MONSIEUR DE CAMORS

By Octave Feuillet

With a Preface by MAXIME DU CAMP, of the French Academy

OCTAVE FEUILLET

OCTAVE FEUILLET'S works abound with rare qualities, forming a harmoniousensemble; they also exhibit great observation and knowledge of humanity, and through all of them runs an incomparable and distinctive charm. Hewill always be considered the leader of the idealistic school in thenineteenth century. It is now fifteen years since his death, and thejudgment of posterity is that he had a great imagination, linked togreat analytical power and insight; that his style is neat, pure, andfine, and at the same time brilliant and concise. He unites supplenesswith force, he combines grace with vigor. 

Octave Feuillet was born at Saint-Lo (Manche), August 11, 1821, hisfather occupying the post of Secretary-General of the Prefecture de laManche. Pupil at the Lycee Louis le Grand, he received many prizes, andwas entered for the law. But he became early attracted to literature, and like many of the writers at that period attached himself to the"romantic school. " He collaborated with Alexander Dumas pere and withPaul Bocage. It can not now be ascertained what share Feuillet may havehad in any of the countless tales of the elder Dumas. Under his ownname he published the novels 'Onesta' and 'Alix', in 1846, his firstromances. He then commenced writing for the stage. We mention 'Echecet Mat' (Odeon, 1846); 'Palma, ou la Nuit du Vendredi-Saint' (Porte St. Martin, 1847); 'La Vieillesse de Richelieu' (Theatre Francais, 1848);'York' (Palais Royal, 1852). Some of them are written in collaborationwith Paul Bocage. They are dramas of the Dumas type, conventional, notwithout cleverness, but making no lasting mark. 

Realizing this, Feuillet halted, pondered, abruptly changed front, andbegan to follow in the footsteps of Alfred de Musset. 'La Grise' (1854), 'Le Village' (1856), 'Dalila' (1857), 'Le Cheveu Blanc', and other playsobtained great success, partly in the Gymnase, partly in the ComedieFrancaise. In these works Feuillet revealed himself as an analyst offeminine character, as one who had spied out all their secrets, andcould pour balm on all their wounds. 'Le Roman d'un Jeune Homme Pauvre'(Vaudeville, 1858) is probably the best known of all his later dramas;it was, of course, adapted for the stage from his romance, and is wellknown to the American public through Lester Wallack and PierrepontEdwards. 'Tentation' was produced in the year 1860, also well knownin this country under the title 'Led Astray'; then followed 'Montjoye'(1863), etc. The influence of Alfred de Musset is henceforth lessperceptible. Feuillet now became a follower of Dumas fils, especially soin 'La Belle au Bois Dormant' (Vaudeville, 1865); 'Le Cas de Conscience(Theatre Francais, 1867); 'Julie' (Theatre Francais 1869). These metwith success, and are still in the repertoire of the Comedie Francaise. 

As a romancer, Feuillet occupies a high place. For thirty years he wasthe representative of a noble and tender genre, and was preeminently thefavorite novelist of the brilliant society of the Second Empire. Womenliterally devoured him, and his feminine public has always remainedfaithful to him. He is the advocate of morality and of the aristocracyof birth and feeling, though under this disguise he involves his heroesand heroines in highly romantic complications, whose outcome is oftenfor a time in doubt. Yet as the accredited painter of the FaubourgSaint-Germain he contributed an essential element to the development ofrealistic fiction. No one has rendered so well as he the high-strung, neuropathic women of the upper class, who neither understand themselvesnor are wholly comprehensible to others. In 'Monsieur de Camors', crowned by the Academy, he has yielded to the demands of a stricterrealism. Especially after the fall of the Empire had removed a powerfulmotive for gilding the vices of aristocratic society, he painted itshard and selfish qualities as none of his contemporaries could havedone. Octave Feuillet was elected to the Academie Francaise in 1862 tosucceed Scribe. He died December 29, 1890. 

 MAXIME DU CAMP de l'Acadamie Francaise. 

MONSIEUR DE CAMORS

BOOK 1. 

CHAPTER I. "THE WAGES OF SIN IS DEATH"

Near eleven o'clock, one evening in the month of May, a man about fiftyyears of age, well formed, and of noble carriage, stepped from acoupe in the courtyard of a small hotel in the Rue Barbet-de-Jouy. Heascended, with the walk of a master, the steps leading to the entrance, to the hall where several servants awaited him. One of them followedhim into an elegant study on the first floor, which communicated witha handsome bedroom, separated from it by a curtained arch. The valetarranged the fire, raised the lamps in both rooms, and was about toretire, when his master spoke:

"Has my son returned home?"

"No, Monsieur le Comte. Monsieur is not ill?"

"Ill! Why?"

"Because Monsieur le Comte is so pale. "

"Ah! It is only a slight cold I have taken this evening on the banks ofthe lake. "

"Will Monsieur require anything?"

"Nothing, " replied the Count briefly, and the servant retired. Leftalone, his master approached a cabinet curiously carved in the Italianstyle, and took from it a long flat ebony box. 

This contained two pistols. He loaded them with great care, adjustingthe caps by pressing them lightly to the nipple with his thumb. Thatdone, he lighted a cigar, and for half an hour the muffled beat of hisregular tread sounded on the carpet of the gallery. He finished hiscigar, paused a moment in deep thought, and then entered the adjoiningroom, taking the pistols with him. 

This room, like the other, was furnished in a style of severe elegance, relieved by tasteful ornament. It showed some pictures by famousmasters, statues, bronzes, and rare carvings in ivory. The Count threwa glance of singular interest round the interior of this chamber, whichwas his own--on the familiar objects--on the sombre hangings--on thebed, prepared for sleep. Then he turned toward a table, placed in arecess of the window, laid the pistols upon it, and dropping his head inhis hands, meditated deeply many minutes. Suddenly he raised his head, and wrote rapidly as follows:

 "TO MY SON:

 "Life wearies me, my son, and I shall relinquish it. The true superiority of man over the inert or passive creatures that surround him, lies in his power to free himself, at will, from those, pernicious servitudes which are termed the laws of nature. Man, if he will it, need not grow old: the lion must. Reflect, my son, upon this text, for all human power lies in it. 

 "Science asserts and demonstrates it. Man, intelligent and free, is an animal wholly unpremeditated upon this planet. Produced by unexpected combinations and haphazard transformations, in the midst of a general subordination of matter, he figures as a dissonance and a revolt!

 "Nature has engendered without having conceived him. The result is as if a turkey-hen had unconsciously hatched the egg of an eagle. Terrified at the monster, she has sought to control it, and has overloaded it with instincts, commonly called duties, and police regulations known as religion. Each one of these shackles broken, each one of these servitudes overthrown, marks a step toward the thorough emancipation of humanity. 

 "I must say to you, however, that I die in the faith of my century, believing in matter uncreated, all-powerful, and eternal--the Nature of the ancients. There have been in all ages philosophers who have had conceptions of the truth. But ripe to-day, it has become the common property of all who are strong enough to stand it--for, in sooth, this latest religion of humanity is food fit only for the strong. It carries sadness with it, for it isolates man; but it also involves grandeur, making man absolutely free, or, as it were, a very god. It leaves him no actual duties except to himself, and it opens a superb field to one of brain and courage. 

 "The masses still remain, and must ever remain, submissive under the yoke of old, dead religions, and under the tyranny of instincts. There will still be seen very much the same condition of things as at present in Paris; a society the brain of which is atheistic, and the heart religious. And at bottom there will be no more belief in Christ than in Jupiter; nevertheless, churches will continue to be built mechanically. There are no longer even Deists; for the old chimera of a personal, moral God-witness, sanction, and judge, --is virtually extinct; and yet hardly a word is said, or a line written, or a gesture made, in public or private life, which does not ever affirm that chimera. This may have its uses perchance, but it is nevertheless despicable. Slip forth from the common herd, my son, think for yourself, and write your own catechism upon a virgin page. 

 "As for myself, my life has been a failure, because I was born many years too soon. As yet the earth and the heavens were heaped up and cumbered with ruins, and people did not see. Science, moreover, was relatively still in its infancy. And, besides, I retained the prejudices and the repugnance to the doctrines of the new world that belonged to my name. I was unable to comprehend that there was anything better to be done than childishly to pout at the conqueror; that is, I could not recognize that his weapons were good, and that I should seize and destroy him with them. In short, for want of a definite principle of action I have drifted at random, my life without plan--I have been a mere trivial man of pleasure. 

 "Your life shall be more complete, if you will only follow my advice. 

 "What, indeed, may not a man of this age become if he have the good sense and energy to conform his life rigidly to his belief!

 "I merely state the question, you must solve it; I can leave you only some cursory ideas, which I am satisfied are just, and upon which you may meditate at your leisure. Only for fools or the weak does materialism become a debasing dogma; assuredly, in its code there are none of those precepts of ordinary morals which our fathers entitled virtue; but I do find there a grand word which may well counterbalance many others, that is to say, Honor, self-esteem! Unquestionably a materialist may not be a saint; but he can be a gentleman, which is something. You have happy gifts, my son, and I know of but one duty that you have in the world--that of developing those gifts to the utmost, and through them to enjoy life unsparingly. Therefore, without scruple, use woman for your pleasure, man for your advancement; but under no circumstances do anything ignoble. 

 "In order that ennui shall not drive you, like myself, prematurely from the world so soon as the season for pleasure shall have ended, you should leave the emotions of ambition and of public life for the gratification of your riper age. Do not enter into any engagements with the reigning government, and reserve for yourself to hear its eulogium made by those who will have subverted it. That is the French fashion. Each generation must have its own prey. You will soon feel the impulse of the coming generation. Prepare yourself, from afar, to take the lead in it. 

 "In politics, my son, you are not ignorant that we all take our principles from our temperament. The bilious are demagogues, the sanguine, democrats, the nervous, aristocrats. You are both sanguine and nervous, an excellent constitution, for it gives you a choice. You may, for example, be an aristocrat in regard to yourself personally, and, at the same time, a democrat in relation to others; and in that you will not be exceptional. 

 "Make yourself master of every question likely to interest your contemporaries, but do not become absorbed in any yourself. In reality, all principles are indifferent--true or false according to the hour and circumstance. Ideas are mere instruments with which you should learn to play seasonably, so as to sway men. In that path, likewise, you will have associates. 

 "Know, my son, that having attained my age, weary of all else, you will have need of strong sensations. The sanguinary diversions of revolution will then be for you the same as a love-affair at twenty. 

 "But I am fatigued, my son, and shall recapitulate. To be loved by women, to be feared by men, to be as impassive and as imperturbable as a god before the tears of the one and the blood of the other, and to end in a whirlwind--such has been the lot in which I have failed, but which, nevertheless, I bequeath to you. With your great faculties you, however, are capable of accomplishing it, unless indeed you should fail through some ingrained weakness of the heart that I have noticed in you, and which, doubtless, you have imbibed with your mother's milk. 

 "So long as man shall be born of woman, there will be something faulty and incomplete in his character. In fine, strive to relieve yourself from all thraldom, from all natural instincts, affections, and sympathies as from so many fetters upon your liberty, your strength. 

 "Do not marry unless some superior interest shall impel you to do so. In that event, have no children. 

 "Have no intimate friends. Caesar having grown old, had a friend. It was Brutus!

 "Contempt for men is the beginning of wisdom. 

 "Change somewhat your style of fencing, it is altogether too open, my son. Do not get angry. Rarely laugh, and never weep. Adieu. 

 "CAMORS. "

The feeble rays of dawn had passed through the slats of the blinds. Thematin birds began their song in the chestnut-tree near the window. M. DeCamors raised his head and listened in an absent mood to the sound whichastonished him. Seeing that it was daybreak, he folded in some hastethe pages he had just finished, pressed his seal upon the envelope, andaddressed it, "For the Comte Louis de Camors. " Then he rose. 

M. De Camors was a great lover of art, and had carefully preserved amagnificent ivory carving of the sixteenth century, which had belongedto his wife. It was a Christ the pallid white relieved by a medallion ofdark velvet. 

His eye, meeting this pale, sad image, was attracted to it for a momentwith strange fascination. Then he smiled bitterly, seized one of thepistols with a firm hand and pressed it to his temple. 

A shot resounded through the house; the fall of a heavy body shook thefloor-fragments of brains strewed the carpet. The Comte de Camors hadplunged into eternity!

His last will was clenched in his hand. 

To whom was this document addressed? Upon what kind of soil will theseseeds fall?

At this time Louis de Camors was twenty-seven years old. His mother haddied young. It did not appear that she had been particularly happy withher husband; and her son barely remembered her as a young woman, prettyand pale, and frequently weeping, who used to sing him to sleep ina low, sweet voice. He had been brought up chiefly by his father'smistress, who was known as the Vicomtesse d'Oilly, a widow, and a rathergood sort of woman. Her natural sensibility, and the laxity of moralsthen reigning at Paris, permitted her to occupy herself at the same timewith the happiness of the father and the education of the son. When thefather deserted her after a time, he left her the child, to comforther somewhat by this mark of confidence and affection. She took him outthree times a week; she dressed him and combed him; she fondled him andtook him with her to church, and made him play with a handsome Spaniard, who had been for some time her secretary. Besides, she neglected noopportunity of inculcating precepts of sound morality. Thus the child, being surprised at seeing her one evening press a kiss upon the foreheadof her secretary, cried out, with the blunt candor of his age:

"Why, Madame, do you kiss a gentleman who is not your husband?"

"Because, my dear, " replied the Countess, "our good Lord commands us tobe charitable and affectionate to the poor, the infirm, and the exile;and Monsieur Perez is an exile. "

Louis de Camors merited better care, for he was a generous-heartedchild; and his comrades of the college of Louis-le-Grand alwaysremembered the warm-heartedness and natural grace which made themforgive his successes during the week, and his varnished boots and lilacgloves on Sunday. Toward the close of his college course, he becameparticularly attached to a poor bursar, by name Lescande, who excelledin mathematics, but who was very ungraceful, awkwardly shy and timid, with a painful sensitiveness to the peculiarities of his person. He wasnicknamed "Wolfhead, " from the refractory nature of his hair; but theelegant Camors stopped the scoffers by protecting the young man with hisfriendship. Lescande felt this deeply, and adored his friend, to whomhe opened the inmost recesses of his heart, letting out some importantsecrets. 

He loved a very young girl who was his cousin, but was as poor ashimself. Still it was a providential thing for him that she was poor, otherwise he never should have dared to aspire to her. It was a sadoccurrence that had first thrown Lescande with his cousin--the loss ofher father, who was chief of one of the Departments of State. 

After his death she lived with her mother in very straitenedcircumstances; and Lescande, on occasion of his last visit, found herwith soiled cuffs. Immediately after he received the following note:

 "Pardon me, dear cousin! Pardon my not wearing white cuffs. But I must tell you that we can change our cuffs--my mother and I--only three times a week. As to her, one would never discover it. She is neat as a bird. I also try to be; but, alas! when I practise the piano, my cuffs rub. After this explanation, my good Theodore, I hope you will love me as before. 

 "JULIETTE. "

Lescande wept over this note. Luckily he had his prospects as anarchitect; and Juliette had promised to wait for him ten years, by whichtime he would either be dead, or living deliciously in a humble housewith his cousin. He showed the note, and unfolded his plans to Camors. "This is the only ambition I have, or which I can have, " added Lescande. "You are different. You are born for great things. "

"Listen, my old Lescande, " replied Camors, who had just passed hisrhetoric examination in triumph. "I do not know but that my destinymay be ordinary; but I am sure my heart can never be. There I feeltransports--passions, which give me sometimes great joy, sometimesinexpressible suffering. I burn to discover a world--to save anation--to love a queen! I understand nothing but great ambitions andnoble alliances, and as for sentimental love, it troubles me but little. My activity pants for a nobler and a wider field!

"I intend to attach myself to one of the great social parties, politicalor religious, that agitate the world at this era. Which one I know notyet, for my opinions are not very fixed. But as soon as I leave collegeI shall devote myself to seeking the truth. And truth is easily found. Ishall read all the newspapers. 

"Besides, Paris is an intellectual highway, so brilliantly lighted it isonly necessary to open one's eyes and have good faith and independence, to find the true road. 

"And I am in excellent case for this, for though born a gentleman, Ihave no prejudices. My father, who is himself very enlightened and veryliberal, leaves me free. I have an uncle who is a Republican; an auntwho is a Legitimist--and what is still more, a saint; and another unclewho is a Conservative. It is not vanity that leads me to speak ofthese things; but only a desire to show you that, having a foot in allparties, I am quite willing to compare them dispassionately and make agood choice. Once master of the holy truth, you may be sure, dear oldLescande, I shall serve it unto death--with my tongue, with my pen, andwith my sword!"

Such sentiments as these, pronounced with sincere emotion andaccompanied by a warm clasp of the hand, drew tears from the oldLescande, otherwise called Wolfhead. 

CHAPTER II. FRUIT FROM THE HOTBED OF PARIS

Early one morning, about eight years after these high resolves, Louisde Camors rode out from the 'porte-cochere' of the small hotel he hadoccupied with his father. 

Nothing could be gayer than Paris was that morning, at that charminggolden hour of the day when the world seems peopled only with good andgenerous spirits who love one another. Paris does not pique herself onher generosity; but she still takes to herself at this charming hour anair of innocence, cheerfulness, and amiable cordiality. 

The little carts with bells, that pass one another rapidly, make onebelieve the country is covered with roses. The cries of old Paris cutwith their sharp notes the deep murmur of a great city just awaking. 

You see the jolly concierges sweeping the white footpaths; half-dressedmerchants taking down their shutters with great noise; and groups ofostlers, in Scotch caps, smoking and fraternizing on the hotel steps. 

You hear the questions of the sociable neighborhood; the news proper toawakening; speculations on the weather bandied across from door to door, with much interest. 

Young milliners, a little late, walk briskly toward town with elasticstep, making now a short pause before a shop just opened; again takingwing like a bee just scenting a flower. 

Even the dead in this gay Paris morning seem to go gayly to thecemetery, with their jovial coachmen grinning and nodding as they pass. 

Superbly aloof from these agreeable impressions, Louis de Camors, alittle pale, with half-closed eyes and a cigar between his teeth, rodeinto the Rue de Bourgogne at a walk, broke into a canter on the ChampsElysees, and galloped thence to the Bois. After a brisk run, hereturned by chance through the Porte Maillot, then not nearly so thicklyinhabited as it is to-day. Already, however, a few pretty houses, withgreen lawns in front, peeped out from the bushes of lilac and clematis. Before the green railings of one of these a gentleman played hoop with avery young, blond-haired child. His age belonged in that uncertainarea which may range from twenty-five to forty. He wore a white cravat, spotless as snow; and two triangles of short, thick beard, cut likethe boxwood at Versailles, ornamented his cheeks. If Camors saw thispersonage he did not honor him with the slightest notice. He was, notwithstanding, his former comrade Lescande, who had been lost sightof for several years by his warmest college friend. Lescande, however, whose memory seemed better, felt his heart leap with joy at the majesticappearance of the young cavalier who approached him. He made a movementto rush forward; a smile covered his good-natured face, but it ended ina grimace. Evidently he had been forgotten. Camors, now not more thana couple of feet from him, was passing on, and his handsome countenancegave not the slightest sign of emotion. Suddenly, without changing asingle line of his face, he drew rein, took the cigar from his lips, andsaid, in a tranquil voice:

"Hello! You have no longer a wolf head!"

"Ha! Then you know me?" cried Lescande. 

"Know you? Why not?"

"I thought--I was afraid--on account of my beard--"

"Bah! your beard does not change you--except that it becomes you. Butwhat are you doing here?"

"Doing here! Why, my dear friend, I am at home here. Dismount, I prayyou, and come into my house. "

"Well, why not?" replied Camors, with the same voice and manner ofsupreme indifference; and, throwing his bridle to the servant whofollowed him, he passed through the gardengate, led, supported, caressedby the trembling hand of Lescande. 

The garden was small, but beautifully tended and full of rare plants. Atthe end, a small villa, in the Italian style, showed its graceful porch. 

"Ah, that is pretty!" exclaimed Camors, at last. 

"And you recognize my plan, Number Three, do you not?" asked Lescande, eagerly. 

"Your plan Number Three? Ah, yes, perfectly, " replied Camors, absently. "And your pretty little cousin--is she within?"

"She is there, my dear friend, " answered Lescande, in a low voice--andhe pointed to the closed shutters of a large window of a balconysurmounting the veranda. "She is there; and this is our son. "

Camors let his hand pass listlessly over the child's hair. "The deuce!"he said; "but you have not wasted time. And you are happy, my goodfellow?"

"So happy, my dear friend, that I am sometimes uneasy, for the goodGod is too kind to me. It is true, though, I had to work very hard. Forinstance, I passed two years in Spain--in the mountains of that infernalcountry. There I built a fairy palace for the Marquis of Buena-Vista, agreat nobleman, who had seen my plan at the Exhibition and was delightedwith it. This was the beginning of my fortune; but you must not imaginethat my profession alone has enriched me so quickly. I made somesuccessful speculations--some unheard of chances in lands; and, I begyou to believe, honestly, too. Still, I am not a millionaire; but youknow I had nothing, and my wife less; now, my house paid for, we haveten thousand francs' income left. It is not a fortune for us, living inthis style; but I still work and keep good courage, and my Juliette ishappy in her paradise!"

"She wears no more soiled cuffs, then?" said Camors. 

"I warrant she does not! Indeed, she has a slight tendency toluxury--like all women, you know. But I am delighted to see you rememberso well our college follies. I also, through all my distractions, neverforgot you a moment. I even had a foolish idea of asking you to mywedding, only I did not dare. You are so brilliant, so petted, with yourestablishment and your racers. My wife knows you very well; in fact, wehave talked of you a hundred thousand times. Since she patronizes theturf and subscribes for 'The Sport', she says to me, 'Your friend'shorse has won again'; and in our family circle we rejoice over yourtriumphs. "

A flush tinged the cheek of Camors as he answered, quietly, "You arereally too good. "

They walked a moment in silence over the gravel path bordered by grass, before Lescande spoke again. 

"And yourself, dear friend, I hope that you also are happy. "

"I--happy!" Camors seemed a little astonished. "My happiness is simpleenough, but I believe it is unclouded. I rise in the morning, ride tothe Bois, thence to the club, go to the Bois again, and then back to theclub. If there is a first representation at any theatre, I wish to seeit. Thus, last evening they gave a new piece which was really exquisite. There was a song in it, beginning:

 'He was a woodpecker, A little woodpecker, A young woodpecker--'

and the chorus imitated the cry of the woodpecker! Well, it wascharming, and the whole of Paris will sing that song with delight for ayear. I also shall do like the whole of Paris, and I shall be happy. "

"Good heavens! my friend, " laughed Lescande, "and that suffices you forhappiness?"

"That and--the principles of 'eighty-nine, " replied Camors, lighting afresh cigar from the old one. 

Here their dialogue was broken by the fresh voice of a woman callingfrom the blinds of the balcony--

"Is that you, Theodore?"

Camors raised his eyes and saw a white hand, resting on the slats of theblind, bathed in sunlight. 

"That is my wife. Conceal yourself!" cried Lescande, briskly; and hepushed Camors behind a clump of catalpas, as he turned to the balconyand lightly answered:

"Yes, my dear; do you wish anything?"

"Maxime is with you?"

"Yes, mother. I am here, " cried the child. "It is a beautiful morning. Are you quite well?"

"I hardly know. I have slept too long, I believe. " She opened theshutters, and, shading her eyes from the glare with her hand, appearedon the balcony. 

She was in the flower of youth, slight, supple, and graceful, andappeared, in her ample morning-gown of blue cashmere, plumper and tallerthan she really was. Bands of the same color interlaced, in the Greekfashion, her chestnut hair--which nature, art, and the night haddishevelled--waved and curled to admiration on her small head. 

She rested her elbows on the railing, yawned, showing her white teeth, and looking at her husband, asked:

"Why do you look so stupid?"

At the instant she observed Camors--whom the interest of the moment hadwithdrawn from his concealment--gave a startled cry, gathered up herskirts, and retired within the room. 

Since leaving college up to this hour, Louis de Camors had never formedany great opinion of the Juliet who had taken Lescande as her Romeo. Heexperienced a flash of agreeable surprise on discovering that his friendwas more happy in that respect than he had supposed. 

"I am about to be scolded, my friend, " said Lescande, with a heartylaugh, "and you also must stay for your share. You will stay andbreakfast with us?"

Camors hesitated; then said, hastily, "No, no! Impossible! I have anengagement which I must keep. "

Notwithstanding Camors's unwillingness, Lescande detained him until hehad extorted a promise to come and dine with them--that is, with him, his wife, and his mother-in-law, Madame Mursois--on the followingTuesday. This acceptance left a cloud on the spirit of Camors until theappointed day. Besides abhorring family dinners, he objected to beingreminded of the scene of the balcony. The indiscreet kindness ofLescande both touched and irritated him; for he knew he should play buta silly part near this pretty woman. He felt sure she was a coquette, notwithstanding which, the recollections of his youth and the characterof her husband should make her sacred to him. So he was not in themost agreeable frame of mind when he stepped out of his dog-cart, thatTuesday evening, before the little villa of the Avenue Maillot. 

At his reception by Madame Lescande and her mother he took heart alittle. They appeared to him what they were, two honest-hearted women, surrounded by luxury and elegance. The mother--an ex-beauty--had beenleft a widow when very young, and to this time had avoided any stain onher character. With them, innate delicacy held the place of those solidprinciples so little tolerated by French society. Like a few other womenof society, Madame had the quality of virtue just as ermine has thequality of whiteness. Vice was not so repugnant to her as an evil as itwas as a blemish. Her daughter had received from her those instincts ofchastity which are oftener than we imagine hidden under the appearanceof pride. But these amiable women had one unfortunate caprice, notuncommon at this day among Parisians of their position. Although ratherclever, they bowed down, with the adoration of bourgeoises, before thataristocracy, more or less pure, that paraded up and down the ChampsElysees, in the theatres, at the race-course, and on the most frequentedpromenades, its frivolous affairs and rival vanities. 

