -taken the malady of that poor brother of ours, whom I hardly knew -and whose discouraged expression, which is shown on his portrait in -our parents’ chamber, comes back to me here, when I see other faces -with their drawn features! And what an odd fish is this doctor who -formerly took care of him, this famous Bouchereau! The other day -mamma wanted to present me to him; in order to obtain a consultation -with him we prowled around the park in the neighborhood of the old, -long-legged fellow with his brutal and harsh face. But he was very much -surrounded by the Arvillard doctors, who were listening to him with -all the humbleness of pupils. Then we waited for him at the close of -the inhalation; all our labor in vain! The fellow set off walking at -such a pace that it seemed as if he wished to avoid us. You know with -mamma one does not get over ground fast; so we missed him again this -time. Finally, yesterday morning, Fanny went on our part to ask of his -housekeeper if he could receive us; he sent back word that he was at -the baths to care for his own health and not to give medical advice! -There’s a boor for you! It is quite true that I have never seen such -a pallor as he presents; it is like wax; papa is a highly-colored -gentleman by the side of him. He lives only upon milk, never comes -down to the dining-room and still less to the drawing-room. Our little -nervous doctor, the one whom I call M. That’s-what-you-need, will -have it that he is the victim of a very dangerous heart malady and it -is only the waters of Arvillard which have for the past three years -permitted him to stay alive. - -“‘That’s what you need! That’s what you need!’ - -“That is all that one can make out in the babble of this funny little -man, as vain as he is garrulous, who whirls round our apartments every -morning. - -“‘Doctor, I don’t sleep--I believe this treatment agitates me’.... -‘That’s what you need!’ ‘Doctor, I am always so sleepy--I think it must -be that mineral water.’... ‘That’s what you need!’ - -“What he seems to need more than anything else is that his tour -of visits should be made quickly, in order that he may be at his -consultation office before ten o’clock, in that little fly-box where -the patients are crammed together as far out as the stairs and down -the steps as far as the curb-stone. And I can tell you he doesn’t -loaf much, but whips you off a prescription without stopping for one -moment his jumping and prancing, like a bather who is trying to get his -‘reaction.’ - -“O, yes, that reaction! That’s another story, too. As for me, I shall -take neither baths nor douches, so I don’t make my reaction, but I -remain sometimes a quarter of an hour under the lindens of the park, -looking at the march up and down of all these people who walk with -long, regular steps and a deeply absorbed look, passing each other -without saying one word. My old gentleman of the inhalation hall, the -man who tries to propitiate the springs, carries on this exercise with -the same punctuality and conscientiousness. At the entrance to the -shaded walk he comes to a full stop, shuts his white umbrella, turns -down the collar of his coat, looks at his watch, and--forward, march! -Each leg stiff, elbows to his side, one, two! one, two! as far as -the long pencil of white light which the absence of a tree, forming -there an opening, throws across the alley at that point. He never goes -farther than that, raises his arms three times as if he had dumb-bells -in his hands, then returns in the same fashion, brandishes dumb-bells -once more, and does this for fifteen turns, one after the other. I have -an idea that the department for the crazy people at Charenton must have -somewhat the same features that my alley presents about eleven o’clock -in the morning.” - - 6 August. - -“So it is true, after all, Numa is coming to see us? O, how delighted -I am! how delighted I am! Your letter has just come by the one o’clock -mail which is distributed at the office of the hotel. It is a solemn -moment which is decisive of the hue and color of the entire day. The -office is crammed and people arrange themselves in a semicircle around -fat Mme. Laugeron, who is very imposing in her morning gown of blue -flannel, whilst in her authoritative voice with a bit of manner in it, -the voice of a former lady’s companion, she reads off the many-colored -addresses of the mail. At the call each one advances, and it is my duty -to tell you that we put a certain amount of personal pride in having -a big mail. In what does one not show some personal pride, for the -matter of that, during this perpetual rubbing shoulders of vanities and -of follies? Just to think that I should reach the point of being proud -of my two hours of inhalation! - -“‘The Prince of Anhalt--M. Vasseur--Mlle. Le Quesnoy--’ Deceived again! -it is only my fashion journal. ‘Mlle. Le Quesnoy--’ I give a glance to -see if there is nothing more for me and skip with your dear letter away -down to the end of the garden, where there is a bench surrounded by big -walnuts. - -“Here it is--this is my own bench, the corner where I go to be alone in -order to dream and build my Spanish castles; for it is a singular thing -that in order to invent well and to develop oneself intellectually -according to the precepts laid down by M. Baudouy, I do not need very -wide horizons. If my landscape is too big, I lose myself in it, I -scatter myself, ’tis all up with me. The only bore about my bench is -the neighborhood of the swing, where that little Bachellery girl passes -half her day in letting herself be swung into space by the young man -who believes in having springs. I should think he must have plenty of -spring in order to push her that way by the hour together; at every -moment come babyish cries and musical roulades: ‘Higher, higher yet, a -little more--’ - -“Heavens! How that girl does get on my nerves! I wish that swing would -pass her off and up into a cloud and that she would never come back -again! - -“Things are so nice upon my bench, so far away, when she is not there! -I have thoroughly enjoyed your letter, the postscript of which made me -utter a cry of delight. - -“O, blessed be Chambéry and its new college and that corner-stone to -be laid, which brings the Minister of Public Instruction into our -district. He will be very comfortable here for the preparation of his -speech, either walking about our shady alley, the ‘reaction alley,’ -(come, that wasn’t bad for a pun!) or else beneath my walnuts, when -Miss Bachellery is not scaring them with her cries. My dear Numa! I -get on so well with him; he is so lively, so gay! How we shall chat -together about our Rosalie and the serious motive which prevents her -from travelling at this time--O great Heavens, that was a secret!--and -poor mamma, who has made me swear so often about it! she is the one who -will be glad enough to see dear Numa again. On this occasion she quite -lost every sort of timidity or modesty; you ought to have seen the -majesty with which she entered the office of the hotel in order to take -an apartment for her son-in-law, the Minister! O, what fun, the face of -our landlady hearing this news! - -“‘Why--what--my ladies, you are--you were--?’ - -“‘Yes, we were--yes, we are--’ - -“Her broad face turned lilac and poppy-colored--a very palette for an -impressionist painter. And so with M. Laugeron and the entire hotel -service. Since our arrival we have been demanding an extra candlestick -in vain; now there are five on the chimneypiece. I can promise you that -Numa will be well served and installed; they will give him the first -story, occupied by the Prince of Anhalt, which will be vacant in three -days. It appears that the waters of Arvillard are bad for the princess; -and even the little doctor himself believes it is better that she -should leave as quickly as possible. That is what is best--because if -a tragedy should occur the Alpes Dauphinoises would never recover from -the blow. - -“It is really pitiable, the hurry there is about the departure of these -wretched people, the way they edge them off, the way they shove them -along in consequence of that magnetic hostility which places seem to -exhale where a person is no longer wanted. Poor Princess of Anhalt, -whose arrival here was made such a festival! a little more and they -would have her conducted to the borders of the department between two -policemen--that is the hospitality of watering places! - -“And by the way, how about Bompard? You haven’t told me whether he -is coming too or not. Dangerous Bompard! If he should come I am -quite capable of eloping with him on some glacier. What intellectual -development might we not discover between us, as we approached the -snowy peaks! I laugh, I am so delighted--and I go on inhaling, a -little embarrassed, it is true, by the neighborhood of that terrible -Bouchereau, who has just come in and seated himself two seats away from -me. - -“What an obdurate air he has, that man, to be sure! His hands crossed -on the knob of his cane and chin resting on his hands, he talks away -in a high voice, looking straight ahead, without really speaking to -anybody. Do you suppose that I must take it as a lesson for me, what -he says of the lack of prudence among the ladies who bathe, about -their gowns of thin linen, about the folly of going out of doors after -dinner in a country where the evenings are mortally cold? Horrid man, -one would believe he is aware that I propose this evening to beg for -charities at the Arvillard church in aid of the work of the propaganda! -Father Olivieri is to describe from the pulpit his missionary trips -into Thibet, his captivity and martyrdom, while Mlle. Bachellery will -sing the ‘Ave Maria’ of Gounod, and I am going to have the greatest -fun on our return to the hotel, marching through all the little dark -streets by lantern-light, just like a regular ‘retreat’ with torches. - -“If that is a consultation on my health which M. Bouchereau was giving -me, I don’t want it; it is too late. In the first place, my very dear -sir! I have full permission from my little doctor, who is far more -amiable than you are and has even allowed me to take a turn at a waltz -in the drawing-room at the close. Oh, only a little one, of course; -besides, if I dance a little too much, everybody goes for me! They do -not understand that I am robust, notwithstanding a figure like a long -lead-pencil and that a Parisian girl never gets ill from dancing too -much. ‘Look out now--don’t tire yourself too much.’ This woman will -bring me up my shawl, that man will close the window at my back for -fear that I should catch cold; but the most interested of all is the -youth with springs, because he has discovered that I have a devilish -deal more springs than his sister. - -“Poor girl, that would not be difficult! Between you and me, I believe -that, rendered desperate by the frigidity of Alice Bachellery, this -young gentleman has retired upon me and proposes to make love to -me--but alas, how he loses his labor; for my heart is taken, it is all -Bompard’s!--O, well, after all, no, it is _not_ Bompard’s, and you know -that too. The personage in my romance is not Bompard, it is--it is--ha, -ha! so much the worse for you! my hour is up; I will tell you some -other day, Miss Haughtiness!” - - - - -CHAPTER XII. - -A WATERING-PLACE (_continued_). - - -The morning on which the _Bathers’ Gazette_ announced that his -Excellency, the Minister of Public Instruction, with his secretary -Bompard and staff, had taken quarters in the Alpes Dauphinoises, great -was the demoralization in the surrounding hotels. It just happened -that La Laita had been keeping dark for two days a Catholic bishop -from Geneva in order to produce him at the proper moment, as well as a -Councillor-General from the Department of the Isère, a Lieutenant-Judge -from Tahiti, an architect from Boston--in fact, a whole cargo; La -Chevrette was on the point of receiving also a “Deputy from the Rhône -and family.” But the Deputy, the Lieutenant-Judge and all disappeared, -lost in the illustrious mass of flame, the flame of glory, which -followed Numa Roumestan everywhere! - -People talked only of him, occupied themselves about him only. -Any pretext was good enough to introduce oneself into the Alpes -Dauphinoises in order to pass before the little drawing-room on the -ground floor looking into the garden where the Minister took his -meals with his ladies and his secretary; to see him taking a hand in -a game of bowls, dear to Southern Frenchmen, with Father Olivieri -of the Missions, a holy man and terribly hairy, who, along of having -lived among savages, had taken unto himself their manners and customs, -uttering terrible cries when taking aim and brandishing the balls above -his head when letting fly as if they were tomahawks. - -The Minister’s handsome features, the oiliness of his manners, won -him all hearts, but more especially his sympathy for the poor. The -day after his arrival the two waiters who served on the first floor -announced at the hotel office that the Minister was going to take them -to Paris for his personal servants. Now, as they were good workmen, -Mme. Laugeron pulled a very wry face, but allowed nothing to be seen by -his Excellency, whose presence was of such great importance and honor -to her hotel. The prefect and the rector made their appearance from -Grenoble in full fig to present their respects to Roumestan. The Abbot -of La Grande Chartreuse--for Roumestan made a pleading on their side -against the Prémontrés and their liqueur--sent him with the greatest -pomp a case of extra-fine chartreuse; and finally the Prefect of -Chambéry came to get his orders for the laying of the corner-stone for -the new college, a good occasion for a manifesto in a speech and for a -revolution in the methods at the universities. - -But the Minister asked for a little rest. The labors of the session -had wearied him; he wanted to have a chance to get a breath, to live -quietly in the midst of his family and prepare at leisure this -Chambéry speech, which had such a considerable importance. And the -prefect understood that perfectly well; he only asked to be notified -forty-eight hours before in order that he might give the necessary -brilliancy to the ceremony. The corner-stone had been waiting for -two months and would naturally wait longer for the good-will of the -illustrious orator. - -As a matter of fact, what kept Roumestan at Arvillard was neither -the necessity for rest nor the leisure needed by that marvellous -improvisator--upon whom time and reflection had the same effect as -humidity upon phosphorus--but the presence of Alice Bachellery. After -five months of an impassioned flirtation, Numa had got no further -with his little one than he was on the day of their first meeting. -He haunted the house, enjoyed the savory bouillabaisse cooked by -Mme. Bachellery, listened to the songs of the former director of the -Folies Bordelaises, and repaid these slight favors with a flood of -presents, bouquets, Ministerial theatre boxes, tickets to meetings of -the Institute and the Chamber of Deputies, and even with the diploma of -Officer of Academy for the song-writer--all this without getting his -love affair one bit ahead. - -Nevertheless, he was not one of those fresh hands who are ready to -go fishing at every hour without having tried the water beforehand -and thoroughly baited it; only he was engaged in an affair with the -cleverest kind of trout, who amused herself with his precautions, now -and then nibbled at the bait and sometimes gave him the impression -that she was caught; but then, all of a sudden, with one of her bounds -she would skip away, leaving him with his mouth dry with longing and -his heart shaken by the motions of her undulating, subtle and tempting -spine. - -Nothing was more enervating than this little game. Numa could have -caused it to stop at any minute by giving the little girl what she -demanded, namely, a nomination as prima donna at the opera, a contract -for five years, large extras, allowance for fire, the right to have her -name displayed--all that stipulated on paper bearing the government -stamp, and not merely by a simple clasp of the hand, or by Cadaillac’s -“Here’s my hand on it!” She believed no more in that than she did -in the expressions, “You may depend upon me for it”--“It’s just the -same as if you had it”--phrases with which for the past five months -Roumestan had been trying to dupe her. - -Roumestan found himself between two pressing demands. “Yes,” said -Cadaillac, “all right--if you will renew my own lease.” Now Cadaillac -was used up and done with; his presence at the head of the first -musical theatre was a scandal, a blot, a rotten heritage from the -Imperial administration. The press would certainly raise an outcry -against a gambler who had failed three times and was not allowed to -wear his officer’s cross, against a cynical _poseur_ who dissipated the -public money without any shame. - -Finally, wearied out with not being able to allow herself to be -captured, Alice broke the fish-line and skipped away, carrying the -fish-hook with her. - -One day the Minister arrived at the Bachellery house and found it -empty, except for the father, who, in order to console him, sang his -last popular refrain for his benefit: - - “_Donne-moi d’quoi q’t’as, t’auras d’quoi qu’ j’ai._” - (Gimme a bite o’ yourn, my boy, I’ll gi’ you a bite o’ mine.) - -He forced himself to be patient for a month, and then went to see the -fertile song-writer again, who was good enough to sing him his new song -beginning-- - - “_Quand le saucisson va, tout va,_” - (Sausage gone, all is gone,)-- - -and let him know that the ladies, finding themselves delightfully -situated at the baths, had announced their intention to double the term -of their sojourn. - -Then it was that Roumestan remembered that he was expected for the -laying of the corner-stone of the college at Chambéry, a promise he -had made off-hand and which probably would have remained off-hand if -Chambéry had not been in the neighborhood of Arvillard, whither, by -a providential piece of chance, Jarras, the doctor and friend of the -Minister, had just sent Mlle. Le Quesnoy. - -Immediately upon his arrival they met each other in the garden of the -hotel. She was tremendously surprised to see him, just as if that very -morning she had not read the pompous announcement of his coming in the -daily gazette, just as if for eight days past, through the thousand -voices of its forests, its fountains, its innumerable echoes, the whole -valley had not been announcing the arrival of his Excellency. - -“What! you here?” - -Roumestan, with his Ministerial air, imposing and stiff: - -“I am here to see my sister-in-law.” - -Moreover he was surprised to find that Miss Bachellery was still at -Arvillard; he had thought her gone this long while. - -“Well, come now, I have got to take care of myself, haven’t I? since -Cadaillac pretends that my voice is so sick!” - -Then she gave him a little Parisian nod with the ends of her eyelashes -and waltzed off, uttering a clear roulade, a delicious undersong like -the note of a blackbird, which one hears long after one loses the bird -from sight. - -Only from that day on she changed her manner. It was no longer the -precocious child forever bouncing about the hotel, roqueting Master -Paul, playing with the swing and other innocent games; it was no longer -the girl who was only happy with the children, disarmed the most severe -mammas and most morose ecclesiastics by the ingenuousness of her laugh -and her promptness at the sacred services. In place of that appeared -Alice Bachellery, the diva of the Bouffes, the pretty tomboy, lively -in manners and setting the pace, who surrounded herself with young -whipper-snappers, got up impromptu festivities, picnics and suppers, -whose doubtful reputation her mother, who was always present, only -partly succeeded in making respectable. - -Every morning a basket-wagon with a white canopy bordered with fringed -curtains drew up to the front door an hour before these fine ladies -came downstairs in their light-toned gowns. Meanwhile about them -pranced and caracoled a jolly cavalcade consisting of everybody in the -way of a free and unmarried person in the Alpes Dauphinoises and the -neighboring hotels--the Assistant Justice, the American architect and -more especially the young man on springs, whom the young diva seemed -no longer to be driving to despair by her innocent infantilities. The -carriage well-crammed with cloaks against their return, a big basket -of provisions on the box, they swept through the country at a sharp -rate on the road for the Chartreuse of St. Hugon. Three hours were -spent on the mountain along zigzag, precipitous roads on a level with -the black tops of pines that scramble down precipices toward torrents -all white with foam; or else in the direction of Brame-farine, where -one breakfasts on mountain cheese washed down by a little claret -very lively in its nature, which makes the Alps dance before one’s -eyes--Mont Blanc and all that marvellous horizon of glaciers and -blue peaks which one discovers up there, together with little lakes, -fragments shining at the foot of the crags like so many broken pieces -of sky. - -Then they came down “_à la ramasse_,” seated upon sledges of branches -without any backs to lean against, which made it necessary to grasp -the branches frantically, launched headlong as they were down the -declivities, steered by a mountaineer who goes straight ahead over -the velvet of the upland pastures and the pebbly bed of dry torrents, -and passing with the same swiftness a section of rock or the big gap -of a river. At last it lands you down below overwhelmed, bruised and -suffocated, your whole body in a quiver and your eyes rolling with the -sensation of having survived a most horrible earthquake. - -And the day’s trip was not complete unless the entire cavalcade had -been drenched on the way by one of those mountain storms, bright with -lightning flashes and streaks of hail, which frighten the horses, -make the landscape dramatic and prepare a sensational return. Little -Bachellery would be seated on the box in some man’s overcoat, the -tassel of her cap decorated with a feather of the Pyrennean partridge. -She would hold the reins, whip the horses hard in order to warm herself -and, when once landed from the coach, recount all the dangers of the -excursion with the greatest vivacity, a high sharp voice and brilliant -eyes, showing the lively reaction of her youthful body against the cold -downpour--all with a little shudder of fear. - -It would have been well if then at least she had felt the need of a -good sleep, one of those leaden slumbers which trips in the mountains -produce. Not at all; till early morning, in the rooms of these women, -there were goings on without end--laughter, songs, popping bottles, -meals brought up at improper hours, card-tables pushed around for -baccarat--and all this over the head of the Minister, whose room -happened to be just underneath. - -Several times he complained of it to Mme. Laugeron, who was very much -torn between her desire to be agreeable to his Excellency and fear -of causing clients with such good paying qualities discontent. And -besides, has any one the right to be very exacting in these hotels at -the baths which are always being turned upside down by departures and -arrivals in the midst of the night, by trunks that are dragged about, -by big boots and iron-bound Alpine sticks of mountain climbers, who -are engaged in making ready for the ascent long before daybreak? And -then, besides, the fits of coughing of the sick people, those horrible, -incessant coughs which seem to tear people in spasms, appearing to -combine the elements of a sob, a death rattle and the crowing of a -husky cock. - -These giddy nights, heavy July nights, which Roumestan passed turning -and twisting on his bed, filled with pressing thoughts, while upstairs -sounded clear in the night the laughter of his neighbors, broken by -single notes and snatches of song--these nights he might have employed -writing his speech for Chambéry; but he was too much agitated and too -angry. He had to control himself not to run upstairs to the next floor -and drive off at the tips of his boots the young man on springs, the -American and that shameless Assistant Justice, that dishonor to French -jurisprudence in the colonies, so as to be able to seize that naughty -little scoundrel by the neck, by her turtle-dove’s neck puffed out with -roulades, and at the same time say to her just once for all: - -“Isn’t it about time that you ceased making me suffer in this way?” - -In order to quiet himself and drive off these dreams and other visions -even more vivid and painful he lit his candle again, called to Bompard, -asleep in the adjoining room--his comrade, his echo, always ready -at command--and then the two would talk about the girl. It was for -that very purpose he had brought him along, having torn him away with -no little trouble from the business of establishing his artificial -hatcher. Bompard consoled himself by talking of his venture to Father -Olivieri, who was thoroughly acquainted with the raising of ostriches, -having lived at Cape Town a long while. The tales told by the priest -interested the imaginative Bompard very much more than Numa’s affair -with little Bachellery--the Father’s voyages, his martyrdom, the -different ways in which the robust body of the man had been tortured -in different countries--that buccaneer’s body burnt and sawed and -stretched on the wheel, a sort of sample card of refinements in human -cruelty--and all that along with the cool fan of silky and tickly -ostrich plumes dreamt of by the promoter. But Bompard was so well -trained to his business of shadow that even at that time of night Numa -found him ready to warm up and be indignant in sympathy with him and -to express, with his magnificent head under the silken ends of a night -scarf, the emotions of anger, irony or sorrow, according as the talk -fell upon the false eyelashes of the artificial little girl, on her -sixteen years, which certainly were equal to twenty-four, or on the -immorality of a mother who could take part in such scandalous orgies. -Finally, when Roumestan, having declaimed and gesticulated well and -laid bare the weakness of his amorous heart, put out his candle, saying -“Let’s try to sleep, come on,” then Bompard would use the advantage of -the darkness to say to him before going to bed: - -“Well, in your place, I know well enough what I would do.” - -“What?” - -“I would renew the contract with Cadaillac.” - -“Never!” - -And then he would plunge violently under the bed-clothes in order to -protect himself from the rowdy-dow overhead. - -One afternoon at the time for music, that hour during life at the baths -which is given over to coquetry and gossip, whilst all the bathers, -crowded in front of the establishment as if on the poop of a ship, came -and went, slowly circled about, or took their seats on the camp-chairs -arranged in three rows, the Minister had darted into an empty alley in -order to avoid Mlle. Bachellery, whom he saw coming clad in a stunning -toilet of blue and red, escorted by her staff. There, all alone, seated -in the corner of a bench and with his pre-occupation strong upon him, -infected by the melancholy of the hour and that distant music, he -was mechanically stirring about with his umbrella the spots of fire -with which the alley was strewn by the setting sun, when a slow shade -passing across his sunlight made him raise his eyes. It was Bouchereau, -the celebrated doctor, very pale and puffy, dragging his feet after -him. They knew each other in the way that all Parisians at a certain -height of society know each other. It chanced that Bouchereau, who -had not been out for several days, felt in a sociable frame of mind; -he took a seat; they fell to talking: “Is it true that you are ill, -Doctor?” - -“Very ill,” said the other with his manner of a wild boar, “a -hereditary disease--a hypertrophy of the heart. My mother died of it -and my sisters also. Only, I shall last less long than they, because of -my horrible business; I have about a year to live--or two years at the -most.” - -There was nothing except useless phrases with which to answer this -great scientist, this infallible diagnoser who was talking of his death -with such quiet assurance. Roumestan understood it, as in silence he -pondered that there indeed were sorrows a good deal more serious than -his own. Bouchereau went on without looking at him, having that vague -eye and that relentless sequence of ideas which the habit of the -professorial chair and his lectures give to a professor: - -“We physicians, you see, are supposed not to feel anything because we -have such an air with us. They think that in the sick person we are -taking care of the sickness only, never the being, the human creature -suffering pain. What an error! I have seen my master Dupuytren, who was -supposed to be a pretty tough chicken, weeping hot tears before a poor -little sufferer from diphtheria who told him very quietly that it was -an awful bore to die ... and then those heart-breaking appeals from -anguished mothers, those passionate hands which clasp your arm: ‘My -child, save my child!’ ... and then the fathers who stiffen themselves -up and say to you in a very masculine voice, but with great big tears -running down their cheeks: ‘You will pull him through, won’t you, -Doctor?’ It is all very well to harden oneself, but such despairs break -your heart, and that is a nice thing, isn’t it, when one’s own heart is -already attacked? Forty years of practice and every day becoming more -nervous and sensitive--it is my patients who have killed me! I am dying -from the sufferings of other people!” - -“But I thought you did not accept patients any more, Doctor,” said the -Minister, who was deeply moved. - -“Oh, no; never any more, for nobody’s sake! I might see a man fall dead -to the ground there in front of me and I wouldn’t even bend down. You -understand? It is enough to turn one’s blood at last, this sickness of -mine, which I have increased by all the sicknesses of others! Why, I -want to live; there is nothing else but life!” - -With all his pallor he excited himself and his nostrils, pinched with a -look of morbidness, drank in the light air filled with lukewarm aromas, -vibrating musical instruments and cries of birds. He continued with a -heart-broken sigh: - -“I do not practise any more, but I always remain the doctor. I preserve -that fatal gift of diagnosis, that horrible second sight for the latent -symptom, for suffering which the sufferer hopes to conceal, and which -at a mere glance at the passer-by I perceive in the person who walks -and talks and acts in the full force of his being, showing me the man -about to die to-morrow, the motionless corpse. And all that just as -clearly as I see _it_ advancing towards me, the fit which is going to -do for me, that last fainting-fit from which nothing can ever bring me -back.” - -“It is frightful!” murmured Numa, who felt himself turning pale. A -poltroon in the face of sickness and death, like all Provençal people, -those people so crazy to live, he turned his face away from the -redoubtable scientist and did not dare look him in the face for fear -he might read on his own rubicund features the warning signs of his, -Numa’s, approaching end. - -“Oh! this terrible skill at diagnosis, which they all envy me, how sad -it makes me, how it ruins the little remnant of life which remains to -me! Why, look here: I know a luckless woman here whose son died of -laryngeal consumption ten or twelve years ago. I had seen him twice and -I alone among all the physicians gave warning of the seriousness of -the malady. Well, to-day I come across that same mother with her young -daughter; and I may say that the presence of those unfortunate ones -destroys the good of my sojourn at the baths and does me more harm than -my treatment will ever do me good. They pursue me, they wish to consult -me, and as for me I absolutely refuse to do it. No good of auscultating -that child in order to read her condemnation! It was enough the other -day to have seen her voracity while seizing a bowl of raspberries, and -during the inhalation to have seen her hand lying on her knees, a thin -hand, the nails of which are puffed up and rise above the fingers as if -they were ready to detach themselves. That girl has the consumption her -brother had; she will die before the year is out. But let other people -tell them that; I have given enough of those dagger-stabs which have -turned again to stab me. I want no more.” - -Roumestan had got up, very much frightened. - -“Do you know the name of those ladies, Doctor?” - -“No; they sent me their card and I would not even see them. I only know -that they are at our hotel.” - -And all of a sudden, looking down the alley, he cried: - -“By George, there they are!--I am off--” - -Away down there at the end of the alley, on the little gravelled circle -whence the band was sending its last note, there was a movement of -umbrellas and light-colored gowns among the foliage, just as the first -strokes of the dinner bells were heard from the hotels. The ladies Le -Quesnoy detached themselves from a group of lively, chatting people, -Hortense tall and slender in the sunlight, in a toilet of muslin and -valenciennes, a hat trimmed with roses and in her hand a bouquet of the -same kind of rose bought in the park. - -“With whom were you talking just now, Numa? We thought it was Dr. -Bouchereau.” - -There she was before him, dazzling in her youth and so brilliant, on -that happy day, that her mother herself began to lose her fears and -allowed a little of that infectious gayety to be reflected on her -ancient face. - -“Yes, it was Bouchereau, who was recounting to me his miseries; he’s -pretty low, poor fellow!” - -And Numa, looking at her, reassured himself. - -“The man is crazy; it is not possible; it’s his own death he is -dragging about with him and prognosticates everywhere.” - -At that moment Bompard appeared, walking very quickly and brandishing a -newspaper. - -“What is up?” asked the Minister. - -“Great news! The tabor-player has made his début--” - -They heard Hortense murmur: “At last!” and Numa was radiant. - -“Success, was it not?” - -“Do you think so? I have not read the article; but here are three -columns on the front sheet of the _Messenger!_” - -“There’s one more whom I discovered!” said the Minister, who had seated -himself again with his thumbs in the armholes of his waist-coat. “Come -on, read it to us.” - -Mme. Le Quesnoy having called attention to the fact that the -dinner-bell had sounded, Hortense hastily answered that it was only -the first bell, and, her cheek resting on her hand, she listened in a -pretty attitude of smiling expectancy. Bompard read: - -“Is it due to the Minister of the Fine Arts or to the Director of the -Opera that the Parisian public suffered such a grotesque mystification -as that with which it was victimized last night?--” - -They all started, with the exception of Bompard, who, under the impetus -of his gait as a fine reader, lulled by the sonorous sound of his own -voice and without taking in what he was reading, looked from one to the -other, surprised at their astonishment. - -“Well,” said Numa, “go on, go on!” - -“In any case, it is the Honorable Roumestan who must shoulder the -responsibility. He it is who has lugged up from his province this -savage and odd-looking piper, this goat-whistler--” - -“Well, there certainly are some people who are very mean,” interrupted -the young girl, who had turned quite pale under her roses. The reader -continued, with eyes staring in horror at the dreadful things he saw -coming: - -“--this goat whistler; to him is due that our Academy of Music appeared -for the space of an evening like the return from the fair at Saint -Cloud. In truth it would take a very crack fifer indeed to believe that -Paris--” - -The Minister rudely dragged the newspaper from his hand. - -“I hope you don’t intend to read us that idiocy to the bitter end, do -you? it is quite enough to have brought it to us at all.” - -He ran down the article with his eye, with one of those quick glances -of the public man who is used to reading the invectives of the daily -press. “A provincial Minister--a pretty clog-dancer--Valmajour’s own -Roumestan--hissed the Ministry and smashed his tabor--” - -He had enough of it, thrust the virulent paper down into the bottom of -his pocket, then rose, puffing with the rage that swelled his face, and -taking Mme. Le Quesnoy by the arm: - -“Come, let’s go to dinner, Mamma--this should teach me not to fret -myself for the sake of a parcel of nobodies.” - -All four marched along together, Hortense with her eyes upon the ground -in a state of consternation. - -“This is a matter concerning an artist of great talent,” said she, -trying to strengthen her voice, a little veiled in its tone. “One ought -not to hold him responsible for the injustice done him by the public -nor for the irony of the newspapers.” - -Roumestan came to a dead stop. - -“Talent--talent!--_bé_, yes--I don’t deny that--but much too exotic--” -and, raising his umbrella: - -“Let us beware of the South, little sister, let’s beware of the -South--don’t work it too hard--Paris will grow weary.” - -And he resumed his walk with measured steps, quiet and cool as if he -were a citizen of Copenhagen. The silence was unbroken save for the -crackling of the gravel under his feet, which in certain circumstances -seems to indicate the crushing or crumbling effect of a fit of rage or -of a dream. - -When they reached the front of the hotel, from the ten windows of whose -enormous dining-room there came the noise of hungry spoons clattering -on bottoms of plates, Hortense stopped, and, raising her head: - -“So then, this poor boy--you’re going to abandon him?” - -“What is to be done?--there is no use fighting against it--since Paris -doesn’t care for him.” - -She gave him an indignant glance which was almost one of disdain. - -“Oh, it is horrible, what you are saying; well, as for me, I am prouder -than you are; I am true to my enthusiasms!” - -She crossed the porch of the hotel with two skips. - -“Hortense, the second bell has sounded!” - -“Yes, yes, I know--I am coming down.” - -She ran up to her room and locked the door in order not to be -interfered with. Opening her desk, one of those natty trifles by the -aid of which a Parisian woman can make personal to herself even the -chamber of an inn, she pulled out one of the photographs of herself -which she had had taken in the head-dress and scarf of an Arles woman, -wrote a line underneath it and affixed her name. Whilst she was -putting on the address the bell in the tower of Arvillard sounded the -hour across the sombre violet that filled the valley, as if to give -solemnity to what she had dared to do. - -“Six o’clock.” - -From the torrent the mist was rising in wandering and flaky masses of -white. In the amphitheatre of forests and mountains and the silver -plume of the glacier, in the rose-colored evening, she took note of the -smallest details of that silent and reposeful moment, just as on the -calendar one marks some single date among all others; just as in a book -one underscores a passage which has caused one emotion; dreaming aloud -she said: - -“It is my life, my entire life I am risking at this moment.” - -She took as witness the solemnity of the evening, the majesty of -nature, the tremendous repose of everything about her. - -Her entire life that she was engaging? Poor little girl! if she had -only known how little that was! - - * * * * * - -A few days after this the Le Quesnoy ladies left the hotel, Hortense’s -treatment having ended. Although reassured by the healthy look of -her child and by what the little doctor said concerning the miracle -performed by the nymph of the waters, her mother was only too glad to -have done with that life, which in its smallest details recalled to her -a past martyrdom. - -“And how about you, Numa?” - -O, as for him, he intended to stay a week or two longer, finish a -bit of medical treatment and take advantage of the quiet which their -departure would afford him in order to write that famous speech. It -would make a tremendous row, the news of which they would get at Paris. -By George! Le Quesnoy would not like it much! - -Then all of a sudden, Hortense, though ready to leave, and -notwithstanding she was happy at returning home to see the beloved -absent ones whom distance made even more dear to her--for her -imagination reached even to her heart--Hortense suddenly felt sorrow -at leaving this beautiful country and all the hotel society and her -friends of three weeks, to whom she had no idea she had become so much -attached. Ah, ye loving natures! how you give yourselves out! how -everything grasps you and then what pain ensues when breaking these -invisible yet sensitive threads! - -People had been so kind to her, so full of attention; and at the last -hour so many outstretched hands pressed about the carriage, so many -tender expressions! Young girls would kiss her: “We shall have no -more fun without you.” Then they promised to write to each other and -exchanged mementos, sweet-smelling boxes and paper-cutters made of -mother-of-pearl with this inscription in a shimmering blue like the -lakes: “Arvillard, 1876.” And while M. Laugeron slipped a bottle of -superfine Chartreuse into her travelling-sack, she saw, up there behind -the pane of her chamber window, the mountaineer’s wife who had been her -servant dabbing her eyes with an enormous handkerchief of the color of -wine-lees and heard a husky voice murmur in her ear: “Plenty of spring, -my dear young lady, always plenty of spring!” It was her friend the -consumptive, who, having jumped up on the wheel, poured out upon her a -look of good-bye from two haggard and feverish eyes, but eyes sparkling -with energy, will and a bit of emotion besides. O, what kind people! -what kind people!... - -Hortense could not speak for fear of crying. - -“Good-bye, good-bye, all!” - -The Minister accompanied the ladies as far as the distant railway -station and took his seat in front of them. Crack goes the whip, jingle -go the bells! All of a sudden Hortense cries out: - -“Oh, my umbrella!” She had had it in her hand not a moment before. -Twenty people rush off to find it: “The umbrella, the umbrella”--not in -the bedroom, not in the drawing-room; doors slam; the hotel is searched -from top to bottom. - -“Don’t look for it; I know where it is.” - -Always lively, the young girl jumps out of the carriage and runs to the -garden, toward the grove of walnuts, where even that morning she had -been adding several chapters to the romance that was being written in -her crazy little head. There lay the umbrella, thrown across the bench, -a bit of herself left in that favorite spot, something which was very -like her. What delicious hours had been passed in this nook of rich -verdure! what confidences had gone off on the wings of the bees and -butterflies! Without a doubt she would never return thither again. This -thought caused her heart to contract and kept her there. At that moment -she found everything charming, even the long grinding sound of the -swing. - -“Get out! you make me weary--” - -It was the voice of Mlle. Bachellery who was furious at being left -because of this departure and, believing herself alone with her mother, -was talking to her in her habitual tongue. Hortense thought of the -filial flatteries which had so often jarred upon her nerves and laughed -to herself while returning to the carriage. Then, at the turn of an -alley, she found herself face to face with Bouchereau. She stepped -aside, but he laid hold of her arm. - -“So you are going to leave us, my child?” - -“Why, yes, sir.” - -She hardly knew what to answer, startled by this meeting and surprised -because it was the first time that he had ever spoken to her. Then he -took her two hands in his own and held her that way in front of him, -his arms wide apart, and gazed upon her fixedly from his piercing eyes -under their brushy white brows. Then his lips and hands, his whole -body trembled, while a rush of blood colored deeply his pallid face. - -“Well, then, good-bye, happy journey!” And without another word he -drew her to him and pressed her to his breast with the tenderness of a -grandfather and then hastened away with both hands pressed against his -heart, which seemed about to break. - - - - -CHAPTER XIII. - -THE SPEECH AT CHAMBÉRY. - - “_Non, non, je me fais hironde--e--elle - Et je m’envo--o--le à tire d’ai--le--_” - - -The little Bachellery girl, clad in a fantastic cloak with a blue silk -capuchon, to go with a little toque wound round with a great big veil, -sang before her glass while finishing the buttoning of her gloves; her -clear, sharp voice had risen that morning in full limpidity and in the -best of humors. Spick and span for the excursion, the gay little body -of her had a pleasant fragrance of fresh toilet and new gown, very -neat and trig in contrast with the sloppy state of the hotel bedroom, -where the remainder of a late supper was to be seen on the table, -higgledy-piggledy with poker chips, cards and candles--all this close -to the tumbled bed and a big bath-tub full of that gleaming “little -milk” of Arvillard, so fine for calming the nerves and making the -skin of the ladies bathing there as smooth as satin. Downstairs the -basket-wagon was waiting, the horses shaking their bells and a full -escort of youths caracoling in front of the porch. - -Just as the toilet was finished a knock came at the door. - -“Come in!” - -Roumestan came in, much excited, and held out to her a large envelope: - -“There, Mlle--O! read--read--” - -It was her engagement at the opera for five years, with all the -appointments she had wished, with the right of having her name printed -big, and everything. When she had read it, article by article, -coldly and with perfect poise, down to the great coarse signature of -Cadaillac, then and only then she took one step towards the Minister, -and, raising her veil, which was drawn closely about her face to keep -out the dust on the trip, standing very close to him, her rosy beak in -the air: - -“You are very good--I love you--” - -Nothing more than that was needed to make the man of the public forget -all the embarrassments which this engagement was going to cause him. He -restrained himself, however, and remained stiff, cold and frowning like -a crag. - -“Now, I have kept my promise and I withdraw--I do not care to -disarrange your picnic party--” - -“My picnic? Oh, yes, that’s so--we’re going to Château Bayard.” - -And then, casting both her arms around his neck, she said in a -wheedling voice: - -“You’ve got to come with us; yes--O, yes, I tell you.” - -She brushed her long pencilled eyelashes across his cheek and even -nibbled a little at his statuesque chin, but not very hard, with the -ends of her little teeth. - -“What! with those young people? Why, it is impossible. You cannot dream -of it?” - -“Those young people? Much do I care for those young people! I will just -let them rip--Mamma will let them know--oh, they are used to it!--You -hear, Mamma?” - -“I’m going,” said Mme. Bachellery, whom one could see in the next -chamber with her foot on a chair, trying to force over her red -stockings a pair of cloth gaiters much too small for her. She made the -Minister one of her famous courtesies from the Folies Bordelaises and -hurried downstairs to send the young gentlemen flying. - -“Keep a horse for Bompard; he will come with us,” cried the little girl -after her; and Numa, touched by this attention, enjoyed the delicious -pleasure of holding this pretty girl in his arms and hearing all that -impertinent gang of young people walk off at a funeral pace with their -ears drooping. Many a time had their jumpings and skippings caused his -heart a lively time. One kiss applied for a long moment on a smile -which promised everything--then she disengaged herself. - -“Hurry up and dress yourself; I’m in haste to be on the way.” - -What a buzz of curiosity through the hotel, what a movement behind the -green blinds, when it was known that the Minister had joined the picnic -at Château Bayard and that his big white waistcoat and the Panama -hat shading his Roman face were seen displayed in the basket-wagon in -front of the little singer! After all, just as Father Olivieri who -had learned a lot during his voyages remarked, what harm was there -in it, anyhow? Didn’t her mother accompany them, and Château Bayard, -a historical monument, did it or did it not belong to the public -buildings under Ministerial control? So let us not be so intolerant, -great Heavens! especially in regard to men who give up their entire -life to the defence of the right doctrines and our holy religion! - -“Bompard is not coming--what’s the matter with him?” murmured -Roumestan, impatient at having to wait there before the hotel -exposed to all those plunging glances which volleyed upon him -notwithstanding the canopy of the carriage. At a window in the first -story an extraordinary something appeared, a something white and -round and exotic, which spake in the voice of the former chieftain of -Circassians, “Go on ahead, I’ll _rejine_ you!” - -Just as if they had only been waiting for the word, the two mules, low -in shoulder but solid in hoof, got away shaking their travelling-bells, -crossed the park in three jumps and whirled past the bathing -establishment. - -“Ware! ware!” - -The frightened bathers and sedan-chairs hurried to one side; the -bathing-maids, the big pockets of their aprons full of money and -colored tickets, appeared at the entrance of the galleries; the -massage men, as naked as Bedoweens under their woollen blankets, showed -themselves up to the waist on the stairway of the furnaces; the blue -shades of the inhalation halls were thrust aside; everybody wished to -see the Minister and the diva pass. - -But already they are far away, whirled at railway speed through the -intersecting labyrinth of Arvillard’s little black streets, over the -sharp cobblestones, close together and veined with sulphur and fire, -out of which the carriage strikes sparks as it bounds along, shaking -the low walls of the leprous-colored houses and causing heads to -appear at the windows decked with placards. At the thresholds of the -shops where they sell iron-pointed canes, parasols, climbing-irons, -chalk stones, minerals, crystals and other catch-penny things for -bathers appear heads which bow and brows that uncover at the sight of -the Minister. The very people affected with goitre recognize him and -salute with their foolish and raucous cries the grand master of the -University of France, while the good ladies seated with him proudly -draw themselves up stiff and most worshipful opposite, feeling well the -honor which is being done them. They only lounge at their ease when -they are quite clear of the village lands, on the fine turnpike toward -Pontcharra, where the mules stop to blow at the foot of the tower of Le -Truil, which Bompard had fixed upon as a trysting-place. - -The minutes pass, but no Bompard! They know he is a good horseman -because he has so often boasted of it; they are astonished and -irritated--particularly Numa--who is impatient to get on down that -even white road which seems absolutely without an end, and get farther -into that day which seems to open up like a life full of hopes and -adventures. Finally, from a cloud of dust out of which rises a -frightened voice that pants out _Ho! la! Ho! la!_ emerges the head of -Bompard, covered by one of those pith helmets spread with white cloth, -having a vague look of a life-boat, like those used by the British army -in India, which the Provençal had brought along with the intention of -dramatizing and making imposing his trip to the baths, having allowed -his hatter to believe that he was off for Bombay or Calcutta. - -“Come on, my dear boy!” - -Bompard tosses his head with a tragical air. Evidently at his departure -things had taken place; the Circassian must have been giving the people -of the hotel a very queer idea of his powers of equilibrium, because -his back and arms are soiled with large spots of dust. - -“Wretched horse!” said he, bowing to the ladies, while the basket-wagon -started once more, “wretched horse! but I have forced him to a walk!” - -He had forced him so well to a walk that now the strange beast would -not go ahead at all, prancing and turning about on one spot like a sick -cat, notwithstanding all the efforts made by his rider. The carriage -was already far away. - -“Are you coming, Bompard?” - -“Go on ahead, I’ll _rejine_ you!” cried he once more in his finest -Marseilles twang; then he made a despairing gesture and they saw him -rushing off in the direction of Arvillard in a furious whirl of hoofs. -Everybody thought: “He must have forgotten something,” and nobody -thought about him further. - -The turnpike curved about the hills, a broad highroad of France set -with walnut-trees, having to the left forests of chestnut and pines -growing on terraces and on the right tremendous slopes rolling down as -far as one could see, down to the plain where villages appear crowded -together in the hollows of the landscape. There were the vineyards, -fields of wheat and corn, mulberries, almond-trees and dazzling carpets -of Spanish broom, the seeds of which, exploding in the heat, kept up a -constant popping as if the very soil were crackling and all on fire. -One could readily suppose it were so, considering the heavy air and -the furnace heat that did not seem to come from the sun--which was -almost invisible, having retired behind a sort of haze--but appeared to -emanate from burning vapors of the earth; it made the sight of Glayzin -and its top, surmounted with snows which one might touch, as it seemed, -with the end of one’s umbrella, look deliciously refreshing to the -sight. - -Roumestan could not remember ever to have seen a landscape to be -compared with that one; no, not even in his dear Provence; and he -could not imagine happiness more complete than his own. No anxiety, -no remorse. His wife faithful and believing, the hope of a child, the -prediction Bouchereau had uttered concerning Hortense, the ruinous -effect which the appearance in the _Journal Officiel_ of the decree as -to Cadaillac would produce--none of these had any existence so far as -he was concerned. His entire destiny was wrapt up in that beautiful -girl whose eyes reflected his own, whose knees touched his, and who, -beneath her blue veil turned to a rose-color by her blond flesh, sang -to him while pressing his hand: - - “_Maintenant je me sens aimée, - Fuyons tous deux sous la ramée._” - (Now I trust my lover’s vows, - Let us fly beneath the boughs.) - -While they were rapidly whirling away in the breeze made by their -motion, the turnpike, gradually becoming lonelier, widened out their -horizons little by little, permitting them to see an immense plain in a -semicircle with its lakes and villages and then mountains differing in -shade according to their distance; it was Savoy beginning. - -“O! how beautiful! O! how beautiful!” said the little singer; and he -answered in a low voice: “How I do love you!” - -At the last halt Bompard came up to them once more, but very piteously, -on foot, dragging his horse after him by the bridle. - -“This brute is most extraordinary,” said he without further -explanation, and when the ladies asked him if he had fallen: “No--it’s -my old wound which has opened again.” - -Wounded! where and when? He had never spoken of it before. But with -Bompard one had to expect any surprise. They made him get into the -carriage; and with his very mild-mannered horse quietly fastened behind -they set off toward Château Bayard, whose two pepper-box towers, -wretchedly restored, could be seen on a high piece of ground. - -A maid servant came to meet them, a quick-witted mountaineer’s woman -in the service of an old priest formerly in charge of parishes in -the neighborhood, who dwells in Château Bayard with the proviso that -tourists may enter freely. When a visitor is announced the priest goes -up to his bed-chamber in a very dignified way, unless indeed it is a -question of personages of note; but the Minister, sly fellow, took good -care not to give his title, so that it was in the guise of ordinary -visitors that they were shown by the servant--with her phrases learned -by heart and the canting tone of people of this sort--all that is left -of the old manor of the _chevalier sans peur et sans reproche_, whilst -the driver laid out breakfast under an arbor in the little garden. - -“Here you have the antique chapel where our good chevalier morning and -evening.... Ladies and gentlemen will kindly notice the thickness of -the walls.” - -But they didn’t notice anything at all. It was very dark and they -stumbled against the broken bits of wall which were dimly lit from a -loophole, the light of which fell through a hay-loft established above -the beams of the ceiling. Numa, his little girl’s arm under his own, -made some fun of the Chevalier Bayard and of “his worthy mother,” dame -Hélène des Allemans. The odor of ancient things bored them to death, -and actually, at one time, in order to try the echo of the vaulted -ceiling in the kitchen, Mme. Bachellery started to sing the last ballad -composed by her husband, but really a very naughty one-- - - _J’tiens ça a’papa ... j’tiens ça d’maman...._ - (That’s me legacy from Popper ... that’s me legacy from Mommer....) - -and yet nobody was scandalized; quite the contrary. - -But outside, when breakfast was served on a massive stone table, -and after their first hunger had been appeased, the valley of -the Graisivaudan, Les Bauges, the severe buttresses of the -Grande-Chartreuse and the contrast made by that landscape full of -tremendous lines with the little terrace grass-plot where this solitary -old man dwelt--given up entirely to prayer, to his tulip-trees and -to his bees--affected little by little their spirits with something -sweet and grave which was akin to reflection. At dessert the Minister, -opening his guide-book to refresh his memory, spoke about Bayard “and -of his poor dame mother who did tenderly weep” on that day when the -child, setting out for Chambéry to be page at the Court of the Duke of -Savoy, caused his little bay nag to prance in front of the north gate, -on that very place where the shadow of the great tower was lengthening -itself, slender but majestic, like the phantom of the old vanished -castle. - -And Numa, exciting himself, read to them the fine sentiments of Madame -Hélène to her son at the moment of his departure: - -“Pierre, my friend, I recommend to thee that before everything else -thou shalt love, fear and serve God without in any wise doing Him -offence, if that be possible.” - -Standing there on the terrace, sweeping off a gesture which carried as -far as Chambéry: - -“That is what should be said to children, that is what all parents, -that is what all schoolmasters--” - -He stopped short and struck his brow with his hand: - -“My speech!--why, that is my speech!