Virtuous themselves, they read with interest the daintiest bits ofscandal and the most equivocal adventures that took place among theelite. It was their happiness and their glory to learn the smallestdetails of the high life of Paris; to follow its feasts, speak in itsslang, copy its toilets, and read its favorite books. So that if not therose, they could at least be near the rose and become impregnated withher colors and her perfumes. Such apparent familiarity heightened themsingularly in their own estimation and in that of their associates. 

Now, although Camors did not yet occupy that bright spot in the heavenof fashion which was surely to be his one day, still he could here passfor a demigod, and as such inspire Madame Lescande and her mother witha sentiment of most violent curiosity. His early intimacy with Lescandehad always connected a peculiar interest with his name: and they knewthe names of his horses--most likely knew the names of his mistresses. 

So it required all their natural tact to conceal from their guest theflutter of their nerves caused by his sacred presence; but they didsucceed, and so well that Camors was slightly piqued. If not a coxcomb, he was at least young: he was accustomed to please: he knew the Princessde Clam-Goritz had lately applied to him her learned definition of anagreeable man--"He is charming, for one always feels in danger nearhim!"

Consequently, it seemed a little strange to him that the simple motherof the simple wife of simple Lescande should be able to bearhis radiance with such calmness; and this brought him out of hispremeditated reserve. 

He took the trouble to be irresistible--not to Madame Lescande, to whomhe was studiously respectful--but to Madame Mursois. The whole eveninghe scattered around the mother the social epigrams intended to dazzlethe daughter; Lescande meanwhile sitting with his mouth open, delightedwith the success of his old schoolfellow. 

Next afternoon, Camors, returning from his ride in the Bois, by chancepassed the Avenue Maillot. Madame Lescande was embroidering on thebalcony, by chance, and returned his salute over her tapestry. Heremarked, too, that she saluted very gracefully, by a slight inclinationof the head, followed by a slight movement of her symmetrical, slopingshoulders. 

When he called upon her two or three days after--as was only hisduty--Camors reflected on a strong resolution he had made to keep verycool, and to expatiate to Madame Lescande only on her husband's virtues. This pious resolve had an unfortunate effect; for Madame, whose virtuehad been piqued, had also reflected; and while an obtrusive devotion hadnot failed to frighten her, this course only reassured her. So she gaveup without restraint to the pleasure of receiving in her boudoir one ofthe brightest stars from the heaven of her dreams. 

It was now May, and at the races of La Marche--to take place thefollowing Sunday--Camors was to be one of the riders. Madame Mursoisand her daughter prevailed upon Lescande to take them, while Camorscompleted their happiness by admitting them to the weighing-stand. Further, when they walked past the judge's stand, Madame Mursois, towhom he gave his arm, had the delight of being escorted in public bya cavalier in an orange jacket and topboots. Lescande and his wifefollowed in the wake of the radiant mother-in-law, partaking of herecstasy. 

These agreeable relations continued for several weeks, without seemingto change their character. One day Camors would seat himself by thelady, before the palace of the Exhibition, and initiate her into themysteries of all the fashionables who passed before them. Another timehe would drop into their box at the opera, deign to remain there duringan act or two, and correct their as yet incomplete views of the moralsof the ballet. But in all these interviews he held toward MadameLescande the language and manner of a brother: perhaps because hesecretly persisted in his delicate resolve; perhaps because he was notignorant that every road leads to Rome--and one as surely as another. 

Madame Lescande reassured herself more and more; and feeling itunnecessary to be on her guard, as at first, thought she might permitherself a little levity. No woman is flattered at being loved only as asister. 

Camors, a little disquieted by the course things were taking, made someslight effort to divert it. But, although men in fencing wish to sparetheir adversaries, sometimes they find habit too strong for them, and lunge home in spite of themselves. Besides, he began to be reallyinterested in Madame Lescande--in her coquettish ways, at once artfuland simple, provoking and timid, suggestive and reticent--in short, charming. 

The same evening that M. De Camors, the elder, returned to his homebent on suicide, his son, passing up the Avenue Maillot, was stopped byLescande on the threshold of his villa. 

"My friend, " said the latter, "as you are here you can do me a greatfavor. A telegram calls me suddenly to Melun--I must go on the instant. The ladies will be so lonely, pray stay and dine with them! I can'ttell what the deuce ails my wife. She has been weeping all day overher tapestry; my mother-in-law has a headache. Your presence will cheerthem. So stay, I beg you. "

Camors refused, hesitated, made objections, and consented. He sent backhis horse, and his friend presented him to the ladies, whom the presenceof the unexpected guest seemed to cheer a little. Lescande stepped intohis carriage and departed, after receiving from his wife an embrace morefervent than usual. 

The dinner was gay. In the atmosphere was that subtle suggestionof coming danger of which both Camors and Madame Lescande felt theexhilarating influence. Their excitement, as yet innocent, employeditself in those lively sallies--those brilliant combats at thebarriers--that ever precede the more serious conflict. About nineo'clock the headache of Madame Mursois--perhaps owing to the cigar theyhad allowed Camors--became more violent. She declared she could endureit no longer, and must retire to her chamber. Camors wished to withdraw, but his carriage had not yet arrived and Madame Mursois insisted that heshould wait for it. 

"Let my daughter amuse you with a little music until then, " she added. 

Left alone with her guest, the younger lady seemed embarrassed. "Whatshall I play for you?" she asked, in a constrained voice, taking herseat at the piano. 

"Oh! anything--play a waltz, " answered Camors, absently. 

The waltz finished, an awkward silence ensued. To break it she arosehesitatingly; then clasping her hands together exclaimed, "It seems tome there is a storm. Do you not think so?" She approached the window, opened it, and stepped out on the balcony. In a second Camors was at herside. 

The night was beautifully clear. Before them stretched the sombre shadowof the wood, while nearer trembling rays of moonlight slept upon thelawn. 

How still all was! Their trembling hands met and for a moment did notseparate. 

"Juliette!" whispered the young man, in a low, broken voice. Sheshuddered, repelled the arm that Camors passed round her, and hastilyreentered the room. 

"Leave me, I pray you!" she cried, with an impetuous gesture of herhand, as she sank upon the sofa, and buried her face in her hands. 

Of course Camors did not obey. He seated himself by her. 

In a little while Juliette awoke from her trance; but she awoke a lostwoman!

How bitter was that awakening! She measured at a first glance the depthof the awful abyss into which she had suddenly plunged. Her husband, hermother, her infant, whirled like spectres in the mad chaos of her brain. 

Sensible of the anguish of an irreparable wrong, she rose, passed herhand vacantly across her brow, and muttering, "Oh, God! oh, God!" peeredvainly into the dark for light--hope--refuge! There was none!

Her tortured soul cast herself utterly on that of her lover. She turnedher swimming eyes on him and said:

"How you must despise me!"

Camors, half kneeling on the carpet near her, kissed her handindifferently and half raised his shoulders in sign of denial. "Is itnot so?" she repeated. "Answer me, Louis. "

His face wore a strange, cruel smile--"Do not insist on an answer, Ipray you, " he said. 

"Then I am right? You do despise me?"

Camors turned himself abruptly full toward her, looked straight in herface, and said, in a cold, hard voice, "I do!"

To this cruel speech the poor child replied by a wild cry that seemedto rend her, while her eyes dilated as if under the influence of strongpoison. Camors strode across the room, then returned and stood by her ashe said, in a quick, violent tone:

"You think I am brutal? Perhaps I am, but that can matter little now. After the irreparable wrong I have done you, there is one service--andonly one which I can now render you. I do it now, and tell you thetruth. Understand me clearly; women who fall do not judge themselvesmore harshly than their accomplices judge them. For myself, what wouldyou have me think of you?

"To his misfortune and my shame, I have known your husband since hisboyhood. There is not a drop of blood in his veins that does not throbfor you; there is not a thought of his day nor a dream of his night thatis not yours; your every comfort comes from his sacrifices--your everyjoy from his exertion! See what he is to you!

"You have only seen my name in the journals; you have seen me ride byyour window; I have talked a few times with you, and you yield to mein one moment the whole of his life with your own--the whole of hishappiness with your own. 

"I tell you, woman, every man like me, who abuses your vanity and yourweakness and afterward tells you he esteems you--lies! And if after allyou still believe he loves you, you do yourself fresh injury. No: wesoon learn to hate those irksome ties that become duties where we onlysought pleasures; and the first effort after they are formed is toshatter them. 

"As for the rest: women like you are not made for unholy love like ours. Their charm is their purity, and losing that, they lose everything. Butit is a blessing to them to encounter one wretch, like myself, who caresto say--Forget me, forever! Farewell!"

He left her, passed from the room with rapid strides, and, slammingthe door behind him, disappeared. Madame Lescande, who had listened, motionless, and pale as marble, remained in the same lifeless attitude, her eyes fixed, her hands clenched--yearning from the depths of herheart that death would summon her. Suddenly a singular noise, seeming tocome from the next room, struck her ear. It was only a convulsive sob, or violent and smothered laughter. The wildest and most terrible ideascrowded to the mind of the unhappy woman; the foremost of them, thather husband had secretly returned, that he knew all--that his brain hadgiven way, and that the laughter was the gibbering of his madness. 

Feeling her own brain begin to reel, she sprang from the sofa, and rushing to the door, threw it open. The next apartment was thedining-room, dimly lighted by a hanging lamp. There she saw Camors, crouched upon the floor, sobbing furiously and beating his foreheadagainst a chair which he strained in a convulsive embrace. Her tonguerefused its office; she could find no word, but seating herself nearhim, gave way to her emotion, and wept silently. He dragged himselfnearer, seized the hem of her dress and covered it with kisses; hisbreast heaved tumultuously, his lips trembled and he gasped the almostinarticulate words, "Pardon! Oh, pardon me!"

This was all. Then he rose suddenly, rushed from the house, and theinstant after she heard the rolling of the wheels as his carriagewhirled him away. 

If there were no morals and no remorse, French people would perhaps behappier. But unfortunately it happens that a young woman, who believesin little, like Madame Lescande, and a young man who believes innothing, like M. De Camors, can not have the pleasures of an independentcode of morals without suffering cruelly afterward. 

A thousand old prejudices, which they think long since buried, startup suddenly in their consciences; and these revived scruples are nearlyfatal to them. 

Camors rushed toward Paris at the greatest speed of his thoroughbred, Fitz-Aymon, awakening along the route, by his elegance and style, sentiments of envy which would have changed to pity were the wounds ofthe heart visible. Bitter weariness, disgust of life and disgust forhimself, were no new sensations to this young man; but he never hadexperienced them in such poignant intensity as at this cursed hour, when flying from the dishonored hearth of the friend of his boyhood. Noaction of his life had ever thrown such a flood of light on the depthsof his infamy in doing such gross outrage to the friend of hispurer days, to the dear confidant of the generous thoughts and proudaspirations of his youth. He knew he had trampled all these under foot. Like Macbeth, he had not only murdered one asleep, but had murderedsleep itself. 

His reflections became insupportable. He thought successively ofbecoming a monk, of enlisting as a soldier, and of getting drunk--ere hereached the corner of the Rue Royale and the Boulevard. Chance favoredhis last design, for as he alighted in front of his club, he foundhimself face to face with a pale young man, who smiled as he extendedhis hand. Camors recognized the Prince d'Errol. 

"The deuce! You here, my Prince! I thought you in Cairo. "

"I arrived only this morning. "

"Ah, then you are better?--Your chest?"

"So--so. "

"Bah! you look perfectly well. And isn't Cairo a strange place?"

"Rather; but I really believe Providence has sent you to me. "

"You really think so, my Prince? But why?"

"Because--pshaw! I'll tell you by-and-bye; but first I want to hear allabout your quarrel. "

"What quarrel?"

"Your duel for Sarah. "

"That is to say, against Sarah!"

"Well, tell me all that passed; I heard of it only vaguely whileabroad. "

"Well, I only strove to do a good action, and, according to custom, Iwas punished for it. I heard it said that that little imbecile La Bredeborrowed money from his little sister to lavish it upon that Sarah. This was so unnatural that you may believe it first disgusted, and thenirritated me. One day at the club I could not resist saying, 'You are anass, La Bride, to ruin yourself--worse than that, to ruin your sister, for the sake of a snail, as little sympathetic as Sarah, a girl whoalways has a cold in her head, and who has already deceived you. ''Deceived me!' cried La Brede, waving his long arms. 'Deceived me! andwith whom?'--'With me. ' As he knew I never lied, he panted for my life. Luckily my life is a tough one. "

"You put him in bed for three months, I hear. "

"Almost as long as that, yes. And now, my friend, do me a service. I ama bear, a savage, a ghost! Assist me to return to life. Let us go andsup with some sprightly people whose virtue is extraordinary. "

"Agreed! That is recommended by my physician. "

"From Cairo? Nothing could be better, my Prince. "

Half an hour later Louis de Camors, the Prince d'Errol, and a half-dozenguests of both sexes, took possession of an apartment, the closed doorsof which we must respect. 

Next morning, at gray dawn, the party was about to disperse; and at themoment a ragpicker, with a gray beard, was wandering up and down beforethe restaurant, raking with his hook in the refuse that awaited thepublic sweepers. In closing his purse, with an unsteady hand, Camors letfall a shining louis d'or, which rolled into the mud on the sidewalk. The ragpicker looked up with a timid smile. 

"Ah! Monsieur, " he said, "what falls into the trench should belong tothe soldier. "

"Pick it up with your teeth, then, " answered Camors, laughing, "and itis yours. "

The man hesitated, flushed under his sunburned cheeks, and threw alook of deadly hatred upon the laughing group round him. Then he knelt, buried his chest in the mire, and sprang up next moment with the coinclenched between his sharp white teeth. The spectators applauded. Thechiffonnier smiled a dark smile, and turned away. 

"Hello, my friend!" cried Camors, touching his arm, "would you like toearn five Louis? If so, give me a knock-down blow. That will give youpleasure and do me good. "

The man turned, looked him steadily in the eye, then suddenly dealt himsuch a blow in the face that he reeled against the opposite wall. Theyoung men standing by made a movement to fall upon the graybeard. 

"Let no one harm him!" cried Camors. "Here, my man, are your hundredfrancs. "

"Keep them, " replied the other, "I am paid;" and walked away. 

"Bravo, Belisarius!" laughed Camors. "Faith, gentlemen, I do not knowwhether you agree with me, but I am really charmed with this littleepisode. I must go dream upon it. By-bye, young ladies! Good-day, Prince!"

An early cab was passing, he jumped in, and was driven rapidly to hishotel, on the Rue Babet-de-Jouy. 

The door of the courtyard was open, but being still under the influenceof the wine he had drunk, he failed to notice a confused group ofservants and neighbors standing before the stable-doors. Upon seeinghim, these people became suddenly silent, and exchanged looks ofsympathy and compassion. Camors occupied the second floor of the hotel;and ascending the stairs, found himself suddenly facing his father'svalet. The man was very pale, and held a sealed paper, which he extendedwith a trembling hand. 

"What is it, Joseph?" asked Camors. 

"A letter which--which Monsieur le Comte wrote for you before he left. "

"Before he left! my father is gone, then? But--where--how? What, thedevil! why do you weep?"

Unable to speak, the servant handed him the paper. Camors seized it andtore it open. 

"Good God! there is blood! what is this!" He read the first words--"Myson, life is a burden to me. I leave it--" and fell fainting to thefloor. 

The poor lad loved his father, notwithstanding the past. 

They carried him to his chamber. 

CHAPTER III. DEBRIS FROM THE REVOLUTION

De Camors, on leaving college had entered upon life with a heartswelling with the virtues of youth--confidence, enthusiasm, sympathy. The horrible neglect of his early education had not corrupted inhis veins those germs of weakness which, as his father declared, hismother's milk had deposited there; for that father, by shutting him upin a college to get rid of him for twelve years, had rendered him thegreatest service in his power. 

Those classic prisons surely do good. The healthy discipline of theschool; the daily contact of young, fresh hearts; the long familiaritywith the best works, powerful intellects, and great souls of theancients--all these perhaps may not inspire a very rigid morality, butthey do inspire a certain sentimental ideal of life and of duty whichhas its value. 

The vague heroism which Camors first conceived he brought away with him. He demanded nothing, as you may remember, but the practical formulafor the time and country in which he was destined to live. He found, doubtless, that the task he set himself was more difficult than he hadimagined; that the truth to which he would devote himself--but whichhe must first draw from the bottom of its well--did not stand upon manycompliments. But he failed no preparation to serve her valiantly as aman might, as soon as she answered his appeal. He had the advantageof several years of opposing to the excitements of his age and of anopulent life the austere meditations of the poor student. 

During that period of ardent, laborious youth, he faithfully shuthimself up in libraries, attended public lectures, and gave himself asolid foundation of learning, which sometimes awakened surprise whendiscovered under the elegant frivolity of the gay turfman. But whilearming himself for the battle of life, he lost, little by little, whatwas more essential than the best weapons-true courage. 

In proportion as he followed Truth day by day, she flew beforeand eluded him, taking, like an unpleasant vision, the form of thethousand-headed Chimera. 

About the middle of the last century, Paris was so covered withpolitical and religious ruins, that the most piercing vision couldscarcely distinguish the outlines of the fresh structures of the future. One could, see that everything was overthrown; but one could not see anypower that was to raise the ruins. Over the confused wrecks and remainsof the Past, the powerful intellectual life of the Present-Progress--thecollision of ideas--the flame of French wit, criticism and thesciences--threw a brilliant light, which, like the sun of earlier ages, illuminated the chaos without making it productive. The phenomena ofLife and of Death were commingled in one huge fermentation, in whicheverything decomposed and whence nothing seemed to spring up again. 

At no period of history, perhaps, has Truth been less simple, moreenveloped in complications; for it seemed that all essential notions ofhumanity had been fused in a great furnace, and none had come out whole. 

The spectacle is grand; but it troubles profoundly all souls--or atleast those that interest and curiosity do not suffice to fill; whichis to say, nearly all. To disengage from this bubbling chaos one purereligious moral, one positive social idea, one fixed political creed, were an enterprise worthy of the most sincere. This should not be beyondthe strength of a man of good intentions; and Louis de Camors mighthave accomplished the task had he been aided by better instruction andguidance. 

It is the common misfortune of those just entering life to find init less than their ideal. But in this respect Camors was born under aparticularly unfortunate star, for he found in his surroundings--inhis own family even--only the worst side of human nature; and, in somerespects, of those very opinions to which he was tempted to adhere. 

The Camors were originally from Brittany, where they had held, in theeighteenth century, large possessions, particularly some extensiveforests, which still bear their name. The grandfather of Louis, theComte Herve de Camors, had, on his return from the emigration, boughtback a small part of the hereditary demesne. There he establishedhimself in the old-fashioned style, and nourished until his deathincurable prejudices against the French Revolution and against LouisXVIII. 

Count Herve had four children, two boys and two girls, and, feeling ithis duty to protest against the levelling influences of the Civil Code, he established during his life, by a legal subterfuge, a sort ofentail in favor of his eldest son, Charles-Henri, to the prejudice ofRobert-Sosthene, Eleanore-Jeanne and Louise-Elizabeth, his other heirs. Eleanore-Jeanne and Louise-Elizabeth accepted with apparent willingnessthe act that benefited their brother at their expense--notwithstandingwhich they never forgave him. But Robert-Sosthene, who, in his positionas representative of the younger branch, affected Liberal leanings andwas besides loaded with debt, rebelled against the paternal procedure. He burned his visiting-cards, ornamented with the family crest andhis name "Chevalier Lange d'Ardennes"--and had others printed, simply"Dardennes, junior (du Morbihan). "

Of these he sent a specimen to his father, and from that hour became adeclared Republican. 

There are people who attach themselves to a party by their virtues;others, again, by their vices. No recognized political party existswhich does not contain some true principle; which does not respond tosome legitimate aspiration of human society. At the same time, there isnot one which can not serve as a pretext, as a refuge, and as a hope, for the basest passions of our nature. 

The most advanced portion of the Liberal party of France is composedof generous spirits, ardent and absolute, who torture a really elevatedideal; that of a society of manhood, constituted with a sort ofphilosophic perfection; her own mistress each day and each hour;delegating few of her powers, and yielding none; living, not withoutlaws, but without rulers; and, in short, developing her activity, herwell-being, her genius, with that fulness of justice, of independence, and of dignity, which republicanism alone gives to all and to each one. 

Every other system appears to them to preserve some of the slaveries andiniquities of former ages; and it also appears open to the suspicionof generating diverse interests--and often hostile ones--between thegovernors and the governed. They claim for all that political systemwhich, without doubt, holds humanity in the most esteem; and however onemay despise the practical working of their theory, the grandeur of itsprinciples can not be despised. 

They are in reality a proud race, great-hearted and high-spirited. Theyhave had in their age their heroes and their martyrs; but they havehad, on the other hand, their hypocrites, their adventurers, and theirradicals--their greatest enemies. 

Young Dardennes, to obtain grace for the equivocal origin of hisconvictions, placed himself in the front rank of these last. 

Until he left college Louis de Camors never knew his uncle, who hadremained on bad terms with his father; but he entertained for him, insecret; an enthusiastic admiration, attributing to him all the virtuesof that principle of which he seemed the exponent. 

The Republic of '48 soon died: his uncle was among the vanquished; andthis, to the young man, had but an additional attraction. Without hisfather's knowledge, he went to see him, as if on a pilgrimage to a holyshrine; and he was well received. 

He found his uncle exasperated--not so much against his enemies asagainst his own party, to which he attributed all the disasters of thecause. 

"They never can make revolutions with gloves on, " he said in a solemn, dogmatic tone. "The men of 'ninety-three did not wear them. You can notmake an omelette without first breaking the eggs. 

"The pioneers of the future should march on, axe in hand!

"The chrysalis of the people is not hatched upon roses!

"Liberty is a goddess who demands great holocausts. Had they made aReign of Terror in 'forty-eight, they would now be masters!"

These high-flown maxims astonished Louis de Camors. In his youthfulsimplicity he had an infinite respect for the men who had governed hiscountry in her darkest hour; not more that they had given up power aspoor as when they assumed it, than that they left it with their handsunstained with blood: To this praise--which will be accorded themin history, which redresses many contemporary injustices--he added areproach which he could not reconcile with the strange regrets of hisuncle. He reproached them with not having more boldly separated the NewRepublic, in its management and minor details, from the memories of theold one. Far from agreeing with his uncle that a revival of the horrorsof 'ninety-three would have assured the triumph of the New Republic, he believed it had sunk under the bloody shadow of its predecessor. He believed that, owing to this boasted Terror, France had been forcenturies the only country in which the dangers of liberty outweighedits benefits. 

It is useless to dwell longer on the relations of Louis de Camors withhis uncle Dardennes. It is enough that he was doubtful and discouraged, and made the error of holding the cause responsible for the violence ofits lesser apostles, and that he adopted the fatal error, too commonin France at that period, of confounding progress with discord, libertywith license, and revolution with terrorism!

The natural result of irritation and disenchantment on this ardentspirit was to swing it rapidly around to the opposite pole of opinion. After all, Camors argued, his birth, his name, his family ties allpointed out his true course, which was to combat the cruel and despoticdoctrines which he believed he detected under these democratic theories. Another thing in the habitual language of his uncle also shocked andrepelled him--the profession of an absolute atheism. He had within him, in default of a formal creed, a fund of general belief and respect forholy things--that kind of religious sensibility which was shockedby impious cynicism. Further he could not comprehend then, or everafterward, how principles alone, without faith in some higher sanction, could sustain themselves by their own strength in the human conscience. 

God--or no principles! This was the dilemma from which no Germanphilosophy could rescue him. 

This reaction in his mind drew him closer to those other branches of hisfamily which he had hitherto neglected. His two aunts, living at Paris, had been compelled, in consequence of their small fortunes, to makesome sacrifices to enter into the blessed state of matrimony. The elder, Eleanore-Jeanne, had married, during her father's life, the Comte dela Roche-Jugan--a man long past fifty, but still well worthy of beingloved. Nevertheless, his wife did not love him. Their views on manyessential points differed widely. M. De la Roche-Jugan was one of thosewho had served the Government of the Restoration with an unshaken buthopeless devotion. In his youth he had been attached to the person andto the ministry of the Duc de Richelieu; and he had preserved thememory of that illustrious man--of the elevated moderation of hissentiments--of the warmth of his patriotism and of his constancy. He sawthe pitfalls ahead, pointed them out to his prince--displeased him byso doing, but still followed his fortunes. Once more retired to privatelife with but small means, he guarded his political principles ratherlike a religion than a hope. His hopes, his vivacity, his love ofright--all these he turned toward God. 

His piety, as enlightened as profound, ranked him among the choicestspirits who then endeavored to reconcile the national faith of thepast with the inexorable liberty of thought of the present. Like hisco-laborers in this work, he experienced only a mortal sadness underwhich he sank. True, his wife contributed no little to hasten his end bythe intemperance of her zeal and the acrimony of her bigotry. 

She had little heart and great pride, and made her God subserve herpassions, as Dardennes made liberty subserve his malice. 

No sooner had she become a widow than she purified her salons. Thenceforth figured there only parishioners more orthodox than theirbishops, French priests who denied Bossuet; consequently she believedthat religion was saved in France. Louis de Camors, admitted to thischoice circle by title both of relative and convert, found there thedevotion of Louis XI and the charity of Catherine de Medicis; and hethere lost very soon the little faith that remained to him. 

He asked himself sadly whether there was no middle ground between Terrorand Inquisition; whether in this world one must be a fanatic or nothing. He sought a middle course, possessing the force and cohesion of a party;but he sought in vain. It seemed to him that the whole world of politicsand religion rushed to extremes; and that what was not extreme was inertand indifferent--dragging out, day by day, an existence without faithand without principle. 

Thus at least appeared to him those whom the sad changes of his lifeshowed him as types of modern politics. 

His younger aunt, Louise-Elizabeth, who enjoyed to the full all thepleasures of modern life, had already profited by her father's death tomake a rich misalliance. She married the Baron Tonnelier, whose father, although the son of a miller, had shown ability and honesty enough tofill high positions under the First Empire. 

The Baron Tonnelier had a large fortune, increasing every day bysuccessful speculation. In his youth he had been a good horseman, aVoltairian, and a Liberal. 

In time--though he remained a Voltairian--he renounced horsemanship, and Liberalism. Although he was a simple deputy, he had a twinge ofdemocracy now and then; but after he was invested with the peerage, hefelt sure from that moment that the human species had no more progressto make. 

The French Revolution was ended; its giddiest height attained. No longercould any one walk, talk, write, or rise. That perplexed him. Had hebeen sincere, he would have avowed that he could not comprehend thatthere could be storms, or thunder-clouds in the heavens--that the worldwas not perfectly happy and tranquil, while he himself was so. When hisnephew was old enough to comprehend him, Baron Tonnelier was no longerpeer of France; but being one who does himself no hurt--and sometimesmuch good by a fall, he filled a high office under the new government. He endeavored to discharge its duties conscientiously, as he had thoseof the preceding reign. 

He spoke with peculiar ease of suppressing this or that journal--suchan orator, such a book; of suppressing everything, in short, excepthimself. In his view, France had been in the wrong road since 1789, andhe sought to lead her back from that fatal date. 

Nevertheless, he never spoke of returning, in his proper person, tohis grandfather's mill; which, to say the least, was inconsistent. HadLiberty been mother to this old gentleman, and had he met her in a clumpof woods, he would have strangled her. We regret to add that he had thehabit of terming "old duffers" such ministers as he suspected of liberalviews, and especially such as were in favor of popular education. A morehurtful counsellor never approached a throne; but luckily, while near itin office, he was far from it in influence. 

He was still a charming man, gallant and fresh--more gallant, however, than fresh. Consequently his habits were not too good, and he hauntedthe greenroom of the opera. He had two daughters, recently married, before whom he repeated the most piquant witticisms of Voltaire, andthe most improper stories of Tallemant de Reaux; and consequently bothpromised to afford the scandalmongers a series of racy anecdotes, astheir mother had before them. 

While Louis de Camors was learning rapidly, by the association andexample of the collateral branches of his family, to defy equally allprinciples and all convictions, his terrible father finished the task. 

Worldling to the last extreme, depraved to his very core; past-masterin the art of Parisian high life; an unbridled egotist, thinking himselfsuperior to everything because he abased everything to himself; and, finally, flattering himself for despising all duties, which he had allhis life prided himself on dispensing with--such was his father. But forall this, he was the pride of his circle, with a pleasing presence andan indefinable charm of manner. 

The father and son saw little of each other. M. De Camors was too proudto entangle his son in his own debaucheries; but the course of every-daylife sometimes brought them together at meal-time. He would then listenwith cool mockery to the enthusiastic or despondent speeches of theyouth. He never deigned to argue seriously, but responded in a fewbitter words, that fell like drops of sleet on the few sparks stillglowing in the son's heart. 

Becoming gradually discouraged, the latter lost all taste for work, andgave himself up, more and more, to the idle pleasures of his position. Abandoning himself wholly to these, he threw into them all theseductions of his person, all the generosity of his character--but atthe same time a sadness always gloomy, sometimes desperate. 

The bitter malice he displayed, however, did not prevent his being lovedby women and renowned among men. And the latter imitated him. 

He aided materially in founding a charming school of youth withoutsmiles. His air of ennui and lassitude, which with him at least had theexcuse of a serious foundation, was servilely copied by the youth aroundhim, who never knew any greater distress than an overloaded stomach, but whom it pleased, nevertheless, to appear faded in their flower andcontemptuous of human nature. 

We have seen Camors in this phase of his existence. But in realitynothing was more foreign to him than the mask of careless disdain thatthe young man assumed. Upon falling into the common ditch, he, perhaps, had one advantage over his fellows: he did not make his bed with baseresignation; he tried persistently to raise himself from it by a violentstruggle, only to be hurled upon it once more. 

Strong souls do not sleep easily: indifference weighs them down. 

They demand a mission--a motive for action--and faith. 

Louis de Camors was yet to find his. 

CHAPTER IV. A NEW ACTRESS IN A NOVEL ROLE

Louis de Camor's father had not I told him all in that last letter. 

Instead of leaving him a fortune, he left him only embarrassments, forhe was three fourths ruined. The disorder of his affairs had beguna long time before, and it was to repair them that he had married; aprocess that had not proved successful. A large inheritance on whichhe had relied as coming to his wife went elsewhere--to endow a charityhospital. The Comte de Camors began a suit to recover it before thetribunal of the Council of State, but compromised it for an annuity ofthirty thousand francs. This stopped at his death. He enjoyed, besides, several fat sinecures, which his name, his social rank, and his personaladdress secured him from some of the great insurance companies. Butthese resources did not survive him; he only rented the house he hadoccupied; and the young Comte de Camors found himself suddenly reducedto the provision of his mother's dowry--a bare pittance to a man of hishabits and rank. 

His father had often assured him he could leave him nothing, so the sonwas accustomed to look forward to this situation. Therefore, when herealized it, he was neither surprised nor revolted by the improvidentegotism of which he was the victim. His reverence for his fathercontinued unabated, and he did not read with the less respect orconfidence the singular missive which figures at the beginning of thisstory. The moral theories which this letter advanced were not new tohim. They were a part of the very atmosphere around him; he had oftenrevolved them in his feverish brain; yet, never before had they appearedto him in the condensed form of a dogma, with the clear precision of apractical code; nor as now, with the authorization of such a voice andof such an example. 

One incident gave powerful aid in confirming the impression of theselast pages on his mind. Eight days after his father's death, he wasreclining on the lounge in his smoking-room, his face dark as night andas his thoughts, when a servant entered and handed him a card. He tookit listlessly, and read "Lescande, architect. " Two red spots rose to hispale cheeks--"I do not see any one, " he said. 

"So I told this gentleman, " replied the servant, "but he insists in suchan extraordinary manner--"

"In an extraordinary manner?"

"Yes, sir; as if he had something very serious to communicate. "

"Something serious--aha! Then let him in. " Camors rose and paced thechamber, a smile of bitter mockery wreathing his lips. "And must I nowkill him?" he muttered between his teeth. 

Lescande entered, and his first act dissipated the apprehension hisconduct had caused. He rushed to the young Count and seized him by bothhands, while Camors remarked that his face was troubled and his lipstrembled. "Sit down and be calm, " he said. 

"My friend, " said the other, after a pause, "I come late to see you, for which I crave pardon; but--I am myself so miserable! See, I am inmourning!"

Camors felt a chill run to his very marrow. "In mourning! and why?" heasked, mechanically. 

"Juliette is dead!" sobbed Lescande, and covered his eyes with his greathands. 

"Great God!" cried Camors in a hollow voice. He listened a moment toLescande's bitter sobs, then made a movement to take his hand, but darednot do it. "Great God! is it possible?" he repeated. 

"It was so sudden!" sobbed Lescande, brokenly. "It seems like a dream--afrightful dream! You know the last time you visited us she was not well. You remember I told you she had wept all day. Poor child! The morning ofmy return she was seized with congestion--of the lungs--of the brain--Idon't know!--but she is dead! And so good!--so gentle, so loving! to thelast moment! Oh, my friend! my friend! A few moments before she died, she called me to her side. 'Oh, I love you so! I love you so!' she said. 'I never loved any but you--you only! Pardon me!--oh, pardon me!' Pardonher, poor child! My God, for what? for dying?--for she never gave me amoment's grief before in this world. Oh, God of mercy!"

"I beseech you, my friend--"

"Yes, yes, I do wrong. You also have your griefs. 

"But we are all selfish, you know. However, it was not of that that Icame to speak. Tell me--I know not whether a report I hear is correct. Pardon me if I mistake, for you know I never would dream of offendingyou; but they say that you have been left in very bad circumstances. Ifthis is indeed so, my friend--"

"It is not, " interrupted Camors, abruptly. 

"Well, if it were--I do not intend keeping my little house. Why shouldI, now? My little son can wait while I work for him. Then, after sellingmy house, I shall have two hundred thousand francs. Half of this isyours--return it when you can!"

"I thank you, my unselfish friend, " replied Camors, much moved, "but Ineed nothing. My affairs are disordered, it is true; but I shall stillremain richer than you. "

"Yes, but with your tastes--"

"Well?"

"At all events, you know where to find me. I may count upon you--may Inot?"

"You may. "

"Adieu, my friend! I can do you no good now; but I shall see youagain--shall I not?"

"Yes--another time. "

Lescande departed, and the young Count remained immovable, with hisfeatures convulsed and his eyes fixed on vacancy. 

This moment decided his whole future. 

Sometimes a man feels a sudden, unaccountable impulse to smother inhimself all human love and sympathy. 

In the presence of this unhappy man, so unworthily treated, sobroken-spirited, so confiding, Camors--if there be any truth in oldspiritual laws--should have seen himself guilty of an atrocious act, which should have condemned him to a remorse almost unbearable. 

But if it were true that the human herd was but the product ofmaterial forces in nature, producing, haphazard, strong beings and weakones--lambs and lions--he had played only the lion's part in destroyinghis companion. He said to himself, with his father's letter beneath hiseyes, that this was the fact; and the reflection calmed him. 

The more he thought, that day and the next, in depth of the retreatin which he had buried himself, the more was he persuaded that thisdoctrine was that very truth which he had sought, and which his fatherhad bequeathed to him as the whole rule of his life. His cold and barrenheart opened with a voluptuous pleasure under this new flame that filledand warmed it. 

From this moment he possessed a faith--a principle of action--a planof life--all that he needed; and was no longer oppressed by doubts, agitation, and remorse. This doctrine, if not the most elevated, was atleast above the level of the most of mankind. It satisfied his pride andjustified his scorn. 

To preserve his self-esteem, it was only necessary for him to preservehis honor, to do nothing low, as his father had said; and he determinednever to do anything which, in his eyes, partook of that character. Moreover, were there not men he himself had met thoroughly steeped inmaterialism, who were yet regarded as the most honorable men of theirday?

Perhaps he might have asked himself whether this incontestable factmight not, in part, have been attributed rather to the individual thanto the doctrine; and whether men's beliefs did not always influencetheir actions. However that might have been, from the date of thiscrisis Louis de Camors made his father's will the rule of his life. 

To develop in all their strength the physical and intellectual giftswhich he possessed; to make of himself the polished type of thecivilization of the times; to charm women and control men; to revelin all the joys of intellect, of the senses, and of rank; to subdueas servile instincts all natural sentiments; to scorn, as chimeras andhypocrisies, all vulgar beliefs; to love nothing, fear nothing, respectnothing, save honor--such, in fine, were the duties which he recognized, and the rights which he arrogated to himself. 

It was with these redoubtable weapons, and strengthened by a keenintelligence and vigorous will, that he would return to the world--hisbrow calm and grave, his eye caressing while unyielding, a smile uponhis lips, as men had known him. 

From this moment there was no cloud either upon his mind or upon hisface, which wore the aspect of perpetual youth. He determined, aboveall, not to retrench, but to preserve, despite the narrowness of hispresent fortune, those habits of elegant luxury in which he still mightindulge for several years, by the expenditure of his principal. 

Both pride and policy gave him this council in an equal degree. He wasnot ignorant that the world is as cold toward the needy as it is warmto those not needing its countenance. Had he been thus ignorant, theattitude of his family, just after the death of his father, would haveopened his eyes to the fact. 

His aunt de la Roche-Jugan and his uncle Tonnelier manifested toward himthe cold circumspection of people who suspected they were dealing witha ruined man. They had even, for greater security, left Paris, andneglected to notify the young Count in what retreat they had chosen tohide their grief. Nevertheless he was soon to learn it, for while he wasbusied in settling his father's affairs and organizing his own projectsof fortune and ambition, one fine morning in August he met with a livelysurprise. 

He counted among his relatives one of the richest landed proprietors ofFrance, General the Marquis de Campvallon d'Armignes, celebrated for hisfearful outbursts in the Corps Legislatif. He had a voice of thunder, and when he rolled out, "Bah! Enough! Stop this order of the day!"the senate trembled, and the government commissioners bounced on theirchairs. Yet he was the best fellow in the world, although he had killedtwo fellow-creatures in duels--but then he had his reasons for that. 

Camors knew him but slightly, paid him the necessary respect thatpoliteness demanded toward a relative; met him sometimes at the club, over a game of whist, and that was all. 

Two years before, the General had lost a nephew, the direct heir to hisname and fortune. Consequently he was hunted by an eager pack of cousinsand relatives; and Madame de la Roche-Jugan and the Baroness Tonneliergave tongue in their foremost rank. 

Camors was indifferent, and had, since that event, been particularlyreserved in his intercourse with the General. Therefore he wasconsiderably astonished when he received the following letter:

 "DEAR KINSMAN:

 "Your two aunts and their families are with me in the country. When it is agreeable to you to join them, I shall always feel happy to give a cordial greeting to the son of an old friend and companion-in-arms. 

 "I presented myself at your house before leaving Paris, but you were not visible. 

 "Believe me, I comprehend your grief: that you have experienced an irreparable loss, in which I sympathize with you most sincerely. 

 "Receive, my dear kinsman, the best wishes of GENERAL, THE MARQUIS DE CAMPVALLON D'ARMIGNES. 

 "CHATEAU DE CAMPVALLON, Voie de l'ouest. 

 "P. S. --It is probable, my young cousin, that I may have something of interest to communicate to you!"

This last sentence, and the exclamation mark that followed it, failednot to shake slightly the impassive calm that Camors was at that momentcultivating. He could not help seeing, as in a mirror, under the veilof the mysterious postscript, the reflection of seven hundred thousandfrancs of ground-rent which made the splendid income of the General. Herecalled that his father, who had served some time in Africa, had beenattached to the staff of M. De Campvallon as aide-de-camp, and that hehad besides rendered him a great service of a different nature. 

Notwithstanding that he felt the absurdity of these dreams, and wishedto keep his heart free from them, he left the next day for Campvallon. After enjoying for seven or eight hours all the comforts and luxuriesthe Western line is reputed to afford its guests, Camors arrived in theevening at the station, where the General's carriage awaited him. Theseignorial pile of the Chateau Campvallon soon appeared to him on aheight, of which the sides were covered with magnificent woods, slopingdown nearly to the plain, there spreading out widely. 

It was almost the dinner-hour; and the young man, after arranging histoilet, immediately descended to the drawing-room, where his presenceseemed to throw a wet blanket over the assembled circle. To make up forthis, the General gave him the warmest welcome; only--as he had a shortmemory or little imagination--he found nothing better to say than torepeat the expressions of his letter, while squeezing his hand almost tothe point of fracture. 

"The son of my old friend and companion-in-arms, " he cried; and thewords rang out in such a sonorous voice they seemed to impress evenhimself--for it was noticeable that after a remark, the General alwaysseemed astonished, as if startled by the words that came out of hismouth--and that seemed suddenly to expand the compass of his ideas andthe depth of his sentiments. 

To complete his portrait: he was of medium size, square, and stout;panting when he ascended stairs, or even walking on level ground; a facemassive and broad as a mask, and reminding one of those fabled beingswho blew fire from their nostrils; a huge moustache, white and grizzly;small gray eyes, always fixed, like those of a doll, but still terrible. He marched toward a man slowly, imposingly, with eyes fixed, as ifbeginning a duel to the death, and demanded of him imperatively--thetime of day!

Camors well knew this innocent weakness of his host, but, notwithstanding, was its dupe for one instant during the evening. 

They had left the dining-table, and he was standing carelessly in thealcove of a window, holding a cup of coffee, when the General approachedhim from the extreme end of the room with a severe yet confidentialexpression, which seemed to preface an announcement of the greatestimportance. 

The postscript rose before him. He felt he was to have an immediateexplanation. 

The General approached, seized him by the buttonhole, and withdrawinghim from the depth of the recess, looked into his eyes as if he wishedto penetrate his very soul. Suddenly he spoke, in his thunderous voice. He said:

"What do you take in the morning, young man?"

"Tea, General. "

"Aha! Then give your orders to Pierre--just as if you were at home;"and, turning on his heel and joining the ladies, he left Camors todigest his little comedy as he might. 

Eight days passed. Twice the General made his guest the object of hisformidable advance. The first time, having put him out of countenance, he contented himself with exclaiming:

"Well, young man!" and turned on his heel. 

The next time he bore down upon Camors, he said not a word, and retiredin silence. 

Evidently the General had not the slightest recollection of thepostscript. Camors tried to be contented, but would continually askhimself why he had come to Campvallon, in the midst of his family, ofwhom he was not overfond, and in the depths of the country, which heexecrated. Luckily, the castle boasted a library well stocked with workson civil and international law, jurisprudence, and political economy. Hetook advantage of it; and, resuming the thread of those serious studieswhich had been broken off during his period of hopelessness, plungedinto those recondite themes that pleased his active intelligence andhis awakened ambition. Thus he waited patiently until politenesswould permit him to bring to an explanation the former friend andcompanion-in-arms of his father. In the morning he rode on horseback;gave a lesson in fencing to his cousin Sigismund, the son of Madame dela Roche-Jugan; then shut himself up in the library until the evening, which he passed at bezique with the General. Meantime he viewed with theeye of a philosopher the strife of the covetous relatives who hoveredaround their rich prey. 

Madame de la Roche-Jugan had invented an original way of making herselfagreeable to the General, which was to persuade him he had disease ofthe heart. She continually felt his pulse with her plump hand, sometimesreassuring him, and at others inspiring him with a salutary terror, although he denied it. 

"Good heavens! my dear cousin!" he would exclaim, "let me alone. I knowI am mortal like everybody else. What of that? But I see your aim-it isto convert me! Ta-ta!"

She not only wished to convert him, but to marry him, and bury himbesides. 

She based her hopes in this respect chiefly on her son Sigismund;knowing that the General bitterly regretted having no one to inherit hisname. He had but to marry Madame de la Roche-Jugan and adopt her son tobanish this care. Without a single allusion to this fact, the Countessfailed not to turn the thoughts of the General toward it with all thetact of an accomplished intrigante, with all the ardor of a mother, andwith all the piety of an unctuous devotee. 

Her sister, the Baroness Tonnelier, bitterly confessed her owndisadvantage. She was not a widow. And she had no son. But she had twodaughters, both of them graceful, very elegant and sparkling. One wasMadame Bacquiere, the wife of a broker; the other, Madame Van-Cuyp, wifeof a young Hollander, doing business at Paris. 

Both interpreted life and marriage gayly; both floated from oneyear into another dancing, riding, hunting, coquetting, and singingrecklessly the most risque songs of the minor theatres. Formerly, Camors, in his pensive mood, had taken an aversion to these littleexamples of modern feminine frivolity. Since he had changed his views oflife he did them more justice. He said, calmly:

"They are pretty little animals that follow their instincts. "

Mesdames Bacquiere and Van-Cuyp, instigated by their mother, appliedthemselves assiduously to making the General feel all the sacred joysthat cluster round the domestic hearth. They enlivened his household, exercised his horses, killed his game, and tortured his piano. Theyseemed to think that the General, once accustomed to their sweetness andanimation, could not do without it, and that their society would becomeindispensable to him. They mingled, too, with their adroit manoeuvres, familiar and delicate attentions, likely to touch an old man. Theysat on his knees like children, played gently with his moustache, andarranged in the latest style the military knot of his cravat. 

Madame de la Roche-Jugan never ceased to deplore confidentially to theGeneral the unfortunate education of her nieces; while the Baroness, on her side, lost no opportunity of holding up in bold relief theemptiness, impertinence, and sulkiness of young Count Sigismund. 

In the midst of these honorable conflicts one person, who took no partin them, attracted the greatest share of Camors's interest; firstfor her beauty and afterward for her qualities. This was an orphan ofexcellent family, but very poor, of whom Madame de la Roche-Jugan andMadame Tonnelier had taken joint charge. Mademoiselle Charlotte de Lucd'Estrelles passed six months of each year with the Countess and sixwith the Baroness. She was twenty-five years of age, tall and blonde, with deep-set eyes under the shadow of sweeping, black lashes. Thickmasses of hair framed her sad but splendid brow; and she was badly, orrather poorly dressed, never condescending to wear the cast-off clothesof her relatives, but preferring gowns of simplest material made by herown hands. These draperies gave her the appearance of an antique statue. 

Her Tonnelier cousins nicknamed her "the goddess. " They hated her;she despised them. The name they gave her, however, was marvellouslysuitable. 

When she walked, you would have imagined she had descended from apedestal; the pose of her head was like that of the Greek Venus; herdelicate, dilating nostrils seemed carved by a cunning chisel fromtransparent ivory. She had a startled, wild air, such as one sees inpictures of huntress nymphs. She used a naturally fine voice with greateffect; and had already cultivated, so far as she could, a taste forart. 

She was naturally so taciturn one was compelled to guess her thoughts;and long since Camors had reflected as to what was passing in thatself-centred soul. Inspired by his innate generosity, as well as hissecret admiration, he took pleasure in heaping upon this poor cousinthe attentions he might have paid a queen; but she always seemed asindifferent to them as she was to the opposite course of her involuntarybenefactress. Her position at Campvallon was very odd. After Camors'sarrival, she was more taciturn than ever; absorbed, estranged, as ifmeditating some deep design, she would suddenly raise the long lashes ofher blue eyes, dart a rapid glance here and there, and finally fix it onCamors, who would feel himself tremble under it. 

One afternoon, when he was seated in the library, he heard a gentletap at the door, and Mademoiselle entered, looking very pale. Somewhatastonished, he rose and saluted her. 

"I wish to speak with you, cousin, " she said. The accent was pure andgrave, but slightly touched with evident emotion. Camors stared at her, showed her to a divan, and took a chair facing her. 

"You know very little of me, cousin, " she continued, "but I am frank andcourageous. I will come at once to the object that brings me here. Is ittrue that you are ruined?"

"Why do you ask, Mademoiselle?"

"You always have been very good to me--you only. I am very grateful toyou; and I also--" She stopped, dropped her eyes, and a bright flushsuffused her cheeks. Then she bent her head, smiling like one who hasregained courage under difficulty. "Well, then, " she resumed, "I amready to devote my life to you. You will deem me very romantic, butI have wrought out of our united poverty a very charming picture, Ibelieve. I am sure I should make an excellent wife for the husband Iloved. If you must leave France, as they tell me you must, I will followyou--I will be your brave and faithful helpmate. Pardon me, one wordmore, Monsieur de Camors. My proposition would be immodest if itconcealed any afterthought. It conceals none. I am poor. I have butfifteen hundred francs' income. If you are richer than I, consider Ihave said nothing; for nothing in the world would then induce me tomarry you!"

She paused; and with a manner of mingled yearning, candor, and anguish, fixed on him her large eyes full of fire. 

There was a solemn pause. Between these strange natures, both high andnoble, a terrible destiny seemed pending at this moment, and both feltit. 

At length Camors responded in a grave, calm voice: "It is impossible, Mademoiselle, that you can appreciate the trial to which you expose me;but I have searched my heart, and I there find nothing worthy of you. Do me the justice to believe that my decision is based neither upon yourfortune nor upon my own: but I am resolved never to marry. " She sigheddeeply, and rose. "Adieu, cousin, " she said. 

"I beg--I pray you to remain one moment, " cried the young man, reseatingher with gentle force upon the sofa. He walked half across the roomto repress his agitation; then leaning on a table near the young girl, said:

"Mademoiselle Charlotte, you are unhappy; are you not?"

"A little, perhaps, " she answered. 

"I do not mean at this moment, but always?"

"Always!"

"Aunt de la Roche-Jugan treats you harshly?"

"Undoubtedly; she dreads that I may entrap her son. Good heavens!"

"The little Tonneliers are jealous of you, and Uncle Tonnelier tormentsyou?"

"Basely!" she said; and two tears swam on her eyelashes, then glistenedlike diamonds on her cheek. 

"And what do you believe of the religion of our aunt?"

"What would you have me believe of religion that bestows novirtue--restrains no vice?"

"Then you are a non-believer?"

"One may believe in God and the Gospel without believing in the religionof our aunt. "

"But she will drive you into a convent. Why, then, do you not enterone?"

"I love life, " the girl said. 

He looked at her silently a moment, then continued "Yes, you lovelife--the sunlight, the thoughts, the arts, the luxuries--everythingthat is beautiful, like yourself. Then, Mademoiselle Charlotte, allthese are in your hands; why do you not grasp them?"

"How?" she queried, surprised and somewhat startled. 

"If you have, as I believe you have, as much strength of soul asintelligence and beauty, you can escape at once and forever themiserable servitude fate has imposed upon you. Richly endowed as youare, you might become to-morrow a great artiste, independent, feted, rich, adored--the mistress of Paris and of the world!"

"And yours also?--No!" said this strange girl. 

"Pardon, Mademoiselle Charlotte. I did not suspect you of any improperidea, when you offered to share my uncertain fortunes. Render me, I prayyou, the same justice at this moment. My moral principles are very lax, it is true, but I am as proud as yourself. I never shall reach my aimby any subterfuge. No; strive to study art. I find you beautifuland seductive, but I am governed by sentiments superior to personalinterests. I was profoundly touched by your sympathetic leaning towardme, and have sought to testify my gratitude by friendly counsel. Since, however, you now suspect me of striving to corrupt you for my own ends, I am silent, Mademoiselle, and permit you to depart. "

"Pray proceed, Monsieur de Camors. "

"You will then listen to me with confidence?"

"I will do so. "

"Well, then, Mademoiselle, you have seen little of the world, but youhave seen enough to judge and to be certain of the value of its esteem. The world! That is your family and mine: Monsieur and Madame Tonnelier, Monsieur and Madame de la Roche-Jugan, and the little Sigismund!"