--I have it! splendid! the Château -Bayard, a local legend--for fifteen days have I been looking for -it--and here it is!” - -“Why, it is pure Providence,” cried Mme. Bachellery, full of -admiration, but thinking all the same that the breakfast was ending -rather solemnly. “What a man! What a man!” - -The little girl seemed also very much excited, but of this impression -Roumestan took no heed; the orator was boiling in him, behind his brow -and in his breast; so, completely absorbed with his idea: - -“The fine thing,” said he, casting his eyes about him, “the fine thing -would be to date the speech from Château Bayard--” - -“O, if Mr. Lawyer should want a little corner in which to write--” - -“Why, yes, only to jot down a few notes. You’ll excuse me, ladies, just -for the time that will do to drink your coffee, and I will be back. -It’s merely to be able to put the date to my speech without telling a -lie.” - -The servant placed him in a little room on the ground floor, most -ancient in appearance, whose domelike, vaulted ceiling still carries -traces of gilding; an ancient room which they pretend was Bayard’s -oratory, just as they present to you as his bedroom the big hall to one -side in which an enormous peasant’s bed, with a canopy and dark blue -curtains, is set up. - -It was very nice to write between those thick walls into which the -heavy atmosphere of the day could not penetrate, behind that half-open -shutter which threw a pencil of light across the page and allowed the -perfumes from the little garden to enter. At first the orator’s pen was -not quick enough to keep pace with the flow of his ideas; he poured -out his phrases headlong, in a mass--well worn but eloquent phrases of -a Provençal lawyer, filled with a hidden heat and the sputtering of -sparks here and there, like the outflow of molten metal. Suddenly he -stopped, his head emptied of words or rendered heavy by the fatigue -of the journey and the weight of the breakfast. Then he marched up -and down from the oratory to the bedroom, talking in a high voice, -lashing himself, listening to his footsteps under the sonorous vaults -as if they were those of some illustrious revenant, and then he set -himself down again without the thoughts to put down a line. Everything -swam about him, the walls brilliantly white-washed and that pencil of -sunlight which seemed to hypnotize him. He heard the noise of plates -and laughter in the garden, far, far away, and presently, with his nose -on the paper, he had fallen fast asleep. - -A tremendous thunder-clap made him start to his feet. How long had -he been there? His head a little confused, he stepped out into the -deserted and motionless garden. The fragrance of the tulip-trees made -the air heavy. Under the vacant arbor wasps were heavily flying about -the heeltaps in the champagne glasses and the bits of sugar left in the -cups, which the mountaineer’s woman was hurriedly clearing off, seized -by the nervous fear of an animal at the approach of a thunder-storm -and making the sign of the cross each time the lightning flashed. She -informed Numa that the young lady had found herself with a bad headache -after breakfast and so she had taken her to Bayard’s chamber to sleep -a little, closing the door “_vary_ gently” in order not to bother the -gentleman at his work. The two others, the fat lady and the man with -the white hat, had gone down toward the valley and without any doubt -they would catch it, because there was going to be a terrible ... “just -look!” - -In the direction she indicated, on the choppy crest of Les Bauges -and the chalky peaks of the Grande-Chartreuse, which were enveloped -in lightning flashes like some mysterious Mount Sinai, the sky was -darkened by an enormous blot of ink that grew larger every instant, -under which the whole valley took on an extraordinary luminous value, -like the light from a white and oblique reflector, according as this -sombre and growling threat continued to advance. All the valley shared -in the change, the reflux of wind in the tops of the green trees, the -golden masses of grain, the highways indicated by feathery clouds of -white dust raised by the wind and the silver surface of the river -Isère. In the far distance Roumestan perceived the canvas pith helmet -of Bompard, which shone like a lighthouse reflector. - -He went in again but could not take hold of his work. For the moment -sleep no longer paralyzed his pen; on the contrary he felt himself -strangely excited by the presence of Alice Bachellery in the next -chamber. By the way, was she still there? He opened the door a little -and did not dare to shut it again for fear of disturbing the charming -slumber of the singer, who had thrown herself with loosened clothes on -the bed in a troubling disorder of tumbled hair, open corset and white, -half-seen curves. - -“Come, come, Numa, beware! it is the bedroom of Bayard; what the deuce!” - -Positively he seized himself by the collar like a malefactor, dragged -himself back and forcibly seated himself at the table. He put his head -between his hands, closing his eyes and his ears in order to absorb -himself completely in the last phrase, which he repeated in a low voice: - -“Yes, gentlemen, the sublime advice of the mother of Bayard, which has -come down to us in that mellifluous tongue of the middle ages--would -that the University of France....” - -The storm was so heavy and depleting, like the shade of certain -trees in the tropics, it took away his nerve. His head was swimming, -intoxicated by the exquisite perfumes given forth by the bitter flowers -of the tulip-trees or else by that armful of blond hair scattered -over the bed not far off. Wretched Minister! It was all very well to -cling to his speech and to invoke the aid of the _chevalier sans peur -et sans reproche_, public instruction, religious culture, the rector -of Chambéry--nothing was of any use. He had to return into Bayard’s -bedchamber, and this time so close to the sleeping girl that he could -hear her gentle breathing and touch with his hand the tassel stuff of -the curtains which framed this provoking slumber, this mother-of-pearl -flesh with the shadows and the rosy undercolor of a naughty drawing in -red chalk by Fragonard. - -But even there, on the brink of temptation, the Minister still fought -with himself and in a mechanical murmur his lips continued to mumble -that sublime advice which the University of France--when a sudden roll -of thunder, whose claps came nearer and nearer, woke the singer all of -a jump. - -“Oh, what a fear I was in--hello! is it you?” She recognized him with -a smile, with those clear eyes of a child which wakes up without the -slightest embarrassment at its own disorder; and there they remained -motionless and affected by the silence and growing flame of their -desire. But the bedroom was suddenly plunged in a big dark shadow by -the clapping-to of the tall shutters, which the wind banged shut one -after the other. They heard the doors slam, a key fall, the whirling -of leaves and flowers over the sand as far as the lintel of the door -through which the hurricane plaintively moaned. - -“What a storm!” said she in a very low voice, taking hold of his -burning hand and almost dragging him beneath the curtains-- - - * * * * * - -“Yes, gentlemen, this sublime advice of Bayard’s mother, which has come -down to us in that mellifluous tongue of the middle ages--” - -It was at Chambéry this time, in sight of the old Château of Savoy -and of that marvellous amphitheatre formed of green hills and snowy -mountains which Châteaubriand remembered when he saw Mount Taygetus, -that the grand master of the University was speaking, thickly -surrounded by embroidered coats, by palm decorations, by orders with -ermine, by epaulettes decked with big tassels; there he was, dominating -an enormous crowd excited by the power of his will and the gesture of -his strong hand that still grasped a little ivory-handled trowel with -which he had just spread the mortar for the first stone of the new -Lyceum. - -“Would that the University of France might speak those words to -every one of its boys: ‘Pierre, my friend, I recommend to thee before -everything else that....’” - -And whilst he quoted those touching words emotion caused his hand, -his voice and his broad cheeks to tremble at the memory of that great -perfumed room in which, during the agitation caused by a most memorable -thunder-storm, the Chambéry speech had been composed. - - - - -CHAPTER XIV. - -THE VICTIMS. - - -A morning at ten o’clock. The antechamber at the Ministry of Public -Instruction; a long corridor badly lighted, with dark hangings and -an oaken wainscot. The gallery is full of a crowd of office-seekers, -seated or sauntering about, who from minute to minute become more -numerous; each new arrival gives his card to the solemn clerk wearing -his chain of office, who receives it, examines and without a word -deposits it by his side on the slab of the little table where he is -writing; all this in the haggard light from a window dripping from a -gentle October rain. - -One of the last arrivals, however, has the honor of stirring the august -impassiveness of this clerk. He is a great big man, weather-beaten, -sunburned and of a tarry aspect, with two little silver anchors in -his ears for rings and with the voice of a seal that has caught a -cold--just such a voice as one hears in the transparent early morning -mists in the seaports of Provence. - -“Let him know that it is Cabantous, the pilot--he knows what is up; he -expects me.” - -“You are not the only one,” answers the clerk, who smiles discreetly at -his own joke. - -Cabantous does not appreciate the delicacy of the joke; but he laughs -in good humor, his mouth opening back as far as the silver anchors; -and, making use of his shoulders, he pushes through the crowd, which -falls aside before his wet umbrella, and installs himself on a bench -alongside a sufferer who is almost as weather-beaten as himself. - -“_Té! vé!_--why, it is Cabantous. Hello, how are you?” - -The pilot begs his pardon--cannot recall who it is. - -“Valmajour, you remember; we used to know each other down there in the -arena.” - -“That is true, by gad.--_Bé_, my good fellow, you at least can say that -Paris has changed you--” - -The tabor-player has now become a gentleman with very long black hair -pushed behind his ears in the manner of the musical person, and that, -along with his swarthy complexion and his blue-black moustache, at -which he is constantly pulling, makes him look like one of the gypsies -at the Ginger-bread Fair. On top of all this a constant look of the -village cock with its crest up, a conceit like that of village beau -and musician combined, in which the exaggeration of his Southern -origin betrays itself and slops over, notwithstanding his tranquil and -ungarrulous appearance. - -His lack of success at the opera has not frightened him off; like -all actors in such cases he attributes his failure to a cabal, and -for his sister and himself that word “cabal” has taken on barbaric -and extraordinary proportions, and moreover a Sanscrit spelling--the -_khabbala_--a mysterious monster which combines the traits of the -rattlesnake and the pale horse of the Apocalypse. - -And so he relates to Cabantous that he is about to appear in a few days -at a great variety show in a café on the boulevard--“An _eskating-rink_ -I would have you understand!” where he is to figure in some living -pictures, at two hundred francs the evening. - -“Two hundred francs an evening!” The eyes of the pilot roll in his head. - -“And besides that, they will cry my _bography_ in the street and my -portrait in life size will be on all the walls of Paris, _wid_ my -costume of a troubadour of the old times, which I shall put on every -evening when I do my music.” - -What flatters him most in all of this is the costume. What a bore that -he is not able to put on his crenelated cap and his long-pointed shoes -in order that he might show the Minister what a splendid engagement he -has, and this time on good government stamped paper which was signed -without Roumestan’s aid! Cabantous looks at the stamped paper, smudged -on both its faces, and sighs. - -“You are mighty lucky; why, look at me--it’s more than a year that I -am _’oping_ for my medal. Numa told me to send my papers on here and -I did send my papers here--after that I never heard anything more -about the medal, nor about the papers, nor about anything else. I -wrote to the Ministry of Marine; they don’t know me at the Marine. I -wrote to the Minister himself; the Minister did not answer. And what -beats me is this, that now, when I haven’t my papers with me and a -discussion arises among the mercantile captains as to pilotage, the -port councilmen won’t listen to my arguments. So, finding that was the -way of it, I put my ship in dry dock and says I to myself: Come, let’s -go and see Numa.” - -He was almost in tears about it, was this wretched pilot. Valmajour -consoles and reassures him and promises to speak for him with the -Minister; he does this in an assured tone, his finger on his moustache, -like a man to whom people can refuse nothing. But after all the haughty -attitude is not peculiar to him; all these people who are waiting for -an audience--old priests of pious manners in their visiting cloaks; -methodical and authoritative professors; dudish painters with their -hair cut Russian fashion; thick-set sculptors with broad ends to their -fingers--they all have this same triumphant air--special friends of the -Minister and sure of their business. All of them, as they came in, have -said to the clerk: “He expects me.” - -Each one is filled with a conviction that if only Roumestan knew that -he was there!--This it is that gives a very particular physiognomy to -the antechamber of the Ministry of Public Instruction, without a trace -of those feverish pallors, of those trembling anxieties, which one -perceives in the waiting-rooms at other Ministries. - -“Who is he engaged with?” asks Valmajour in a loud voice, going up to -the little table. - -“The Director of the Opera.” - -“Cadaillac--all right, I know--it is about my business!” - -After the failure made by the tabor-player in his theatre Cadaillac had -refused to let him appear again. Valmajour wished to bring suit, but -the Minister, who was afraid of the lawyers and the little newspapers, -had begged the musician to withdraw his plea, guaranteeing him a -round sum as damages. There is no doubt whatever with Valmajour that -they are at this moment discussing these damages and not without a -certain animation, too, for every few moments the clarion voice of Numa -penetrates the double door of his sitting room, which at last is rudely -torn open. - -“She is not my protegée, she is yours!” - -Big fat Cadaillac leaves the room, hurling this taunt, crosses the -antechamber with an angry gait and passes the clerk who is coming up -between two lines of solicitors. - -“You have only to give my name.” - -“Let him only know that I am here.” - -“Tell ’im it’s Cabantous.” - -The clerk listens to nobody, but marches very solemnly on with a few -visiting cards in his hand and the door which he leaves partly open -behind him shows the Minister’s sitting-room filled with light from -its three windows overlooking the garden, all of one panel of the wall -covered by the cloak turned up with ermine of M. de Fontanes, painted -standing at full length. - -A trace of astonishment showing on his cadaverous face, the clerk comes -back and calls: - -“Monsieur Valmajour.” - -The musician is not at all astonished at passing in this way over the -heads of the others. - -Since early morning his portrait has appeared placarded on all the -walls of Paris. Now he is a personage and hereafter the Minister -will no longer cause him to languish among the draughts in a railway -station. Conceited and smiling, there he stands in the centre of the -luxurious bureau where secretaries are occupied in pulling out drawers -and cardboard pigeon-holes in a frantic search for something. Roumestan -in a terrible rage scolds, thunders and curses, both hands in his -pockets: - -“Come now, be done with it! those papers, what the devil!--So they have -been lost, have they, that pilot’s papers?... Really, gentlemen, there -is an absence of order here!...” - -He catches sight of Valmajour: “Ha, it’s you, is it?” and he springs -upon him with one leap, the while the backs of the secretaries are -disappearing by the side doors in a state of terror, each carrying off -an armful of boxes. - -“Now look here, are you never going to stop persecuting me with your -dog-at-the-fair music? Haven’t you had enough with one chance at it? -How many do you require? Now they tell me that there you are on all the -walls in your hybrid costume. And what is all this bosh that they have -brought me here?--that your biography? A mass of blunders and lies. You -know perfectly well that you are no more a Prince than I am and that -those parchments which are talked about here have never existed save in -your own imagination!” - -With the brutal gesture of the man who loves argument he grabbed the -wretched fellow by the flap of his jacket with both hands and as he -talked kept shaking him. In the first place this “eskating-rink” didn’t -have a penny--perfect fakirs! They would never pay him and all he would -get would be the shame of this dirty advertisement on the strength of -_his_ name, the name of his protector. Now the newspapers could begin -their jokes again--Roumestan and Valmajour the fifer for the Ministry; -and, growing excited at the memory of these attacks, his big cheeks -quivering with the anger hereditary in his family, with a fit of rage -like those of Aunt Portal, more scaring in the solemn surroundings of -an office where the personality of a man should disappear before the -public situation, he screamed at the top of his voice: - -“But for God’s sake get out of here, you wretched creature, get out of -here! We have had enough of your shepherd’s fife!” - -Stunned and silly, Valmajour let the flood go on, stuttering, “All -right, all right,” and appealed to the pitying face of Méjean, the only -man whom the Master’s rage had not sent into headlong flight, and then -gazed piteously on the big portrait of Fontanes, who looked scandalized -at excesses of this sort and seemed to accentuate his grand Ministerial -air the more, in proportion as Roumestan lost his own dignity. At last, -escaping from the powerful fist which clutched him, the musician was -able to reach the door and fly half-crazed with his tickets for the -“eskating.” - -“Cabantous, pilot!” said Numa, reading the name which the impassive -clerk presented to him, “There’s another Valmajour! But no, I won’t -have it; I have had enough of being their tool--enough for to-day--I am -no longer in....” - -He continued to march up and down his office, trying to get rid of what -remained of that furious rage, the shock of which Valmajour had very -unfairly received. That Cadaillac, what impudence! daring to come and -reproach him about the little girl, in his own office, in the Ministry -itself, and before Méjean, before Rochemaure! “Well, certainly, I am -too weak; the nomination of that man to the directorship of the opera -was a terrible blunder!” - -His chief clerk was entirely of that opinion but he would have taken -good care not to say so; for Numa was no longer the good fellow he used -to be, who was the first to laugh at his own embarrassments and took -railleries and remonstrances in good part. Having become the practical -chief of the cabinet in consequence of his speech at Chambéry and a few -other oratorical triumphs, the intoxication that comes with heights -gained, that royal atmosphere where the strongest heads are turned, had -changed him quite, had made him nervous, splenetic and irritable. - -A door beneath a curtain opened and Mme. Roumestan appeared, ready to -go out, her hair fashionably dressed and a long cloak concealing her -figure. With that serene air which for five months back lit up her -pretty face: “Have you your council to-day, my dear? Good-morning, -Monsieur Méjean.” - -“Why, yes, council--a meeting--everything!” - -“I wanted to ask you to come as far as Mamma’s house; I am breakfasting -there; Hortense would have been so glad!” - -“But you see it is impossible.” He looked at his watch: “I ought to be -at Versailles at noon.” - -“Then I will wait for you and take you to the station.” - -He hesitated a second, not more than a second: - -“All right, I will put my signature here and then we will go.” - -While he was writing Rosalie was giving Méjean news of her sister in a -low tone. The coming of winter affected her spirits; she was forbidden -to go out. Why did he not call upon her? She had need of all her -friends. Méjean gave a gesture of discouragement and woe: “Oh, so far -as I am concerned....” - -“But I tell you yes, there is a good deal more chance for you. It is -only caprice on her part; I am sure that it cannot last.” - -She saw everything in a rosy light and wanted to have all the world -about her as happy as she was--O, how happy! and glad with so perfect -a joy that she indulged in a certain superstition never to acknowledge -the fulness of her joy to herself. As for Roumestan, he talked about -his affair everywhere with a comical sort of pride, to indifferent -people as well as to his intimates: - -“We are going to call it the child of the Ministry!” and then he would -laugh at his joke till the tears came. - -And of a truth those who knew about his existence outside, the -household in the city impudently established with receptions and an -open table, this husband who was so sensitive and tender and who talked -of his coming fatherhood with tears in his eyes, appeared a character -not to be defined, perfectly at peace in his lies, sincere in his -expansiveness, putting to the rout the conclusions of those who did not -understand the dangerous complications of Southern natures. - -“Certainly, I will take you there,” said he to his wife as they got -into the carriage. - -“But if they are waiting for you?” - -“Well, so much the worse for them; let them wait for me--we shall be -together all the longer.” - -He took Rosalie’s arm under his own and pressing against her as if he -were a child: - -“_Té!_ do you know that I am happy only in this place? Your gentleness -rests me, your coolness comforts me. That Cadaillac put me into such -a state of rage! He’s a fellow without any conscience, he’s a fellow -without any morality--” - -“You didn’t know his character, then?” - -“The way he is carrying on that theatre is a burning shame!” - -“It is true that the engagement of that Mlle. Bachellery ... why did -you let him do it? A girl who is false in everything, her youth, her -voice, even her eyelashes.” - -Numa felt his cheeks reddening; it was he himself who fastened them on, -now, with his own great big fingers, those eyelashes! The little girl’s -mamma had taught him how to do it. - -“Whom does this little good-for-nothing belong to, anyhow? The -_Messenger_ was talking the other day of influences in high circles, of -some mysterious protection--” - -“I don’t know; to Cadaillac, undoubtedly.” - -He turned away in order to conceal his embarrassment and suddenly threw -himself back horrified. - -“What is it?” asked Rosalie, looking out of the window too. - -There was the placard of the skating-rink, enormous, printed in crying -colors which showed out under the rainy and gray sky, repeating itself -at every street corner, on every vacant space of a naked wall and -on the planks of temporary fences. It showed a gigantic troubadour -encircled with living pictures as a border--all blotches in yellow, -green and blue, with the ochre color of the tabor placed across the -figure. The long hoarding which surrounded the new building of the city -hall, past which their carriage was going at the moment, was covered -with this coarse and noisy advertisement, which was stupefying even to -Parisian idiocy. - -“My executioner!” said Roumestan with an expression of comic dismay. -Rosalie found fault with him gently. - -“No--your victim! and would that he were the only one! But somebody -else has caught fire from your enthusiasm--” - -“Who can that be?” - -“Hortense.” - -Then she told him what she had finally proved to be a certainty, -notwithstanding the mysteries made by the young girl--namely, her -affection for this peasant, a thing which at first she had believed a -mere fancy, but which worried her now like a moral aberration in her -sister. - -The Minister was in a state of indignation. - -“How can it be possible? That hobnail, that bog-trotter!” - -“She sees him with her imagination, and especially in the light of your -legends and inventions which she has not been able to put in the right -focus. That is why this advertisement and grotesque coloring which -enrage you fill me on the contrary with joy. I believe that her hero -will appear so ridiculous to her that she will no longer dare to love -him. If it were not for that, I hardly know what would become of us. -Can you imagine the despair of my father; can you imagine yourself the -brother-in-law of Valmajour?--oh, Numa, Numa! poor involuntary maker of -dupes.” - -He did not put up any defence, but indulged in anger against himself, -against his “cussed Southernism” which he was not able to overcome. - -“Look here, you ought to stay always just as you are, right up against -my side as my beloved councillor and my holy protection. You alone are -good and indulgent, you alone understand and love me.” - -He held her little gloved hand to his lips and said this with such a -firm conviction that tears, real tears, reddened his eyelids: then, -warmed up and refreshed by this effusion, he felt better; and so, when -they reached the Place Royale and with a thousand tender precautions -he had helped his wife out of the carriage, it was with a joyous tone -and one free of all remorse that he threw the address to his coachman: -“London Street, hurry, quick!” - -Moving slowly, Rosalie vaguely caught this address and it gave her -pain. Not that she had the slightest suspicion; but he had just said -that he was going to the Saint-Lazare station. Why was it that his acts -were never in accordance with his words? - -In her sister’s bedroom another cause for anxiety met her: she felt on -entering that there had been a sudden stoppage of a discussion between -Hortense and Audiberte, who still kept the traces of fury on her face -while her peasant’s head-dress still quivered on her hair bristling -with rage. Rosalie’s presence kept her in bounds, that was clear enough -from her lips and eyebrows viciously drawn together. Still, as the -young wife asked her how she did, she was forced to answer and so began -to talk feverishly of the _eskating_, of the advantageous terms which -were offered them, and then, surprised at Rosalie’s calm, demanded in -an almost insolent tone: - -“Aren’t you coming to hear my brother? It is something that is at least -worth while, if for nothing more than to see him in his costume!” - -This ridiculous costume as it was described by her in her peasant -dialect, from the dents in the cap down to the high curving points of -the shoes, put poor Hortense in a state of agony; she did not dare -raise her eyes to her sister’s face. Rosalie asked to be excused from -going; the state of her health did not permit her to visit the theatre. -Besides, in Paris there were certain places of entertainment where all -women could not go. The peasant woman stopped her short at the first -suggestion. - -“Beg your pardon, I go perfectly well and I hope I am as good as -anybody else--I have never done any wrong, I have not; _I_ have always -fulfilled my religious duties.” - -She raised her voice without a trace of her old bashfulness, just as if -she had acquired rights in the house. But Rosalie was much too kind and -far too superior to this poor ignorant thing to cause her humiliation, -particularly as she was thinking about the responsibility that rested -on Numa. So, with the entire intelligence of her heart and revealing -as usual the uncommon delicacy of her mind, in those truthful words -that heal although they may sting a little, she endeavored to make -Audiberte understand that her brother had not succeeded and never would -succeed in Paris, the implacable city, and that rather than obstinately -continue a humiliating struggle, falling into the mire and mud of -artistic existence, it would be far better for them to return to their -Provence and buy their farm back again, the means to accomplish which -would be furnished them, and so, in their laborious life surrounded by -nature, forget the unhappy results of their trip to Paris. - -The peasant girl let her talk to the very end without interrupting her -a single moment, merely darting at Hortense a look of irony from her -wicked eyes as though to challenge her to make some reply. At last, -seeing that the young girl did not wish to say anything more, she -coldly declared that they would not go, because her brother had all -kinds of engagements in Paris--all kinds which it was impossible for -him to break. Upon that she threw over her arm the heavy wet cloak -which had been lying on the back of a chair, made a hypocritical curtsy -to Rosalie, “Wishing you a very good day, Madame, and thanking you very -much, I am sure,” and left the room, followed by Hortense. - -In the antechamber, lowering her voice on account of the servants: - -“Sunday evening, _qué?_ half past ten without fail!” And in a pressing, -authoritative voice: “Come now, you certainly owe that to your _pore_ -friend! Just to give him a little heart ... and to start with, what do -you risk, anyhow? I am coming to get you and I am going to bring you -back!” - -Seeing that Hortense still hesitated, she added almost aloud in a tone -of menace: “Come now, I would like to know: are you his betrothed or -not?” - -“I’ll come, I’ll come,” said the young girl greatly alarmed. - -When she returned to the room, seeing that she looked worried and sad, -Rosalie asked her: - -“What are you thinking about, my dear girl? are you still dreaming the -continuation of your novel? It ought to be getting pretty well forward -in all these months,” added she, taking her gayly around the waist. - -“Oh, yes, pretty well forward--” - -After a silence Hortense continued in an obscure tone of melancholy: -“But the trouble is, I can’t see my way to the close of the novel.” - - * * * * * - -She didn’t care for him any more: it may be that she never had loved -him. Under the transforming power of absence and that “tender glory” -which misfortune gave to the Moor Abencerage he had appeared to her -from a distance as her man of destiny. It seemed a proud act on her -part to knit her own existence with that of one who was abandoned by -everything, success and protectors together. But when she got back to -Paris, what a pitiless clearness of things! What a terror to perceive -how absolutely she had made a mistake! - -To start with, Audiberte’s first visit had shocked her because of the -new manners of the girl, too familiar and free and easy, and because of -the look of an accomplice which she gave when telling her in whispers: -“Hush, don’t say anything! he’s coming to get me....” - -That kind of action seemed to her rather hasty and rather bold, more -especially the idea of presenting this young man to her parents. -But the peasant girl wanted to hurry things. And then, all at once, -Hortense perceived her error when she looked upon this artist of -the variety stage with his long hair behind his ears, full of stage -movements, denting in and shifting his sombrero of Provence on his -characteristic head--always handsome, of course, but full of a plain -preoccupation to appear so. - -Instead of taking a lowly manner in order to make her forgive him -for that generous spirit of interest which she had felt for him, he -preserved his air of a conqueror, his silly look of the victor, and -without saying a word--for he would hardly have known what to say--he -treated this finely organized Parisian girl just as he would in similar -conditions have treated _her_, the Des Combette girl--took her by the -waist with the motion of a soldier and troubadour and wanted to press -her to his breast. She disengaged herself with a sudden repulsion and -a letting go of all her nerves, leaving him there looking foolish and -astonished, while Audiberte quickly intervened and scolded her brother -violently. What kind of manners had he, anyhow? It must have been in -Paris that he learned such manners, in the Faubourg Saint _Germoyne_, -without a doubt, among his duchesses? - -“Come now, wait at least until she is your wife!” - -And turning to Hortense: - -“O, he is so in love with you; his blood is parching with his love, -_pécaïré!_” - -From that time on, when Valmajour came to get his sister he considered -it necessary to assume the sombre and desperate air of an illustration -to a ballad: “‘The ocean waits for me,’ the Knight _hadjured_.” In -other conditions the young girl might have been touched, but really -the poor fellow seemed too much of a nullity. All he knew how to do -was to smooth the nap of his soft hat while reciting the list of his -successes in the faubourg of the nobles, or else the rivalries of the -stage. One day he talked to her for a whole hour about the vulgarity of -handsome Mayol, who had refrained from congratulating him at the end of -a concert; and all the while he kept repeating: - -“There you are with your Mayol!... _Bé!_ he is not very polite, your -Mayol isn’t!” - -And all this was accompanied by Audiberte’s attitudes of watchfulness, -her severity of a policeman of morals, and this in the face of these -very cold lovers! O, if she had been able to divine what a terror -possessed the soul of Hortense, what a loathing for her frightful -mistake! - -“Ho! what a capon--what a capon of a girl--” she would sometimes say -to her, trying to laugh, with her eyes brimming with rage, because she -considered that this love-affair was dragging too much and believed -that the young girl was hesitating for fear of meeting the reproaches -and anger of her parents. Just as if that would have weighed a straw -in the balance for such a free and proud nature, had there been a real -love in her heart; but how can one say: “I love him,” and buckle on -one’s armor, rouse one’s spirits and fight, when one does not love at -all? - -However, she had promised, and every day she was harassed by new -demands. For instance there was that first night at the skating-rink, -to which the peasant girl insisted upon taking her, whether or no, -counting upon the singer’s success and the sympathy of the applause -to break down the last objections. After a long resistance the poor -little girl ended by consenting to skip out secretly for that one night -behind the back of her mother, making use of lies and humiliating -complications. She had given way through fear and weakness, perhaps -also with the hope of getting her first impression back again at the -theatre--that mirage which had vanished; of lighting up again, in fact, -that flame of love which was so desperately quenched. - - - - -CHAPTER XV. - -THE SKATING-RINK. - - -Where was it? Whither was she being taken? The cab had been going for -a long, long time; seated at her side, Audiberte had been holding her -hands, reassuring her and talking to her with a feverish violence. She -did not look at anything, she did not hear anything; the noise of the -wheels, the sharp tones of that shrill little voice had no sense for -her mind whatever; nor did the streets and boulevards and house-fronts -seem to her to wear their usual aspect, but were discolored by the -lively emotion within, as if she were looking at them out of the -carriage in a funeral or marriage procession. - -Finally they brought up with a jerk and stopped before a wide pavement -inundated by white light which carved the crowd of people swarming here -into black sharp-cut shadows. At the entrance of the large corridor was -a wicket for the tickets, then a double door of red velvet, and right -upon that a hall, an enormous hall, which with its nave and its side -aisles and the stucco on its high walls, recalled to her an Anglican -church which she had once visited on the occasion of a marriage. Only -in this case the walls were covered with placards and advertisements -in every color, setting forth the virtues of pith helmets, shirts -made to measure for four francs and a half and announcements of -clothing-shops, alternating with the portrait of the tabor-player, -whose biography one could hear cried in that voice of a steam-valve -used by programme-sellers. They were in the midst of a stunning noise -in which the murmur of the circulating mob, the humming of the tops on -the cloth of the English billiard tables, calls for drinks, snatches of -music broken by patriotic gunshots coming from the back of the hall, -were dominated by a constant noise of roller skates going and coming -across a broad asphalted space surrounded by balustrades, the centre of -a perfect storm of crush hats and bonnets of the time of the Directory. - -Hortense walked behind the Provençal girl, anxious and frightened, now -turning pale and now turning red beneath her veil, following her with -difficulty through a perfect labyrinth of little round tables at which -women were seated two and two drinking, their elbows on the table, -cigarettes in their mouths and their knees up, overwhelmed with a look -of boredom. Against the wall from point to point stood crowded counters -and behind each was a girl standing erect, her eyes blackened with -kohl, her mouth red as blood and little flashes of steel coming from a -bang of black or russet hair plastered over her brow. And this white -and black of painted skin, this smile with its painted vermilion-point, -were to be found on all the women, as if it were a livery belonging to -nocturnal and pallid apparitions which all were forced to wear. - -Sinister also was the slow strolling of the men who elbowed their -way in an insolent and brutal manner between the tables, puffing the -smoke of their thick cigars right and left with the insult of their -marketing as they pushed about to look as closely as possible at the -wares. And what gave it still more the impression of a market was -the cosmopolite public talking all kinds of French, a hotel public -which had just arrived and run into the place in their travelling -clothes--Scotch bonnets, striped jackets, tweeds still full of the fog -of the Channel and Muscovite furs thawing fast in the Paris air. And -there were the long black beards and insolent airs of people from the -banks of the Spree covering satyr grins and Tartar mugs; there too were -Turkish fezzes surmounting coats without any collars, negroes in full -evening dress gleaming like the silk of their tall hats and little -Japanese men dressed like Europeans, dapper and correct, like tailors’ -advertisements fallen into the fire. - -“_Bou Diou!_ How ugly he is,” said Audiberte suddenly, as they passed a -very solemn Chinaman with his long pigtail hanging down the back of his -blue gown; or else she would stop and, nudging her companion with her -elbow, cry “_Vé! vé!_ see the bride!” and show her some woman dressed -entirely in white lounging on two chairs--one of which supported her -white satin shoes with silver heels--the waist of her dress wide open, -the train of her gown all which-way, and orange flowers fastening -the lace of a short mantilla in her hair. Then, suddenly scandalized -by certain words which gave her the clue to these very chance bridal -flowers, the Provençal girl would add in a mysterious manner: “A -regular snake, you know!” Then suddenly, in order to drag Hortense away -from a bad example, she would hurry her toward the central part of the -building where a theatre rose far in the back, occupying the same place -as the choir in a church. The stage was there under electric flames -which came and went in two big glass spheres away up in the ceiling, -like two gleaming, starry eyes of an Eternal Father in a book of holy -images. - -Here they could compose themselves after the tumultuous wickedness -of the lobbies. Families of little citizens, the shopkeepers of the -quarter, filled the orchestra stalls. There were few women. It might -have been possible to believe oneself in some kind of an auditorium, -were it not for the horrible noise all about, which was always being -overborne by the regular rolling of the skaters on the asphalt floor, -drowning even the brass instruments and the drums of the orchestra, so -that really on the boards all that was possible was the dumb-show of -living pictures. - -As they seated themselves the curtain went down on a patriotic scene: -an enormous Belfort lion made of cardboard, surrounded by soldiers -in triumphant poses on crumbling ramparts, their military caps stuck -on the ends of their guns, gesticulating to the measure of the -Marseillaise, which nobody could hear. This performance and this wild -excitement stimulated the Provençal girl; her eyes were bulging in her -head; as she found a place for Hortense she exclaimed: - -“_Qué!_ we are nice here, _qué!_ But do haul up your veil--don’t -tremble so, there is no danger _wid_ me!” - -The young girl did not answer, still overwhelmed by the impression of -that slow, insulting crowd of strollers where she had been confounded -with the rest, among all those livid masks of women. And behold, right -in front of her, she found those horrible masks once more, with their -blood-stained lips--found them in the grimacing faces of two clowns in -tights who were dislocating all their joints, a bell in each hand with -which they were sounding out, whilst they frolicked about, an air from -“Martha”--a veritable music of the gnomes, formless and stuttering, -very much in its place in the musical babel of the skating-rink. Then -the curtain fell again, and for the tenth time the peasant girl stood -up and sat down again, fussed about, fixed her head-dress anew and -suddenly exclaimed, as she looked down the programme: “There, the -Cordova Mount--the summer locusts, the farandole--there, there, it is -beginning, _vé, vé!_” - -Rising once more, the curtain displayed upon the background of the -scenery a lilac mountain, up which mounted buildings of stone most -weird in construction, partly castle, partly mosque, here a minaret and -there a terrace; they rose in ogival arches, crenelations and Moorish -work, with aloes and palm-trees of zinc rising at the foot of towers -sharply cut against the indigo blue of a very crude sky. One may see -just such absurd architecture in the suburbs of Paris among villas -inhabited by newly enriched merchants. In spite of all, in spite of -the crying tones of the slopes blossoming with thyme and exotic plants -placed there by mistake because of the word “Cordova,” Hortense was -rather embarrassed at sight of that landscape which held for her the -most delightful recollections. And that palace of the Turk perched -upon the mountain all rose-colored porphyry, and that reconstructed -castle, really did seem to her the realization of her dreams, but quite -grotesque and overdone, as it happens when one’s dream is about to slip -into the oppression of a nightmare. - -At a signal from the orchestra and from an electric jet, long -devil’s-darning-needles, personated by girls in an undress of -tightly-fitting silks, a sort of emerald-green tights, rushed upon the -stage waving their long membranous wings and whirling their wooden -rattles. - -“What! those are locusts? Not much!” said the Provençal girl -indignantly. - -Already they had arranged themselves in a half circle, like a -crescent-shaped mass of seaweed, all the time whirling their rattles, -which sounded very distinctly now, because the row made by the parlor -skates was softened and for a moment the noise of the lobby was hushed -in a close wall of heads leaning toward the stage, their eyes glaring -under every kind of head-dress in the world. The wretchedness which -tore Hortense’s heart grew deeper when she heard coming, at first from -afar and gradually increasing, the low sound of the tabor. - -She would have liked to flee in order not to have seen what was coming. -In its turn the shepherd’s pipe sounded out its high notes and the -farandole, raising under the cadence of its regular steps a thick dust -the color of the earth, unrolled itself with all the fantastic costumes -imaginable, short skirts meant to lure the eye, red stockings with gold -borders, spangled waists, head-dresses of Arab coins, of Indian scarfs, -of Italian kerchiefs or those from Brittany or Caux, all worn with a -fine Parisian disdain of truth to locality. - -Behind them, pushing forward on his knee a tabor covered with gold -paper, came the great troubadour of the placards--his legs incased in -tights, one leg yellow with a blue shoe on and one leg blue shod in -yellow, with his satin waistcoat covered with puffs and his crenelated -velvet cap overshadowing a countenance which remained quite brown -despite cosmetics, and of which nothing could be seen well except a big -moustache stiffened with Hungarian pomade. - -“Ah!” said Audiberte in perfect ecstasy. - -When the farandole had taken up its place on the two sides of the stage -in front of the locusts with their big wings, the troubadour, standing -alone in the centre, saluted with an air of assurance and victory under -the glaring eyes of the Eternal Father whose rays poured a luminous -hoarfrost upon his coat. - -The aubade began, rustic and shrill, yet it went forward into the -halls hardly farther than the footlights; there it lived a very short -life, fighting for a moment with the flamboyant banners on the ceiling -and the columns of the enormous interior, and then fell flat into a -great and bored silence. The public looked on without the slightest -comprehension. Valmajour began another piece, which at the first sounds -was received with laughter, murmurs and cat-calls. Audiberte took -Hortense’s hand: - -“Listen! that’s the cabal!” - -At this point the cabal consisted merely of a few “Heh! louder!” and of -jokes of this sort, which were called out by a husky voice belonging -to some low woman on seeing the complicated dumb-show that Valmajour -employed: “Oh, give us a rest, you chump!” - -Then the rink took up again its sound of parlor skates and of English -billiards and its ambulatory marketing, overwhelming the shepherd’s -pipe and the tabor which the musician insisted upon using until the -very end of the aubade. After this he saluted again, marched forward -toward the footlights, always accompanied by that mysterious grand air -which never quitted him. His lips could be seen moving and a few words -came here and there into ear-shot: “It came to me all of a sudden ... -one hole ... three holes ... the good God’s _birrd_....” - -His despairing gesture was understood by the orchestra and gave the -signal for a ballet in which the locusts twined themselves about -the odalisques from Caux and formed plastic poses, undulatory and -lascivious dances beneath Bengal flames which threw their rainbow -light as far as the pointed shoes of the troubadour, who continued his -dumb-show with the tabor in front of the castle of his ancestors in a -great glory and apotheosis. - -There lay the romance of poor little Hortense! That is what Paris had -made of it. - - * * * * * - -The clear bell of the old clock hanging on the wall of her chamber -sounded one as Hortense roused herself from the arm-chair into which -she had fallen utterly crushed when she entered. She looked around her -gentle maiden’s nest, warm with the reassuring gleams of a dying fire -and of an expiring night-lamp. - -“What am I doing here? Why did I not go to bed?” - -She could not remember at first what had happened, only feeling a -complete sickness through her entire being and in her head a noise -which made it ache. She stood up and walked a step or two before she -perceived that she still wore her hat and mantle; then all came back -to her. She remembered then their departure after the curtain fell, -their return through the hideous market, more brilliantly illumined -than before, among drunken book-makers fighting with each other in -front of a counter, through cynical voices whispering a sum of money -as she passed--and then the scene at the exit, with Audiberte who -wished her to come and felicitate her brother; then Audiberte’s wrath -in the coach, the abuse which the creature heaped upon her, only ended -by Audiberte humiliating herself before her, and kissing her hands for -pardon; all that and still other things danced through her memory along -with the horrible faces of the clowns, harsh noises of bells, cymbals -and rattles, and the rising up of many-colored flames about that -ridiculous troubadour to whom she had given her heart! A terror that -was physical roused her at that idea: - -“No, no; never! I’d far rather die!” - -All of a sudden, in the looking-glass in front of her, she caught sight -of a ghost with hollow cheeks and narrow shoulders drawn together in -front with the gesture of a person shuddering with cold. The spectre -looked a little like her, but much more like that poor Princess of -Anhalt who had so roused her curiosity and pity at Arvillard that she -had described her sad symptoms in a letter. The princess had just died -at the opening of winter. - -“Why, look--look!” She bent forward, came nearer to the glass and -recalled the inexplicable kindness that everybody down there had shown -her, the fright her mother evinced, the tenderness of old Bouchereau at -her departure--and understood! Now at last she knew what it was, she -knew the end of the game! It was here without any one to aid it. Surely -it was long enough she had been looking for its coming. - - - - -CHAPTER XVI. - -“AT THE PRODUCTS OF THE SOUTH.” - - -“Mlle. Hortense is very ill. Madame will receive nobody.” - -For the tenth time during the ten days that had passed Audiberte had -received the same answer, motionless before that heavy-timbered door -with its knocker, the like of which can scarcely be found except -beneath the arcades of the Place Royale, a door which once shut seemed -to her to refuse forever an entrance to the old house of the Le -Quesnoys. - -“Very well,” said she, “I am not coming back; it must be they now who -shall call me back.” - -In great agitation she set out again through the lively turmoil of -that commercial quarter, where drays laden with cases and barrels and -iron bars, noisy and flexible, were forever passing the pushcarts that -rolled under the porches and back into the courtyards where the coopers -were nailing up the cases for export. But the peasant girl was not -aware of this infernal row and of the rumbling of labor which shook -the high houses to their very topmost floors; in her venomous head a -very different kind of row was going on, a clashing of brutal thoughts -and a terrible clangor of foiled wishes. So she set forth, feeling no -fatigue, and in order to economize the ’bus fare crossed on foot the -entire distance from the Marais to Abbaye-Montmartre Street. - -After a fierce and lively peregrination from one lodging to the other, -hotels and furnished apartments of all kinds, from which they were -expelled each time on account of the tabor-playing, they had just -recently made shipwreck in that quarter. It was a new house which had -allured, at the cheap prices for housewarmers, a temporary horde of -girls, Bohemians and business agents, and those families of adventurers -such as one sees at the seaports, a floating population which shows -its lack of work on the balconies, watching arrivals and departures in -hopes that there may be something to be gained for them in the flood. -Fortune is here the flood on which they cast their watchful eyes. - -The rent was very high for them to pay, especially now that the -skating-rink had failed and it was necessary to sue upon government -stamped paper for the price of Valmajour’s few appearances. But the -tabor did not bother anybody in that freshly-painted barrack whose -door was open at every hour of the night for the different crooked -businesses of the tenants--not to speak of all the quarrels and rows -that were going on. On the contrary, it was the tabor-player who was -bothered. The advertising on placards, the many-colored tights and -his fine moustaches had aroused perilous interest among the ladies -of the skating-rink less coy than that prude of a girl down there -in the Marais. He was acquainted with actors at the Batignolles, all -that sweet-scented crowd which met in a pot-house on the Boulevard -Rochechouart called the Straw-Lair. This same Straw-Lair, where people -passed their time in loafing fatly, playing cards, drinking lager beer -and passing from one to the other the scandal of the little theatres -and the lowest class of gallantry, was the enemy and the horror of -Audiberte. It was the cause of savage rages, under the stormy blows -of which the two Southerners bent their backs as under a tempest in -the tropics, merely revenging themselves by cursing their tyrant in a -green skirt and talking about her in that mysterious and hateful tone -which schoolboys and servants use: “What did she say? how much did she -give you?” and playing into each other’s hands in order to slip away -behind her back. Audiberte knew this well and watched them; she did her -business outside quickly, impatient to get home; and particularly was -it so that day, because she had left them early in the morning. As she -ascended the stairs she stopped a moment, hearing neither tabor nor -shepherd’s pipe. - -“Oh, the beggarly wretch, he’s off again to his Straw-Lair!” - -But as she came in at the door her father ran up to her and headed the -explosion off. - -“Now don’t squeal, somebody’s come to visit you; a gentleman from the -_Munistry!_” - -The gentleman was waiting in the drawing-room; for, as it always -happens in these buildings, cheaply built and made by machinery, with -every room on each floor exactly the same, one above the other, they -too had a drawing-room hung with a cheap paper, creamy and waffled into -patterns till it looked like a dish of beaten eggs, a drawing-room -which made the peasant girl a very proud woman. Méjean was passing in -review most compassionately the Provençal furniture scattered about -this dentist’s waiting-room, full of the crude light from two windows -guiltless of curtains--the _coco_ and the _moco_ (tumbler-holder and -lamp-holder), the kneading-trough, the bread-basket much banged about -by house-movings and by travel--these showed their rural rustiness -alongside of the cheap gilding and wall paintings. The haughty profile -of Audiberte, very pure in its lines, surmounted by her Sunday -head-dress, which seemed just as out-of-place in the fifth story of a -Parisian apartment house, completed the feeling of pity which he had -concerning these victims of Roumestan; and so he introduced very gently -the cause of his visit. - -The Minister, wishing to spare the Valmajours new misfortunes, for -which up to a certain point he felt himself responsible, sent them five -thousand francs to pay for their losses in having changed their home -and to carry them back again to their own place. He took the bills from -his purse and laid them on the old dark kneading-trough of nutwood. - -“So, then, we’ll have to leave?” asked the peasant girl without -budging an inch and pondering a while. - -“The Minister desires that you should go as soon as possible; he is -anxious to know that you have returned to your home as happy as you -were before.” - -Old Valmajour cast his eye around at the bank-notes: - -“As for me, that seems reasonable enough--_de qué n’en disés?_” - -But she would not say anything and waited for the sequel, which Méjean -introduced by twisting and turning his purse: - -“And to those five thousand francs we will add five thousand more which -are here, in order to get back again--to get back again--” - -His emotion choked him. Cruel was the commission which Rosalie -had given him. Ah, how often it costs a lot to be considered a -quiet-loving, strong man; much more is demanded of such a one than of -other people! Then he added very rapidly--“the photograph of Mlle. Le -Quesnoy.” - -“At last! now we have got to it. The photograph--didn’t I know it, -by heavens?” At every word she bounded up like a goat. “And so you -really believe that you can make us come from the other end of France, -that you can promise everything to us--to us who never asked for -anything--and then that you can put us out of doors like so many dogs -who have done their worst and left their dirt everywhere? Take back -your money, gentleman! You can be dead sure that we sha’n’t leave, and -you can say so there, and also that the photograph won’t be returned to -them! That’s a paper and a proof, that is. I keep it safe in my little -bag; it never leaves me and I shall show it about through Paris and -what is written upon it, so that all the world may know that all those -Roumestans are no better than a family of liars--of liars--” - -She was foaming with rage. - -“Mlle. Le Quesnoy is very, very ill,” said Méjean, with great solemnity. - -“_Avaï!_” - -“She is leaving Paris, and in all probability will never return--alive!” - -Audiberte said not a word, but the silent laugh of her eyes, the -implacable _no_ which was written upon her classic brow, on which the -hair grew low beneath the little lace head-dress, were sufficient to -warrant the firmness of her refusal. Then a temptation seized Méjean -to throw himself upon her, tear the little Indian bag from her girdle -and fly with it; still, he restrained himself, attempted a few useless -expostulations, and then, quivering with rage likewise, he said, “You -will repent of this,” and to the great regret of Father Valmajour, left -the house. - -“Look out, little girl, you are going to bring us into some misfortune!” - -“Not much! It’s them that we’ll give trouble to; I am going to ask the -advice of Guilloche.” - - GUILLOCHE, CONTENTIEUX. - -Behind the yellow card bearing those two words, fastened on the door -which was opposite their own, was one of those terrible business men -whose entire instalment consists of an enormous leather portfolio -containing the minutes and notes of rancid lawsuits, sheets of white -paper for secret denunciations and begging letters, bits of pie-crust, -a false beard and sometimes even a hammer with which to strike -milkwomen dead, as was seen recently in a famous lawsuit. This type -of man, of whom many exist in Paris, would not be worthy of a single -line if said Guilloche, a name which was as good as a signboard when -one considered his countenance divided up into a thousand little -symmetrical wrinkles, had not added to his profession an entirely new -and characteristic department. - -Guilloche did the business of penalties for schoolboys and collegians. -A poor devil of an usher, when the classes came out from recitation, -went about collecting the penalties in the way of copies to be turned -in. He stayed awake far into the night copying lines of the Æneid or -the various forms of the Greek verb _luo_. When there was lack of -regular business Guilloche, who was a graduate of college, harnessed -himself up for this original work, which he found fairly profitable. - -Audiberte’s matter having been explained to him, he declared that -it was excellent. The Minister might be legally held up and the -newspapers might be made to come down; the photograph alone was worth -a mine of gold; only it was necessary to use time to go hither and -thither and he must have advances of money which must be paid down in -good coin; as for the Puyfourcat inheritance, that seemed to him a pure -Fata Morgana, a dictum which mortified terribly the peasant girl’s love -of lucre already so terribly tried, all the more because Valmajour, who -had been much asked to swell drawing-rooms during the first winter, no -longer set foot in a single house of the Faubourg St. _Germoyne_. - -“So much the worse! I will work the harder, I will economize--_zou!_” - -That energetic little Arlesian head-dress flew about in the great new -building, ran up and down stairs, carrying from story to story her tale -of adventure _wid_ the Menister. She excited herself, squealed, pounced -about, and then in a mysterious voice would say: “And _thin_ there’s -the photograph,” and with a furtive and sidelong glance, such as the -sellers of photographs in the arcades employ when old libertines call -for tights, she would show the picture: - -“A pretty girl, at any rate! And you have read what is written there -underneath?” - -This kind of thing happened in the bosom of the temporary families and -with the roller-skating ladies of the rink or at the Straw-Lair--ladies -whom she pompously called Mme. Malvina or Mme. Éloïse, being deeply -impressed by their velvet skirts, their chemises edged with holes for -ribbons and all the implements of their business, without bothering -herself otherwise as to what that business might be. And thus the -picture of this lovely creature, so distinguished and delicate, -passed through these critical and curious defilements; they picked -her to pieces; they read laughing the silly avowal of love, until the -Provençal girl took her treasure back again and thrust it into the -mouth of her money-bag with a furious gesture and in a strangled voice -exclaimed: - -“Well, I guess we have got them with that!” - -_Zou!_ off she flew to the bailiff--the bailiff for the affair of the -skating-rink, the bailiff used to hunt Cadaillac, the bailiff for -Roumestan. And as if that were not sufficient for her quarrelsome -disposition, she had a host of troubles with janitors, the unending -fight about the tabor-playing, which ended this time in the exile of -Valmajour to one of those basements leased by a wine merchant where -the sounding of hunting-horns alternate with lessons in kicking and -boxing. From that time forth it was in this cellar, by the light of a -gas jet which cost them so much per hour, and while looking about at -the vests and fencing-gloves and copper horns hung on the wall, that -the tabor-player passed his hours of exercise, pale and lonely like a -captive, sending forth from below the pavement all kinds of variations -on the shepherd’s pipe, not at all unlike the mournful and piercing -notes of a baker’s cricket. - -One day Audiberte received an invitation to call upon the Commissary -of Police in her quarter. She ran thither quickly, quite certain that -it referred to her cousin Puyfourcat, and entered smiling with her -head-dress tossing; but after a quarter of an hour she crept out, -overwhelmed by a very peasant-like horror of the policeman, who, at his -very first word, had forced her to deliver up the photograph and sign a -receipt for ten thousand francs in which she absolutely renounced all -and any suits at law. All the same she obstinately refused to leave, -insisted upon believing in the genius of her brother and kept always -alive in the depths of her memory the delicious astonishment caused -one winter evening by that long file of carriages passing through the -courtyard of the Ministry, where all the windows were alight. - -When she came back she notified her two men, who were much more -frightened than she was, that not another word was to be spoken about -that business; but she never piped a word about the money. Guilloche, -who suspected that there was some money, employed every means in his -power to get a portion of it, and having obtained only the slenderest -commission, felt a frightful rancor in regard to the Valmajours. - -“Well,” said he one morning to Audiberte while she was brushing on the -staircase the finest clothes belonging to the musician, who was still -in bed, “well, I hope you are satisfied at last. He is dead!” - -“Who is dead?” - -“Why, Puyfourcat, your cousin; it is in the paper.” - -She gave a screech, rushed into the apartment, calling aloud and almost -in tears: - -“Father! Brother! Hurry quick, the inheritance!” - -As all of them clustered terribly moved and panting in a circle about -that infernal fellow Guilloche, the latter slowly unfolded the _Journal -Officiel_ and in a very leisurely manner read to them as follows: - -“‘On this first day of October 1876, the Court at Mostaganem has -ordered the publication and advertisement of the following inheritances -at the order of the Ministry of the Interior.