"Well, then, Mademoiselle Charlotte, the day that you become a greatartiste, rich, triumphant, idolized, wealthy--drinking, in deepdraughts, all the joys of life--that day Uncle Tonnelier will invokeoutraged morals, our aunt will swoon with prudery in the arms of her oldlovers, and Madame de la Roche-Jugan will groan and turn her yellow eyesto heaven! But what will all that matter to you?"

"Then, Monsieur, you advise me to lead an immoral life. "

"By no manner of means. I only urge you, in defiance of public opinion, to become an actress, as the only sure road to independence, fame, andfortune. And besides, there is no law preventing an actress marrying andbeing 'honorable, ' as the world understands the word. You have heard ofmore than one example of this. "

"Without mother, family, or protector, it would be an extraordinarything for me to do! I can not fail to see that sooner or later I shouldbe a lost girl. "

Camors remained silent. "Why do you not answer?" she asked. 

"Heavens! Mademoiselle, because this is so delicate a subject, and ourideas are so different about it. I can not change mine; I must leave youyours. As for me, I am a very pagan. "

"How? Are good and bad indifferent to you?"

"No; but to me it seems bad to fear the opinion of people one despises, to practise what one does not believe, and to yield before prejudicesand phantoms of which one knows the unreality. It is bad to be a slaveor a hypocrite, as are three fourths of the world. Evil is ugliness, ignorance, folly, and baseness. Good is beauty, talent, ability, andcourage! That is all. "

"And God?" the girl cried. He did not reply. She looked fixedly at hima moment without catching the eyes he kept turned from her. Herhead drooped heavily; then raising it suddenly, she said: "There aresentiments men can not understand. In my bitter hours I have oftendreamed of this free life you now advise; but I have always recoiledbefore one thought--only one. "

"And that?"

"Perhaps the sentiment is not peculiar to me--perhaps it is excessivepride, but I have a great regard for myself--my person is sacred to me. Should I come to believe in nothing, like you--and I am far from thatyet, thank God!--I should even then remain honest and true--faithfulto one love, simply from pride. I should prefer, " she added, in a voicedeep and sustained, but somewhat strained, "I should prefer to desecratean altar rather than myself!"

Saying these words, she rose, made a haughty movement of the head insign of an adieu, and left the room. 

CHAPTER V. THE COUNT LOSES A LADY AND FINDS A MISSION

Camors sat for some time plunged in thought. 

He was astonished at the depths he had discovered in her character; hewas displeased with himself without well knowing why; and, above all, hewas much struck by his cousin. 

However, as he had but a slight opinion of the sincerity of women, hepersuaded himself that Mademoiselle de Luc d'Estrelles, when she came tooffer him her heart and hand, nevertheless knew he was not altogethera despicable match for her. He said to himself that a few years backhe might have been duped by her apparent sincerity, and congratulatedhimself on not having fallen into this attractive snare--on not havinglistened to the first promptings of credulity and sincere emotion. 

He might have spared himself these compliments. Mademoiselle de Lucd'Estrelles, as he was soon to discover, had been in that perfectlyfrank, generous, and disinterested state of mind in which womensometimes are. 

Only, would it happen to him to find her so in the future? That wasdoubtful, thanks to M. De Camors. It often happens that by despising mentoo much, we degrade them; in suspecting women too much, we lose them. 

About an hour passed; there was another rap at the library door. Camors felt a slight palpitation and a secret wish that it should proveMademoiselle Charlotte. 

It was the General who entered. He advanced with measured stride, puffedlike some sea-monster, and seized Camors by the lapel of his coat. Thenhe said, impressively:

"Well, young gentleman!"

"Well, General. "

"What are you doing in here?"

"Oh, I am at work. "

"At work? Um! Sit down there--sit down, sit down!" He threw himselfon the sofa where Mademoiselle had been, which rather changed theperspective for Camors. 

"Well, well!" he repeated, after a long pause. 

"But what then, General?"

"What then? The deuce! Why, have you not noticed that I have been forsome days extraordinarily agitated?"

"No, General, I have not noticed it. "

"You are not very observing! I am extraordinarily agitated--enough tofatigue the eyes. So agitated, upon my word of honor, that there aremoments when I am tempted to believe your aunt is right: that I havedisease of the heart!"

"Bah, General! My aunt is dreaming; you have the pulse of an infant. "

"You believe so, really? I do not fear death; but it is always annoyingto think of it. But I am too much agitated--it is necessary to put astop to it. You understand?"

"Perfectly; but how can it concern me?"

"Concern you? You are about to hear. You are my cousin, are you not?"

"Truly, General, I have that honor. "

"But very distant, eh? I have thirty-six cousins as near as you, and--the devil! To speak plainly, I owe you nothing. "

"And I have never demanded payment even of that, General. "

"Ah, I know that! Well, you are my cousin, very far removed! But you aremore than that. Your father saved my life in the Atlas. He has relatedit all to you--No? Well, that does not astonish me; for he was nobraggart, that father of yours; he was a man! Had he not quitted thearmy, a brilliant career was before him. People talk a great deal ofPelissier, of Canrobert, of MacMahon, and of others. I say nothingagainst them; they are good men doubtless--at least I hear so; but yourfather would have eclipsed them all had he taken the trouble. But hedidn't take the trouble!

"Well, for the story: We were crossing a gorge of the Atlas; we were inretreat; I had lost my command; I was following as a volunteer. Itis useless to weary you with details; we were in retreat; a shower ofstones and bullets poured upon us, as if from the moon. Our column wasslightly disordered; I was in the rearguard--whack! my horse was down, and I under him!

"We were in a narrow gorge with sloping sides some fifteen feet high;five dirty guerillas slid down the sides and fell upon me and on thebeast--forty devils! I can see them now! Just here the gorge took asudden turn, so no one could see my trouble; or no one wished to see it, which comes to the same thing. 

"I have told you things were in much disorder; and I beg you to rememberthat with a dead horse and five live Arabs on top of me, I was notvery comfortable. I was suffocating; in fact, I was devilish far fromcomfortable. 

"Just then your father ran to my assistance, like the noble fellow hewas! He drew me from under my horse; he fell upon the Arabs. When Iwas up, I aided him a little--but that is nothing to the point--I nevershall forget him!"

There was a pause, when the General added:

"Let us understand each other, and speak plainly. Would it be veryrepugnant to your feelings to have seven hundred thousand francs a year, and to be called, after me, Marquis de Campvallon d'Armignes? Come, speak up, and give me an answer. "

The young Count reddened slightly. 

"My name is Camors, " he said, gently. 

"What! You would not wish me to adopt you? You refuse to become the heirof my name and of my fortune?"

"Yes, General. "

"Do you not wish time to reflect upon it?"

"No, General. I am sincerely grateful for your goodness; your generousintentions toward me touch me deeply, but in a question of honor I neverreflect or hesitate. "

The General puffed fiercely, like a locomotive blowing off steam. Thenhe rose and took two or three turns up and down the gallery, shufflinghis feet, his chest heaving. Then he returned and reseated himself. 

"What are your plans for the future?" he asked, abruptly. 

"I shall try, in the first place, General, to repair my fortune, whichis much shattered. I am not so great a stranger to business as peoplesuppose, and my father's connections and my own will give me a footingin some great financial or industrial enterprise. Once there, I shallsucceed by force of will and steady work. Besides, I shall fit myselffor public life, and aspire, when circumstances permit me, to become adeputy. "

"Well, well, a man must do something. Idleness is the parent of allvices. See; like yourself, I am fond of the horse--a noble animal. Iapprove of racing; it improves the breed of horses, and aids in mountingour cavalry efficiently. But sport should be an amusement, not aprofession. Hem! so you aspire to become a deputy?"

"Assuredly. "

"Then I can help you in that, at least. When you are ready I will sendin my resignation, and recommend to my brave and faithful constituentsthat you take my place. Will that suit you?"

"Admirably, General; and I am truly grateful. But why should youresign?"

"Why? Well, to be useful to you in the first place; in the second, I amsick of it. I shall not be sorry to give personally a little lesson tothe government, which I trust will profit by it. You know me--I am noJacobin; at first I thought that would succeed. But when I see what isgoing on!"

"What is going on, General?"

"When I see a Tonnelier a great dignitary! It makes me long for the penof Tacitus, on my word. When I was retired in 'forty-eight, under a meanand cruel injustice they did me, I had not reached the age of exemption. I was still capable of good and loyal service; but probably I could havewaited until an amendment. I found it at least in the confidence ofmy brave and faithful constituents. But, my young friend, one tires ofeverything. The Assemblies at the Luxembourg--I mean the Palace of theBourbons--fatigue me. In short, whatever regret I may feel at partingfrom my honorable colleagues, and from my faithful constituents, I shallabdicate my functions whenever you are ready and willing to accept them. Have you not some property in this district?"

"Yes, General, a little property which belonged to my mother; a smallmanor, with a little land round it, called Reuilly. "

"Reuilly! Not two steps from Des Rameures! Certainly--certainly! Well, that is one foot in the stirrup. "

"But then there is one difficulty; I am obliged to sell it. "

"The devil! And why?"

"It is all that is left to me, and it only brings me eleven thousandfrancs a year; and to embark in business I need capital--a beginning. Iprefer not to borrow. "

The General rose, and once more his military tramp shook the gallery. Then he threw himself back on the sofa. 

"You must not sell that property! I owe you nothing, 'tis true, butI have an affection for you. You refuse to be my adopted son. Well, Iregret this, and must have recourse to other projects to aid you. I warnyou I shall try other projects. You must not sell your lands if youwish to become a deputy, for the country people--especially those of DesRameures--will not hear of it. Meantime you will need funds. Permit meto offer you three hundred thousand francs. You may return them when youcan, without interest, and if you never return them you will confer avery great favor upon me. "

"But in truth, General--"

"Come, come! Accept it as from a relative--from a friend--from yourfather's friend--on any ground you please, so you accept. If not, youwill wound me seriously. "

Camors rose, took the General's hand, and pressing it with emotion, said, briefly:

"I accept, sir. I thank you!"

The General sprang up at these words like a furious lion, his moustachebristling, his nostrils dilating, his chest heaving. Staring at theyoung Count with real ferocity, he suddenly drew him to his breast andembraced him with great fervor. Then he strode to the door with hisusual solemnity, and quickly brushing a tear from his cheek, left theroom. 

The General was a good man; but, like many good people, he had not beenhappy. You might smile at his oddities: you never could reproach himwith vices. 

He was a small man, but he had a great soul. Timid at heart, especiallywith women, he was delicate, passionate, and chaste. He had loved butlittle, and never had been loved at all. He declared that he had retiredfrom all friendship with women, because of a wrong that he had suffered. At forty years of age he had married the daughter of a poor colonel whohad been killed by the enemy. Not long after, his wife had deceived himwith one of his aides-de-camp. 

The treachery was revealed to him by a rival, who played on thisoccasion the infamous role of Iago. Campvallon laid aside his starredepaulettes, and in two successive duels, still remembered in Africa, killed on two successive days the guilty one and his betrayer. His wifedied shortly after, and he was left more lonely than ever. He was notthe man to console himself with venal love; a gross remark made himblush; the corps de ballet inspired him with terror. He did not dare toavow it, but the dream of his old age, with his fierce moustache and hisgrim countenance, was the devoted love of some young girl, at whosefeet he might pour out, without shame, without distrust even, all thetenderness of his simple and heroic heart. 

On the evening of the day which had been marked for Camors by these twointeresting episodes, Mademoiselle de Luc d'Estrelles did not come downto dinner, but sent word she had a headache. This message was receivedwith a general murmur, and with some sharp remarks from Madame de laRoche-Jugan, which implied Mademoiselle was not in a position whichjustified her in having a headache. The dinner, however, was not lessgay than usual, thanks to Mesdames Bacquiere and Van-Cuyp, and to theirhusbands, who had arrived from Paris to pass Sunday with them. 

To celebrate this happy meeting, they drank very freely of champagne, talked slang, and imitated actors, causing much amusement to theservants. Returning to the drawing-room, these innocent young thingsthought it very funny to take their husbands' hats, put their feet inthem, and, thus shod, to run a steeplechase across the room. MeantimeMadame de la Roche-Jagan felt the General's pulse frequently, and foundit variable. 

Next morning at breakfast all the General's guests assembled, exceptMademoiselle d'Estrelles, whose headache apparently was no better. Theyremarked also the absence of the General, who was the embodiment ofpoliteness and punctuality. A sense of uneasiness was beginning to creepover all, when suddenly the door opened and the General appeared leadingMademoiselle d'Estrelles by the hand. 

The young girl's eyes were red; her face was very pale. The General'sface was scarlet. He advanced a few steps, like an actor about toaddress his audience; cast fierce glances on all sides of him, andcleared his throat with a sound that echoed like the bass notes of agrand piano. Then he spoke in a voice of thunder:

"My dear guests and friends, permit me to present to you the Marquise deCampvallon d'Armignes!"

An iceberg at the North Pole is not colder than was the General's salonat this announcement. 

He held the young lady by the hand, and retaining his position in thecentre of the room, launched out fierce glances. Then his eyes beganto wander and roll convulsively in their sockets, as if he was himselfastonished at the effect his announcement had produced. 

Camors was the first to come to the rescue, and taking his hand, said:"Accept, my dear General, my congratulations. I am extremely happy, andrejoice at your good fortune; the more so, as I feel the lady is so wellworthy of you. " Then, bowing to Mademoiselle d'Estrelles with a gravegrace, he pressed her hand, and turning away, was struck dumb at seeingMadame de la Roche-Jugan in the arms of the General. She passed from hisinto those of Mademoiselle d'Estrelles, who feared at first, from theviolence of the caresses, that there was a secret design to strangleher. 

"General, " said Madame de la Roche-Jugan in a plaintive voice, "youremember I always recommended her to you. I always spoke well of her. She is my daughter--my second child. Sigismund, embrace your sister! Youpermit it, General? Ah, we never know how much we love these childrenuntil we lose them! I always spoke well of her; did I not--Ge--General?"And here Madame de la Roche-Jugan burst into tears. 

The General, who began to entertain a high opinion of the Countess'sheart, declared that Mademoiselle d'Estrelles would find in him a friendand father. After which flattering assurance, Madame de la Roche-Juganseated herself in a solitary corner, behind a curtain, whence they heardsobs and moans issue for a whole hour. She could not even breakfast;happiness had taken away her appetite. 

The ice once broken, all tried to make themselves agreeable. TheTonneliers did not behave, however, with the same warmth as the tenderCountess, and it was easy to see that Mesdames Bacquiere and Van Cuypcould not picture to themselves, without envy, the shower of gold anddiamonds about to fall into the lap of their cousin. Messrs. Bacquiereand Van-Cuyp were naturally the first sufferers, and their charmingwives made them understand, at intervals during the day, that theythoroughly despised them. It was a bitter Sunday for those poor fellows. The Tonnelier family also felt that little more was to be done there, and left the next morning with a very cold adieu. 

The conduct of the Countess was more noble. She declared she would waitupon her dearly beloved Charlotte from the altar to the very thresholdof the nuptial chamber; that she would arrange her trousseau, and thatthe marriage should take place from her house. 

"Deuce take me, my dear Countess!" cried the General, "I must declareone thing--you astonish me. I was unjust, cruelly unjust, toward you. I reproach myself, on my faith! I believed you worldly, interested, notopen-hearted. But you are none of these; you are an excellent woman--aheart of gold--a noble soul! My dear friend, you have found the bestway to convert me. I have always believed the religion of honor wassufficient for a man--eh, Camors? But I am not an unbeliever, my dearCountess, and, on my sacred word, when I see a perfect creature likeyou, I desire to believe everything she believes, if only to be pleasantto her!"

When Camors, who was not quite so innocent, asked himself what was thesecret of his aunt's politic conduct, but little effort was necessary tounderstand it. 

Madame de la Roche-Jugan, who had finally convinced herself that theGeneral had an aneurism, flattered herself that the cares of matrimonywould hasten the doom of her old friend. In any event, he was pastseventy years of age. But Charlotte was young, and so also wasSigismund. Sigismund could become tender; if necessary, could quietlycourt the young Marquise until the day when he could marry her, with allher appurtenances, over the mausoleum of the General. It was for thisthat Madame de la Roche-Jugan, crushed for a moment under the unexpectedblow that ruined her hopes, had modified her tactics and drawn herbatteries, so to speak, under cover of the enemy. This was what she wascontriving while she was weeping behind the curtain. 

Camors's personal feelings at the announcement of this marriage were notof the most agreeable description. First, he was obliged to acknowledgethat he had unjustly judged Mademoiselle d'Estrelles, and that at themoment of his accusing her of speculating on his small fortune, she wasoffering to sacrifice for him the annual seven hundred thousand francsof the General. 

He felt his vanity injured, that he had not had the best part of thisaffair. Besides, he felt obliged to stifle from this moment the secretpassion with which the beautiful and singular girl had inspired him. Wife or widow of the General, it was clear that Mademoiselle d'Estrelleshad forever escaped him. To seduce the wife of this good old man fromwhom he accepted such favors, or even to marry her, widowed and rich, after refusing her when poor, were equal unworthiness and baseness thathonor forbade in the same degree and with the same rigor as if thishonor, which he made the only law of his life, were not a mockery and anempty word. 

Camors, however, did not fail to comprehend the position in this light, and he resigned himself to it. 

During the four or five days he remained at Campvallon his conduct wasperfect. The delicate and reserved attentions with which he surroundedMademoiselle d'Estrelles were tinged with a melancholy that showed herat the same time his gratitude, his respect, and his regrets. 

M. De Campvallon had not less reason to congratulate himself on theconduct of the young Count. He entered into the folly of his host withaffectionate grace. He spoke to him little of the beauty of his fiancee:much of her high moral qualities; and let him see his most flatteringconfidence in the future of this union. 

On the eve of his departure Camors was summoned into the General'sstudy. Handing his young relative a check for three hundred thousandfrancs, the General said:

"My dear young friend, I ought to tell you, for the peace of yourconscience, that I have informed Mademoiselle d'Estrelles of this littleservice I render you. She has a great deal of love and affection foryou, my dear young friend; be sure of that. 

"She therefore received my communication with sincere pleasure. I alsoinformed her that I did not intend taking any receipt for this sum, andthat no reclamation of it should be made at any time, on any account. 

"Now, my dear Camors, do me one favor. To tell you my inmost thought, I shall be most happy to see you carry into execution your project oflaudable ambition. My own new position, my age, my tastes, and thoseI perceive in the Marquise, claim all my leisure--all my liberty ofaction. Consequently, I desire as soon as possible to present you to mygenerous and faithful constituents, as well for the Corps Legislatifas for the General Council. You had better make your preliminaryarrangements as soon as possible. Why should you defer it? You are verywell cultivated--very capable. Well, let us go ahead--let us begin atonce. What do you say?"

"I should prefer, General, to be more mature; but it would be both follyand ingratitude in me not to accede to your kind wish. What shall I dofirst?"

"Well, my young friend, instead of leaving tomorrow for Paris, you mustgo to your estate at Reuilly: go there and conquer Des Rameures. "

"And who are the Des Rameures, General?"

"You do not know the Des Rameures? The deuce! no; you can not know them!That is unfortunate, too. 

"Des Rameures is a clever fellow, a very clever fellow, and all-powerfulin his neighborhood. He is an original, as you will see; and with himlives his niece, a charming woman. I tell you, my boy, you must pleasethem, for Des Rameures is the master of the county. He protects me, orelse, upon my honor, I should be stopped on the road!"

"But, General, what shall I do to please this Des Rameures?"

"You will see him. He is, as I tell you, a great oddity. He has not beenin Paris since 1825; he has a horror of Paris and Parisians. Very well, it only needs a little tact to flatter his views on that point. Wealways need a little tact in this world, young man. "

"But his niece, General?"

"Ah, the deuce! You must please the niece also. He adores her, and shemanages him completely, although he grumbles a little sometimes. "

"And what sort of woman is she?"

"Oh, a respectable woman--a perfectly respectable woman. A widow;somewhat a devotee, but very well informed. A woman of great merit. "

"But what course must I take to please this lady?"

"What course? By my faith, young man, you ask a great many questions. I never yet learned to please a woman. I am green as a goose with themalways. It is a thing I can not understand; but as for you, my youngcomrade, you have little need to be instructed in that matter. You can'tfail to please her; you have only to make yourself agreeable. But youwill know how to do it--you will conduct yourself like an angel, I amsure. "

"Captivate Des Rameures and his niece--this is your advice!"

Early next morning Camors left the Chateau de Campvallon, armed withthese imperfect instructions; and, further, with a letter from theGeneral to Des Rameures. 

He went in a hired carriage to his own domain of Reuilly, which lay tenleagues off. While making this transit he reflected that the path ofambition was not one of roses; and that it was hard for him, at theoutset of his enterprise, to by compelled to encounter two faces likelyto be as disquieting as those of Des Rameures and his niece. 

CHAPTER VI. THE OLD DOMAIN OF REUILLY

The domain of Reuilly consisted of two farms and of a house of somepretension, inhabited formerly by the maternal family of M. De Camors. He had never before seen this property when he reached it on the eveningof a beautiful summer day. A long and gloomy avenue of elms, interlacingtheir thick branches, led to the dwelling-house, which was quite unequalto the imposing approach to it; for it was but an inferior constructionof the past century, ornamented simply by a gable and a bull's-eye, butflanked by a lordly dovecote. 

It derived a certain air of dignity from two small terraces, oneabove the other, in front of it, while the triple flight of steps wassupported by balusters of granite. Two animals, which had once, perhaps, resembled lions, were placed one upon each side of the balustrade atthe platform of the highest terrace; and they had been staring therefor more than a hundred and fifty years. Behind the house stretchedthe garden; and in its midst, mounted on a stone arch, stood a dismalsun-dial with hearts and spades painted between its figures; whilethe trees around it were trimmed into the shapes of confessionals andchess-pawns. To the right, a labyrinth of young trees, similarlyclipped in the fashion of the time, led by a thousand devious turns toa mysterious valley, where one heard continually a low, sad murmur. Thisproceeded from a nymph in terra-cotta, from whose urn dripped, day andnight, a thin rill of water into a small fishpond, bordered by grandold poplars, whose shadows threw upon its surface, even at mid-day, theblackness of Acheron. 

Camors's first reflection at viewing this prospect was an exceedinglypainful one; and the second was even more so. 

At another time he would doubtless have taken an interest in searchingthrough these souvenirs of the past for traces of an infant nurturedthere, who had a mother, and who had perhaps loved these old relics. But his system did not admit of sentiment, so he crushed the ideas thatcrowded to his mind, and, after a rapid glance around him, called forhis dinner. 

The old steward and his wife--who for thirty years had been the soleinhabitants of Reuilly--had been informed of his coming. They had spentthe day in cleaning and airing the house; an operation which added tothe discomfort they sought to remove, and irritated the old residents ofthe walls, while it disturbed the sleep of hoary spiders in their dustywebs. A mixed odor of the cellar, of the sepulchre, and of an old coach, struck Camors when he penetrated into the principal room, where hisdinner was to be served. 

Taking up one or two flickering candles, the like of which he had neverseen before, Camors proceeded to inspect the quaint portraits of hisancestors, who seemed to stare at him in great surprise from theircracked canvases. They were a dilapidated set of old nobles, one havinglost a nose, another an arm, others again sections of their faces. Oneof them--a chevalier of St. Louis--had received a bayonet thrust throughthe centre in the riotous times of the Revolution; but he still smiledat Camors, and sniffed at a flower, despite the daylight shining throughhim. 

Camors finished his inspection, thinking to himself they were a highlyrespectable set of ancestors, but not worth fifteen francs apiece. Thehousekeeper had passed half the previous night in slaughtering variousdwellers in the poultry-yard; and the results of the sacrifice nowsuccessively appeared, swimming in butter. Happily, however, thefatherly kindness of the General had despatched a hamper of provisionsfrom Campvallon, and a few slices of pate, accompanied by sundry glassesof Chateau-Yquem helped the Count to combat the dreary sadness withwhich his change of residence, solitude, the night, and the smoke of hiscandles, all conspired to oppress him. 

Regaining his usual good spirits, which had deserted him for a moment, he tried to draw out the old steward, who was waiting on him. He stroveto glean from him some information of the Des Rameures; but the oldservant, like every Norman peasant, held it as a tenet of faith that hewho gave a plain answer to any question was a dishonored man. With allpossible respect he let Camors understand plainly that he was not to bedeceived by his affected ignorance into any belief that M. Le Comtedid not know a great deal better than he who and what M. Des Rameureswas--where he lived, and what he did; that M. Le Comte was his master, and as such was entitled to his respect, but that he was nevertheless aParisian, and--as M. Des Rameures said--all Parisians were jesters. 

Camors, who had taken an oath never to get angry, kept it now; drew fromthe General's old cognac a fresh supply of patience, lighted a cigar, and left the room. 

For a few moments he leaned over the balustrade of the terrace andlooked around. The night, clear and beautiful, enveloped in its shadowyveil the widestretching fields, and a solemn stillness, strange toParisian ears, reigned around him, broken only at intervals by thedistant bay of a hound, rising suddenly, and dying into peace again. Hiseyes becoming accustomed to the darkness, Camors descended the terracestairs and passed into the old avenue, which was darker and more solemnthan a cathedral-aisle at midnight, and thence into an open road intowhich it led by chance. 

Strictly speaking, Camors had never, until now, been out of Paris; forwherever he had previously gone, he had carried its bustle, worldly andartificial life, play, and the races with him; and the watering-placesand the seaside had never shown him true country, or provincial life. Itgave him a sensation for the first time; but the sensation was an odiousone. 

As he advanced up this silent road, without houses or lights, it seemedto him he was wandering amid the desolation of some lunar region. Thispart of Normandy recalled to him the least cultivated parts of Brittany. It was rustic and savage, with its dense shrubbery, tufted grass, darkvalleys, and rough roads. 

Some dreamers love this sweet but severe nature, even at night; theylove the very things that grated most upon the pampered senses ofCamors, who strode on in deep disgust, flattering himself, however, thathe should soon reach the Boulevard de Madeleine. But he found, instead, peasants' huts scattered along the side of the road, their low, mossyroofs seeming to spring from the rich soil like an enormous fungusgrowth. Two or three of the dwellers in these huts were taking the freshevening air on their thresholds, and Camors could distinguish throughthe gloom their heavy figures and limbs, roughened by coarse toil in thefields, as they stood mute, motionless, and ruminating in the darknesslike tired beasts. 

Camors, like all men possessed by a dominant idea, had, ever since headopted the religion of his father as his rule of life, taken the painsto analyze every impression and every thought. He now said to himself, that between these countrymen and a refined man like himself there wasdoubtless a greater difference than between them and their beasts ofburden; and this reflection was as balm to the scornful aristocracythat was the cornerstone of his theory. Wandering on to an eminence, hisdiscouraged eye swept but a fresh horizon of apple-trees and heads ofbarley, and he was about to turn back when a strange sound suddenlyarrested his steps. It was a concert of voice and instruments, which inthis lost solitude seemed to him like a dream, or a miracle. The musicwas good-even excellent. He recognized a prelude of Bach, arranged byGounod. Robinson Crusoe, on discovering the footprint in the sand, wasnot more astonished than Camors at finding in this desert so lively asymptom of civilization. 

Filled with curiosity, and led by the melody he heard, he descendedcautiously the little hill, like a king's son in search of the enchantedprincess. The palace he found in the middle of the path, in the shape ofthe high back wall of a dwelling, fronting on another road. One of theupper windows on this side, however, was open; a bright light streamedfrom it, and thence he doubted not the sweet sounds came. 

To an accompaniment of the piano and stringed instruments rose a fresh, flexible woman's voice, chanting the mystic words of the master withsuch expression and power as would have given even him delight. Camors, himself a musician, was capable of appreciating the masterly executionof the piece; and was so much struck by it that he felt an irresistibledesire to see the performers, especially the singer. With this impulsehe climbed the little hedge bordering the road, placed himself on thetop, and found himself several feet above the level of the lightedwindow. He did not hesitate to use his skill as a gymnast to raisehimself to one of the branches of an old oak stretching across the lawn;but during the ascent he could not disguise from himself that his wasscarcely a dignified position for the future deputy of the district. Healmost laughed aloud at the idea of being surprised in this position bythe terrible Des Rameures, or his niece. 

He established himself on a large, leafy branch, directly in front ofthe interesting window; and notwithstanding that he was at a respectfuldistance, his glance could readily penetrate into the chamber wherethe concert was taking place. A dozen persons, as he judged, were thereassembled; several women, of different ages, were seated at a tableworking; a young man appeared to be drawing; while other persons loungedon comfortable seats around the room. Around the piano was a group whichchiefly attracted the attention of the young Count. At the instrumentwas seated a grave young girl of about twelve years; immediately behindher stood an old man, remarkable for his great height, his head bald, with a crown of white hair, and his bushy black eyebrows. He played theviolin with priestly dignity. Seated near him was a man of aboutfifty, in the dress of an ecclesiastic, and wearing a huge pair ofsilver-rimmed spectacles, who played the violincello with great apparentgusto. 

Between them stood the singer. She was a pale brunette, slight andgraceful, and apparently not more than twenty-five years of age. Thesomewhat severe oval of her face was relieved by a pair of bright blackeyes that seemed to grow larger as she sang. One hand rested gently onthe shoulder of the girl at the piano, and with this she seemed to keeptime, pressing gently on the shoulder of the performer to stimulate herzeal. And that hand was delicious!

A hymn by Palestrina had succeeded the Bach prelude. It was a quartette, to which two new voices lent their aid. The old priest laid asidehis violoncello, stood up, took off his spectacles, and his deep basscompleted the full measure of the melody. 

After the quartette followed a few moments of general conversation, during which--after embracing the child pianist, who immediately leftthe room--the songstress walked to the window. She leaned out as if tobreathe the fresh air, and her profile was sharply relieved against thebright light behind her, in which the others formed a group around thepriest, who once more donned his spectacles, and drew from his pocket apaper that appeared to be a manuscript. 

The lady leaned from the window, gently fanning herself, as she lookednow at the sky, now at the dark landscape. Camors imagined he coulddistinguish her gentle breathing above the sound of the fan; and leaningeagerly forward for a better view, he caused the leaves to rustleslightly. She started at the sound, then remained immovable, and thefixed position of her head showed that her gaze was fastened upon theoak in which he was concealed. 

He felt the awkwardness of his position, but could not judge whether ornot he was visible to her; but, under the danger of her fixed regard, hepassed the most painful moments of his life. 

She turned into the room and said, in a calm voice, a few words whichbrought three or four of her friends to the window; and among themCamors recognized the old man with the violin. 

The moment was a trying one. He could do nothing but lie still in hisleafy retreat--silent and immovable as a statue. The conduct of thoseat the window went far to reassure him, for their eyes wandered overthe gloom with evident uncertainty, convincing him that his presencewas only suspected, not discovered. But they exchanged animatedobservations, to which the hidden Count lent an attentive ear. Suddenly a strong voice--which he recognized as belonging to him of theviolin-rose over them all in the pleasing order: "Loose the dog!"

This was sufficient for Camors. He was not a coward; he would not havebudged an inch before an enraged tiger; but he would have travelled ahundred miles on foot to avoid the shadow of ridicule. Profiting by thewarning and a moment when he seemed unobserved, he slid from the tree, jumped into the next field, and entered the wood at a point somewhatfarther down than the spot where he had scaled the hedge. This done, heresumed his walk with the assured tread of a man who had a right to bethere. He had gone but a few steps, when he heard behind him the wildbarking of the dog, which proved his retreat had been opportune. 

Some of the peasants he had noticed as he passed before, were stillstanding at their doors. Stopping before one of them he asked:

"My friend, to whom does that large house below there, facing the otherroad, belong? and whence comes that music?"

"You probably know that as well as I, " replied the man, stolidly. 

"Had I known, I should hardly have asked you, " said Camors. 

The peasant did not deign further reply. His wife stood near him; andCamors had remarked that in all classes of society women have more witand goodhumor than their husbands. Therefore he turned to her and said:

"You see, my good woman, I am a stranger here. To whom does that housebelong? Probably to Monsieur des Rameures?"

"No, no, " replied the woman, "Monsieur des Rameures lives much fartheron. "

"Ah! Then who lives here?"

"Why, Monsieur de Tecle, of course!"

"Ah, Monsieur de Tecle! But tell me, he does not live alone? There is alady who sings--his wife?--his sister? Who is she?"

"Ah, that is his daughter-in-law, Madame de Tecle Madame Elise, who--"

"Ah! thank you, thank you, my good woman! You have children? Buy themsabots with this, " and drop ping a gold piece in the lap of the obligingpeasant, Camors walked rapidly away. Returning home the road seemed lessgloomy and far shorter than when he came. As he strode on, humming theBach prelude, the moon rose, the country looked more beautiful, and, inshort, when he perceived, at the end of its gloomy avenue, his chateaubathed in the white light, he found the spectacle rather enjoyable thanotherwise. And when he had once more ensconced himself in the maternaldomicile, and inhaled the odor of damp paper and mouldy trees thatconstituted its atmosphere, he found great consolation in the reflectionthat there existed not very far away from him a young woman whopossessed a charming face, a delicious voice, and a pretty name. 

Next morning, after plunging into a cold bath, to the profoundastonishment of the old steward and his wife, the Comte de Camorswent to inspect his farms. He found the buildings very similar inconstruction to the dams of beavers, though far less comfortable; but hewas amazed to hear his farmers arguing, in their patois, on the variousmodes of culture and crops, like men who were no strangers to allmodern improvements in agriculture. The name of Des Rameures frequentlyoccurred in the conversation as confirmation of their own theories, orexperiments. M. Des Rameures gave preference to this manure, to thismachine for winnowing; this breed of animals was introduced by him. M. Des Rameures did this, M. Des Rameures did that, and the farmers didlike him, and found it to their advantage. Camors found the General hadnot exaggerated the local importance of this personage, and that it wasmost essential to conciliate him. Resolving therefore to call on himduring the day, he went to breakfast. 

This duty toward himself fulfilled, the young Count lounged on theterrace, as he had the evening before, and smoked his cigar. Though itwas near midday, it was doubtful to him whether the solitude and silenceappeared less complete and oppressive than on the preceding night. Ahushed cackling of fowls, the drowsy hum of bees, and the muffled chimeof a distant bell--these were all the sounds to be heard. 

Camors lounged on the terrace, dreaming of his club, of the noisy Pariscrowd, of the rumbling omnibuses, of the playbill of the little kiosk, of the scent of heated asphalt--and the memory of the least of theseenchantments brought infinite peace to his soul. The inhabitant of Parishas one great blessing, which he does not take into account until hesuffers from its loss--one great half of his existence is filled upwithout the least trouble to himself. The all-potent vitality whichceaselessly envelops him takes away from him in a vast degree theexertion of amusing himself. The roar of the city, rising like a greatbass around him, fills up the gaps in his thoughts, and never leavesthat disagreeable sensation--a void. 

There is no Parisian who is not happy in the belief that he makesall the noise he hears, writes all the books he reads, edits all thejournals on which he breakfasts, writes all the vaudevilles on which hesups, and invents all the 'bon mots' he repeats. 

But this flattering allusion vanishes the moment chance takes him a mileaway from the Rue Vivienne. The proof confounds him, for he is boredterribly, and becomes sick of himself. Perhaps his secret soul, weakenedand unnerved, may even be assailed by the suspicion that he is a feeblehuman creature after all! But no! He returns to Paris; the collectiveelectricity again inspires him; he rebounds; he recovers; he is busy, keen to discern, active, and recognizes once more, to his intensesatisfaction, that he is after all one of the elect of God'screatures--momentarily degraded, it may be, by contact with the inferiorbeings who people the departments. 

Camors had within himself more resources than most men to conquer theblue-devils; but in these early hours of his experience in country life, deprived of his club, his horses, and his cook, banished from all hisold haunts and habits, he began to feel terribly the weight of time. He, therefore, experienced a delicious sensation when suddenly he heard thatregular beat of hoofs upon the road which to his trained ear announcedthe approach of several riding-horses. The next moment he saw advancingup his shaded avenue two ladies on horseback, followed by a groom with ablack cockade. 

Though quite amazed at this charming spectacle, Camors remembered hisduty as a gentleman and descended the steps of the terrace. But the twoladies, at sight of him, appeared as surprised as himself, suddenly drewrein and conferred hastily. Then, recovering, they continued their way, traversed the lower court below the terraces, and disappeared in thedirection of the lake. 

As they passed the lower balustrade Camors bowed low, and they returnedhis salutation by a slight inclination; but he was quite sure, in spiteof the veils that floated from their riding-hats, that he recognized theblack-eyed singer and the young pianist. After a moment he called to hisold steward, "Monsieur Leonard, " he said, "is this a public way?"

"It certainly is not a public way, Monsieur le Comte, " replied Leonard. 

"Then what do these ladies mean by using this road?"

"Bless me, Monsieur le Comte, it is so long since any of the ownershave been at Reuilly! These ladies mean no harm by passing through yourwoods; and sometimes they even stop at the chateau while my wife givesthem fresh milk. Shall I tell them that this displeases Monsieur leComte?"

"My good Leonard, why the deuce do you suppose it displeases me? I onlyasked for information. And now who are the ladies?"

"Oh! Monsieur, they are quite respectable ladies; Madame de Tecle, andher daughter, Mademoiselle Marie. "

"So? And the husband of Madame, Monsieur de Tecle, never rides out withthem?"

"Heavens! no, Monsieur. He never rides with them. " And the old stewardsmiled a dry smile. "He has been among the dead men for a long time, asMonsieur le Comte well knows. "

"Granting that I know it, Monsieur Leonard, I wish it understood theseladies are not to be interfered with. You comprehend?"

Leonard seemed pleased that he was not to be the bearer of anydisagreeable message; and Camors, suddenly conceiving that his stayat Reuilly might be prolonged for some time, reentered the chateau andexamined the different rooms, arranging with the steward the best planof making the house habitable. The little town of I------, but twoleagues distant, afforded all the means, and M. Leonard proposed goingthere at once to confer with the architect. 

CHAPTER VII. ELISE DE TECLE

Meantime Camors directed his steps toward the residence of M. DesRameures, of which he at last obtained correct information. He took thesame road as the preceding evening, passed the monastic-looking buildingthat held Madame de Tecle, glanced at the old oak that had served himfor an observatory, and about a mile farther on he discovered the smallhouse with towers that he sought. 

It could only be compared to those imaginary edifices of which we haveall read in childhood's happy days in taking text, under an attractivepicture: "The castle of M. De Valmont was agreeably situated at thesummit of a pretty hill. " It had a really picturesque surrounding offields sloping away, green as emerald, dotted here and there with greatbouquets of trees, or cut by walks adorned with huge roses or whitebridges thrown over rivulets. Cattle and sheep were resting here andthere, which might have figured at the Opera Comique, so shining werethe skins of the cows and so white the wool of the sheep. Camors swungopen the gate, took the first road he saw, and reached the top of thehill amid trees and flowers. An old servant slept on a bench before thedoor, smiling in his dreams. 

Camors waked him, inquired for the master of the house, and was usheredinto a vestibule. Thence he entered a charming apartment, where a younglady in a short skirt and round hat was arranging bouquets in Chinesevases. 

She turned at the noise of the opening door, and Camors saw--Madame deTecle!

As he saluted her with an air of astonishment and doubt, she lookedfixedly at him with her large eyes. He spoke first, with more ofhesitation than usual. 

"Pardon me, Madame, but I inquired for Monsieur des Rameures. "

"He is at the farm, but will soon return. Be kind enough to wait. "

She pointed to a chair, and seated herself, pushing away with her footthe branches that strewed the floor. 

"But, Madame, in the absence of Monsieur des Rameures may I have thehonor of speaking with his niece?"

The shadow of a smile flitted over Madame de Tecle's brown but charmingface. "His niece?" she said: "I am his niece. "

"You I Pardon me, Madame, but I thought--they said--I expected to findan elderly--a--person--that is, a respectable" he hesitated, then addedsimply--"and I find I am in error. "

Madame de Tecle seemed completely unmoved by this compliment. 

"Will you be kind enough, Monsieur, " she said, "to let me know whom Ihave the honor of receiving?"

"I am Monsieur de Camors. "

"Ah! Then I have excuses also to make. It was probably you whom we sawthis morning. We have been very rude--my daughter and I--but we wereignorant of your arrival; and Reuilly has been so long deserted. "

"I sincerely hope, Madame, that your daughter and yourself will make nochange in your rides. "

Madame de Tecle replied by a movement of the hand that implied certainlyshe appreciated the offer, and certainly she should not accept it. Thenthere was a pause long enough to embarrass Camors, during which hiseye fell upon the piano, and his lips almost formed the originalremark--"You are a musician, Madame. " Suddenly recollecting his tree, however, he feared to betray himself by the allusion, and was silent. 

"You come from Paris, Monsieur de Camors?" Madame de Tecle at lengthasked. 

"No, Madame, I have been passing several weeks with my kinsman, Generalde Campvallon, who has also the honor, I believe, to be a friend ofyours; and who has requested me to call upon you. "

"We are delighted that you have done so; and what an excellent man theGeneral is!"

"Excellent indeed, Madame. " There was another pause. 

"If you do not object to a short walk in the sun, " said Madame de Tecleat length, "let us walk to meet my uncle. We are almost sure to meethim. " Camors bowed. Madame de Tecle rose and rang the bell: "AskMademoiselle Marie, " she said to the servant, "to be kind enough to puton her hat and join us. "

A moment after, Mademoiselle Marie entered, cast on the stranger thesteady, frank look of an inquisitive child, bowed slightly to him, andthey all left the room by a door opening on the lawn. 

Madame de Tecle, while responding courteously to the graceful speechesof Camors, walked on with a light and rapid step, her fairy-like littleshoes leaving their impression on the smooth fine sand of the path. 

She walked with indescribable, unconscious grace; with that supple, elastic undulation which would have been coquettish had it not beenundeniably natural. Reaching the wall that enclosed the right side ofthe park, she opened a wicket that led into a narrow path through alarge field of ripe corn. She passed into this path, followed in singlefile by Mademoiselle Marie and by Camors. Until now the child had beenvery quiet, but the rich golden corn-tassels, entangled with brightdaisies, red poppies, and hollyhocks, and the humming concert of myriadsof flies-blue, yellow, and reddish-brown, which sported amid the sweets, excited her beyond self-control. Stopping here and there to pluck aflower, she would turn and cry, "Pardon, Monsieur;" until, at length, onan apple-tree growing near the path she descried on a low branch a greenapple, no larger than her finger. This temptation proved irresistible, and with one spring into the midst of the corn, she essayed to reach theprize, if Providence would permit. Madame de Tecle, however, would notpermit. She seemed much displeased, and said, sharply:

"Marie, my child! In the midst of the corn! Are you crazy!"

The child returned promptly to the path, but unable to conquer herwish for the apple, turned an imploring eye to Camors and said, softly:"Pardon, Monsieur, but that apple would make my bouquet complete. "

Camors had only to reach up, stretch out his hand, and detach the branchfrom the tree. 

"A thousand thanks!" cried the child, and adding this crowning glory toher bouquet, she placed the whole inside the ribbon around her hat andwalked on with an air of proud satisfaction. 

As they approached the fence running across the end of the field, Madamede Tecle suddenly said: "My uncle, Monsieur;" and Camors, raising hishead, saw a very tall man looking at them over the fence and shadinghis eyes with his hand. His robust limbs were clad in gaiters of yellowleather with steel buttons, and he wore a loose coat of maroon velvetand a soft felt hat. Camors immediately recognized the white hair andheavy black eyebrows as the same he had seen bending over the violin thenight before. 

"Uncle, " said Madame de Tecle, introducing the young Count by a wave ofthe hand: "This is Monsieur de Camors. "

"Monsieur de Camors, " repeated the old man, in a deep and sonorousvoice, "you are most welcome;" and opening the gate he gave his guest asoft, brown hand, as he continued: "I knew your mother intimately, andam charmed to have her son under my roof. Your mother was a most amiableperson, Monsieur, and certainly merited--" The old man hesitated, andfinished his sentence by a sonorous "Hem!" that resounded and rumbled inhis chest as if in the vault of a church. 

Then he took the letter Camors handed to him, held it a long distancefrom his eyes, and began reading it. The General had told the Count itwould be impolite to break suddenly to M. Des Rameures the plan theyhad concocted. The latter, therefore, found the note only a very warmintroduction of Camors. The postscript gave him the announcement of themarriage. 

"The devil!" he cried. "Did you know this, Elise? Campvallon is to bemarried!"

All women, widows, matrons, or maids, are deeply interested in matterspertaining to marriage. 

"What, uncle! The General! Can it be? Are you sure?"

"Um--rather. He writes the news himself. Do you know the lady, Monsieurle Comte?"

"Mademoiselle de Luc d'Estrelles is my cousin, " Camors replied. 

"Ah! That is right; and she is of a certain age?"

"She is about twenty-five. "

M. Des Rameures received this intelligence with one of the resonantcoughs peculiar to him. 

"May I ask, without indiscretion, whether she is endowed with a pleasingperson?"

"She is exceedingly beautiful, " was the reply. 

"Hem! So much the better. It seems to me the General is a little old forher: but every one is the best judge of his own affairs: Hem! the bestjudge of his own affairs. Elise, my dear, whenever you are ready wewill follow you. Pardon me, Monsieur le Comte, for receiving you in thisrustic attire, but I am a laborer. Agricola--a mere herdsman--'custosgregis', as the poet says. Walk before me, Monsieur le Comte, I beg you. Marie, child, respect my corn!

"And can we hope, Monsieur de Camors, that you have the happy ideaof quitting the great Babylon to install yourself among your ruralpossessions? It will be a good example, Monsieur--an excellent example!For unhappily today more than ever we can say with the poet:

 'Non ullus aratro

 Dignus honos; squalent abductis arva colonis, Et--et--'

"And, by gracious! I've forgotten the rest--poor memory! Ah, young sir, never grow old-never grow old!"

 "'Et curvae rigidum falces conflantur in ensem, "'

said Camors, continuing the broken quotation. 

"Ah! you quote Virgil. You read the classics. I am charmed, reallycharmed. That is not the characteristic of our rising generation, formodern youth has an idea it is bad taste to quote the ancients. But thatis not my idea, young sir--not in the least. Our fathers quoted freelybecause they were familiar with them. And Virgil is my poet. Not thatI approve of all his theories of cultivation. With all the respect Iaccord him, there is a great deal to be said on that point; and hisplan of breeding in particular will never do--never do! Still, heis delicious, eh? Very well, Monsieur Camors, now you see my littledomain--'mea paupera regna'--the retreat of the sage. Here I live, and live happily, like an old shepherd in the golden age--loved by myneighbors, which is not easy; and venerating the gods, which is perhapseasier. Ah, young sir, as you read Virgil, you will excuse me once more. It was for me he wrote:

 'Fortunate senex, hic inter flumina nota, Et fontes sacros frigus captabis opacum. '

"And this as well:

 'Fortunatus et ille deos qui novit agrestes, Panaque, Silvanumque senem!'"

"Nymphasque sorores!" finished Camors, smiling and moving his headslightly in the direction of Madame de Tecle and her daughter, whopreceded them. 

"Quite to the point. That is pure truth!" cried M. Des Rameures, gayly. "Did you hear that, niece?"

"Yes, uncle. "

"And did you understand it, niece?"

"No, uncle. "

"I do not believe you, my dear! I do not believe you!" The old manlaughed heartily. "Do not believe her, Monsieur de Camors; women havethe faculty of understanding compliments in every language. "

This conversation brought them to the chateau, where they sat down on abench before the drawing-room windows to enjoy the view. 

Camors praised judiciously the well-kept park, accepted an invitationto dinner the next week, and then discreetly retired, flattering himselfthat his introduction had made a favorable impression upon M. DesRameures, but regretting his apparent want of progress with thefairy-footed niece. 

He was in error. 

"This youth, " said M. Des Rameures, when he was left alone with Madamede Tecle, "has some touch of the ancients, which is something; but hestill resembles his father, who was vicious as sin itself. His eyes andhis smile recall some traits of his admirable mother; but positively, my dear Elise, he is the portrait of his father, whose manners and whoseprinciples they say he has inherited. "

"Who says so, uncle?"

"Current rumor, niece. "

"Current rumor, my dear uncle, is often mistaken, and alwaysexaggerates. For my part, I like the young man, who seems thoroughlyrefined and at his ease. "

"Bah! I suppose because he compared you to a nymph in the fable. "

"If he compared me to a nymph in the fable he was wrong; but he neveraddressed to me a word in French that was not in good taste. Before wecondemn him, uncle, let us see for ourselves. It is a habit you havealways recommended to me, you know. "

"You can not deny, niece, " said the old man with irritation, "thathe exhales the most decided and disagreeable odor of Paris! He is toopolite--too studied! Not a shadow of enthusiasm--no fire of youth! Henever laughs as I should wish to see a man of his age laugh; a young manshould roar to split his waistband!"

"What! you would see him merry so soon after losing his father in sucha tragic manner, and he himself nearly ruined! Why, uncle, what can youmean?"

"Well, well, perhaps you are right. I retract all I have said againsthim. If he be half ruined I will offer him my advice--and my purse ifhe need it--for the sake of the memory of his mother, whom you resemble. Ah, 'tis thus we end all our disputes, naughty child! I grumble; I ampassionate; I act like a Tartar. Then you speak with your good sense andsweetness, my darling, and the tiger becomes a lamb. All unhappy beingswhom you approach in the same way submit to your subtle charm. And thatis the reason why my old friend, La Fontaine, said of you:

 'Sur differentes fleurs l'abeille se repose, Et fait du miel de toute chose!'"

CHAPTER VIII. A DISH OF POLITICS

Elise de Tecle was thirty years of age, but appeared much younger. Atseventeen she had married, under peculiar conditions, her cousin Rolandde Tecle. She had been left an orphan at an early age and educatedby her mother's brother, M. Des Rameures. Roland lived very nearher Everything brought them together--the wishes of the family, compatibility of fortune, their relations as neighbors, and a personalsympathy. They were both charming; they were destined for each otherfrom infancy, and the time fixed for their marriage was the nineteenthbirthday of Elise. In anticipation of this happy event the Comte deTecle rebuilt almost entirely one wing of his castle for the exclusiveuse of the young pair. Roland was continually present, superintendingand urging on the work with all the ardor of a lover. 

One morning loud and alarming cries from the new wing roused all theinhabitants of the castle; the Count burned to the spot, and foundhis son stunned and bleeding in the arms of one of the workmen. He hadfallen from a high scaffolding to the pavement. For several monthsthe unfortunate young man hovered between life and death; but inthe paroxysms of fever he never ceased calling for his cousin--hisbetrothed; and they were obliged to admit the young girl to his bedside. Slowly he recovered, but was ever after disfigured and lame; and thefirst time they allowed him to look in a glass he had a fainting-fitthat proved almost fatal. 

But he was a youth of high principle and true courage. On recoveringfrom his swoon he wept a flood of bitter tears, which would not, however, wash the scars from his disfigured face. He prayed long andearnestly; then shut himself up with his father. Each wrote a letter, the one to M. Des Rameures, the other to Elise. M. Des Rameures and hisniece were then in Germany. The excitement and fatigue consequent uponnursing her cousin had so broken her health that the physicians urgeda trial of the baths of Ems. There she received these letters; theyreleased her from her engagement and gave her absolute liberty. 