--Popelino (Louis), -day-laborer--’ No, it isn’t that one--‘Puyfourcat (Dosithée)--’” - -“Yes, that’s him,” said Audiberte. - -The old bird thought it was necessary to wipe his eyes a bit. - -“_Pécaïré!_ Poor Dosithée--!” - -“----died at Mostaganem the 14th of January, 1874, born at Valmajour in -the commune of Aps--” - -In her eagerness and impatience the peasant girl asked: - -“How much is it?” - -“Three francs, thirty-five _cintimes!_” cried Guilloche in the voice -of a fruit-peddler; and leaving in their hands the paper, in order -that they might thoroughly verify the disappointment which had come to -them, he flew off with a roar of laughter which seemed infectious, -for it rang from story to story down into the street and delighted -all that great big village called Montmartre, where the legend of the -Valmajours’ inheritance had been widely circulated. - -The inheritance from Puyfourcat, only three francs thirty-five! -Audiberte pretended to laugh at it harder than the others, but the -frightful desire for vengeance upon the Roumestans, who were in her -eyes responsible for all their troubles, burned within her and now only -increased in fury and looked about for some pretext or means, for the -first weapon that lay to hand. - -Most singular was the countenance of papa during this disaster. The -while his daughter pined away with weariness and fury, and the captive -musician became paler with every day passed in his cellar, papa, -expanding like a rose, careless of what happened, did not even show his -old professional envy and jealousy; he seemed to have arranged some -quiet existence for himself outside and away from his family. Hardly -had he stowed away the last mouthful of breakfast than off he went; -and sometimes in the morning, when she was brushing his clothes, she -noticed that a dried fig or a prune or some preserve or other would -fall out of his pockets, and when she asked how they came there, the -old fellow had one story or another for an explanation. - -He had met a peasant woman from their country in the street, or he had -run across a man from down there who was coming to see them. - -Audiberte tossed her head: “_Avaï!_ Wait till I follow you once!” - -The truth was that while strolling about Paris the old man had -discovered in the St. Denis quarter a big shop of food-stuffs, where -he had entered, lured by the sign and by the temptations of the exotic -shop-front, which was full of colored fruits and of silver and painted -papers; it made a brilliant bit of color in the foggy, populous street. -This shop, where he had ended by becoming a crony and friend of the -family, was well known to Southerners quartered in Paris and had for -its sign: - - AUX PRODUITS DU MIDI. - -“At the products of the South”--never was a sign more truthful. -Everything in that shop was the product of the South, from the -shopkeepers, M. and Mme. Mèfre, who were two products of the Fat South, -having the prominent nose of Roumestan, the flaring eyes, the accent, -the phrases and demonstrative welcome of Provence, down to their -shop-boys, who were familiar and called people by their first names -and did not hesitate in their guttural voices to call out to the desk: -“I say, Mèfre, where did youse put the sausages?”--yes, down to the -little Mèfre children, whining and dirty, who passed their lives amid -a constant menace of being disembowelled or scalped or made into soup, -but who nevertheless kept right on sticking their little dirty fingers -into all the open barrels; nay, even to the buyers, gesticulating and -gossiping by the hour together in order at last to buy a _barquette_ -(boat shaped cake) for two cents, or taking their seats on chairs in a -circle in order to discuss the merits of garlic sausage or of pepper -sausage. Here one might listen to the “none the less, at least, come -now, other ways”--the whole vocabulary, in fact, belonging to Aunt -Portal, exchanged in the most noisy voices, whilst the “dear brother” -in a dyed-over black coat, a friend of the family, haggled over some -salt fish, and the flies, the vast horde of flies, drawn hither by -all the sugar of these fruits and the candies and the almost Oriental -pastries, buzzed and boomed right in the middle of the winter, kept -alive by that steady heat. And when some busy Parisian grew impatient -at the attendants all down at heel and the sublime indifference these -shop people showed, continuing their gossip from one counter to the -other whilst weighing and doing up things all wrong, it was a sight to -see how that Parisian was put in his place by some remark uttered in -the strongest country accent: - -“_Té! vé!_ if you are in a hurry the door is always open, you know, and -the tram-cars are passing in front of the shop.” - -Father Valmajour was received with open arms by this gang of -compatriots. M. and Mme. Mèfre remembered that they had seen him in the -old time at the Fair of Beaucaire in a competition of tabor-players. - -Between old people from the South that Fair at Beaucaire, now no more -and existing merely as a name, has remained like a Masonic bond of -brotherhood. In our Southern provinces it was the fairy-tale for the -whole year, the one distraction for all those narrow lives; people got -ready for it a long time in advance, and for a long time after they -talked about it. It formed a reward which could be promised to wife -and children, and if it was not possible to take them along, one might -bring them a bit of Spanish lace or a toy, which took little place in -one’s bag. The Beaucaire Fair, moreover, under pretext of business, -meant a whole month or a fortnight at least of the free, exuberant and -unexpected life of a camp of gypsies. One got a bed here or there from -the citizens or in the shops or on top of desks, or else in the open -street under the canvas hood of wagons or even below the warm light of -the July stars. - -O, for the business without the boredom of the shop, matters treated -while one dines, or at the door in shirt sleeves, or at the booths -ranged along the _Pré_, on the banks of the Rhône! The river itself -was nothing but a moving fair-ground, supporting its boats of all -shapes, its _lahuts_, lute shaped boats with lateen sails which came -from Arles, Marseilles, Barcelona, the Balearic Islands, filled -with wines, anchovies, oranges and cork, decorated with banners and -standards and streamers which sounded in the fresh wind and reflected -their colors in the swiftly flowing water. And what a clamor there -was in that variegated crowd of Spaniards, Sardinians, Greeks in -long tunics and embroidered slippers, Armenians with their furred -hats and Turks with their befrogged jackets, their fans and wide -trousers of gray linen! All these were jammed together in the open-air -restaurants, the booths for children’s toys and canes and umbrellas, -for jewelry and Oriental pastils and caps. And then to think of what -was called the “fine Sunday,” that is to say, the first Sunday after -the opening of the fair--the orgies on the quays and the boats and in -the famous restaurants, such as La Vignasse or the Grand Jardin or the -Café Thibaut! Those who have once seen that fair have always felt a -home-sickness for it to the end of their days. - -One felt free and easy at the shop of the Mèfre couple, somewhat as -at the Beaucaire Fair. And as a matter of fact, in its picturesque -disorder the shop did resemble an improvised grand fair for the sale -of foreign and southern products. Here all full and bending were sacks -of meal in a golden powder, dried peas as big and hard as buck-shot -and big chestnuts all wrinkled and dusty looking, like little faces -of old female charcoal-burners; there stood jars of black and green -olives preserved in the Picholini manner, tin cans of red oil with the -taste of fruit, barrels of preserves from Apt made of melon rinds, of -figs, of quinces and of apricots--all the remains of fruit from a fair -dropped into molasses. Up there on the shelves among the salted goods -and preserves, in a thousand bottles and a thousand tin boxes, were -the special relishes belonging to each city--the shells and little -ships of Nîmes, the nougat of Montélimar, the ducklings and biscuits of -Aix--all in gilded envelopes ticketed and signed. - -Then there were the early vegetables, an outpouring of Southern -gardens without shadows, in which the fruits hanging in slender green -foliage have a factitious look of jewels--firm looking jujubes with a -fine sheen of newly lacquered walnut side by side with pale azeroles, -figs of every sort, sweet lemons, green or scarlet peppers, great big -swelling melons, enormous onions with flowerlike hearts, muscat grapes -with long berries so transparent that the flesh of them trembles like -wine in a flask, rows of bananas striped black and yellow, regular -landslides of oranges and pomegranates with their red gold tones, like -little bombs made of red copper with their fuses issuing from a small -crenelated crown. And finally, everywhere, on the walls and ceilings, -on both sides of the door, in the tangle of burnt palms, chaplets of -leeks and onions and dried carobs, packages of sausages, bunches of -corn on the cob, there was a constant stream of warm hues, there was -the entire summer, there was the Southern sunshine fastened up in -boxes, sacks and jars radiating color out to the very sidewalk through -the muddiness of the windows. - -Old Valmajour would enter this shop with his nostrils dilated, -quivering and most excited. This man, who refused the slightest work in -the presence of his children and would wipe his brow for hours over a -single button that he had to sew on his waistcoat, boasting of having -accomplished a labor like one of “Caesar’s,” in this shop was always -ready to lend a helping hand, throw off his coat to nail up or open -cases, picking up here and there an olive or a bit of berlingot candy -and lightening the labor with his monkey tricks and stories. On one day -in the week, indeed, the day of the arrival of codfish _à la brandade_, -he stayed very late at the store in order to aid them in sending out -the orders. - -Among them all this particular Southern dish, codfish _à la brandade_, -could hardly be found elsewhere in Paris except at the _Produits du -Midi_; but it was the true article, white, carded fine, creamy, with -just a touch of garlic, the way it is done at Nîmes, from which city -indeed the Mèfres had it forwarded. On Thursday evening it reaches -Paris at seven o’clock by the lightning express and Friday morning it -is distributed throughout the city to all the good customers whose -names are on the big book of the store. Nay, it is on that very -commercial ledger with its tumbled leaves, smelling of spices and -soiled with oil, that is inscribed the history of the conquest of -Paris by the Southerners; there appear one after the other all the big -fortunes, political and industrial posts, names of celebrated lawyers, -deputies, ministers, and among them all especially that of Numa -Roumestan, the Vendean of the South, the pillar of the altar and the -throne. - -For the sake of that single line on which Roumestan’s name is written -the Mèfres would toss the whole book into the fire. He it is who -represents best their ideas in religion, politics and everything. It is -just as Mme. Mèfre says, and she is more enthusiastic than her husband: - -“For that man, I tell you, anybody would imperil their eternal soul.” - -They are very fond of recalling the period when Numa, already on -the road to fame, did not disdain to come there himself to buy his -stores. And how he did understand the way of choosing by the touch -a pasty! or a sausage that sweats nicely under the knife! Then such -kind-heartedness! and that imposing, handsome face! and always a -compliment for Madame, a pleasant word for his “dear brother,” a -caressing touch for the little Mèfres who accompanied him as far as -the carriage bearing his parcels. Since his elevation to the Ministry, -since those scoundrels of Reds had given him so much bother in the two -Chambers, they did not see anything more of him, _pécaïré!_ but he -always remained faithful to the _Produits_, and it was always he who -got the first distribution. - -One Thursday evening about ten o’clock, when all the pots of codfish _à -la brandade_ had been wrapped and tied and placed in fine alignment on -the counter, the whole Mèfre family, the shop boys, old Valmajour and -all the products of the South were in full number on hand, perspiring -and blowing. They were taking a rest with the peculiar air of people -who have accomplished a difficult task and were “dipping a bit” with -ladyfingers and biscuits steeped in thick wine or orgeat syrup--“Come -now, just something mild”--for as to anything strong, Southerners do -not care for that at all. Among the townspeople as in the country -parts drunkenness from alcohol is almost unknown. Instinctively this -race has a fear and horror of it; it feels itself intoxicated from its -birth--drunk without drinking. - -For it is most certainly true that the wind and the sun distil for -them a terrible kind of natural alcohol whose effect is felt more or -less by all those born down there. Some of them have only that little -drop too much which loosens the tongue and gestures and causes one -to see life rosy in color and discover sympathetic souls everywhere, -which brightens the eye, widens the streets, sweeps away obstacles, -doubles audacity and strengthens the timid; others who are violently -affected, like the little Valmajour girl or Aunt Portal, reach at any -minute the limits of a stuttering, stammering and blind delirium. To -understand it one must have seen our festivals in Provence with the -peasants standing up on the tables yelling and pounding with their -big yellow shoes, screaming: “Waiter, _dé gazeuse!_” (lemon soda)--an -entire village raving drunk over a few bottles of lemonade. And where -is the Southerner who has not experienced those sudden prostrations of -the intoxicated, those breakings-down of the whole being, right on the -heels of wrath or of enthusiasm--changes as sudden as a sunburst or a -shadow across a March sky? - -Without possessing the delirious Southern quality of his daughter, -Father Valmajour was born with a pretty lively case of it. And that -evening his ladyfingers dipped in orgeat affected him with a crazy -jollity which made him reel off, standing with his glass in his hand -and his mouth all twisted in the middle of the shop, all the farcical -performances of an old sponge who pays his scot without money. The -Mèfres and their shopmen were rolling around on the flour sacks with -delight: - -“_Oh! de ce Valmajour, pas moins!_” (O! that Valmajour, what a fellow -he is!) - -Suddenly the liveliness of the old fellow stopped short and his -gesture, like that of a jumping-jack, was brought to a dead pause by -the apparition before him of a Provençal head-dress trembling with rage. - -“What are you doing here, father?” - -Madame Mèfre raised her arms toward the sausages suspended from the -ceiling: - -“What! this is your young lady? And you have never told us about her! -Well, how teeny-weeny she is! but a good girl, I’ll be bound. Take a -seat Miss, do!” - -Owing as much to his habit of lying as to a desire to keep himself -free, the old man had never spoken about his children, but had given -himself out as an old bachelor who lived on his income; but among -Southern people nobody is at a loss for one invention or another; if -an entire caravan of little Valmajours had marched in on the heels of -Audiberte the welcome would have been just the same, just as warm and -demonstrative; they rushed forward and made a place for her. - -“_Différemment_, you must eat some dipped ladyfingers with us, too.” - -The Provençal girl stood embarrassed. She had just come from outside, -from the cold and blackness of the night, a hard night of December, -where the feverish life of Paris continued to pulsate in spite of -the late hour and could be felt through the heavy fog torn in every -direction by swiftly moving shadows, the colored lanterns of the -omnibuses and the hoarse horns of the street cars; she arrived from -the North, she arrived from winter, and then all of a sudden, without -transition, she found herself in the midst of Italian Provence, in this -shop of the Mèfres glowing just previous to Christmas with all kinds -of toothsome and sun-filled articles, in the midst of the well-known -accents and fragrances of home! It was her own country suddenly found -again, a return to the motherland after a year of exile, of struggles -and trials far away among the barbarians. A warmth gradually invaded -her and slackened her nerves, the while she broke her _barquette_ cake -in a thimbleful of Carthagène and answered the questions of all this -kindly set of people, as much at ease and familiar with her as if -everybody had known each other for twenty years or more. She felt a -return to her life and usual habits; tears rose to her eyes--those hard -eyes with veins of fire which never wept. - -The name “Roumestan” uttered at her side dried up this emotion -suddenly. It came from Mme. Mèfre, who was looking over the addresses -of her clients and was warning her shop-boys not to make any mistake -and especially not to take the codfish _à la brandade_ for Numa to -Grenelle Street, but to the Rue de Londres. - -“Seems as if codfish is not in the odor of sanctity in the Rue de -Grenelle,” remarked one of the cronies at the Products. - -“Yes, indeed,” said M. Mèfre. “The lady belongs up North--just as -northerly as possible--uses nothing but butter in her kitchen, -eh?--while in the Rue de Londres there’s the nicest kind of South, -jollity, singing and everything cooked in oil--I understand why Numa -enjoys himself most there.” - -So they were talking in the lightest of tones of this second household -established by the Minister in a very convenient little house quite -close to the railway station where he could repose after the fatigues -of the Chamber, free from visitors and the greater botherations. You -may be sure that the excitable Mme. Mèfre would have uttered fine -screeches if just the same sort of thing had occurred in her family; -but for Numa there was something very attractive and natural in it. - -He loved the tender passion; but didn’t all our kings, Charles X and -Henry IV, play the gay Lothario? _Té! pardi!_ He got that from his -Bourbon nose. - -And mixed in with this light tone, this air of delight in spicy talk -with which the South treats all affairs of the heart, there was a race -hatred, the antipathy they felt against the woman of the North, the -strange woman and her food cooked with butter. They grew excited, they -went into a variety of _anédotes_, the charms of little Alice and her -successes in grand opera. - -“Why, I knew Mother Bachellery in the old time of the Fair at -Beaucaire,” said old Valmajour. “She used to sing ballads at the Café -Thibaut.” - -Audiberte listened without breathing, never losing a single word and -engraving in her mind names and addresses; her little eyes glittered -with a diabolical intoxication in which the Carthagène wine had no -part. - - - - -CHAPTER XVII. - -THE BABY CLOTHES. - - -At the light knock heard on her chamber door Mme. Roumestan trembled as -if she had been caught in a crime, and pushing in again the gracefully -moulded drawer of her Louis XV bureau over which she had been leaning -almost on her knees, she cried: - -“Who’s there? What do you want, Polly?” - -“A letter for Madame; there is great haste,” answered the Englishwoman. - -Rosalie took the letter and closed the door sharply. The writing was -unknown and coarse, traced upon wretched paper, and there was the -“urgent and personal” which accompanies begging letters. A Parisian -chambermaid would never have disturbed her for such a little thing as -that. She pitched it on the bureau, postponing the reading of it till -later, and returned quickly to her drawer which contained the marvels -of the baby’s old layette. For the last eight years, ever since the -tragedy, she had not opened it, fearing to find her tears there again; -nor even since her new happiness had she done so owing to a very -maternal superstition, fearing lest she should come to grief once more -by means of a premature caress given by way of its little layette to -the child that was yet to come. - -This courageous lady had all the nervous feelings of the woman, all her -tremblings, all the shivery drawing-together of the mimosa. The world, -which judges without understanding anything, found her cold, just as -the dull and stupid suppose that flowers are not endowed with life. But -now, her happiness having endured for six months, she must make up her -mind to bring all these little articles out from their mourning and -enclosure, shake out their pleats, go over and perhaps change them; for -even in the case of baby clothes fashion changes and the ribbons are -adjusted differently at different times. It was for this most intimate -work that Rosalie had carefully locked herself in; throughout that big -bustling Ministry, rustling with papers and humming with reports and -the feverish flitting hither and thither from offices to departments, -there was assuredly nothing quite so serious, nothing quite so moving -as that woman on her knees before an open drawer, her heart beating and -her hands trembling. - -She took up the laces somewhat yellow with time which preserved along -with the perfume all this white mass of innocent clothes--baby caps and -undershirts arranged according to age and size, the gown for baptism, -the robe full of little pleats and the doll stockings. She recalled her -life down there at Orsay, gently languid and at work for hours together -in the shadow of the big catalpa whose white petals dropped into her -work-basket among her spools and delicate embroidery scissors, her -entire thought concentrated upon some one point of tailoring which gave -her the measure of her dreams and the passage of time. What illusions -she had then had, what belief and trust! What a delicious murmuring -throughout the foliage above her head and what a rising up of tender -and novel sensations in herself! In a single day life had suddenly -taken all that from her. And so despair flowed back again to her heart -as little by little she pulled forth the layette--the treason of her -husband, the loss of her child. - -The appearance of the first little dress all ready to be pulled on, -that which is laid on the cradle at the moment of birth, the sleeves -pushed one within the other, the arms spread apart, the little caps -blown up to a round shape, made her burst into tears. It seemed to her -that her child had lived and that she had known it and held it to her -heart. A son, O, certainly it was a boy, a strong and beautiful one, -and from his very birth he had the mysterious and deep eyes of his -grandfather! To-day he would have been eight years old and have had -long curls falling round his shoulders; at that age they still belong -to the mother, who takes them walking, dresses them, makes them work. -Ah, cruel, cruel life! - -But after a while, as she pulled out and twitched into shape these -little objects tied together with microscopic bows, with their -embroidered flowers and snowy laces, she began to be calm. Well, no; -after all, life is not so evil, and while it lasts one must keep up -one’s courage. At that terrible turn of her life she had lost all of -hers, imagining that the end had come, so far as she was concerned, for -believing, loving, being wife and mother; thinking in fact that there -only remained for her the pleasure of looking back upon the shining -past and watching it disappear in the distance like some shore which -one regrets to leave. Then after gloomy years the spring had shot out -its fruits slowly beneath the cold snow of her heart; lo and behold, -it flowered again in this little creature who was about to live and -whom she felt was already vigorous from the terrible little kicks which -it gave her during the night. And then her Numa, so changed, so good, -quite cured of his brutality and violence! To be sure he still showed -weaknesses which she did not like, those roundabout Italian ways which -he could not help having, but, even as he said--“O, that?--that is -politics!” Besides that, she was no longer the victim of the illusions -of her early years; she knew that in order to live happily one must be -contented with coming near to what one desires in everything and that -complete happiness can only be quarried from the half-happinesses which -existence affords us. - -A new knock at the door. It is M. Méjean who would like to speak to -Madame. - -“Very good, I’m coming.” - -She found him in the little drawing-room which he was measuring from -end to end with excited steps. - -“I have a confession to make to you,” said he, using a somewhat brusque -tone of familiarity which their old friendship authorized and which -both of them would have liked to have turned into a relationship of -brother and sister. “Some days ago I put an end to this wretched -affair--and did not withhold the statement from you for the sake of -keeping this longer in my possession--” - -He held out to her the portrait of Hortense obtained from Audiberte. - -“Well, at last! O, how happy she is going to be, poor dear!” - -She softened at the sight of her sister’s pretty face, her sister -sparkling with health and youth in that Provençal disguise, and read at -the bottom of the picture in her fine and very firm writing: “I believe -in you and I love you--Hortense Le Quesnoy.” Then, remembering that the -wretched lover had also read it and that he must have been intrusted -with a very sorrowful commission in procuring it, she grasped his hand -affectionately: - -“Thank you.” - -“No, do not thank me, Madame.--Yes, it was hard--but for the last eight -days I have lived with that ‘I believe in you and I love you,’ and at -times I could imagine that it was meant for me.” And then very low and -timidly: “How is she getting on?” - -“Oh, not well at all--Mamma is taking her South. Now she is willing to -do whatever anybody wishes--it is just as if a spring had broken in -her.” - -“Altered?” - -Rosalie made a gesture: “Ah!” - -“Till we meet again, Madame,” said Méjean very quickly, moving away -with hurried steps; he turned back again at the door and squaring his -solid shoulders beneath the half-raised curtain: - -“It is the luckiest thing in the world that I have no imagination. I -should be altogether too unhappy!” - -Rosalie returned to her room deeply dejected. There was no use in -fighting against it by recalling her sister’s youth and the encouraging -words of Jarras, who persisted in looking upon it merely as a crisis -which it was necessary to cross; black thoughts invaded her which -would not tally with the festive white in the baby’s layette. She -hastened to tie up, lay in order and turn the key upon these little -scattered articles, and as she got up she perceived the letter lying -on the bureau, took and read it mechanically, expecting to find the -commonplace begging statement which she received every day from so many -different hands, and which would have come at a lucky moment during one -of those spells of superstition, when charity seems a bringer of good -luck. That was why she did not understand it at first and was obliged -to read again these lines, which had been written out as a copy by the -ignorant pen of a schoolboy, the boy employed by Guilloche: - -“If you are fond of codfish _à la brandade_, delicious is that which -is eaten to-night at the house of Mme. Bachellery in the Rue de -Londres. Your husband pays for the supper. Ring three times and enter -straight ahead.” - -From these foolish phrases, from this slimy and perfidious abyss, -the truth arose and appeared to her, helped by coincidences and -recollections--that name “Bachellery” pronounced so often during the -past year, enigmatical articles in the papers concerning her engagement -at the opera, that address which she had heard Numa himself give, and -the long stay at Arvillard. In a second, doubt crystallized itself in -her to certainty. And besides, did not the past throw a light for her -upon this present and all its actual horror? Lies and grimace--he was -not and could not be anything but that. Why should this eternal maker -of dupes spare her? It was her fault; she had been the fool to allow -herself to be caught by his lying voice and vulgar caresses. And in the -same second certain details came to her mind which made her red and -pale by turns. - -This time it was no longer despair showing itself with heavy, pure -tears as in the early deceptions, but anger against herself for having -been so feeble and cowardly as to have been able to pardon him, and -against him who had duped her in contempt of the promises and oaths -in connection with the former crime. She would like to have convicted -him of his villainy there, on the moment, but he was at Versailles in -the Chamber of Deputies. It occurred to her to call Méjean, but then -she felt a repugnance to force that honest fellow to lie. And being -thus reduced to crushing down a swarm of contrary feelings, prevent -herself from crying out and surrendering to the terrible nerve-crisis -which she felt rising in her, she strode to and fro on the carpet, her -hands with a familiar action resting against the loosened waist of her -dressing-gown. All of a sudden she stopped and shuddered, seized by a -crazy fear. - -Her child! - -He was suffering too and he was calling to his mother with all the -power of a life which is struggling to exist. Oh, my God, if he also, -if he was going to die like the other one at the same age, and under -exactly similar conditions! Destiny, which people call blind, has -sometimes savage combinations, and she began to reason with herself in -half-broken words and tender exclamations. “Dear little fellow!--poor -little fellow!--” and attempted to look upon everything coldly as it -exists, in order to conduct herself in a dignified way and above all -not to destroy that solitary good thing which remained to her. She even -took in hand some work, that embroidery of Penelope which the Parisian -woman keeps about her, being always in action; for it was necessary to -wait for Numa’s return and have an explanation with him, or rather to -discover in his attitude a conviction of his crime, before it came to -the irremediable scandal of a separation. - -O, those brilliant wools and that regular and colorless canvas--what -confidences may they not receive, what regrets, joys and desires -form the complicated and knotted reverse of the canvas full of broken -threads in these feminine products, with their flowers peacefully -interwoven! - -Coming back from the Chamber of Deputies, Numa Roumestan found his wife -embroidering beneath the narrow gleam of a single lighted lamp, and -this quiet picture, her lovely profile softened by her chestnut-colored -hair, in that luxurious shade of cushioned furniture where the lacquer -screens and old bronzes, the ivories and potteries, caught the warm and -shooting rays from a wood fire, overcame him by contrast with the noise -of the Assembly, where the brilliantly lighted ceilings are swathed in -a dust full of movement that floats above the hall of debate like the -smoke from powder above a field where military are manœuvring. - -“How do you do, Mamma; it’s pleasant here with you.” - -The day’s meeting had been a hot one; always that wretched -appropriation bill, and the Left fastened for five hours on the coat -tails of that poor General d’Espaillon, who didn’t know enough to put -two ideas together when he wasn’t saying g--d--, etc., etc. Well, -anyhow, the Cabinet would get through this time; but after the vacation -at New Year’s, when the Assembly would reach the question of the Fine -Arts--then was the time to look out! - -“They are counting very much on the Cadaillac business to upset me!... -Rougeot is the one who will talk.... He’s no chicken, that Rougeot; he -has a backbone!” - -Then with his famous jerk of the shoulder: “Rougeot against -Roumestan--the North against the South--all the better! It will amuse -me. It will be a hand-to-hand fight.” - -Excited by his political matters, he talked on in a monologue without -noticing how silent Rosalie was. Then he approached her and, sitting -very near her on a footstool, made her stop her work by trying to kiss -her hand. - -“You seem to be in a terrible hurry with what you are embroidering. Is -it for my New Year’s present? I have bought yours. Just guess what it -is!” - -She pulled her hand gently away and looked him steadily in the face in -an embarrassing manner without answering him. His features were drawn -and weary from his days of work in the Assembly, showing that loosened -look of the face and revealing in the corners of the eyes and the mouth -a character at once weak and violent--all the passions and nothing to -resist them. Faces down south are like the Southern landscape. It is -better not to look at them unless the sun is shining. - -“Are you dining at home?” asked Rosalie. - -“No, I’m sorry to say--I’m expected at Durand’s--a tiresome -dinner--_té!_ I’m already late,” added he as he rose. “Luckily it is -not necessary to dress there.” - -That fixed look in his wife’s face followed him. “Dine with me, I beg -of you--” and her harmonious voice hardened into insistence and sounded -threatening and implacable. - -But Roumestan was no observer. “And besides, business is business, is -it not so? O, this life of a public man cannot be arranged as one would -wish!” - -“Well then, goodbye,” said she gravely, completing that farewell within -her own mind with a “since it is our destiny.” - -She listened to the coupé roll off beneath the vaulted passage and -then, having carefully folded up her work, she rang. - -“A carriage, right away--a hackney-coach--and you, Polly, give me my -mantle and bonnet--I’m going out.” - -Quickly ready to start, she embraced in one look the chamber she -was quitting, where she neither regretted anything nor left behind -her any part of herself, for it was merely the room of a furnished -apartment-house despite all the pomp of its cold yellow brocades. - -“See that the big cardboard box is put in the carriage.” - -Of what belonged to both, the baby’s layette was all that she carried -off. - -Standing at the door of the coach the mystified Englishwoman asked if -Madame was not going to dine at home. No, she will dine at her father’s -where probably she will also pass the night. - -On the way a doubt overcame her, or rather a scruple. Suppose nothing -of all this were true? Suppose that Bachellery girl did not live in -the Rue de Londres. She gave the coachman the address, but without much -hope; still, she must have certainty on this point. - -The carriage stopped before a little house two stories high, crowned -by a terrace for a summer garden; it was the old home in Paris of a -Cairo man who had just died a bankrupt. There was about it the look -of a little house with shutters closed and curtains drawn; a strong -odor of the kitchen rose from the brightly lit and noisy basement. -Rosalie understood what it was just from noting how the front door -obeyed three strokes of the bell and of itself seemed to turn upon its -hinges. A Persian tapestry caught up by heavy cords in the centre of -the antechamber allowed a glimpse of the stair with its soft carpet and -its lamps in which the gas was burning at the highest point. She heard -laughter, took two steps forward and saw what never more in her life -she could forget. - -At the turn of the stairs on the first floor Numa was leaning over the -banisters red and excited, in his shirt sleeves, with his arm round the -waist of that girl, who was also very much excited, her hair loosened -and falling down her back upon the frills of a rose-colored silk -morning-gown. And there he was, calling out in his violent way: - -“Bompard, bring up the _brandade!_” - -That was where he could be seen as he really was, the Minister of -Public Instruction and Religion, the great proclaimer of religious -morality, the defender of sound doctrines! It was there he showed -himself without mask or hypocritical grimace--all his South turned -outside for inspection!--at ease and in his shirt-sleeves as if at the -Fair of Beaucaire. - -“Bompard, bring up the _brandade!_” repeated the giddy girl, -intentionally exaggerating Numa’s Provençal accent. Without a question -that was Bompard, the improvised cookshop boy who came up from the -kitchen, a napkin over his shoulder and his arms surrounding a great -big dish. It was he who caused the sounding wing of the door to turn on -its hinges. - - - - -CHAPTER XVIII. - -NEW YEAR’S DAY. - - -“Gentlemen of the Central Administration!” - -“Directors of the Academy of the Fine Arts!” - -“Gentlemen of the Academy of Medicine!” - -In grand gala dress, with his short hose and sword by his side, the -chamberlain was announcing the arrivals in a mournful voice that -resounded through the solemn drawing-rooms. As he called out, lines -of black coats crossed the immense hall all red and gold and ranged -themselves in a half-circle before the Minister, who stood with his -back to the chimneypiece, having near him his Under-Secretary of State, -M. de la Calmette, and his chief of cabinet, his foppish attachés -and a few directors belonging to the Ministry such as Dansaert and -Béchut. His Excellency addressed compliments and congratulations for -the decorations and academic palms granted to some of those present, -according as each organization arrived and was presented by its dean -or president; then the organization turned right about and gave way to -another set, some bodies retiring whilst others arrived, causing no -little confusion at the doors of the hall. - -For it was late; it was past one o’clock and each man was thinking of -the breakfast which was waiting for him at home. In the concert hall -which had been turned into a vestiary, impatient groups were looking at -their watches, buttoning their gloves, adjusting their white cravats -below their drawn faces; gaping and weariness, bad temper and hunger -were on every side. Roumestan himself felt the weariness of this -important day. He had lost his fine warmth of spirit shown at the same -time last year, his faith in the future and in reform, and he let his -little speeches off slowly, pierced through to his very marrow by the -cold, despite the radiators and the enormous flaming wood fire; indeed, -that little flaky snow which whirled about the panes of the windows -seemed to fall upon his light heart and congeal it even as it fell upon -the greensward of the garden. - -“Gentlemen of the Comédie-Française!” - -Closely shaved and solemn, distributing bows just as the fashion was -in the grand epoch, they posed themselves in majestic attitudes about -their dean, who in a cavernous voice presented the company, talked -about the endeavors and vows the company had made--“the” company, -without any epithet or qualifying word, just as we say “God” or as we -say “the” Bible--exactly as if no other company existed in the world -except that alone! And it must be said that poor Roumestan needs be -very much enfeebled if this same company could not excite his eloquence -and grand theatrical phrases, this company to which he himself seemed -to belong with his bluish chin, his jowls and his distinguished but -most conventional poses! - -The fact was that for the last eight days, since the departure of -Rosalie, he was like a gambler who has lost his mascot; he was -frightened and suddenly felt himself inferior to his fortune and thus -ready to be crushed. Mediocrities who have been favored by chance -have such panics and nervous crises and they were increased in him by -the terrible scandal which was about to break out, the scandal of a -lawsuit for separation which the young wife insisted upon absolutely, -notwithstanding all his letters and visits, his grovelling prayers -and oaths. To keep up appearances it was said at the Ministry that -Mme. Roumestan had gone to live with her father because of the near -departure of Mme. Le Quesnoy and Hortense. But nobody was taken in -by that, and the luckless man saw his adventure reflected in pity or -curiosity or sarcasm from all these faces which were defiling before -him, as well as from certain broadly marked smiles and from various -shakes of the hand, a little more energetic than usual. There was not -a single one of the lowest employees who had come to the reception in -jacket and overcoat who was not thoroughly posted in this matter. Among -the offices couplets were circulating from mouth to mouth in which -Chambéry rhymed with Bachellery; more than one porter discontented with -his pay was humming one of these couplets within himself whilst making -a deep bow to his supreme chief. - -Two o’clock! Still the organized bodies kept presenting themselves and -the snow kept deepening whilst the man with the chains over his uniform -introduced pell-mell and without any kind of order: - -“Gentlemen of the School of Laws!” - -“Gentlemen of the Conservatory of Music!” - -“Directors of the Subsidized Theatres!” - -By favor of seniority and his three failures Cadaillac arrived at the -head of this delegation. Roumestan longed far more to fall with fist -and foot upon the cynical _impresario_ whose nomination had occasioned -such serious embarrassment to him than to listen to the fine speech to -which the ferocious insolence of his look gave the lie and to answer -him with a forced compliment, half of which stuck in the big folds of -his cravat: - -“Greatly touched, gentlemen ... _mn mn mn_ ... progress of art ... _mn -mn mn_ ... still better in the future....” - -And the _impresario_ as he moved off: - -“Poor old Numa--he’s got a charge of lead in his wing this time!” - -When these had left, the Minister and his comrades did honor to -the usual breakfast; but this meal which had been so gay and full -of effusion the year before was weighted down by the gloom of the -chief and bad temper on the part of his intimates, who were all of -them enraged with him on account of their own situations which he -had already begun to compromise. This scandalous lawsuit coming just -in the midst of the debate over Cadaillac would be sure to make -Roumestan impossible as a member of the cabinet. That very morning at -the reception in the Palace of the Élysées the Marshal had said two -words about it with the laconic and brutal eloquence natural to an old -cavalryman: “A dirty business!” - -Without precisely having heard this speech from an august mouth, which -was murmured in Numa’s ear in an alcove, the gentlemen round him saw -very clearly their own fall coming behind that of their chief. - -“Oh, women, women!” grunted the learned Béchut over his plate. M. de la -Calmette with his thirty years of official life grew melancholy as he -pondered over a retiring from office like unto Tircis, and below his -breath the long-legged Lappara amused himself by frightening Rochemaure -out of his wits: - -“Viscount, we must look out for ourselves; we shall be decapitated -before eight days are over!” - -After a toast had been given by the Minister to the New Year and his -dear collaborators, uttered with a shaky voice in which one heard -the tears, they separated. Méjean, who stayed to the last, walked -two or three times up and down beside his friend without having the -courage to say a single word; then he too left. Notwithstanding his -wish to keep by his side during that day a man like Méjean whose -straightforward nature forced his respect like a reproach uttered by -his own conscience, but at the same time sustained and reassured him, -Numa could not stand in the way of Méjean’s duty, which was to run his -round of visits and distribute good wishes and presents for the New -Year, any more than he could prevent his chamberlain from going back to -his family and unburdening himself of his sword and short-clothes. - -What a howling solitude was that Ministry! It was like Sunday in -a factory with the boiler cold and silent. In all the departments -upstairs and downstairs, in his own cabinet, where he vainly attempted -to write, in his bed-chamber, which he began once more to fill with his -sobs, everywhere that little January snow was whirling about the big -windows, veiling the horizon and increasing the silence which was like -that of the Eastern steppes. - -Oh, the misery of men in lofty positions! - -A clock struck four and then another answered and then still others -replied through the vast desert of the palace until it seemed as if -there was nothing alive there except the hour. The idea of remaining -there till evening face to face with his wretchedness frightened him. -He felt that he must thaw himself a little with a bit of friendship -and tenderness. Steam radiators and warm-air registers and half trees -flaming in the chimneypiece did not constitute a hearth; for a moment -he thought of the Rue de Londres. But he had sworn to his lawyer--for -the lawyers were already at work--to keep quiet until the suit was -decided. All of a sudden a name flashed across his mind: “Bompard! -Why had he not come?” Generally he was observed to arrive the first -on mornings of feast-days, his arms full of bouquets and paper sacks -with candies for Rosalie, Hortense and Mme. Le Quesnoy, wearing on his -lips a smile which expressed his character of grandpapa or of Santa -Claus. Of course Roumestan paid the bill of these surprises, but friend -Bompard was possessed of imagination enough to forget that fact, and, -notwithstanding her antipathy, Rosalie could not help being touched -when she thought of the privations which the poor devil must have -undergone in order to be so generous. - -“Suppose I go and get him and we dine together.” - -He was reduced to that. He rang, took off his evening dress, all his -medals and orders and went out on foot by the Rue Bellechasse. - -The quays and bridges were all white; but when he had crossed the -courtyard of the Carrousel neither ground nor air betrayed a trace -of snow. It disappeared under the wheels that crowded the street, -in the swarming myriads of the mob covering the sidewalks at the -shop-fronts and pushing round the offices of the omnibus lines. This -tumult of a feast-day evening, the calls of the coachmen, the shrill -cries of peddlers in the luminous confusion of the shop-fronts, where -the lilac-colored jets from the Jablochkoff burners extinguished the -twinkling yellow of the gas and the last reflections from the pale -afternoon, lulled the despair of Roumestan and dissolved it, as it -were, by means of the agitation of the street. Meantime he directed his -steps toward the Boulevard Poissonnière where the old Circassian, very -sedentary like all men of imagination, had lived for the last twenty -years, in fact since his arrival in Paris. - -Nobody had ever seen the interior of Bompard’s home, of which -nevertheless he talked a good deal, as well as of his garden and his -artistic furniture, to complete which he haunted all the auctions at -the Hôtel Drouot. - -“Do come to breakfast one of these days and eat a chop with me!” - -That was the regular form of invitation which he scattered right and -left, but any one who took him at his word never found anybody at home; -he came up standing against signs left by the janitor, against bells -wrapped in paper or deprived of their wire. During an entire year -Lappara and Rochemaure obstinately continued to try to reach Bompard’s -rooms and overcome the extraordinary stratagems of the Provençal who -was guarding the mystery of his apartment--but all in vain. One day -he even took out some of the bricks near the front door in order to -be able to say across this species of barricade to the friends he had -invited: - -“Awfully sorry, dear boys--we have had an escape of gas--everything -blown up last night!” - -After having mounted numberless stories and wandered through long -corridors, tumbled over invisible steps and intruded upon veritable -assemblies of witches among the servants’ bedrooms, Roumestan, quite -blown from that arduous ascent, to which his legs of an illustrious man -were no longer equal, tumbled against a great big washbowl fastened to -the wall. - -“Who’s there?” spoke out a well-known voice coming from far down the -throat. - -The door opened slowly, weighed down by a clothes-rack upon which hung -the entire wardrobe of the lodger for winter and summer; the room was -small and Bompard did not lose the benefit of an eighth of an inch and -was compelled to keep his toilet table in the corridor. His friend -found him lying on a little iron bed, his brow decorated with a scarlet -head-dress, a sort of Dantesque cap which rose up in astonishment at -sight of the distinguished visitor. - -“It can’t be you!” - -“Are you ill?” said Roumestan. - -“Ill? not much!” - -“Then what are you doing here?” - -“You see I am taking stock of things,” and then he added, to explain -his thought: “I have so many plans in my head, so many inventions! Now -and then I get dispersed and lose myself; it is only when I lie abed -that I can gather myself together a little.” - -Roumestan looked about for a chair, but none was there except the -single one in use as a night table; it was covered with books and -newspapers and had a candlestick wobbling on top of them all. He sat -down on the foot of the bed. - -“Why do we never see anything more of you?” - -“Pshaw! you must be joking. After what happened I could not meet -your wife face to face. Just think a little! There I was right before -her, the codfish _à la brandade_ in my hand. It took a mighty lot of -coolness, I can tell you, not to let everything drop.” - -“Rosalie is no longer at the Ministry,” said Numa quite overwhelmed. - -“You astonish me; do you mean to say that it has not been arranged?” - -And indeed it did not seem possible to him that Madame Numa, a person -of so much good sense ... for after all, what was all this business -anyhow? “Come now, just a mere fancy!” - -The other interrupted him: - -“You don’t understand her--she is an implacable woman--the perfect -image of her father--Northern race, my dear fellow--with them it is not -as it is with us, where the greatest anger evaporates in gesticulations -and threats and then there is nothing left and we face about. But they -keep everything in mind; it is terrible.” - -He did not say that she had already forgiven him once before; and then, -in order to escape from his sorrowful thoughts: - -“Get your clothes on; you must come and dine with me.” - -While Bompard was making his toilet out in the corridor the Minister -looked about the mansard room lit by a little window like a -tobacco-box, over which the melting snow was running. Pity seized him -face to face with this penury, these damp rags, the whitewashed paper -and little stove worn with rust and fireless notwithstanding the -cold. And he asked himself, used as he was to the sumptuousness of his -palace, how people could live in such a place? - -“Have you seen the _gardeen_?” cried Bompard joyfully from his basin. - -His garden was the leafless tops of three plane-trees which could not -be seen unless one stood upon the solitary chair in the room. - -“And my little museum?” - -His museum he called a few ticketed knick-knacks upon a board, a -brick, a short pipe in brierwood, a rusty knife-blade and an ostrich -egg--but the brick came from the Alhambra, the sword had been used -in the vendettas of a famous Corsican bandit, the short pipe bore -an inscription, “Pipe of a Morocco criminal,” and finally the -ostrich egg represented the vanishing of a beautiful dream, all that -remained--along with a few laths and bits of plaster heaped in a -corner--of the famous Bompard Incubator and the scheme for artificial -hatching. But now, my dear boy, there is something much better on -hand--a marvellous scheme--millions in it--which he was not at liberty -to explain at present. - -“What is it you are looking at? That?--That is my brevet of -membership--_bé_, yes, membership in the Aïoli.” - -This club of the Aïoli had for its purpose the bringing together once -a month of all the Southerners living in Paris, in order to eat a -dinner cooked with garlic, a way of never losing either the fragrance -or the accent of home. It was a tremendous organization--a President -of Honor, Presidents, Vice-Presidents, Seniors, Questors, Treasurers, -all furnished with their diplomas as members brave with silver -streamers, and the flower of the leek as decoration upon rose-colored -paper. This precious document was displayed on the wall alongside -of advertisements of every sort of color, sales of houses, railway -placards and so forth, which Bompard liked to have always under his -nose, in order, as he ingenuously remarked, “to do his liver good.” -There might one read: “Château to sell, one hundred and fifty hectares, -meadows, hunting, river, pond full of fish.... Lovely little property -in Touraine, vineyards, luzernes, mill-on-the-Cize.... Round trip -through Switzerland, through Italy, to Lago Maggiore, to the Borromean -Islands....” These things excited him just as much as if he had had -fine landscapes in oil hanging on the wall. He believed he was in these -places--and he was there! - -“By Jove!” said Roumestan with a shade of envy of this wretched -believer in chimeras, so happy in his rags--“You have a tremendous -imagination. Come, are you ready? Let’s get down. It is frightfully -cold up here.” - -After a few turns through the brilliant streets across the jolly mob of -the boulevards the two friends settled themselves down in the heady, -radiating warmth of a little room in a big restaurant, in front of -oysters and a bottle of Château-Yquem very carefully uncorked. - -“To your health, my comrade--I pray that it may be good and happy -forever.” - -“_Té!_ why it’s a fact,” said Bompard; “we haven’t kissed each other -yet.” - -Across the table they gave each other a hug with moistened eyes and -Roumestan felt himself quite gay again, despite the wrinkled and -swarthy hide of the Circassian. Ever since morning he had wanted -to kiss somebody. Besides, think of all the years they had known -each other--thirty years of their life in front of them on that -tablecloth--and through the vapor rising from delicate dishes and over -the straw wrappers of delicious wines they recalled their days of -youth, their fraternal recollections, races and picnics, saw once more -their own boyish faces and interlarded their effusions with words in -dialect which brought them still closer together. - -“_T’en souvénès, digo?_” (I say, do you remember?) - -In a room near by could be heard a noise of high laughter and little -screams. - -“To the devil with females,” said Roumestan; “there is nothing worth -while but friendship!” - -And then they drank to each other once more; nevertheless their talk -turned in another direction: “And how about the little girl?” asked -Bompard, winking his eye. “How is she getting on?” - -“O, of course, I have not seen her again, you know.” - -“Of course not, of course not,” said the other turning suddenly very -serious and putting on a solemn face. - -Presently a piano behind the partition began to play scraps of waltzes, -fashionable quadrilles and bars of music from operettas, now crazy and -now languid. They stopped talking in order to listen, pulling off the -withered grapes, and Numa, all of whose sensations appeared to have two -faces and to be swung upon a pivot, began to think about his wife and -his child and his lost happiness. So he must needs unbosom himself at -the top of his voice with his elbows on the table. - -“Eleven years of intimacy, trust and tenderness--all that flashed -away and vanished in a minute! how can it be possible? ah, Rosalie, -Rosalie--” - -No one could ever know what she had been to him, and he himself had not -thoroughly understood it until after her departure. Such an upright -spirit, such a straightforward heart! And what shoulders and what arms! -No little gingerbread doll like little Bachellery; something full and -amber-tinted and delicate-- - -“Besides, don’t you see, my dear comrade, there’s no denying that when -we are young we need surprises and adventures--meetings in a hurry, -sharpened by the fear of being caught, staircases one comes down on all -fours with one’s boots in one’s arms--all that is part of love. But at -our age what we desire above everything else is peace and what the -philosophers call security in pleasure. It is only marriage which can -give you that.” - -He jumped up all of a sudden, threw down his napkin: “Off with us, -_té!_” - -“And we are going--?” asked the impassible Bompard. - -“To walk by under her window just as I did twelve years ago--to this, -my dear boy, is he reduced, the grand Master of the University--” - -Under the arcaded way of the Place Royale, whose square garden covered -with snow formed a white quadrilateral within its iron fence, these two -friends walked up and down for a long while, spying out in the broken -sky-line formed by the Louis XIII roofs, chimneys and balconies the -lofty windows of the Hôtel Le Quesnoy. - -“To think that she is over there,” sighed Roumestan, “so near to me, -and yet I may not see her!” - -Bompard was shivering with his feet in the mud and did not appreciate -very greatly this sentimental excursion; in order to bring it to a -close he used strategy, and knowing well that Numa was a soft one, in -deadly fear of the slightest illness: - -“I’m afraid you’ll catch cold, Numa,” insinuated he like the traitor he -was. - -The Southerner was struck with fear, and they quickly returned to the -carriage. - - * * * * * - -She was there indeed, in that same drawing-room where he had seen her -for the first time. The furniture was just the same and held the same -place, having reached that age when furniture, like temperaments, -cannot be renewed. Scarcely were there a few more faded folds in -the fawn-colored hangings and a film over the dull reflections from -the mirrors like that one sees on deserted ponds which nothing ever -touches. The faces of the two old people under the two-branched -candlesticks at the card-table in company with their usual partners -showed likewise a little of the wear and tear of life. Madame Le -Quesnoy’s features were puffy and drooping as if the fibre had been -taken out of them, and the President’s pallor was still more pallid and -still prouder was the revolt that he preserved in the bitter blue of -his eyes. Seated near a big arm-chair, the cushions of which were still -crushed down by a light weight, her sister having gone to bed, Rosalie -continued in a low voice that reading aloud which she had been giving a -moment before for the benefit of her sister, reading on in a low voice -through the silence of whist broken by the half-words and interjections -of the players. - -It was a book belonging to her youth, one of those poets of nature whom -her father had taught her to love. And she perceived the whole past of -her life as a young girl rising up from the pure white of the stanzas -as well as the fresh and penetrating impression of the books one has -read first in life. - - _La belle aurait pu sans souci - Manger ses fraises loin d’ici - Au bord d’une claire fontaine - Avec un joyeux moissonneur - Qui l’aurait prise sur son cœur, - Elle aurait eu bien moins de peine._ - - (In happy ease that damsel fair - Her berries might have eaten where - A fountain plashes o’er a stone; - Some harvester at noontide rest - Had clasped her to his stalwart breast-- - Ah! far less woe would she have known.) - -The book slipped from her hands upon her knees, the last two lines -re-echoing their mournful song to the very depths of her being, -recalling to her the wretchedness which for one moment she had forgot. -There lies the cruelty that poets exercise; they lull and appease you, -but then with one word they envenom again the wound which they were by -way of healing. - -She saw herself as she was in that same place twelve years before when -Numa paid his addresses to her with great big bouquets of roses; when, -clothed with her twenty years and the wish to be beautiful for his -sake, from that very window she watched him coming, just as one watches -one’s own destiny. In every corner of the house there remained echoes -of his warm and tender voice, so ready to lie. If one looked a moment -among the music scattered about the piano one would find the duos which -they sang together; everything which surrounded her seemed accomplices -of the disaster in her failure of a life. She thought of what that -life might have been by the side of an honest man and loyal comrade, -not brilliant and ambitious, but enjoying a simple and hidden existence -in which they would have courageously borne all bitternesses and all -sorrow to the very end of their days. - -“_Elle aurait eu bien moins de peine._” (Ah, far less woe would she -have known.) - -She had plunged so deep into her dream that when the whist party ended -and her parents’ old friends had left, almost without her remarking it, -answering mechanically the friendly and pitying farewells that each -one gave her, she failed to perceive that the President, instead of -conducting his friends to the front door as had been his habit every -evening, no matter what the time or season, was marching up and down -the drawing-room. At last he stopped before her and put a question to -her in a voice which caused her all of a sudden to tremble: - -“Well, my child, where are you in this matter? have you made up your -mind?” - -“Why, dear father, I am exactly where I was before.” - -He seated himself beside her, took her hand and attempted to do the -persuasive: - -“I have been to see your husband ... he consents to everything ... you -can live here with me the entire time that your mother and sister shall -be away, and even afterwards if your anger against him still continues. -But I tell you again, this suit for separation is impossible! I do -hope that you will not insist upon it.” - -Rosalie tossed her head. - -“My dear father, you do not understand that man. He will employ all -his cunning to surround me and get me back again, make me his dupe, a -voluntary dupe, who has accepted an undignified and degraded existence. -Your daughter is not a woman of that sort. I demand a complete and -irreparable rupture, openly announced to all the world.” - -From the card-table where she sat ranging the cards and markers Mme. Le -Quesnoy, without turning round, gently interposed: - -“Forgive, my child, forgive.” - -“O yes, that is easy to say when one has a husband as upright and loyal -as yours, when one never has known the suffocating effect of lies and -treason, drawing their plots about one. He is a hypocrite, I tell you. -He has his Chambéry morality and his morality of the Rue de Londres. -His words and his acts are never in accord--two ways of speech, two -faces--all the seductive and catlike nature of his race--in a word, the -man of the South!” - -And then, losing her head as her anger exploded, she said: - -“Besides, I had already forgiven him once. Yes, two years after my -marriage. I never told you about it, I have never spoken to a single -person. I was very unhappy; and then we only remained together because -of an oath he made me.