Roland and his father implored her not to return in haste; explainedthat their intention was to leave the country in a few weeks' time andestablish themselves at Paris; and added that they expected no answer, and that their resolution--impelled by simple justice to her--wasirrevocable. 

Their wishes were complied with. No answer came. 

Roland, his sacrifice once made, seemed calm and resigned; but he fellinto a sort of languor, which made fearful progress and hinted at aspeedy and fatal termination, for which in fact he seemed to long. Oneevening they had taken him to the lime-tree terrace at the foot of thegarden. He gazed with absent eye on the tints with which the setting sunpurpled the glades of the wood, while his father paced the terrace withlong strides-smiling as he passed him and hastily brushing away a tearas he turned his back. 

Suddenly Elise de Tecle appeared before them, like an angel droppedfrom heaven. She knelt before the crippled youth, kissed his hand, and, brightening him with the rays of her beautiful eyes, told him she neverhad loved him half so well before. He felt she spoke truly; he acceptedher devotion, and they were married soon after. 

Madame de Tecle was happy--but she alone was so. Her husband, notwithstanding the tenderness with which she treatedhim--notwithstanding the happiness which he could not fail to read inher tranquil glance--notwithstanding the birth of a daughter--seemednever to console himself. Even with her he was always possessed by acold constraint; some secret sorrow consumed him, of which they foundthe key only on the day of his death. 

"My darling, " he then said to his young wife--"my darling, may Godreward you for your infinite goodness! Pardon me, if I never have toldyou how entirely I love you. With a face like mine, how could I speak oflove to one like you! But my poor heart has been brimming over with itall the while. Oh, Elise! how I have suffered when I thought of whatI was before--how much more worthy of you! But we shall be reunited, dearest--shall we not?--where I shall be as perfect as you, and where Imay tell you how much I adore you! Do not weep for me, my own Elise! Iam happy now, for the first time, for I have dared to open my heart toyou. Dying men do not fear ridicule. Farewell, Elise--darling-wife! Ilove you!" These tender words were his last. 

After her husband's death, Madame de Tecle lived with her father-in-law, but passed much of her time with her uncle. She busied herself with thegreatest solicitude in the education of her daughter, and kept house forboth the old men, by both of whom she was equally idolized. 

From the lips of the priest at Reuilly, whom he called on next day, Camors learned some of these details, while the old man practiced thevioloncello with his heavy spectacles on his nose. Despite his fixedresolution of preserving universal scorn, Camors could not resist avague feeling of respect for Madame de Tecle; but it did not entirelyeradicate the impure sentiment he was disposed to dedicate to her. Fullydetermined to make her, if not his victim, at least his ally, hefelt that this enterprise was one of unusual difficulty. But he wasenergetic, and did not object to difficulties--especially when they tooksuch charming shape as in the present instance. 

His meditations on this theme occupied him agreeably the rest of thatweek, during which time he overlooked his workmen and conferred withhis architect. Besides, his horses, his books, his domestics, and hisjournals arrived successively to dispel ennui. Therefore he lookedremarkably well when he jumped out of his dog-cart the ensuing Mondayin front of M. Des Rameures's door under the eyes of Madame de Tecle. As the latter gently stroked with her white hand the black and smokingshoulder of the thoroughbred Fitz-Aymon, Camors was for the firsttime presented to the Comte de Tecle, a quiet, sad, and taciturn oldgentleman. The cure, the subprefect of the district and his wife, thetax-collector, the family physician, and the tutor completed, as thejournals say, the list of the guests. 

During dinner Camors, secretly excited by the immediate vicinityof Madame de Tecle, essayed to triumph over that hostility that thepresence of a stranger invariably excites in the midst of intimacieswhich it disturbs. His calm superiority asserted itself so mildly itwas pardoned for its grace. Without a gayety unbecoming his mourning, henevertheless made such lively sallies and such amusing jokes about hisfirst mishaps at Reuilly as to break up the stiffness of the party. Heconversed pleasantly with each one in turn, and, seeming to take thedeepest interest in his affairs, put him at once at his ease. 

He skilfully gave M. Des Rameures the opportunity for several happyquotations; spoke naturally to him of artificial pastures, andartificially of natural pastures; of breeding and of non-breeding cows;of Dishley sheep--and of a hundred other matters he had that morningcrammed from an old encyclopaedia and a county almanac. 

To Madame de Tecle directly he spoke little, but he did not speak oneword during the dinner that was not meant for her; and his manner towomen was so caressing, yet so chivalric, as to persuade them, evenwhile pouring out their wine, that he was ready to die for them. Thedear charmers thought him a good, simple fellow, while he was the exactreverse. 

On leaving the table they went out of doors to enjoy the starlightevening, and M. Des Rameures--whose natural hospitality was somewhatheightened by a goblet of his own excellent wine--said to Camors:

"My dear Count, you eat honestly, you talk admirably, you drink like aman. On my word, I am disposed to regard you as perfection--as a paragonof neighbors--if in addition to all the rest you add the crowning one. Do you love music?"

"Passionately!" answered Camors, with effusion. 

"Passionately? Bravo! That is the way one should love everything thatis worth loving. I am delighted, for we make here a troupe of fanaticalmelomaniacs, as you will presently perceive. As for myself, I scrapewildly on the violin, as a simple country amateur--'Orpheus in silvis'. Do not imagine, however, Monsieur le Comte, that we let the worship ofthis sweet art absorb all our faculties--all our time-certainly not. When you take part in our little reunions, which of course you will do, you will find we disdain no pursuit worthy of thinking beings. We passfrom music to literature--to science--even to philosophy; but we dothis--I pray you to believe--without pedantry and without leaving thetone of familiar converse. Sometimes we read verses, but we never makethem; we love the ancients and do not fear the moderns: we only fearthose who would lower the mind and debase the heart. We love the pastwhile we render justice to the present; and flatter ourselves at notseeing many things that to you appear beautiful, useful, and true. 

"Such are we, my young friend. We call ourselves the 'Colony ofEnthusiasts, ' but our malicious neighbors call us the 'Hotel deRambouillet. ' Envy, you know, is a plant that does not flourish inthe country; but here, by way of exception, we have a few jealouspeople--rather bad for them, but of no consequence to us. 

"We are an odd set, with the most opposite opinions. For me, I am aLegitimist; then there is Durocher, my physician and friend, who isa rabid Republican; Hedouin, the tutor, is a parliamentarian; whileMonsieur our sub-prefect is a devotee to the government, as it is hisduty to be. Our cure is a little Roman--I am Gallican--'et sic ceteris'. Very well--we all agree wonderfully for two reasons: first, because weare sincere, which is a very rare thing; and then because all opinionscontain at bottom some truth, and because, with some slight mutualconcessions, all really honest people come very near having the sameopinions. 

"Such, my dear Count, are the views that hold in my drawing-room, or rather in the drawing-room of my niece; for if you would see thedivinity who makes all our happiness--look at her! It is in deferenceto her good taste, her good sense, and her moderation, that each of usavoids that violence and that passion which warps the best intentions. In one word, to speak truly, it is love that makes our common tie andour mutual protection. We are all in love with my niece--myself first, of course; next Durocher, for thirty years; then the subprefect and allthe rest of them. 

"You, too, Cure! you know that you are in love with Elise, in all honorand all good faith, as we all are, and as Monsieur de Camors shall soonbe, if he is not so already--eh, Monsieur le Comte?"

Camors protested, with a sinister smile, that he felt very much inclinedto fulfil the prophecy of his host; and they reentered the dining-roomto find the circle increased by the arrival of several visitors. Some ofthese rode, others came on foot from the country-seats around. 

M. Des Rameures soon seized his violin; while he tuned it, little Marieseated herself at the piano, and her mother, coming behind her, restedher hand lightly on her shoulder, as if to beat the measure. 

"The music will be nothing new to you, " Camors's host said to him. "Itis simply Schubert's Serenade, which we have arranged, or deranged, after our own fancy; of which you shall judge. My niece sings, and thecurate and I--'Arcades ambo'--respond successively--he on the bass-violand I on my Stradivarius. Come, my dear Cure, let us begin--'incipe, Mopse, prior. "

In spite of the masterly execution of the old gentleman and of thedelicate science of the cure, it was Madame de Tecle who appeared toCamors the most remarkable of the three virtuosi. The calm repose of herfeatures, and the gentle dignity of her attitude, contrasting with thepassionate swell of her voice, he found most attractive. 

In his turn he seated himself at the piano, and played a difficultaccompaniment with real taste; and having a good tenor voice, and athorough knowledge of its powers, he exerted them so effectually as toproduce a profound sensation. During the rest of the evening he keptmuch in the background in order to observe the company, and was muchastonished thereby. The tone of this little society, as much removedfrom vulgar gossip as from affected pedantry, was truly elevated. Therewas nothing to remind him of a porter's lodge, as in most provincialsalons; or of the greenroom of a theatre, as in many salons of Paris;nor yet, as he had feared, of a lecture-room. 

There were five or six women--some pretty, all well bred--who, inadopting the habit of thinking, had not lost the habit of laughing, northe desire to please. But they all seemed subject to the same charm; andthat charm was sovereign. Madame de Tecle, half hidden on her sofa, andseemingly busied with her embroidery, animated all by a glance, softenedall by a word. The glance was inspiring; the word always appropriate. Her decision on all points they regarded as final--as that of a judgewho sentences, or of a woman who is beloved. 

No verses were read that evening, and Camors was not bored. In theintervals of the music, the conversation touched on the new comedy byAugier; the last work of Madame Sand; the latest poem of Tennyson; orthe news from America. 

"My dear Mopsus, " M. Des Rameures said to the cure, "you were aboutto read us your sermon on superstition last Thursday, when you wereinterrupted by that joker who climbed the tree in order to hear youbetter. Now is the time to recompense us. Take this seat and we will alllisten to you. "

The worthy cure took the seat, unfolded his manuscript, and began hisdiscourse, which we shall not here report: profiting by the example ofour friend Sterne, not to mingle the sacred with the profane. 

The sermon met with general approval, though some persons, M. DesRameures among them, thought it above the comprehension of the humbleclass for whom it was intended. M. De Tecle, however, backed byrepublican Durocher, insisted that the intelligence of the people wasunderrated; that they were frequently debased by those who pretended tospeak only up to their level--and the passages in dispute were retained. 

How they passed from the sermon on superstition to the approachingmarriage of the General, I can not say; but it was only natural afterall, for the whole country, for twenty miles around, was ringing withit. This theme excited Camors's attention at once, especially when thesub-prefect intimated with much reserve that the General, busied withhis new surroundings, would probably resign his office as deputy. 

"But that would be embarrassing, " exclaimed Des Rameures. "Who the deucewould replace him? I give you warning, Monsieur Prefect, if you intendimposing on us some Parisian with a flower in his buttonhole, I shallpack him back to his club--him, his flower, and his buttonhole! You mayset that down for a sure thing--"

"Dear uncle!" said Madame de Tecle, indicating Camors with a glance. 

"I understand you, Elise, " laughingly rejoined M. Des Rameures, "but Imust beg Monsieur de Camors to believe that I do not in any case intendto offend him. I shall also beg him to tolerate the monomania of an oldman, and some freedom of language with regard to the only subject whichmakes him lose his sang froid. "

"And what is that subject, Monsieur?" said Camors, with his habitualcaptivating grace of manner. 

"That subject, Monsieur, is the arrogant supremacy assumed by Paris overall the rest of France. I have not put my foot in the place since 1825, in order to testify the abhorrence with which it inspires me. You are aneducated, sensible young man, and, I trust, a good Frenchman. Very well!Is it right, I ask, that Paris shall every morning send out to usour ideas ready-made, and that all France shall become a mere humble, servile faubourg to the capital? Do me the favor, I pray you, Monsieur, to answer that?"

"There is doubtless, my dear sir, " replied Camors, "some excess in thisextreme centralization of France; but all civilized countries must havetheir capitals, and a head is just as necessary to a nation as to anindividual. "

"Taking your own image, Monsieur, I shall turn it against you. Yes, doubtless a head is as necessary to a nation as to an individual;if, however, the head becomes monstrous and deformed, the seat ofintelligence will be turned into that of idiocy, and in place of a manof intellect, you have a hydrocephalus. Pray give heed to what Monsieurthe Sub-prefect, may say in answer to what I shall ask him. Now, mydear Sub-prefect, be frank. If tomorrow, the deputation of this districtshould become vacant, can you find within its broad limits, or indeedwithin the district, a man likely to fill all functions, good and bad?"

"Upon my word, " answered the official, "if you continue to refuse theoffice, I really know of no one else fit for it. "

"I shall persist all my life, Monsieur, for at my age assuredly I shallnot expose myself to the buffoonery of your Parisian jesters. "

"Very well! In that event you will be obliged to take somestranger--perhaps, even one of those Parisian jesters. "

"You have heard him, Monsieur de Camors, " said M. Des Rameures, withexultation. "This district numbers six hundred thousand souls, and yetdoes not contain within it the material for one deputy. There is noother civilized country, I submit, in which we can find a similarinstance so scandalous. For the people of France this shame is reservedexclusively, and it is your Paris that has brought it upon us. Paris, absorbing all the blood, life, thought, and action of the country, hasleft a mere geographical skeleton in place of a nation! These are thebenefits of your centralization, since you have pronounced that word, which is quite as barbarous as the thing itself. "

"But pardon me, uncle, " said Madame de Tecle, quietly plying her needle, "I know nothing of these matters, but it seems to me that I have heardyou say this centralization was the work of the Revolution and of theFirst Consul. Why, therefore, do you call Monsieur de Camors to accountfor it? That certainly does not seem to me just. "

"Nor does it seem so to me, " said Camors, bowing to Madame de Tecle. 

"Nor to me either, " rejoined M. Des Rameures, smiling. 

"However, Madame, " resumed Camors, "I may to some extent be heldresponsible in this matter, for though, as you justly suggest, I havenot brought about this centralization, yet I confess I strongly approvethe course of those who did. "

"Bravo! So much the better, Monsieur. I like that. One should have hisown positive opinions, and defend them. "

"Monsieur, " said Camors, "I shall make an exception in your honor, forwhen I dine out, and especially when I dine well, I always have the sameopinion with my host; but I respect you too highly not to dare todiffer with you. Well, then, I think the revolutionary Assembly, andsubsequently the First Consul, were happily inspired in imposing avigorous centralized political administration upon France. I believe, indeed, that it was indispensable at the time, in order to mold andharden our social body in its new form, to adjust it in its position, and fix it firmly under the new laws--that is, to establish and maintainthis powerful French unity which has become our national peculiarity, our genius and our strength. "

"You speak rightly, sir, " exclaimed Durocher. 

"Parbleu I unquestionably you are right, " warmly rejoined M. DesRameures. "Yes, that is quite true. The excessive centralization ofwhich I complain has had its hour of utility, nay, even of necessity, Iwill admit; but, Monsieur, in what human institution do you pretend toimplant the absolute, the eternal? Feudalism, also, my dear sir, wasa benefit and a progress in its day, but that which was a benefityesterday may it not become an evil to-morrow--a danger? That which isprogress to-day, may it not one hundred years hence have become mereroutine, and a downright trammel? Is not that the history of the world?And if you wish to know, Monsieur, by what sign we may recognize thefact that a social or political system has attained its end, I will tellyou: it is when it is manifest only in its inconveniences and abuses. Then the machine has finished its work, and should be replaced. Indeed, I declare that French centralization has reached its critical term, thatfatal point at which, after protecting, it oppresses; at which, aftervivifying, it paralyzes; at which, having saved France, it crushes her. "

"Dear uncle, you are carried away by your subject, " said Madame deTecle. 

"Yes, Elise, I am carried away, I admit, but I am right. Everythingjustifies me--the past and the present, I am sure; and so will thefuture, I fear. Did I say the past? Be assured, Monsieur de Camors, Iam not a narrow-minded admirer of the past. Though a Legitimist frompersonal affections, I am a downright Liberal in principles. You knowthat, Durocher? Well, then, in short, formerly between the Alps, theRhine, and the Pyrenees, was a great country which lived, thought, andacted, not exclusively through its capital, but for itself. It had ahead, assuredly; but it had also a heart, muscles, nerves, and veinswith blood in them, and yet the head lost nothing by that. There wasthen a France, Monsieur. The province had an existence, subordinatedoubtless, but real, active, and independent. Each government, eachoffice, each parliamentary centre was a living intellectual focus. The great provincial institutions and local liberties exercised theintellect on all sides, tempered the character, and developed men. Andnow note well, Durocher! If France had been centralized formerlyas to-day, your dear Revolution never would have occurred--do youunderstand? Never! because there would have been no men to make it. Formay I not ask, whence came that prodigious concourse of intelligencesall fully armed, and with heroic hearts, which the great social movementof '78 suddenly brought upon the scene? Please recall to mind the mostillustrious men of that era--lawyers, orators, soldiers. How many werefrom Paris? All came from the provinces, the fruitful womb of France!But to-day we have simply need of a deputy, peaceful times; and yet, out of six hundred thousand souls, as we have seen, we can not find onesuitable man. Why is this the case, gentlemen? Because upon the soil ofuncentralized France men grew, while only functionaries germinate in thesoil of centralized France. "

"God bless you, Monsieur!" said the Sub-prefect, with a smile. 

"Pardon me, my dear Sub-prefect, but you, too, should understand thatI really plead your cause as well as my own, when I claim forthe provinces, and for all the functions of provincial life, moreindependence, dignity, and grandeur. In the state to which thesefunctions are reduced at present, the administration and the judiciaryare equally stripped of power, prestige, and patronage. You smile, Monsieur, but no longer, as formerly, are they the centres of life, ofemulation, and of light, civic schools and manly gymnasiums; they havebecome merely simple, passive clockwork; and that is the case with therest, Monsieur de Camors. Our municipal institutions are a mere farce, our provincial assemblies only a name, our local liberties naught!Consequently, we have not now a man for a deputy. But why should wecomplain? Does not Paris undertake to live, to think for us? Doesshe not deign to cast to us, as of yore the Roman Senate cast to thesuburban plebeians, our food for the day-bread and vaudevilles--'panemet circenses'. Yes, Monsieur, let us turn from the past to thepresent--to France of to-day! A nation of forty millions of people whoawait each morning from Paris the signal to know whether it is day ornight, or whether, indeed, they shall laugh or weep! A great people, once the noblest, the cleverest in the world, repeating the same day, at the same hour, in all the salons, and at all the crossways in theempire, the same imbecile gabble engendered the evening before in themire of the boulevards. I tell you? Monsieur, it is humiliating thatall Europe, once jealous of us, should now shrug her shoulders in ourfaces. --Besides, it is fatal even for Paris, which, permit me to add, drunk with prosperity in its haughty isolation and self-fetishism, not alittle resembles the Chinese Empire-a focus of warmed-over, corrupt, andfrivolous civilization! As for the future, my dear sir, may God preserveme from despair, since it concerns my country! This age has already seengreat things, great marvels, in fact; for I beg you to remember I amby no means an enemy to my time. I approve the Revolution, liberty, equality, the press, railways, and the telegraph; and as I often say toMonsieur le Cure, every cause that would live must accommodate itselfcheerfully to the progress of its epoch, and study how to serve itselfby it. Every cause that is in antagonism with its age commits suicide. Indeed, Monsieur, I trust this century will see one more great event, the end of this Parisian tyranny, and the resuscitation of provinciallife; for I must repeat, my dear sir, that your centralization, whichwas once an excellent remedy, is a detestable regimen! It is a horribleinstrument of oppression and tyranny, ready-made for all hands, suitablefor every despotism, and under it France stifles and wastes away. Youmust agree with me yourself, Durocher; in this sense the Revolutionovershot its mark, and placed in jeopardy even its purposes; for you, who love liberty, and do not wish it merely for yourself alone, as someof your friends do, but for all the world, surely you can not admirecentralization, which proscribes liberty as manifestly as night obscuresthe day. As for my part, gentlemen, there are two things which I loveequally--liberty and France. Well, then, as I believe in God, doI believe that both must perish in the throes of some convulsivecatastrophe if all the life of the nation shall continue to beconcentrated in the brain, and the great reform for which I call is notmade: if a vast system of local franchise, if provincial institutions, largely independent and conformable to the modern spirit, are notsoon established to yield fresh blood for our exhausted veins, and tofertilize our impoverished soil. Undoubtedly the work will be difficultand complicated; it will demand a firm resolute hand, but the hand thatmay accomplish it will have achieved the most patriotic work of thecentury. Tell that to your sovereign, Monsieur Sub-prefect; say to himthat if he do that, there is one old French heart that will bless him. Tell him, also, that he will encounter much passion, much derision, muchdanger, peradventure; but that he will have a commensurate recompensewhen he shall see France, like Lazarus, delivered from its swathings andits shroud, rise again, sound and whole, to salute him!"

These last words the old gentleman had pronounced with fire, emotion, and extraordinary dignity; and the silence and respect with which hehad been listened to were prolonged after he had ceased to speak. Thisappeared to embarrass him, but taking the arm of Camors he said, witha smile, "'Semel insanivimus omnes. ' My dear sir, every one has hismadness. I trust that mine has not offended you. Well, then, prove itto me by accompanying me on the piano in this song of the sixteenthcentury. "

Camors complied with his usual good taste; and the song of the sixteenthcentury terminated the evening's entertainment; but the young Count, before leaving, found the means of causing Madame de Tecle the mostprofound astonishment. He asked her, in a low voice, and with peculiaremphasis, whether she would be kind enough, at her leisure, to grant himthe honor of a moment's private conversation. 

Madame de Tecle opened still wider those large eyes of hers, blushedslightly, and replied that she would be at home the next afternoon atfour o'clock. 

BOOK 2. 

CHAPTER IX. LOVE CONQUERS PHILOSOPHY

To M. De Camors, in principle it was a matter of perfect indifferencewhether France was centralized or decentralized. But his Parisianinstinct induced him to prefer the former. In spite of this preference, he would not have scrupled to adopt the opinions of M. Des Rameures, hadnot his own fine tact shown him that the proud old gentleman was not tobe won by submission. 

He therefore reserved for him the triumph of his gradual conversion. Be that as it might, it was neither of centralization nor ofdecentralization that the young Count proposed to speak to Madame deTecle, when, at the appointed hour, he presented himself before her. He found her in the garden, which, like the house, was of an ancient, severe, and monastic style. A terrace planted with limetrees extendedon one side of the garden. It was at this spot that Madame de Tecle wasseated under a group of lime-trees, forming a rustic bower. 

She was fond of this place, because it recalled to her that evening whenher unexpected apparition had suddenly inspired with a celestial joy thepale, disfigured face of her betrothed. 

She was seated on a low chair beside a small rustic table, covered withpieces of wool and silk; her feet rested on a stool, and she worked on apiece of tapestry, apparently with great tranquillity. 

M. De Camors, an expert in all the niceties and exquisite devices of thefeminine mind, smiled to himself at this audience in the open air. Hethought he fathomed its meaning. Madame de Tecle desired to deprive thisinterview of the confidential character which closed doors would havegiven it. 

It was the simple truth. This young woman, who was one of the noblestof her sex, was not at all simple. She had not passed ten years of heryouth, her beauty, and her widowhood without receiving, under formsmore or less direct, dozens of declarations that had inspired her withimpressions, which, although just, were not always too flattering to thedelicacy and discretion of the opposite sex. Like all women of her age, she knew her danger, and, unlike most of them, she did not love it. Shehad invariably turned into the broad road of friendship all those shehad surprised rambling within the prohibited limits of love. The requestof M. De Camors for a private interview had seriously preoccupied hersince the previous evening. What could be the object of this mysteriousinterview? She puzzled her brain to imagine, but could not divine. 

It was not probable that M. De Camors, at the beginning of theiracquaintance, would feel himself entitled to declare a passion. Howevervividly the famed gallantry of the young Count rose to her memory, shethought so noted a ladykiller as he might adopt unusual methods, andmight think himself entitled to dispense with much ceremony in dealingwith an humble provincial. 

Animated by these ideas, she resolved to receive him in the garden, having remarked, during her short experience, that open air and a wide, open space were not favorable to bold wooers. 

M. De Camors bowed to Madame de Tecle as an Englishman would have bowedto his queen; then seating himself, drew his chair nearer to hers, mischievously perhaps, and lowering his voice into a confidential tone, said: "Madame, will you permit me to confide a secret to you, and to askyour counsel?"

She raised her graceful head, fixed upon the Count her soft, brightgaze, smiled vaguely, and by a slight movement of the hand intimated tohim, "You surprise me; but I will listen to you. "

"This is my first secret, Madame--I desire to become deputy for thisdistrict. "

At this unexpected declaration, Madame de Tecle looked at him, breatheda slight sigh of relief, and gravely awaited what he had to say. 

"The General de Campvallon, Madame, " continued the young man, "hasmanifested a father's kindness to me. He intends to resign in myfavor, and has not concealed from me that the support of your uncle isindispensable to my success as a candidate. I have therefore come here, by the General's advice, in the hope of obtaining this support, but theideas and opinions expressed yesterday by your uncle appear to me sodirectly opposed to my pretensions that I feel truly discouraged. Tobe brief, Madame, in my perplexity I conceived the idea--indiscreetdoubtless--to appeal to your kindness, and ask your advice--which I amdetermined to follow, whatever it may be. "

"But, Monsieur! you embarrass me greatly, " said the young woman, whosepretty face, at first clouded, brightened up immediately with a franksmile. 

"I have no special claims on your kindness--on the contrary perhaps--butI am a human being, and you are charitable. Well, in truth, Madame, thismatter seriously concerns my fortune, my future, and my whole destiny. This opportunity which now presents itself for me to enter public lifeso young is exceptional. I should regret very much to lose it; would youtherefore be so kind as to aid me?"

"But how can I?" replied Madame de Tecle. "I never interfere inpolitics, and that is precisely what you ask me. "

"Nevertheless, Madame, I pray you not to oppose me. "

"Why should I oppose you?"