--But he only lives on perjuries! And now it is -completely at an end, completely at an end!” - -The President did not insist further, but slowly rose and went over to -his wife. There was a whispering together and something like a debate, -surprising enough between that authoritative man and this humble, -annihilated creature: “You must tell her.... Yes, yes, I want you to -tell her....” Without adding another word M. Le Quesnoy left the room -and his sonorous regular step, his step of every evening, could be -heard mounting the solitary vaulted stairs, through all the solemn -spaces of the grand drawing-room. - -“Come here,” said her mother to the daughter with a tender gesture, -“nearer to me, still nearer.” - -She would never dare to tell her aloud; and even when they were so -close and heart was beating against heart, she still hesitated: - -“Listen, dear; it is he who demands it--he wants me to tell you that -your destiny is the destiny of all women, and that even your mother has -not escaped it.” - -Rosalie was overwhelmed with that secret confided to her which she had -divined in a flash at the first words of her mother, whilst her old -and very dear voice broken with tears could hardly articulate the very -sorrowful, very sorrowful story, similar in every way to her own--the -crime of her husband from the earliest years of their housekeeping, -just as if the motto of these wretched coupled beings must be “Deceive -me or else I deceive thee!”--the man hastening to begin the evil in -order to maintain his superior rank. - -“Enough, enough, Mamma. Oh, how you are hurting me!” - -This father whom she so admired, whom she placed far above any other -man, this sterlingly honest and firm magistrate! But what kind of -creatures were men, anyhow? At the North and down South, all were -alike, traitors and perjurers. She who had not wept a tear because of -the treason of her husband now felt herself invaded by a flood of hot -tears because of this humiliation of her father.... And so they were -counting upon this, were they? to make her yield! No, a hundred times -no; she would never forgive. Ha, ha! so that was marriage, was it? Very -well; dishonor and disdain upon marriage then! What cared she for fear -of scandal and the proprieties of the world, since it was a rivalry as -to who should treat them with the most contempt? - -Her mother, taking her in her arms and pressing her against her heart, -endeavored to soften the revolt of this young conscience wounded in all -its beliefs, in its dearest superstitions; she caressed her gently as -if she were rocking a child: - -“Yes, yes, you will forgive. You will do as I did--you see it is our -destiny. Ah, I also had a terrible bitterness in me during the first -moments and a great longing to throw myself out of the window. But -I thought of my child, my poor little Andrew who was just coming to -life, who since then grew up and died, loving and respecting all his -family. So you too will pardon in order that your child shall have the -same happy tranquillity which my own courage secured to you, so that he -shall not be one of those half-orphans whom parents share between them, -whom they bring up in hatred and disdain to one and the other. You -will also remember that your father and mother have already suffered -tremendously and that other bitter sorrows are menacing them now--” - -She stopped short, suffocated by feeling, and then in a solemn accent: - -“My daughter, all sorrows become softened and all wounds are capable of -being cured. There is only one sorrow which is irreparable and that is -the death of the person we love.” - -In the failure of her agitated forces that followed these last words -Rosalie felt the figure of her mother grow in grandeur by as much -as her father had lost greatness in her eyes. She even reproached -herself for having so long misunderstood the sublime and resigned -self-abnegation concealed beneath that apparent feebleness which was -the result of bitter blows. Thus it came about that for her mother’s -sake, for her mother’s sake alone, she renounced the lawsuit in revenge -of her outraged rights, and renounced it in gentle words, almost as -if asking pardon: “Only do not insist that I go back to him--I should -be too ashamed. I will accompany my sister to the South. Afterwards, -later, we shall see.” - -The President came back again, and when he saw the enthusiasm with -which the old mother was throwing her arms about the neck of her child -he understood that their cause was won. - -“Thank you, my daughter,” he murmured, very much touched. Then after -a little hesitation he approached Rosalie for the usual kiss of -good-night. But the brow which ordinarily was so tenderly offered moved -aside and his kiss lost itself in her hair. - -“Good-night, father.” - -He said nothing in return, but went away hanging his head with a -convulsive shudder in his high shoulders. He who during his life had -accused so many people, had condemned so many--he, the First Magistrate -of France, had found a judge in his turn. - - - - -CHAPTER XIX. - -HORTENSE LE QUESNOY. - - -Through one of those sudden shiftings of the scenery which are so -frequent in the comedy of Parliamentary government, the meeting of -January 8th, during which it was to be expected that the good luck of -Roumestan would go all to pieces, procured for him on the contrary -a striking success. When he marched up the steps of the platform in -order to answer the cruel sarcasms that Rougeot had been getting off -concerning the management of the opera, the mess that the department of -the fine arts had got into, the emptiness of those reforms which had -been trumpeted abroad by the supporters of the clerical Ministry, Numa -had just learned that his wife had left Paris, having renounced her -lawsuit. - -This happy news, which was known to him alone, filled his answer with a -confidence that radiated from his whole being. He took a haughty air, -then a confidential, then a solemn one; he alluded to calumnies which -are whispered in people’s ears and to some scandal that was expected: - -“Gentlemen, there will be no scandal!” - -The tone with which he said this threw a lively disappointment over -the galleries crammed with all the sensation-loving, pretty women, -mad for strong emotions, who had come there in charming costumes to -see the conqueror devoured. The interpellation by Rougeot was torn to -bits, the South seduced once more the North, Gaul for yet another time -was conquered!--and when Roumestan ran down the steps again, worn out, -perspiring and almost without voice, he had the proud satisfaction -of seeing his party--but a moment ago so cold and even hostile--and -his colleagues in the Cabinet, who had been accusing him of having -compromised them, surround him with acclamations and enthusiastic -flatteries. And in the intoxication of his success the relinquishment -of her vengeance on the part of his wife kept returning to him always -in the light of a supreme salvation. - -He felt himself relieved and gay and expansive, so much so that on -returning to the city the thought passed through his mind to run around -to the Rue de Londres. O, of course, entirely as a friend! in order to -reassure that poor little girl who had been as anxious as he over the -results of the interpellation, who bore their common exile with so much -bravery, sending him in her unformed writing, dryed with face-powder, -delightful little letters in which she related her existence day by day -and exhorted him to patience and prudence. - -“No, no; do not come here, poor darling--write to me and think of me--I -shall be brave.” - -It happened that the Opera was not open that evening, and during the -short passage from the station to the little house in the Rue de -Londres Numa was thinking, while he clutched in his hand that little -key which had been a temptation to him more than once for the last -fortnight: - -“How happy she is going to be!” - -Having opened the door and shut it noiselessly, he suddenly found -himself in deep obscurity, for the gas had not been lit. This neglect -gave to the little house an appearance of mourning and widowhood which -flattered him. The thick carpet on the stair softening his tread as he -ran up, he reached without being in any way announced the drawing-room -hung with Japanese stuffs of the most deliciously false shades just -suited to the artificial gold in the tresses of the little girl. - -“Who is there?” asked a pretty voice but an angry one from the divan. - -“It is I, by Jove!--” - -He heard a cry and a sudden springing up, and in the uncertain light of -the evening by the white light of her skirts, the little singing girl -stood up straight in the greatest fright, whilst handsome Lappara in a -crushed but motionless position stood there looking hard at the flowers -in the carpet to avoid the eyes of his master. There was no denying the -situation. - -“Gutter-snipes!” roared Roumestan hoarsely, seized by one of those -suffocating rages during which the beast growls inside the man with a -desire to tear in pieces and to bite far more than to strike. - -Without knowing how it was he found himself outside the house, hurried -away by fear of his own frightful wrath. In that very place and at -that very hour some days before, his wife, just like himself, had -received the blow of treachery, the vulgar and the outrageous wound, -but a far more cruel and utterly unmerited one. But he never thought of -that for a moment, filled as he was with indignation at the personal -injury. No, never had such a villainy been seen beneath the sun! This -Lappara whom he loved like a child! This scoundrel of a girl for whose -sake he had gone the length of compromising his entire political -fortune! - -“Gutter-snipes!--gutter-snipes!” he repeated aloud in the empty street -as he hurried through a fine, penetrating rain, which in fact calmed -him far better than the finest logic. - -“_Té!_ why, I am all wet--” - -He hurried to the cab-stand on the Rue d’Amsterdam, and in the crowd -which collects in that place owing to the constant arrival of trains at -the station he came up against the hard and tightly buttoned uniform of -General the Marquis d’Espaillon. - -“Bravo, my dear colleague! I was not in the Chamber; but they tell me -that you charged the enemy like a ---- and routed him, horse and foot.” - -As he stood as straight as a lath under his umbrella, the old fellow -had a devilish lively eye and moustaches gallantly twisted to the -correct angle for the evening of a lucky love adventure. - -“G-- d-- m-- s--!” he went on, leaning over toward Numa’s ear with -a tone of confidence in gallantry, “you at least can boast of -understanding women, by Jove!” - -And as the other looked at him sharply, supposing that he was speaking -sarcastically: - -“Why yes, don’t you remember our discussion about love? You were -perfectly right. It is not only the fops and dudes that please the -women--I’ve got one now on the string. Never swallowed a better than -this one--G-- d-- m-- s--, not even when I was twenty-five and had just -left the Academy.” - -Roumestan listened to him with his hand on the door of his cab and -thought that he was smiling at the old lovesick fool, but what he -produced was nothing more than a horrible grimace. His theories about -women were just then so extraordinarily upset.--Glory? genius? O, come -now! Those are not the things that make them care for you. He felt -himself outwitted and disgusted, and had a desire to weep and then -a longing to sleep in order not to think any more, especially not -to recall further the frightened laugh of that little rascally girl -standing straight before him with her waist in disorder and all her -neck red and trembling from the interrupted kisses. - -But in the agitated course of our life, hours and events link -themselves together and follow each other like waves. In place of the -nice rest which he hoped to obtain on returning home a new blow was -awaiting him at the Ministry, a telegraphic despatch which Méjean had -opened in his absence and now handed him, deeply moved: - - Hortense dying. She wishes to see you. Come quickly. - - WIDOW PORTAL. - - -The whole of his frightful egotism broke from him with the dismayed -exclamation: - -“Oh, what devoted fidelity am I losing in her!” - -Then he thought of his wife who was present at that death-bed and had -allowed Aunt Portal to send the despatch. Her wrath had not yielded and -probably never would give way. Nevertheless, if she had been willing, -how thoroughly would he not have recommenced life at her side, giving -up all his imprudent follies and becoming a straightforward and almost -austere family man! And then, never giving a thought to the harm that -he had done, he reproached Rosalie for her hardness of heart, as if she -were treating him unjustly. - -He passed the night correcting the proofs of his speech and -interrupting work every now and then to write bits of letters to that -little scoundrel of an Alice Bachellery, letters either raging or -sarcastic, scolding or abusive. Méjean was also up all night in the -Secretary’s office; overwhelmed with bitter sorrow, he tried to find -forgetfulness in unremitting toil, and Numa, who was pleased with his -company, experienced a veritable pain because he could not pour out to -him in confidence the deception he had met with. But then he would have -been forced to acknowledge that he had gone back to her and stand the -ridicule of the situation. - -Nevertheless, he was not able to hold out, and in the morning whilst -his chief of cabinet was accompanying him to the station he committed -to him amongst other orders the charge of giving Lappara his -walking-papers. “O, he is expecting it, you may be sure! I caught him -in the very act of committing the blackest piece of ingratitude.--And -when I think how kind I have been to him, to the point of intending to -make him--” he stopped short; would it be believed that he was on the -point of telling the man in love with Hortense that he had promised the -girl’s hand to another person? Without going further into details, he -declared that he did not wish to find on his return such a wretchedly -immoral person at the Ministry. But on general principles he was -heart-broken at the duplicity of the world--all was ingratitude and -egotism. It was so bad, he would like to toss them into the street, all -his honors and business matters, in order to quit Paris and become the -keeper of a lighthouse on a horrible crag in the midst of the ocean. - -“You have slept badly, my dear Master,” said Méjean with his tranquil -air. - -“No, no, it is exactly as I tell you--Paris makes me sick at my -stomach....” - -Standing on the platform near the cars, he turned about with a gesture -of supreme disgust aimed at that great city into which the provinces -pour all their ambitions and concupiscences, all their boiling and -sordid overflow--and then accuse it of degeneracy and moral taint. He -interrupted his tirade and then, with a bitter laugh, pointing to a -wall: - -“How he does dog me everywhere, that fellow over there!” - -On a vast gray wall pierced with hideous little windows at the angle of -the Rue de Lyon, there was the picture of a wretched troubadour. Washed -out by all the moisture of the winter and the filth from a barrack of -poor people, the advertisement showed on the second story a frightful -mess of blue, yellow and green through which one could still see the -pretentious and victorious gesture of the tabor-player. In Parisian -advertisements placards succeed each other quickly, one concealing the -other; but when they are of enormous dimensions, some bit or end will -stick out; wherefore it happened that in every corner of Paris during -the last fortnight the Minister had found before his eyes either a -leg or an arm, or a bit of the Provençal cap, or an end of the laced -peasant’s boots of Valmajour. These remnants threatened him even as in -that Provençal legend the victim of a murder with his various limbs -hacked and separated cries out against his murderer from all the -separate bits of his body. But in this case he was there entire, and -the horrible coloring seen through the chill morning air, forced as it -was to receive unflinchingly all kinds of filth before it dropped away -and disappeared under a final rush of wind, represented very well the -destiny of the unfortunate troubadour, driven forever from pillar to -post through the slums of that Paris which he could no longer quit, and -conducting the _farandole_ for a mob recruited from the unclassed and -exiled ones and the fools, those persons thirsting for notoriety whose -end is the hospital, the dissection table and the potter’s field. - -Roumestan got into his coach frozen to the very bone by that morning -apparition and by the cold of his sleepless night, shivering at sight -through the car windows of those mournful vistas in the suburbs, those -iron bridges across streets that shone with rain, those tall houses, -barracks of wretchedness whose numberless windows were stuffed with -rags, and then those early morning figures, hollow cheeked, sorrowful -and sordid, those rounded backs and arms clutching breasts in order -to conceal something or warm themselves, those taverns with signs in -endless variety and the thick forest of factory chimneys vomiting -smoke that falls at once to earth. After that came the first gardens -of the outer suburb, black of soil, the coarse mortar in the low farm -buildings, villas closely shuttered in the midst of their little -gardens reduced by the winter to copses as dry as the bare wood of the -kiosks and arbors, and then, farther on, the country roads broken up by -puddles, where one saw files of overflowing tanks--a horizon the color -of rust, and flights of crows over the deserted fields. - -He closed his eyes to keep out this sorrowful Northern winter through -which the whistle of the locomotive passed with long wails of distress, -but his own thoughts under his lowered eyelids were in no respect -happier. So near again to that fool of a girl--for the bond that held -him to her still contracted his heart though it had broken!--he -pondered over all the different things he had done for her and what the -support of an operatic star had cost him for the last six months. In -that life of the boards everything is false, but especially success, -which is only worth as much as one buys. The demands of the claque, -cost of tickets at the office, of dinners, receptions, presents to -reporters, publicity in all its varying forms, all these have their -price; then the magnificent bouquets at sight of which the singer -grows red and shows emotion, gathering them up against her arms and -nude neck and the shining satin of her gown; and then the ovations -prepared beforehand for the provincial tour, enthusiastic processions -to the hotel, serenades to the diva’s balcony and all the other things -calculated to dispel the gloomy indifference of the public--ah, all -these must not only be paid for but paid high! - -For six months he had gone along with open pocketbook, never begrudging -the triumphs arranged for the little girl. He was present at -negotiations with the chief of the claque and the advertising agents -of the newspapers, as well as the flower-woman whose bouquets the diva -and her mother worked off on him three times without his knowledge -merely by decking them out with fresh ribbons; for these Bordeaux -Jewesses were possessed of a vulgar rapacity and a love of trickery -and expedients which caused them at times to remain at home for entire -days, clad in rags, old jackets over flowing skirts, with their feet -in ancient ball slippers. In fact it was thus that Numa found them -oftenest, passing their time playing cards and reviling each other as -if they were in a van of acrobats at a fair. For a good many months -past they had no longer put on any restraint in his presence. He knew -all the tricks and grimaces of the diva and the coarseness natural to -an affected and unneat woman of the South: also that she was ten years -older than her age on the boards and that in order to fix upon her face -that eternal smile in a Cupid’s bow she went to sleep each night with -her lips pulled up at the corners and streaked with coral lip-paint. - -At this point at last he himself fell asleep--but I can assure you that -his mouth was not like a Cupid’s bow; on the contrary his every feature -was haggard from disgust and fatigue, while his entire body was shaken -by the bumps and swayings to and fro and by the shocks of the express -train whirled under full steam over the metals. - -“_Valeïnce!--Valeïnce!_” - -He opened his eyes like a child called by his mother. The South had -already begun to appear; between the clouds, which the wind was driving -apart, deep blue abysses were dug, and there was the sky! A ray of -sunlight warmed the car window and among the roadside pines one saw the -grayness of a few thin olive-trees. This produced a feeling of rest -throughout the sensitive nature of the Southerner and a complete polar -change of ideas. He was sorry that he had been so harsh to Lappara. -Think of having destroyed the future of that poor boy and plunged a -whole family in grief--and for what? A “_foutaise, allons!_” as Bompard -said. There was only one way of repairing it and correcting its look of -dismissal from the Ministry, and that was the Cross of the Legion of -Honor. And the Minister began to laugh at the idea of Lappara’s name -appearing in the _Officiel_ with this addition, “Exceptional services.” -But after all it was an exceptional service to have delivered his chief -from that degrading connection. - -Orange!... Montelimar and its nougat!... Voices were already full of -vibration and words reinforced by lively gestures. Waiters from the -restaurant, paper sellers and station guards rushed upon the train with -their eyes sticking out of their heads. Certainly this was quite a -different people from that which one met thirty leagues farther North, -and the Rhône, the broad Rhône, with its waves like a sea, glistened -under the sunshine that turned to gold the crenelated ramparts of -Avignon, whose bells--which have never stopped ringing since the days -of Rabelais--saluted the big political man of Provence with their -clear-cut chimes. Numa took possession of a seat at the buffet in -front of a little white roll, a pasty and a bottle of the well known -wine from the Nerte that had ripened between the rocks and was capable -of inoculating even a Parisian with the accent of dwellers among the -scrub-oak barrens. - -But his natal atmosphere rejoiced his heart the most--when he was -able to leave the main line at Tarascon and take a seat in a coach -on the small patriarchal railway with a single track which pushes its -way into the heart of Provence between the branches of mulberries and -olive-trees, while tufts of wild rose scrape against the side doors. -People were singing in the coaches; at every moment the train stopped -in order to allow a flock of sheep to pass or to pick up a belated -traveller or to ship some parcel which a boy from a _mas_ brought -up at a full run. And then what salutations and nice little bits of -gossip between the train hands and the peasant women in their Arles -head-dresses standing at their doors or washing clothes on the stone -near the well! At the station what cries and hustlings--an entire -village turning out to conduct to the cars some conscript or some girl -who was off to the town for service. - -“_Té! vé!_ not good-bye, dear lass, ... but be very good, _au moins!_” - -Then they weep and embrace each other without taking any notice of the -hermit in his cowl asking alms as he leans against the station fence -and mumbles his pater-noster; then, enraged at receiving nothing, turns -to go as he throws his sack upon his back. - -“Well, there’s another _pater_ gone to pot!” - -That phrase catches and is understood, all tears are dried and the -whole company roars with laughter, the begging monk harder than the -rest. - -Hidden away in his coach in order to escape ovations, Roumestan -enjoyed immensely all this jollity, pleased with the sight of these -countenances all brown and hooked-nosed and alive with emotion and -sarcasm, these big fellows with their smart air, these _chatos_ as -amber-colored as the long berries of the muscat grape, who as they grow -older will turn into these crones, black and dried by the sun, who seem -to scatter a dust as from the tomb every time they make one of their -habitual gestures. So _zou_ then! and _allons!_ and all the _en avants_ -in the world! Here he found once more his own people, his changeable -and nervous Provence, that race of brown crickets always at the door -and always singing! - -But he himself was certainly a type of them, already recovered from his -terrible despair of that morning, from his disgust and his love--all -swept away at the first puff of the mistral which was growling in -a lively fashion through the valley of the Rhône. It met the train -midway, retarding its advance and driving everything before it, the -trees bent over in an attitude of flight as well as the far-away -Alpilles, the sun shaken by the sudden eclipses, whilst in the distance -under a rapid gleam of sunshine the town of Aps grouped its monuments -about the ancient tower of the Antonines, just as a herd of cattle -huddles on the wide plain of the Camargue about the oldest bull in -order to break the force of the wind. - -So it was that Numa made his entrance into the station to the sound of -that magnificent trumpeting of the mistral. - -The family had kept his arrival secret through a feeling of delicacy -like his own, in order to avoid the Orpheons and banners and solemn -deputations. Aunt Portal alone awaited him, majestically installed in -the arm-chair belonging to the keeper of the station, with a warmer -under her feet. As soon as she perceived her nephew the big rosy face -of the stout lady, which had expanded in her reposeful position, took -on a despairing expression and swelled up under the white lace cap, and -stretching out her arms she burst into sobs and lamentations: - -“_Aie de nous_, what a misfortune!... Such a pretty little thing, -_péchère!_... and so good!... and so gentle!... you would take your -bread from your mouth for her sake....” - -“Great Heavens, is it all over?” thought Roumestan as he reverted -quickly to the real purpose of his journey. - -His aunt suddenly interrupted her vociferations and said coldly and in -a hard tone to the servant who had forgotten the foot-warmer: - -“Ménicle, the _banquette!_” then she took up again on the pitch of a -frenzy of grief the story of the virtues of Mlle. Le Quesnoy, calling -with loud cries upon heaven and its angels to know why they had not -taken her in place of that child and shaking Numa’s arm with her -explosions of sorrow; for she was leaning on him in order to reach her -old coach at the slow gait of a funeral procession. - -The horses advanced slowly under the leafless trees of the Avenue -Berchère in a whirlwind of branches and dry bits of bark which -the mistral was scattering as a poor sort of welcome before the -illustrious traveller. At the end of the road where the porters had -formed the habit of taking the horses out Ménicle was obliged to crack -his whip many times, so surprised at this indifference for the great -man did the horses seem to be. As for Roumestan, he was only thinking -of the horrible news which he had just learned, and holding the two -doll hands of his aunt, who kept constantly drying her eyes, he gently -asked: “When did it happen?” - -“What happen?” - -“When did she die, the poor little dear?” - -Aunt Portal bounced up on her thick cushions: - -“Die?--_Bou Diou!_--who ever told you that she was dead?” - -Then she added at once with a deep sigh: - -“Only, _péchère_, she will not be here for long.” - -Ah, no, not for very long, for now she no longer got up, never leaving -the lace-covered pillows, on which from day to day her little thin head -became less and less recognizable, painted as it was on the cheek-bones -with a burning red cosmetic, whilst the eyes and nostrils were -outlined in blue. With her ivory-white hands lying on the linen of the -bed-clothes and a little hand-glass and comb near her to arrange from -time to time her beautiful brown hair, she lay for hours without a word -because of the wretched roughness that had invaded her voice, her look -lost off there on the tips of the trees and in the brilliant sky over -the old garden of the Portal mansion. - -That evening her dreamy immobility lasted so long while the flames of -the setting sun reddened all the chamber that her sister grew anxious: - -“Are you asleep?” - -Hortense shook her head as if she wished to drive something away: - -“No, I was not asleep, and yet I was dreaming--I was dreaming that I -am going to die. I was just on the borders of this world and leaning -over into the other. Yes, leaning over enough to fall. I could see you -still and some parts of my room, but all the same I was quite over on -the other side, and what struck me most was the silence of this life -in comparison with the tremendous sound that the dead were making. -A sound of a beehive, of flapping wings and the low rustling of an -ant-heap--the murmur which the sea leaves in the heart of its shells. -It was just as if the realms of death were far more thickly peopled and -encumbered than life. And all this noise was so intense that it seemed -to me my ears heard for the first time and that I had discovered in me -a new sense.” - -She talked slowly in her rough and hissing voice. After a silence she -employed whatever there was left in the way of strength in that broken -and wretched instrument: - -“O! my head is always on the journey.--First prize for -imagination--Hortense Le Quesnoy of Paris.” A sob was heard which was -drowned in the noise of a shutting door. - -“You see,” said Rosalie, “Mamma had to leave the room. You hurt her -feelings so.” - -“On purpose--every day a little--so that she shall have less to suffer -at the last,” answered the young girl in a whisper. The mistral was -galloping through the big corridors of the old Provençal mansion, -groaning under the doorways and shaking them with furious blows. -Hortense smiled. - -“Do you hear that? O, I love that, it makes me feel as if I were far -away--off in the country. Poor darling,” added she, taking her sister’s -hand and carrying it with a weary gesture as far as her mouth, “what a -mean trick I have played you without intending to--here is your little -one coming who’ll be a Southerner all through my fault--and you will -never forgive me for it, _Franciote!_” Through the clamor of the wind -the whistle of a locomotive reached her and made her shiver. - -“Ah, ha, the seven o’clock train!” - -Like all sick people and prisoners, she knew what the slightest sounds -about her meant and mingled them with her motionless existence, just -as she did the horizon before her, the grove of pines and the old -weather-beaten Roman tower on the slope. From that moment on she became -anxious and agitated, watching the door at which at last a servant -appeared. - -“That’s right,” said Hortense, in a lively way, and smiling at her big -sister: “Just a minute, will you?--I will call you again.” - -Rosalie thought it was a visit from the priest bringing his parochial -Latin and his terrifying consolations, so she went down into the -garden, which was a truly Southern enclosure without any flowers, but -with alleys of box sheltered by high cypresses that withstood the wind. -Ever since she had been sick-nurse she had gone thither to get a breath -of air and to conceal her tears and to slacken a little all the nervous -contractions of her sorrow. Oh, how well she understood that speech -made by her mother: - -“There is no sorrow which is irreparable but one, and that is the loss -of the person we love.” - -Her other sorrow, her happiness as a woman all destroyed, was quite -in the background; she thought of nothing except that horrible and -inevitable thing which was approaching day by day. Was it the evening -hour, that red and deepening sun which left all the garden in shadow -and yet lingered on the panes of the house, or that mournful wind -blowing high up which she could hear without feeling it? At that -moment she felt a melancholy, an anguish which could not be expressed -in words. Hortense! her Hortense! more than a sister for her, almost -a daughter ... she had in Hortense the first happiness of a premature -mother’s love. - -Sobs oppressed her, sobs without tears; she would have liked to cry -aloud and call for help, but on whom? The sky, toward which the -despairing raise their eyes, was so high, so far, so cold; it was as if -polished off by the hurricane. Through that sky a flight of migrating -birds was hurrying, but neither their cries nor their wings which made -as much noise as flapping sails could be heard below. How then could a -single voice from earth reach and attain those silent and indifferent -abysses? - -Nevertheless she made a trial and with her face turned toward the light -which moved ever upward and was passing from the roof of the old house, -she made her prayer to Him who has thought fit to conceal Himself and -protect Himself from our sorrows and lamentations--Him whom some adore -confidentially with their brows against the earth, but others forlornly -search for with their arms wide apart, while others finally threaten -Him with their fists and revolt against Him, denying Him in order to be -able to forgive His cruelties. - -And denial of this sort, blasphemy of this kind--that also is prayer. - -She was called to the house and ran in trembling with fear because she -had reached that nervous terror when the slightest noise re-echoes from -the very depth of one’s being. The sick girl drew her near to her bed -with her smile, for she had neither strength nor voice, as if she had -just been talking a long time. - -“I have a favor to ask of you, my darling--you know what I mean, that -final favor which people grant to one who is condemned to die--forgive -your husband! He has been very wicked and unworthy of you, but be -indulgent and return to his side. Do this for me, dear sister, and for -our parents, whom your separation grieves to death and who will soon -need greatly that all should close round about them and surround them -with tender care. Numa is so lively, there is no one like him for -putting a little spirit into them.... It is all over, is it not? You -forgive?” - -Rosalie answered, “Yes, I give you my promise.” - -Of what value was this sacrifice of her pride beside this irreparable -disaster? Standing straight beside the bed she closed her eyes a -moment, keeping back her tears--a hand which trembled rested upon hers. -There he was in front of her, trembling, wretched and overwhelmed by an -effusion of heart which he dared not show. - -“Kiss each other,” said Hortense. - -Rosalie bent her brow forward and Numa kissed it timidly. “No, no, not -that way--both arms, the way one does when one really loves.” - -Numa seized his wife and clasped her with one long sob, whilst the -twilight fell in the great chamber as an act of pity for the girl who -had thrown them one upon the other’s heart. - -This was her last manifestation of life. From that moment she remained -absorbed, indifferent and unaware of what passed about her, never -answering those disconsolate appeals of farewell to which there is -no answer, but still keeping upon her young face that expression of -haughty underlying anger which those show who die too early for the -ardor of the life that is in them--those to whom the disillusions of -existence have not had time to speak their last word. - - - - -CHAPTER XX. - -THE BAPTISM. - - -The important day at Aps is Monday because it is market day. - -Long before daylight the roads that lead to the city, the great -solitary turnpikes from Arles and Avignon, where the white dust lies -as quiet as a fall of snow, are enlivened by the slow grinding noise -of the carts and the squawking of chickens in their osier crates and -the barking of dogs running alongside; or by that rustling sound of a -shower which the passage of a flock of sheep produces, accompanied by -the long blouse of the shepherd which one perceives as he is carried -along by the bounding wave of his beasts. Then there are cries of the -cow-boys panting in the rear of their cattle and the dull sound of -sticks falling upon humpy backs and outlines of horsemen armed with -cowpunches in trident form. Slowly and gropingly all these phantoms -are swallowed up by the dark gateways whose crenelations are seen in -festoons against the starry sky; thence it spreads wide again into the -_corso_ which surrounds the sleepy city. - -At that hour the town takes on itself again its character of an -old Roman and Saracen city, with its irregular roofs and pointed -moucharabies above the broken and dangerous stairways. This confused -murmur of men and sleepy beasts penetrates with but little noise -between the silvery trunks of the big plane-trees, overflows upon -the avenue and even into the courtyards of the houses and stirs up -warm odors of litters and fragrances of herbs and ripe fruit. When it -wakes, therefore, the town discovers that it has been captured in every -quarter by an enormous, lively and noisy market, just as if the entire -agricultural part of Provence, men and beasts, fruits and seeds, had -roused up and come together in one great nocturnal inundation. - -In truth it is a magnificent sight, a pouring forth of rustic wealth -that changes with the seasons. In certain places set apart by -immemorial usage the oranges and pomegranates, golden colored quinces, -sorbs, green and yellow melons, are piled up near the booths in -rows and in heaps by the thousand; peaches, figs and grapes destroy -themselves by their own weight in their baskets of transportation side -by side with vegetables in sacks. Sheep and silky pigs and little -_cabris_ (kids) show airs of weariness within the palisades of their -small reservations. Oxen fastened to the yoke stride along before the -buyer, while bulls with smoking nostrils drag at the iron ring which -holds them to the wall. And farther on, quantities of horses, the -little horses from the Camargue--dwarf Arabs--prance about mingling -their brown, white or russet manes; upon being called by name, “_Té!_ -Lucifer--_Té!_ l’Esterel--” they run up to eat oats from the hands of -their keepers, veritable Gauchos of the pampas with boots above the -knee. Then come the poultry two by two, red and fastened by the legs, -guinea fowl and chickens lying, not without much banging of the earth -with their wings, at the feet of their mistresses who are drawn up in -a line. Then there is the fish market, with eels alive on fennel and -trout from the Sorgue and the Durance, mixing their shining scales in -rainbow agonies with all the rest of the color. And last of all, at -the very end, in a sort of dry winter forest are the wooden spades and -hay-forks and rakes, new and very white, which rise between the plows -and harrows. - -On the other side of the _corso_ against the rampart the unhitched -wagons stand in line, with their canopies and linen covers and high -curtains and dusty wheels, and all through the space left vacant the -noisy crowd circulates with difficulty, with calls and discussions and -chattering in all kinds of dialects and accents--the Provençal accent, -which is refined and full of airs and graces and requires certain -movements of the head and shoulder and a bold sort of mimicry, while -that of Languedoc is harder and heavier and almost Spanish in its -articulation. From time to time this mass of felt hats and head-dresses -from Arles or the Comté, this difficult circulation of a mob of buyers -and sellers, splits in two at the cries from some lagging cart which -comes slowly forward with great difficulty at a snail’s pace. - -The burgesses of the city hardly appear, so full of scorn are they at -this invasion from the country, which nevertheless is the occasion of -its originality and the source of its wealth. From morning to night -the peasants are walking through the streets, stopping at the booths, -at the harness-makers, shoemakers and watchmakers, staring at the -metal figures of the clock on the City Hall and into the shop windows, -dazzled by the gilding and mirrors of the restaurants, just as the -rustics in Theocritus stood and stared at the Palace of the Ptolemies. -Some issue from the drug shops laden with parcels and big bottles; -others, and they form a wedding procession, enter the jeweller’s to -choose, after long and cunning bargains, ear-rings with long pendent -pieces and the necklace for the coming bride. And these coarse gowns, -these brown and wild-looking faces and their eager, businesslike manner -make one think of some town in La Vendée taken by the Chouans at the -time of the great wars. - -That morning, the third Monday of February, animation was very lively; -the crowd was as thick as on the finest summer days, which indeed it -suggested through its cloudless sky warmed by a golden sun. People -were talking and gesticulating in groups, but what agitated them was -less the buying and selling than a certain event which caused all -traffic to cease and turned all looks and heads and even the broad -eyes of the oxen and the twitching ears of the little Camargue horses -toward the Church of Sainte Perpétue. The fact was that a rumor had -just spread through the market, where it occasioned an emotion that -ran to extraordinary height, to the effect that to-day the son of Numa -would be baptized--that same little Roumestan whose birth three weeks -before had been received with transports of joy in Aps and the entire -Provençal South. Unfortunately this baptism, which had been delayed -because of the deep mourning the family was in, had to preserve the -appearance of incognito for the very same reason, and it is probable -that the ceremony would have passed unperceived had it not been for -certain old sorceresses belonging to the country about Les Baux who -every Monday install upon the front steps of Sainte Perpétue a little -market of aromatic herbs and dried and perfumed simples culled among -the Alpilles. Seeing the coach of Aunt Portal stopping in front of -the church, the old herb-sellers gave the alarm to the women who sell -_aïets_ (garlic), who move about pretty much everywhere from one end -of the _corso_ to the other with their arms crammed with the shining -wreaths of their wares. The garlic women notified the fish dames and -very soon the little street which leads to the church poured forth upon -the little square all the gossip and excitement of the market-place. -They pressed about Ménicle, who sat erect on the box in deep mourning -with crape on his arm and hat and merely answered all questions with a -silent and indifferent play of his shoulders. Spite of everything, they -insisted upon waiting, and in the mercer’s street beneath the bands -of calico the crowd piled itself up to suffocation while the bolder -spirits mounted the well-curb--all eyes fixed on the grand portal of -the church, which at last opened. - -There was a murmur of “ah!” as when fireworks are let off, a triumphant -and modulated sound which was cut short by the sight of a tall old -man dressed in black, very much overwhelmed and very melancholy, who -gave his arm to Madame Portal, who as far as she was concerned was -very proud to have served as godmother along with the First President, -proud of their two names side by side on the parish register; but she -was saddened by the recent mourning and the sorrowful impressions -which she had just renewed once more in the church. The crowd had a -feeling of severe deception at sight of this austere couple, who were -followed by the great man of Aps, also entirely in black and with -gloves on--Numa, penetrated by the solitude and cold of this baptism -performed in the midst of four candles without any other music than -the wailing of the little child, upon whom the Latin of the function -and the baptismal water dropping on a tender little head like that of -an unfledged bird had caused the most disagreeable impression. But the -appearance of a richly fed nurse, large, heavy and decked with ribbons -like a prize at an agricultural meet, and the sparkling little parcel -of laces and white embroidery which she carried like a sash, dissipated -the melancholy of the spectators and roused a new cry that sounded -like a mounting rocket, a joy scattered into a thousand enthusiastic -exclamations: - -“_Lou vaqui!_--there he is! _Vé! vé!_” - -Surprised and dazzled, winking in the bright sunlight, Numa stopped -a moment on the high porch in order to look at these Moorish faces, -this closely packed herding together of a black flock from which a -crazy tenderness mounted up to where he stood. And although tired of -ovations, at that moment he had one of the most lively emotions in his -existence as a public man, a proud intoxication which an entirely new -and already very lively sentiment of paternity ennobled. He was about -to speak and then remembered that this platform in front of the church -was not the place for it. - -“Get in, nurse,” said he to the tranquil wet-nurse from Bourgogne, -whose eyes, like those of a milch cow, were staring wide open in -amazement. And while she was bestowing herself with her light burden in -the coach he advised Ménicle to return quickly by the cross streets. -But a tremendous clamor answered him: - -“No, no, the grand round--the grand round!” - -They meant that he should pass the entire length of the market place. - -“Well then, the grand round be it!” said Roumestan after having -consulted his father-in-law with a look; for he wished to spare him -this joyful procession; and so the coach, starting with many crackings -of its ancient and heavy carcass, entered the little street and -debouched upon the _corso_ in the midst of _vivas_ from the crowd, -which grew excited over its own cries and culminated in a whirl -of enthusiasm so as to block the way of horses and wheels at every -moment. With the windows open they marched slowly on through these -acclamations, raised hats, fluttering handkerchiefs and all the odors -and hot breaths which the market exhaled as they passed. The women -stuck their ardent bronzed heads forward right into the carriage and at -seeing no more than the cap of the little baby would exclaim: - -“_Diou! lou bèu drôle!_” (My God! what a lovely child!) - -“He looks just like his father--_qué?_” - -“Already has his Bourbon nose and his fine manners!” - -“Show it to us, my darling, show us your beautiful man’s face.” - -“He is as lovely as an egg!” - -“You could drink him in a glass of water!” - -“_Té!_ my treasure!” - -“My little quail!” - -“My lambkin--my guinea-hen!” - -“My lovely pearl!” - -And these women wrapped and licked him with the brown flame from their -eyes. But he, a child but one month old, was not scared in the least. -Waked up by all this noise and leaning back on the cushion with its -bows of pink ribbon, he regarded everything with his little cat eyes, -the pupils dilated and fixed, with two drops of milk at the corners -of his lips. And there he lay, calm and evidently pleased at these -apparitions of heads at the windows and these growing noises with -which soon mingled the baaing, mooing and braying of the cattle, -seized as they were by a formidable nervous imitation, all their -necks stretched out and mouths open and jaws yawning to the glory of -Roumestan and his offspring! Even then, at a time when everybody else -in the carriage was holding their stunned ears with both hands, the -little man remained perfectly impassible, so that his coolness even -broke up the solemn features of the old President, who said: - -“Well, if that fellow was not born for the forum!” - -On leaving the market they hoped to be rid of all this, but the -crowd followed them, being joined as they went by the weavers on the -Chemin-neuf, the yarn-makers in womanly bands and the porters from the -Avenue Berchère. The shopmen ran to the threshold of their stores, the -balcony of the Club of the Whites was flooded with people and presently -with their banners the Orphéons debouched from all the streets singing -their choral songs and giving musical bursts, just as if Numa had -arrived; but along with it all there went something gayer and more -unhackneyed, something beyond the habitual merry-making. - -In the finest room belonging to the Portal Mansion, whose white -wainscots and rich silks belonged to the last century, Rosalie was -stretched upon an invalid’s chair, turning her eyes now upon the empty -cradle and then upon the deserted and sunny street; she grew impatient -as she waited for the return of her child. On her fine features, -pale and creased with fatigue and tears, one might see nevertheless -something like a happy restfulness; yet one could read there the whole -history of her existence throughout the last two months, her anxieties -and tortures, her rupture with Numa, the death of her dear Hortense -and at last the birth of the child, which swept everything else into -insignificance. - -When this great happiness really came to her she did not believe it -possible; broken by so many blows, she did not believe herself capable -of giving life to anything. During the last days she even imagined that -she no longer felt the impatient movements of the little captive, and -although cradle and layette were all ready she hid them, moved by a -superstitious fear, and merely notified the Englishwoman who took care -of her: - -“If child’s clothes are asked for, you will know where to find them.” - -It is nothing to abandon oneself to a bed of torture with closed eyes -and clenched teeth for many, many long hours, interrupted every five -minutes by a terrible cry that tears and compels one; it is nothing to -undergo one’s destiny as a victim all of whose happy moments must be -dearly bought--if there is hope at the end of it all. But what horrible -martyrdom in the final pain when, struck by a supreme disillusionment, -the almost animal lamentations of the woman are mingled with the deeper -sobs of deceived maternity! Half dead and bleeding, she kept repeating -from the bottom of her annihilation: “He is dead--he is dead!”--when -she heard that trial of a voice, that respiration and cry in one, -that appeal for light which the newborn infant makes. Ah, with what -overflowing tenderness did she not respond! - -“My little one!” - -He lived and they brought him to her. So this was hers after all, this -little creature short of breath, dazzled and startled--almost blind! -This small affair in the flesh connected her again with life, and -merely by pressing it against her all the feverishness of her body was -drowned by a sensation of comfortable coolness. No more mourning, no -more wretchedness! Here was her son, that desire and regret which she -had endured for ten years and had burnt her eyes with tears whenever -she saw the children of other people, that very same baby which she -had kissed so often beforehand upon so many other lovely little rosy -cheeks! There he was, and he caused her a new ravishment and surprise -every time that she leaned from her bed over his cradle and swept -aside the covers that hid a slumber that could hardly be heard and the -shivery and contracted positions of a newly born child. She wanted to -have him always near her. When he went out she was anxious and counted -every minute. But never had she experienced quite so much anguish as -upon this morning of the baptism. - -“What time is it?” asked she every minute. “How long they are! Heavens, -what a time they take!” - -Mme. Le Quesnoy, who had remained behind with her daughter, reassured -her, although she was herself a little anxious; for this grandson, the -first and only one, was very close to the heart of his grandparents -and lighted up their mourning with a hope. A distant clamor which grew -deeper as it approached increased the trouble of the two women. Running -to the window they listened--choral songs, gunshots, clamors, bells -ringing like mad! And all of a sudden the Englishwoman who is looking -out on the street cries: “Madame, it is the baptism!” - -And so it was the baptism, this noise like a riot and these howlings as -of cannibals around the stake. - -“Oh, this South, this South!” repeated the young mother, now very much -frightened, for she feared that her little one would be suffocated in -the press. - -But not at all; here he was, very alive indeed, in splendid case, -waving his short little arms with his eyes wide open, wearing the long -baptismal robe whose decorations Rosalie herself had embroidered and -whose laces she herself had sewed on; it was the robe meant for the -other; and so it is her two sons in one, the dead and the living one, -whom she owns to-day. - -“He did not make a cry, or ask for milk a single time the whole -journey!” Aunt Portal affirms, and then goes on to relate in her -picturesque way the triumphal tour of the town, whilst in the old -hotel, which has suddenly become the old house for ovations, all -the doors slam and the servants rush out into the porch where the -musicians are being regaled with _gazeuse_. The musical bursts resound -and the panes tremble in every window. The old Le Quesnoys have gone -out into the garden to get away from this jollity which overwhelms them -with grief, and since Roumestan is about to make a speech from the -balcony, Aunt Portal and Polly the Englishwoman run quickly into the -drawing-room to listen. - -“If Madame would be so kind as to hold the baby?” asks the wet-nurse, -as consumed with curiosity as a wild woman. And Rosalie is only too -happy to remain behind with her child upon her knees. From her window -she can see the banners glittering in the wind and the crowd densely -crushed together and spellbound by the words of her great man. Phrases -from his speech reach her now and then, but more than all else she -hears the tone of that captivating and moving voice, and a sorrowful -shudder passes through her at thought of all the evil which has come to -her by way of that eloquence, so ready to lie and to dupe others. - -At last it is all over; she feels that she has reached a point where -deceptions and wounds can hurt her no more; she has a child, and that -sums up all her happiness, all her dreams! And holding him up like a -buckler she hugs the dear little creature to her breast and questions -him very low and very near by, as if she were looking for some -response, or some resemblance in the sketchy features of this unformed -little countenance, these dainty lineaments which seem to have been -impressed by a caress in wax and already show a sensual, violent mouth, -a nose curved in search of adventures and a soft and square chin. - -“And will you also be a liar? Will you pass your life betraying others -and yourself, breaking those innocent hearts who have never done you -other evil than to believe in and love you? Will you be possessed of a -light and cruel inconstancy, taking life like an amateur and a singer -of cavatinas? Will you make a merchandise of words without bothering -yourself as to their real value and their connection with your thought, -so long as they are brilliant and resounding?” - -And putting her lips in a kiss upon that little ear which the light -strands of hair surround: - -“Tell me, are you going to be a Roumestan?” - -The orator on the balcony had lashed himself up and had reached -the moment of effusiveness when nothing could be heard except the -final chords, accentuated in the Southern manner--“my soul”--“my -blood”--“morals”--“religion”--“our country”--punctuated by the applause -of that audience which was made according to his image and which he -summed up in his own self both in his qualities and his vices--an -effervescing South, mobile and tumultuous like a sea with many -currents, each of which spoke of him! - -There was a final _viva_ and then the crowd was heard slowly passing -away. Roumestan came into the room mopping his brow; intoxicated -by his triumph and warmed by this endless tenderness of the whole -people, he approached his wife and kissed her with a sincere effusion -of sentiment. He felt himself very kind to her and as tender as on the -first day of their marriage; never a bit of remorse and never a bit of -rancor! - -“_Bé!_ just see how they make much of him! How they applaud your son!” -Kneeling before the sofa the grand personage of Aps played with his -child and touched the little fingers that seized upon everything and -the little feet that kicked out into the air. - -With a wrinkle on her brow Rosalie looked at him, trying to define his -contradictory and inexplicable nature. Then suddenly, as if she had -found something: - -“Numa, what was that proverb you people use which Aunt Portal repeated -the other day? ‘_Joie de rue_’--how was it?” - -“Oh yes, I remember: ‘_Gau de carriero, doulou d’oustau._’” (Happiness -of the street, sorrow of the home.) - -“That is it,” said she with an expression of deep thought. And, -letting the words fall one by one as you drop stones into an abyss, -she slowly repeated, putting the while the sorrow of her life into it, -this proverb, in which an entire race has drawn its own portrait and -formulated its own being: - -“Happiness of the street, sorrow of the home.” - - -THE END. - - - - -THE READABLE BOOKS - -“WORTHY THE READING AND THE WORLD’S DELIGHT.” - - -A Series of 12mo volumes by the best authors, handsomely printed in -clear and legible type, upon paper of excellent quality, illustrated -with frontispieces in photogravure and half tone, neatly and strongly -bound in cloth, extra, gilt top, with gold lettering on back and sides, -issued at the popular price of $1.00 per volume. - - 1. Adam Bede. By GEORGE ELIOT. - - 2. Alice. By BULWER. - - 3. Andronike. By PROF. EDWIN A. GROSVENOR. - - 4. Annals of the Parish. By GALT. - - 5. Arthur O’Leary. By LEVER. - - 6. Antonia. By GEORGE SAND. - - 7. Ascanio. By DUMAS. - - 11. Bacon’s Essays. - - 12. 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Popular Edition. - - With Fire and Sword. 75 cents. - - “Quo Vadis.” 75 cents. - - Pan Michael. 75 cents. - - Hania. 75 cents. - -[Illustration] - - - - -Transcriber's Note - - -The following apparent errors have been corrected: - -p. 24 "who had been bought up" changed to "who had been brought up" - -p. 34 "Wall, poor old chum" changed to "Well, poor old chum" - -p. 70 "to lesson their stress" changed to "to lessen their stress" - -p. 78 "a muddy subtance" changed to "a muddy substance" - -p. 84 "a medicant friar" changed to "a mendicant friar" - -p. 139 "“Take it back”" changed to "“Take it back,”" - -p. 163 "unfailing if some what" changed to "unfailing if somewhat" - -p. 196 "to day either" changed to "to-day either" - -p. 200 "cold Northeners" changed to "cold Northerners" - -p. 213 "choose out all of" changed to "choose out of all" - -p. 224 "trys to propitiate" changed to "tries to propitiate" - -p. 226 "tis all up" changed to "’tis all up" - -p. 260 "which the Provencal" changed to "which the Provençal" - - -Inconsistent or archaic language has otherwise been kept as printed. - - - -*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK NUMA ROUMESTAN *** - -Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions will -be renamed. - -Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright -law 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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