"Ah, Madame! You have a right more than any other person to be severe. My youth was a little dissipated. My reputation, in some respects, isnot over-good, I know, and I doubt not you may have heard so, and I cannot help fearing it has inspired you with some dislike to me. "

"Monsieur, we lived a retired life here. We know nothing of what passesin Paris. If we did, this would not prevent my assisting you, if I knewhow, for I think that serious and elevated labors could not fail happilyto change your ordinary habits. "

"It is truly a delicious thing, " thought the young Count, "to mystify sospiritual a person. "

"Madame, " he continued, with his quiet grace, "I join in your hopes, and as you deign to encourage my ambition, I believe I shall succeed inobtaining your uncle's support. You know him well. What shall I do toconciliate him? What course shall I adopt?--because I can not do withouthis assistance. Were I to renounce that, I should be compelled torenounce my projects. "

"It is truly difficult, " said Madame de Tecle, with a reflectiveair--"very difficult!"

"Is it not, Madame?"

Camors's voice expressed such confidence and submission that Madamede Tecle was quite touched, and even the devil himself would have beencharmed by it, had he heard it in Gehenna. 

"Let me reflect on this a little, " she said, and she placed her elbowson the table, leaned her head on her hands, her fingers, like a fan, half shading her eyes, while sparks of fire from her rings glittered inthe sunshine, and her ivory nails shone against her smooth brow. M. DeCamors continued to regard her with the same submissive and candid air. 

"Well, Monsieur, " she said at last, smiling, "I think you can do nothingbetter than keep on. "

"Pardon me, but how?"

"By persevering in the same system you have already adopted with myuncle! Say nothing to him for the present. Beg the General also to besilent. Wait quietly until intimacy, time, and your own good qualitieshave sufficiently prepared my uncle for your nomination. My role is verysimple. I cannot, at this moment, aid you, without betraying you. Myassistance would only injure you, until a change comes in the aspect ofaffairs. You must conciliate him. "

"You overpower me, " said Camors, "in taking you for my confidante inmy ambitious projects, I have committed a blunder and an impertinence, which a slight contempt from you has mildly punished. But speakingseriously, Madame, I thank you with all my heart. I feared to find inyou a powerful enemy, and I find in you a strong neutral, almost anally. "

"Oh! altogether an ally, however secret, " responded Madame de Tecle, laughing. "I am glad to be useful to you; as I love General Campvallonvery much, I am happy to enter into his views. Come here, Marie?" Theselast words were addressed to her daughter, who appeared on the stepsof the terrace, her cheeks scarlet, and her hair dishevelled, holdinga card in her hand. She immediately approached her mother, giving M. De Camors one of those awkward salutations peculiar to young, growinggirls. 

"Will you permit me, " said Madame de Tecle, "to give to my daughter afew orders in English, which we are translating? You are too warm--donot run any more. Tell Rosa to prepare my bodice with the small buttons. While I am dressing, you may say your catechism to me. "

"Yes, mother. "

"Have you written your exercise?"

"Yes, mother. How do you say 'joli' in English for a man?" asked thelittle girl. 

"Why?"

"That question is in my exercise, to be said of a man who is 'beau, joli, distingue. '"

"Handsome, nice, and charming, " replied her mother. 

"Very well, mother, this gentleman, our neighbor, is altogetherhandsome, nice, and charming. "

"Silly child!" exclaimed Madame de Tecle, while the little girl rusheddown the steps. 

M. De Camors, who had listened to this dialogue with cool calmness, rose. "I thank you again, Madame, " he said; "and will you now excuseme? You will allow me, from time to time, to confide in you my politicalhopes and fears?"

"Certainly, Monsieur. "

He bowed and retired. As he was crossing the courtyard, he found himselfface to face with Mademoiselle Marie. He gave her a most respectfulbow. "Another time, Miss Mary, be more careful. I understand Englishperfectly well!"

Mademoiselle Marie remained in the same attitude, blushed up to theroots of her hair, and cast on M. De Camors a startled look of mingledshame and anger. 

"You are not satisfied, Miss Mary, " continued Camors. 

"Not at all, " said the child, quickly, her strong voice somewhat husky. 

M. Camors laughed, bowed again, and departed, leaving Mademoiselle Mariein the midst of the court, transfixed with indignation. 

A few moments later Marie threw herself into the arms of her mother, weeping bitterly, and told her, through her tears, of her cruel mishap. 

Madame de Tecle, in using this opportunity of giving her daughter alesson on reserve and on convenance, avoided treating the matter tooseriously and even seemed to laugh heartily at it, although she hadlittle inclination to do so, and the child finished by laughing withher. 

Camors, meanwhile, remained at home, congratulating himself on hiscampaign, which seemed to him, not without reason, to have been amasterpiece of stratagem. By a clever mingling of frankness and cunninghe had quickly enlisted Madame de Tecle in his interest. From thatmoment the realization of his ambitious dreams seemed assured, for hewas not ignorant of the incomparable value of woman's assistance, andknew all the power of that secret and continued labor, of those smallbut cumulative efforts, and of those subterranean movements whichassimilate feminine influence with the secret and irresistible forcesof nature. Another point gained-he had established a secret betweenthat pretty woman and himself, and had placed himself on a confidentialfooting with her. He had gained the right to keep secret theirclandestine words and private conversation, and such a situation, cleverly managed, might aid him to pass very agreeably the periodoccupied in his political canvass. 

Camors on entering the house sat down to write the General, to informhim of the opening of his operations, and admonish him to have patience. From that day he turned his attention to following up the two personswho could control his election. 

His policy as regarded M. Des Rameures was as simple as it was clever. It has already been clearly indicated, and further details would beunnecessary. Profiting by his growing familiarity as neighbor, he wentto school, as it were, at the model farm of the gentleman-farmer, and submitted to him the direction of his own domain. By this quietcompliment, enhanced by his captivating courtesy, he advanced insensiblyin the good graces of the old man. But every day, as he grew to know M. De Rameures better, and as he felt more the strength of his character, he began to fear that on essential points he was quite inflexible. 

After some weeks of almost daily intercourse, M. Des Rameures graciouslypraised his young neighbor as a charming fellow, an excellent musician, an amiable associate; but, regarding him as a possible deputy, he sawsome things which might disqualify him. Madame de Tecle feared this, and did not hide it from M. De Camors. The young Count did not preoccupyhimself so much on this subject as might be supposed, for his secondambition had superseded his first; in other words his fancy for Madamede Tecle had become more ardent and more pressing than his desire forthe deputyship. We are compelled to admit, not to his credit, that hefirst proposed to himself, to ensnare his charming neighbor as a simplepastime, as an interesting adventure, and, above all, as a work of art, which was extremely difficult and would greatly redound to his honor. Although he had met few women of her merit, he judged her correctly. Hebelieved Madame de Tecle was not virtuous simply from force of habit orduty. She had passion. She was not a prude, but was chaste. She was nota devotee, but was pious. He discerned in her at the same time a spiritelevated, yet not narrow; lofty and dignified sentiments, and deeplyrooted principles; virtue without rigor, pure and lambent as flame. 

Nevertheless he did not despair, trusting to his own principles, to thefascinations of his manner and his previous successes. Instinctively, heknew that the ordinary forms of gallantry would not answer with her. Allhis art was to surround her with absolute respect, and to leave the restto time and to the growing intimacy of each day. 

There was something very touching to Madame de Tecle in the reserved andtimid manner of this 'mauvais sujet', in her presence--the homage of afallen spirit, as if ashamed of being such, in presence of a spirit oflight. 

Never, either in public or when tete-a-tete, was there a jest, a word, or a look which the most sensitive virtue could fear. 

This young man, ironical with all the rest of the world, was seriouswith her. From the moment he turned toward her, his voice, face, andconversation became as serious as if he had entered a church. He hada great deal of wit, and he used and abused it beyond measure inconversations in the presence of Madame de Tecle, as if he were makinga display of fireworks in her honor. But on coming to her this wassuddenly extinguished, and he became all submission and respect. 

Not every woman who receives from a superior man such delicate flatteryas this necessarily loves him, but she does like him. In the shadow ofthe perfect security in which M. De Camors had placed her, Madame deTecle could not but be pleased in the company of the most distinguishedman she had ever met, who had, like herself, a taste for art, music, andfor high culture. 

Thus these innocent relations with a young man whose reputation wasrather equivocal could not but awaken in the heart of Madame de Teclea sentiment, or rather an illusion, which the most prudish could notcondemn. 

Libertines offer to vulgar women an attraction which surprises, butwhich springs from a reprehensible curiosity. To a woman of societythey offer another, more noble yet not less dangerous--the attractionof reforming them. It is rare that virtuous women do not fall into theerror of believing that it is for virtue's sake alone such men lovethem. These, in brief, were the secret sympathies whose slight tendrilsintertwined, blossomed, and flowered little by little in this soul, astender as it was pure. 

M. De Camors had vaguely foreseen all this: that which he had notforeseen was that he himself would be caught in his own snare, and wouldbe sincere in the role which he had so judiciously adopted. From thefirst, Madame de Tecle had captivated him. Her very puritanism, unitedwith her native grace and worldly elegance, composed a kind of dailycharm which piqued the imagination of the cold young man. If it wasa powerful temptation for the angels to save the tempted, the temptedcould not harbor with more delight the thought of destroying the angels. They dream, like the reckless Epicureans of the Bible, of mingling, ina new intoxication, the earth with heaven. To these sombre instincts ofdepravity were soon united in the feelings of Camors a sentiment moreworthy of her. Seeing her every day with that childlike intimacywhich the country encourages--enhancing the graceful movements of thisaccomplished person, ever self-possessed and equally prepared for dutyor for pleasure--as animated as passion, yet as severe as virtue--heconceived for her a genuine worship. It was not respect, for thatrequires the effort of believing in such merits, and he did not wish tobelieve. He thought Madame de Tecle was born so. He admired her as hewould admire a rare plant, a beautiful object, an exquisite work, in which nature had combined physical and moral grace with perfectproportion and harmony. His deportment as her slave when near her wasnot long a mere bit of acting. Our fair readers have doubtless remarkedan odd fact: that where a reciprocal sentiment of two feeble humanbeings has reached a certain point of maturity, chance never fails tofurnish a fatal occasion which betrays the secret of the two hearts, andsuddenly launches the thunderbolt which has been gradually gatheringin the clouds. This is the crisis of all love. This occasion presenteditself to Madame de Tecle and M. De Camors in the form of an unpoeticincident. 

It occurred at the end of October. Camors had gone out after dinner totake a ride in the neighborhood. Night had already fallen, clear andcold; but as the Count could not see Madame de Tecle that evening, hebegan only to think of being near her, and felt that unwillingness towork common to lovers--striving, if possible, to kill time, which hungheavy on his hands. 

He hoped also that violent exercise might calm his spirit, which neverhad been more profoundly agitated. Still young and unpractised in hispitiless system, he was troubled at the thought of a victim so pure asMadame de Tecle. To trample on the life, the repose, and the heart ofsuch a woman, as the horse tramples on the grass of the road, with aslittle care or pity, was hard for a novice. 

Strange as it may appear, the idea of marrying her had occurred to him. Then he said to himself that this weakness was in direct contradictionto his principles, and that she would cause him to lose forever hismastery over himself, and throw him back into the nothingness of hispast life. Yet with the corrupt inspirations of his depraved soul heforesaw that the moment he touched her hands with the lips of a lovera new sentiment would spring up in her soul. As he abandoned himself tothese passionate imaginings, the recollection of young Madame Lescandecame back suddenly to his memory. He grew pale in the darkness. At thismoment he was passing the edge of a little wood belonging to the Comtede Tecle, of which a portion had recently been cleared. It was notchance alone that had directed the Count's ride to this point. Madamede Tecle loved this spot, and had frequently taken him there, and on thepreceding evening, accompanied by her daughter and her father-in-law, had visited it with him. 

The site was a peculiar one. Although not far from houses, the wood wasvery wild, as if a thousand miles distant from any inhabited place. 

You would have said it was a virgin forest, untouched by the axe of thepioneer. Enormous stumps without bark, trunks of gigantic trees, covered the declivity of the hill, and barricaded, here and there, in apicturesque manner, the current of the brook which ran into the valley. A little farther up the dense wood of tufted trees contributed todiffuse that religious light half over the rocks, the brushwood and thefertile soil, and on the limpid water, which is at once the charm andthe horror of old neglected woods. In this solitude, and on a space ofcleared ground, rose a sort of rude hut, constructed by a poor devilwho was a sabot-maker by trade, and who had been allowed to establishhimself there by the Comte de Tecle, and to use the beech-trees to gainhis humble living. This Bohemian interested Madame de Tecle, probablybecause, like M. De Camors, he had a bad reputation. He lived in hiscabin with a woman who was still pretty under her rags, and with twolittle boys with golden curls. 

He was a stranger in the neighborhood, and the woman was said not tobe his wife. He was very taciturn, and his features seemed fine anddetermined under his thick, black beard. 

Madame de Tecle amused herself seeing him make his sabots. She loved thechildren, who, though dirty, were beautiful as angels; and she pitiedthe woman. She had a secret project to marry her to the man, in case shehad not yet been married, which seemed probable. 

Camors walked his horse slowly over the rocky and winding path on theslope of the hillock. This was the moment when the ghost of MadameLescande had risen before him, and he believed he could almost hear herweep. Suddenly this illusion gave place to a strange reality. The voiceof a woman plainly called him by name, in accents of distress--"Monsieurde Camors!"

Stopping his horse on the instant, he felt an icy shudder passthrough his frame. The same voice rose higher and called him again. Herecognized it as the voice of Madame de Tecle. Looking around him in theobscure light with a rapid glance, he saw a light shining through thefoliage in the direction of the cottage of the sabot-maker. Guidedby this, he put spurs to his horse, crossed the cleared ground up thehillside, and found himself face to face with Madame de Tecle. She wasstanding at the threshold of the hut, her head bare, and her beautifulhair dishevelled under a long, black lace veil. She was giving a servantsome hasty orders. When she saw Camors approach, she came toward him. 

"Pardon me, " she said, "but I thought I recognized you, and I calledyou. I am so much distressed--so distressed! The two children of thisman are dying! What is to be done? Come in--come in, I beg of you!"

He leaped to the ground, threw the reins to his servant, and followedMadame de Tekle into the interior of the cabin. 

The two children with the golden hair were lying side by side on alittle bed, immovable, rigid, their eyes open and the pupils strangelydilated--their faces red, and agitated by slight convulsions. Theyseemed to be in the agony of death. The old doctor, Du Rocher, wasleaning over them, looking at them with a fixed, anxious, and despairingeye. The mother was on her knees, her head clasped in her hands, andweeping bitterly. At the foot of the bed stood the father, with hissavage mien--his arms crossed, and his eyes dry. He shuddered atintervals, and murmured, in a hoarse, hollow voice: "Both of them! Bothof them!" Then he relapsed into his mournful attitude. M. Durocher, approached Camors quickly. "Monsieur, " said he, "what can this be?I believe it to be poisoning, but can detect no definite symptoms:otherwise, the parents should know--but they know nothing! A sunstroke, perhaps; but as both were struck at the same time--and then at thisseason--ah! our profession is quite useless sometimes. "

Camors made rapid inquiries. They had sought M. Durocher, who was diningwith Madame de Tecle an hour before. He had hastened, and found thechildren already speechless, in a state of fearful congestion. Itappeared they had fallen into this state when first attacked, and hadbecome delirious. 

Camors conceived an idea. He asked to see the clothes the children hadworn during the day. The mother gave them to him. He examined them withcare, and pointed out to the doctor several red stains on the poor rags. The doctor touched his forehead, and turned over with a feverish handthe small linen--the rough waistcoat--searched the pockets, and founddozens of a small fruit-like cherries, half crushed. "Belladonna!" heexclaimed. "That idea struck me several times, but how could I be sure?You can not find it within twenty miles of this place, except in thiscursed wood--of that I am sure. "

"Do you think there is yet time?" asked the young Count, in a low voice. "The children seem to me to be very ill. "

"Lost, I fear; but everything depends on the time that has passed, thequantity they have taken, and the remedies I can procure. "

The old man consulted quickly with Madame de Tecle, who found shehad not in her country pharmacy the necessary remedies, orcounter-irritants, which the urgency of the case demanded. The doctorwas obliged to content himself with the essence of coffee, which theservant was ordered to prepare in haste, and to send to the village forthe other things needed. 

"To the village!" cried Madame de Tecle. "Good heavens! it is fourleagues--it is night, and we shall have to wait probably three or fourhours!"

Camors heard this: "Doctor, write your prescription, " he said: "Trilbyis at the door, and with him I can do the four leagues in an hour--inone hour I promise to return here. "

"Oh! thank you, Monsieur!" said Madame de Tecle. 

He took the prescription which Dr. Durocher had rapidly traced on a leafof his pocketbook, mounted his horse, and departed. 

The highroad was fortunately not far distant. When he reached it he rodelike the phantom horseman. 

It was nine o'clock when Madame de Tecle witnessed his departure--itwas a few moments after ten when she heard the tramp of his horse at thefoot of the hill and ran to the door of the hut. The condition of thetwo children seemed to have grown worse in the interval, but the olddoctor had great hopes in the remedies which Camors was to bring. Shewaited with impatience, and received him like the dawn of the lasthope. She contented herself with pressing his hand, when, breathless, he descended from his horse. But this adorable creature threw herself onTrilby, who was covered with foam and steaming like a furnace. 

"Poor Trilby, " she said, embracing him in her two arms, "dearTrilby--good Trilby! you are half dead, are you not? But I love youwell. Go quickly, Monsieur de Camors, I will attend to Trilby"--andwhile the young man entered the cabin, she confided Trilby to the chargeof her servant, with orders to take him to the stable, and a thousandminute directions to take good care of him after his noble conduct. Dr. Durocher had to obtain the aid of Camors to pass the new medicinethrough the clenched teeth of the unfortunate children. While both wereengaged in this work, Madame de Tecle was sitting on a stool with herhead resting against the cabin wall. Durocher suddenly raised his eyesand fixed them on her. 

"My dear Madame, " he said, "you are ill. You have had too muchexcitement, and the odors here are insupportable. You must go home. "

"I really do not feel very well, " she murmured. 

"You must go at once. We shall send you the news. One of your servantswill take you home. "

She raised herself, trembling; but one look from the young wife of thesabot-maker arrested her. To this poor woman, it seemed that Providencedeserted her with Madame de Tecle. 

"No!" she said with a divine sweetness; "I will not go. I shall onlybreathe a little fresh air. I will remain until they are safe, I promiseyou;" and she left the room smiling upon the poor woman. After a fewminutes, Durocher said to M. De Camors:

"My dear sir, I thank you--but I really have no further need of yourservices; so you too may go and rest yourself, for you also are growingpale. "

Camors, exhausted by his long ride, felt suffocated by the atmosphere ofthe hut, and consented to the suggestion of the old man, saying that hewould not go far. 

As he put his foot outside of the cottage, Madame de Tecle, who wassitting before the door, quickly rose and threw over his shoulders acloak which they had brought for her. She then reseated herself withoutspeaking. 

"But you can not remain here all night, " he said. 

"I should be too uneasy at home. "

"But the night is very cold--shall I make you a fire?"

"If you wish, " she said. 

"Let us see where we can make this little fire. In the midst of thiswood it is impossible--we should have a conflagration to finish thepicture. Can you walk?

"Then take my arm, and we shall go and search for a place for ourencampment. "

She leaned lightly on his arm, and took a few steps with him toward theforest. 

"Do you think they are saved?" she asked. 

"I hope so, " he replied. "The face of Doctor Durocher is more cheerful. "

"Oh! how glad I am!"

Both of them stumbled over a root, and laughed like two children forseveral minutes. 

"We shall soon be in the woods, " said Madame de Tecle, "and I declare Ican go no farther: good or bad, I choose this spot. "

They were still quite close to the hut, but the branches of the oldtrees which had been spared by the axe spread like a sombre dome overtheir heads. Near by was a large rock, slightly covered with moss, and anumber of old trunks of trees, on which Madame de Tecle took her seat. 

"Nothing could be better, " said Camors, gayly. "I must collect mymaterials. "

A moment after he reappeared, bringing in his arms brushwood, and also atravelling-rug which his servant had brought him. 

He got on his knees in front of the rock, prepared the fagots, andlighted them with a match. When the flame began to flicker on the rustichearth Madame de Tecle trembled with joy, and held out both hands to theblaze. 

"Ah! how nice that is!" she said; "and then it is so amusing; one wouldsay we had been shipwrecked. 

"Now, Monsieur, if you would be perfect go and see what Durocherreports. "

He ran to the hut. When he returned he could not avoid stopping half wayto admire the elegant and simple silhouette of the young woman, defined sharply against the blackness of the wood, her fine countenanceslightly illuminated by the firelight. The moment she saw him:

"Well!" she cried. 

"A great deal of hope. "

"Oh! what happiness, Monsieur!" She pressed his hand. 

"Sit down there, " she said. 

He sat down on a rock contiguous to hers, and replied to her eagerquestions. He repeated, in detail, his conversation with the doctor, andexplained at length the properties of belladonna. She listened at firstwith interest, but little by little, with her head wrapped in herveil and resting on the boughs interlaced behind her, she seemed to beuncomfortably resting from fatigue. 

"You are likely to fall asleep there, " he said, laughing. 

"Perhaps!" she murmured--smiled, and went to sleep. 

Her sleep resembled death, it was so profound, and so calm was thebeating of her heart, so light her breathing. 

Camors knelt down again by the fire, to listen breathlessly and to gazeupon her. From time to time he seemed to meditate, and the solitudewas disturbed only by the rustling of the leaves. His eyes followed theflickering of the flame, sometimes resting on the white cheek, sometimeson the grove, sometimes on the arches of the high trees, as if he wishedto fix in his memory all the details of this sweet scene. Then hisgaze rested again on the young woman, clothed in her beauty, grace, andconfiding repose. 

What heavenly thoughts descended at that moment on this sombresoul--what hesitation, what doubt assailed it! What images of peace, truth, virtue, and happiness passed into that brain full of storm, andchased away the phantoms of the sophistries he cherished! He himselfknew, but never told. 

The brisk crackling of the wood awakened her. She opened her eyes insurprise, and as soon as she saw the young man kneeling before her, addressed him:

"How are they now, Monsieur?"

He did not know how to tell her that for the last hour he had had butone thought, and that was of her. Durocher appeared suddenly beforethem. 

"They are saved, Madame, " said the old man, brusquely; "come quickly, embrace them, and return home, or we shall have to treat you to-morrow. You are very imprudent to have remained in this damp wood, and it wasabsurd of Monsieur to let you do so. "

She took the arm of the old doctor, smiling, and reentered the hut. Thetwo children, now roused from the dangerous torpor, but who seemed stillterrified by the threatened death, raised their little round heads. Shemade them a sign to keep quiet, and leaned over their pillow smilingupon them, and imprinted two kisses on their golden curls. 

"To-morrow, my angels, " she said. But the mother, half laughing, halfcrying, followed Madame de Tecle step by step, speaking to her, andkissing her garments. 

"Let her alone, " cried the old doctor, querulously. "Go home, Madame. Monsieur de Camors, take her home. "

She was going out, when the man, who had not before spoken, and who wassitting in the corner of his but as if stupefied, rose suddenly, seizedthe arm of Madame de Tecle, who, slightly terrified, turned round, forthe gesture of the man was so violent as to seem menacing; his eyes, hard and dry, were fixed upon her, and he continued to press her armwith a contracted hand. 

"My friend!" she said, although rather uncertain. 

"Yes, your friend, " muttered the man with a hollow voice; "yes, yourfriend. "

He could not continue, his mouth worked as if in a convulsion, suppressed weeping shook his frame; he then threw himself on his knees, and they saw a shower of tears force themselves through the handsclasped over his face. 

"Take her away, Monsieur, " said the old doctor. 

Camors gently pushed her out of the but and followed her. She took hisarm and descended the rugged path which led to her home. 

It was a walk of twenty minutes from the wood. Half the distance waspassed without interchanging a word. Once or twice, when the rays of themoon pierced through the clouds, Camors thought he saw her wipe awaya tear with the end of her glove. He guided her cautiously in thedarkness, although the light step of the young woman was little slowerin the obscurity. Her springy step pressed noiselessly the fallenleaves--avoided without assistance the ruts and marshes, as if she hadbeen endowed with a magical clairvoyance. When they reached a crossroad, and Camors seemed uncertain, she indicated the way by a slight pressureof the arm. Both were no doubt embarrassed by the long silence--it wasMadame de Tecle who first broke it. 

"You have been very good this evening, Monsieur, " she said in a low andslightly agitated voice. 

"I love you so much!" said the young man. 

He pronounced these simple words in such a deep impassioned tone thatMadame de Tecle trembled and stood still in the road. 

"Monsieur de Camors!"

"What, Madame?" he demanded, in a strange tone. 

"Heavens!--in fact-nothing!" said she, "for this is a declaration offriendship, I suppose--and your friendship gives me much pleasure. "

He let go her arm at once, and in a hoarse and angry voice said--"I amnot your friend!"

"What are you then, Monsieur?"

Her voice was calm, but she recoiled a few steps, and leaned againstone of the trees which bordered the road. The explosion so long pent upburst forth, and a flood of words poured from the young man's lips withinexpressible impetuosity. 

"What I am I know not! I no longer know whether I am myself--if I amdead or alive--if I am good or bad--whether I am dreaming or waking. Oh, Madame, what I wish is that the day may never rise again--that thisnight would never finish--that I should wish to feel always--always--inmy head, my heart, my entire being--that which I now feel, near you--ofyou--for you! I should wish to be stricken with some sudden illness, without hope, in order to be watched and wept for by you, like thosechildren--and to be embalmed in your tears; and to see you bowed downin terror before me is horrible to me! By the name of your God, whomyou have made me respect, I swear you are sacred to me--the child in thearms of its mother is not more so!"

"I have no fear, " she murmured. 

"Oh, no!--have no fear!" he repeated in a tone of voice infinitelysoftened and tender. "It is I who am afraid--it is I who tremble--yousee it; for since I have spoken, all is finished. I expect nothingmore--I hope for nothing--this night has no possible tomorrow. I knowit. Your husband I dare not be--your lover I should not wish to be. Iask nothing of you--understand well! I should like to burn my heart atyour feet, as on an altar--this is all. Do you believe me? Answer! Areyou tranquil? Are you confident? Will you hear me? May I tell you whatimage I carry of you in the secret recesses of my heart? Dear creaturethat you are, you do not--ah, you do not know how great is your worth;and I fear to tell you; so much am I afraid of stripping you of yourcharms, or of one of your virtues. If you had been proud of yourself, asyou have a right to be, you would be less perfect, and I should love youless. But I wish to tell you how lovable and how charming you are. Youalone do not know it. You alone do not see the soft flame of your largeeyes--the reflection of your heroic soul on your young but serene brow. Your charm is over everything you do--your slightest gesture is engravenon my heart. Into the most ordinary duties of every-day life you carry apeculiar grace, like a young priestess who recites her daily devotions. Your hand, your touch, your breath purifies everything--even the mosthumble and the most wicked beings--and myself first of all!

"I am astonished at the words which I dare to pronounce, and thesentiments which animate me, to whom you have made clear new truths. Yes, all the rhapsodies of the poets, all the loves of the martyrs, Icomprehend in your presence. This is truth itself. I understand thosewho died for their faith by the torture--because I should like to sufferfor you--because I believe in you--because I respect you--I cherishyou--I adore you!"

He stopped, shivering, and half prostrating himself before her, seizedthe end of her veil and kissed it. 

"Now, " he continued, with a kind of grave sadness, "go, Madame, I haveforgotten too long that you require repose. Pardon me--proceed. I shallfollow you at a distance, until you reach your home, to protect you--butfear nothing from me. "

Madame de Tecle had listened, without once interrupting him even bya sigh. Words would only excite the young man more. Probably sheunderstood, for the first time in her life, one of those songs oflove--one of those hymns alive with passion, which every woman wishesto hear before she dies. Should she die because she had heard it? Sheremained without speaking, as if just awakening from a dream, and saidquite simply, in a voice as soft and feeble as a sigh, "My God!" Afteranother pause she advanced a few steps on the road. 

"Give me your arm as far as my house, Monsieur, " she said. 

He obeyed her, and they continued their walk toward the house, thelights of which they soon saw. They did not exchange a word--only asthey reached the gate, Madame de Tecle turned and made him a slightgesture with her hand, in sign of adieu. In return, M. De Camors bowedlow, and withdrew. 

CHAPTER X. THE PROLOGUE TO THE TRAGEDY

The Comte de Camors had been sincere. When true passion surprises thehuman soul, it breaks down all resolves, sweeps away all logic, andcrushes all calculations. 

In this lies its grandeur, and also its danger. It suddenly seizes onyou, as the ancient god inspired the priestess on her tripod--speaksthrough your lips, utters words you hardly comprehend, falsifies yourthoughts, confounds your reason, and betrays your secrets. When thissublime madness possesses you, it elevates you--it transfigures you. Itcan suddenly convert a common man into a poet, a coward into a hero, anegotist into a martyr, and Don Juan himself into an angel of purity. 

With women--and it is to their honor--this metamorphosis can be durable, but it is rarely so with men. Once transported to this stormy sky, womenfrankly accept it as their proper home, and the vicinity of the thunderdoes not disquiet them. 

Passion is their element--they feel at home there. There are few womenworthy of the name who are not ready to put in action all the wordswhich passion has caused to bubble from their lips. If they speak offlight, they are ready for exile. If they talk of dying, they are readyfor death. Men are far less consistent with their ideas. 

It was not until late the next morning that Camors regretted hisoutbreak of sincerity; for, during the remainder of the night, stillfilled with his excitement, agitated and shaken by the passage of thegod, sunk into a confused and feverish reverie, he was incapable ofreflection. But when, on awakening, he surveyed the situation calmly andby the plain light of day, and thought over the preceding evening andits events, he could not fail to recognize the fact that he had beencruelly duped by his own nervous system. To love Madame de Tecle wasperfectly proper, and he loved her still--for she was a person to beloved and desired--but to elevate that love or any other as the masterof his life, instead of its plaything, was one of those weaknessesinterdicted by his system more than any other. In fact, he felt thathe had spoken and acted like a school-boy on a holiday. He had utteredwords, made promises, and taken engagements on himself which no onedemanded of him. No conduct could have been more ridiculous. Happily, nothing was lost. He had yet time to give his love that subordinateplace which this sort of fantasy should occupy in the life of man. Hehad been imprudent; but this very imprudence might finally proveof service to him. All that remained of this scene was adeclaration--gracefully made, spontaneous, natural--which subjectedMadame de Tecle to the double charm of a mystic idolatry which pleasedher sex, and to a manly ardor which could not displease her. 

He had, therefore, nothing to regret--although he certainly would havepreferred, from the point of view of his principles, to have displayed asomewhat less childish weakness. 

But what course should he now adopt? Nothing could be more simple. Hewould go to Madame de Tecle--implore her forgiveness--throw himselfagain at her feet, promising eternal respect, and succeed. Consequently, about ten o'clock, M. De Camors wrote the following note:

 "MADAME

 "I can not leave without bidding you adieu, and once more demanding your forgiveness. 

 "Will you permit me?

 "CAMORS. "

This letter he was about despatching, when he received one containingthe following words:

 "I shall be happy, Monsieur, if you will call upon me to-day, about four o'clock. 

 "ELISE DE TECLE. "

Upon which M. De Camors threw his own note in the fire, as entirelysuperfluous. 

No matter what interpretation he put upon this note, it was an evidentsign that love had triumphed and that virtue was defeated; for, afterwhat had passed the previous evening between Madame de Tecle andhimself, there was only one course for a virtuous woman to take; andthat was never to see him again. To see him was to pardon him; to pardonhim was to surrender herself to him, with or without circumlocution. Camors did not allow himself to deplore any further an adventure whichhad so suddenly lost its gravity. He soliloquized on the weakness ofwomen. He thought it bad taste in Madame de Tecle not to have maintainedlonger the high ideal his innocence had created for her. Anticipatingthe disenchantment which follows possession, he already saw herdeprived of all her prestige, and ticketed in the museum of his amoroussouvenirs. 

Nevertheless, when he approached her house, and had the feeling of hernear presence, he was troubled. Doubt--and anxiety assailed him. Whenhe saw through the trees the window of her room, his heart throbbed soviolently that he had to sit down on the root of a tree for a moment. 

"I love her like a madman!" he murmured; then leaping up suddenly heexclaimed, "But she is only a woman, after all--I shall go on!"

For the first time Madame de Tecle received him in her own apartment. This room M. De Camors had never seen. It was a large and loftyapartment, draped and furnished in sombre tints. 

It contained gilded mirrors, bronzes, engravings, and old familyjewelry lying on tables--the whole presenting the appearance of theornamentation of a church. 

In this severe and almost religious interior, however rich, reigned avague odor of flowers; and there were also to be seen boxes of lace, drawers of perfumed linen, and that dainty atmosphere which everaccompanies refined women. 

But every one has her personal individuality, and forms her ownatmosphere which fascinates her lover. Madame de Tecle, finding herselfalmost lost in this very large room, had so arranged some piecesof furniture as to make herself a little private nook near thechimneypiece, which her daughter called, "My mother's chapel. " It wasthere Camors now perceived her, by the soft light of a lamp, sitting inan armchair, and, contrary to her custom, having no work in her hands. She appeared calm, though two dark circles surrounded her eyes. She hadevidently suffered much, and wept much. 

On seeing that dear face, worn and haggard with grief, Camors forgot theneat phrases he had prepared for his entrance. He forgot all except thathe really adored her. 

He advanced hastily toward her, seized in his two hands those of theyoung woman and, without speaking, interrogated her eyes with tendernessand profound pity. 

"It is nothing, " she said, withdrawing her hand and bending her paleface gently; "I am better; I may even be very happy, if you wish it. "

There was in the smile, the look, and the accent of Madame de Teclesomething indefinable, which froze the blood of Camors. 

He felt confusedly that she loved him, and yet was lost to him; that hehad before him a species of being he did not understand, and that thiswoman, saddened, broken, and lost by love, yet loved something else inthis world better even than that love. 

She made him a slight sign, which he obeyed like a child, and he satdown beside her. 

"Monsieur, " she said to him, in a voice tremulous at first, but whichgrew stronger as she proceeded, "I heard you last night perhaps with alittle too much patience. I shall now, in return, ask from you thesame kindness. You have told me that you love me, Monsieur; and I avowfrankly that I entertain a lively affection for you. Such being thecase, we must either separate forever, or unite ourselves by the onlytie worthy of us both. To part:--that will afflict me much, and I alsobelieve it would occasion much grief to you. To unite ourselves:--for myown part, Monsieur, I should be willing to give you my life; but I cannot do it, I can not wed you without manifest folly. You are youngerthan I; and as good and generous as I believe you to be, simple reasontells me that by so doing I should bring bitter repentance on myself. But there is yet another reason. I do not belong to myself, I belong tomy daughter, to my family, to my past. In giving up my name for yours Ishould wound, I should cruelly afflict, all the friends who surroundme, and, I believe, some who exist no longer. Well, Monsieur, " shecontinued, with a smile of celestial grace and resignation, "I havediscovered a way by which we yet can avoid breaking off an intimacyso sweet to both of us--in fact, to make it closer and more dear. Myproposal may surprise you, but have the kindness to think over it, anddo not say no, at once. "

She glanced at him, and was terrified at the pallor which overspread hisface. She gently took his hand, and said:

"Have patience!"

"Speak on!" he muttered, hoarsely. 

"Monsieur, " she continued, with her smile of angelic charity, "God bepraised, you are quite young; in our society men situated as you are donot marry early, and I think they are right. Well, then, this is whatI wish to do, if you will allow me to tell you. I wish to blend inone affection the two strongest sentiments of my heart! I wish toconcentrate all my care, all my tenderness, all my joy on forming awife worthy of you--a young soul who will make you happy, a cultivatedintellect of which you can be proud. I will promise you, Monsieur, I will swear to you, to consecrate to you this sweet duty, and toconsecrate to it all that is best in myself. I shall devote to it all mytime, every instant of my life, as to the holy work of a saint. I swearto you that I shall be very happy if you will only tell me that you willconsent to this. "

His answer was an impatient exclamation of irony and anger: then hespoke:

"You will pardon me, Madame, " he said, "if so sudden a change in mysentiments can not be as prompt as you wish. "

She blushed slightly. 

"Yes, " she said, with a faint smile; "I can understand that the idea ofmy being your mother-in-law may seem strange to you; but in some years, even in a very few years' time, I shall be an old woman, and then itwill seem to you very natural. "

To consummate her mournful sacrifice, the poor woman did not shrink fromcovering herself, even in the presence of the man she loved, with themantle of old age. 

The soul of Camors was perverted, but not base, and it was suddenlytouched at this simple heroism. He rendered it the greatest homage hecould pay, for his eyes suddenly filled with tears. She observed it, forshe watched with an anxious eye the slightest impression she producedupon him. So she continued more cheerfully:

"And see, Monsieur, how this will settle everything. In this way we cancontinue to see each other without danger, because your little affiancedwife will be always between us. Our sentiments will soon be in harmonywith our new thoughts. Even your future prospects, which are now alsomine, will encounter fewer obstacles, because I shall push them moreopenly, without revealing to my uncle what ought to remain a secretbetween us two. I can let him suspect my hopes, and that will enlisthim in your service. Above all, I repeat to you that this will insure myhappiness. Will you thus accept my maternal affection?"

M. De Camors, by a powerful effort of will, had recovered hisself-control. 

"Pardon me, Madame, " he said, with a faint smile, "but I should wish atleast to preserve honor. What do you ask of me? Do you yourself fullycomprehend? Have you reflected well on this? Can either of us contract, without imprudence, an engagement of so delicate a nature for so long atime?"

"I demand no engagement of you, " she replied, "for I feel that would beunreasonable. I only pledge myself as far as I can, without compromisingthe future fate of my daughter. I shall educate her for you. I shall, in my secret heart, destine her for you, and it is in this light I shallthink of you for the future. Grant me this. Accept it like an honestman, and remain single. This is probably a folly, but I risk my reposeupon it. I will run all the risk, because I shall have all the joy. Ihave already had a thousand thoughts on this subject, which I can notyet tell you, but which I shall confess to God this night. I believe--Iam convinced that my daughter, when I have done all that I can for her, will make an excellent wife for you. She will benefit you, and be anhonor to you, and will, I hope, one day thank me with all her heart;for I perceive already what she wishes, and what she loves. You can notknow, you can not even suspect--but I--I know it. There is already awoman in that child, and a very charming woman--much more charming thanher mother, Monsieur, I assure you. "

Madame de Tecle stopped suddenly, the door opened, and MademoiselleMarie entered the room brusquely, holding in each hand a gigantic doll. 

M. Camors rose, bowed gravely to her, and bit his lip to avoid smiling, which did not altogether escape Madame de Tecle. 

"Marie!" she cried out, "really you are absurd with your dolls!"

"My dolls! I adore them!" replied Mademoiselle Marie. 

"You are absurd! Go away with your dolls, " said her mother. 

"Not without embracing you, " said the child. 

She laid her dolls on the carpet, sprang on her mother's neck, andkissed her on both cheeks passionately, after which she took up herdolls, saying to them:

"Come, my little dears!" and left the room. 

"Good heavens!" said Madame de Tecle, laughing, "this is an unfortunateincident; but I still insist, and I implore you to take my word. Shewill have sense, courage, and goodness. Now, " she continued in a moreserious tone, "take time to think over it, and return to give me yourdecision, should it be favorable. If not, we must bid each other adieu. "

"Madame, " said Camors, rising and standing before her, "I will promisenever to address a word to you which a son might not utter to hismother. Is it not this which you demand?"

Madame de Tecle fixed upon him for an instant her beautiful eyes, fullof joy and gratitude, then suddenly covered her face with her two hands. 

"I thank you!" she murmured, "I am very happy!" She extended her hand, wet with her tears, which he took and pressed to his lips, bowed low, and left the room. 

If there ever was a moment in his fatal career when the young man wasreally worthy of admiration, it was this. His love for Madame de Tecle, however unworthy of her it might be, was nevertheless great. It was theonly true passion he had ever felt. At the moment when he saw this love, the triumph of which he thought certain, escape him forever, he was notonly wounded in his pride but was crushed in his heart. 

Yet he took the stroke like a gentleman. His agony was well borne. Hisfirst bitter words, checked at once, alone betrayed what he suffered. 

He was as pitiless for his own sorrows as he sought to be for thoseof others. He indulged in none of the common injustice habitual todiscarded lovers. 

He recognized the decision of Madame de Tecle as true and final, andwas not tempted for a moment to mistake it for one of those equivocalarrangements by which women sometimes deceive themselves, and of whichmen always take advantage. He realized that the refuge she had soughtwas inviolable. He neither argued nor protested against her resolve. Hesubmitted to it, and nobly kissed the noble hand which smote him. As tothe miracle of courage, chastity, and faith by which Madame de Tecle hadtransformed and purified her love, he cared not to dwell upon it. Thisexample, which opened to his view a divine soul, naked, so to speak, destroyed his theories. One word which escaped him, while passing tohis own house, proved the judgment which he passed upon it, from his ownpoint of view. "Very childish, " he muttered, "but sublime!"

On returning home Camors found a letter from General Campvallon, notifying him that his marriage with Mademoiselle d'Estrelles would takeplace in a few days, and inviting him to be present. The marriage was tobe strictly private, with only the family to assist at it. 

Camors did not regret this invitation, as it gave him the excuse forsome diversion in his thoughts, of which he felt the need. He wasgreatly tempted to go away at once to diminish his sufferings, butconquered this weakness. The next evening he passed at the chateau ofM. Des Rameures; and though his heart was bleeding, he piqued himselfon presenting an unclouded brow and an inscrutable smile to Madame deTecle. He announced the brief absence he intended, and explained thereason. 

"You will present my best wishes to the General, " said M. Des Rameures. "I hope he may be happy, but I confess I doubt it devilishly. "

"I shall bear your good wishes to the General, Monsieur. "

"The deuce you will! 'Exceptis excipiendis', I hope, " responded the oldgentleman, laughing. 

As for Madame de Tecle, to tell of all the tender attentions andexquisite delicacies, that a sweet womanly nature knows so well how toapply to heal the wounds it has inflicted--how graciously she glidedinto her maternal relation with Camors--to tell all this would require apen wielded by her own soft hands. 

Two days later M. De Camors left Reuilly for Paris. The morning afterhis arrival, he repaired at an early hour to the General's house, amagnificent hotel in the Rue Vanneau. The marriage contract was to besigned that evening, and the civil and religious ceremonies were to takeplace next morning. 

Camors found the General in a state of extraordinary agitation, pacingup and down the three salons which formed the ground floor of the hotel. The moment he perceived the young man entering--"Ah, it is you!" hecried, darting a ferocious glance upon him. "By my faith, your arrivalis fortunate. "

"But, General!"

"Well, what! Why do you not embrace me?"

"Certainly, General!"

"Very well! It is for to-morrow, you know!"

"Yes, General. "

"Sacrebleu! You are very cool! Have you seen her?"

"Not yet, General. I have just arrived. "

"You must go and see her this morning. You owe her this mark ofinterest; and if you discover anything, you must tell me. "

"But what should I discover, General?"

"How do I know? But you understand women much better than I! Does shelove me, or does she not love me? You understand, I make no pretensionsof turning her head, but still I do not wish to be an object ofrepulsion to her. Nothing has given me reason to suppose so, but thegirl is so reserved, so impenetrable. "

"Mademoiselle d'Estrelles is naturally cold, " said Camors. 

"Yes, " responded the General. "Yes, and in some respects I--but reallynow, should you discover anything, I rely on your communicating it tome. And stop!--when you have seen her, have the kindness to return here, for a few moments--will you? You will greatly oblige me!"

"Certainly, General, I shall do so. "

"For my part, I love her like a fool. "

"That is only right, General!"

"Hum--and what of Des Rameures?"

"I think we shall agree, General!"

"Bravo! we shall talk more of this later. Go and see her, my dearchild!"

Camors proceeded to the Rue St. Dominique, where Madame de laRoche-Jugan resided. 

"Is my aunt in, Joseph?" he inquired of the servant whom he found in theantechamber, very busy in the preparations which the occasion demanded. 

"Yes, Monsieur le Comte, Madame la Comtesse is in and will see you. "

"Very well, " said Camors; and directed his steps toward his aunt'schamber. But this chamber was no longer hers. This worthy woman hadinsisted on giving it up to Mademoiselle Charlotte, for whom shemanifested, since she had become the betrothed of the seven hundredthousand francs' income of the General, the most humble deference. Mademoiselle d'Estrelles had accepted this change with a disdainfulindifference. Camors, who was ignorant of this change, knocked thereforemost innocently at the door. Obtaining no answer, he entered withouthesitation, lifted the curtain which hung in the doorway, and wasimmediately arrested by a strange spectacle. At the other extremityof the room, facing him, was a large mirror, before which stoodMademoiselle d'Estrelles. Her back was turned to him. 

She was dressed, or rather draped, in a sort of dressing-gown of whitecashmere, without sleeves, which left her arms and shoulders bare. Herauburn hair was unbound and floating, and fell in heavy masses almostto her feet. One hand rested lightly on the toilet-table, the other heldtogether, over her bust, the folds of her dressing-gown. 

She was gazing at herself in the glass, and weeping bitterly. 

The tears fell drop by drop on her white, fresh bosom, and glitteredthere like the drops of dew which one sees shining in the morning on theshoulders of the marble nymphs in the gardens. 

Then Camors noiselessly dropped the portiere and noiselessly retired, taking with him, nevertheless, an eternal souvenir of this stolen visit. He made inquiries; and finally received the embraces of his aunt, whohad taken refuge in the chamber of her son, whom she had put in thelittle chamber formerly occupied by Mademoiselle d'Estrelles. His aunt, after the first greetings, introduced her nephew into the salon, where were displayed all the pomps of the trousseau. Cashmeres, laces, velvets, silks of the finest quality, covered the chairs. On thechimneypiece, the tables, and the consoles, were strewn the jewel-cases. 

While Madame de la Roche-Jugan was exhibiting to Camors thesemagnificent things--of which she failed not to give him theprices--Charlotte, who had been notified of the Count's presence, entered the salon. 

Her face was not only serene--it was joyous. "Good morning, cousin!" shesaid gayly, extending her hand to Camors. "How very kind of you to come!Well, you see how the General spoils me?"

"This is the trousseau of a princess, Mademoiselle!"

"And if you knew, Louis, " said Madame de la Roche, "how well all thissuits her! Dear child! you would suppose she had been born to a throne. However, you know she is descended from the kings of Spain. "

"Dear aunt!" said Mademoiselle, kissing her on the forehead. 

"You know, Louis, that I wish her to call me aunt now?" said theCountess, affecting the plaintive tone, which she thought the highestexpression of human tenderness. 

"Ah, indeed!" said Camors. 

"Let us see, little one! Only try on your coronet before your cousin. "

"I should like to see it on your brow, " said Camors. 

"Your slightest wishes are commands, " replied Charlotte, in a voiceharmonious and grave, but not untouched with irony. 

In the midst of the jewelry which encumbered the salon was a fullmarquise's coronet set in precious stones and pearls. The young girladjusted it on her head before the glass, and then stood near Camorswith majestic composure. 

"Look!" she said; and he gazed at her bewildered, for she lookedwonderfully beautiful and proud under her coronet. 

Suddenly she darted a glance full into the eyes of the young man, andlowering her voice to a tone of inexpressible bitterness, said:

"At least I sell myself dearly, do I not?" Then turning her back to himshe laughed, and took off her coronet. 

After some further conversation Camors left, saying to himself that thisadorable person promised to become very dangerous; but not admittingthat he might profit by it. 

In conformity with his promise he returned immediately to the General, who continued to pace the three rooms, and cried out as he saw him:

"Eh, well?"

"Very well indeed, General, perfect--everything goes well. "

"You have seen her?"

"Yes, certainly. "

"And she said to you--"

"Not much; but she seemed enchanted. "

"Seriously, you did not remark anything strange?"

"I remarked she was very lovely!"

"Parbleu! and you think she loves me a little?"

"Assuredly, after her way--as much as she can love, for she hasnaturally a very cold disposition. "

"Ah! as to that I console myself. All that I demand is not to bedisagreeable to her. Is it not so? Very well, you give me greatpleasure. Now, go where you please, my dear boy, until this evening. "

"Adieu until this evening, General!"

The signing of the contract was marked by no special incident; onlywhen the notary, with a low, modest voice read the clause by which theGeneral made Mademoiselle d'Estrelles heiress to all his fortune, Camorswas amused to remark the superb indifference of Mademoiselle Charlotte, the smiling exasperation of Mesdames Bacquiere and Van-Cuyp, and theamorous regard which Madame de la Roche-Jugan threw at the same time onCharlotte, her son, and the notary. Then the eye of the Countessrested with a lively interest on the General, and seemed to say that itdetected with pleasure in him an unhealthy appearance. 

The next morning, on leaving the Church of St. Thomas daikon, the youngMarquise only exchanged her wedding-gown for a travelling-costume, anddeparted with her husband for Campvallon, bathed in the tears of Madamede la Roche-Jugan, whose lacrimal glands were remarkably tender. 

Eight days later M. De Camors returned to Reuilly. Paris had revivedhim, his nerves were strong again. 

As a practical man he took a more healthy view of his adventure withMadame de Tecle, and began to congratulate himself on its denouement. Had things taken a different turn, his future destiny would have beencompromised and deranged for him. His political future especially wouldhave been lost, or indefinitely postponed, for his liaison with Madamede Tecle would have been discovered some day, and would have foreveralienated the friendly feelings of M. Des Rameures. 

On this point he did not deceive himself. Madame de Tecle, in the firstconversation she had with him, confided to him that her uncle seemedmuch pleased when she laughingly let him see her idea of marrying herdaughter some day to M. De Camors. 

Camors seized this occasion to remind Madame de Tecle, that whilerespecting her projects for the future, which she did him the honor toform, he had not pledged himself to their realization; and that bothreason and honor compelled him in this matter to preserve his absoluteindependence. 

She assented to this with her habitual sweetness. From this moment, without ceasing to exhibit toward him every mark of affectionatepreference, she never allowed herself the slightest allusion to thedear dream she cherished. Only her tenderness for her daughter seemedto increase, and she devoted herself to the care of her education withredoubled fervor. All this would have touched the heart of M. De Camors, if the heart of M. De Camors had not lost, in its last effort at virtue, the last trace of humanity. 

His honor set at rest by his frank avowals to Madame de Tecle, he didnot hesitate to profit by the advantages of the situation. Heallowed her to serve him as much as she desired, and she desired itpassionately. Little by little she had persuaded her uncle that M. DeCamors was destined by his character and talents for a great future, and that he would, one day, be an excellent match for Marie; that hewas becoming daily more attached to agriculture, which turned towarddecentralization, and that he should be attached by firmer bonds toa province which he would honor. While this was going on GeneralCampvallon brought the Marquise to present her to Madame de Tecle; andin a confidential interview with M. Des Rameures unmasked his batteries. He was going to Italy to remain some time, but desired first to tenderhis resignation, and to recommend Camors to his faithful electors. 

M. Des Rameures, gained over beforehand, promised his aid; and that aidwas equivalent to success. Camors had only to make some personal visitsto the more influential electors; but his appearance was as seductiveas it was striking, and he was one of those fortunate men who can win aheart or a vote by a smile. Finally, to comply with the requisitions, he established himself for several weeks in the chief town of thedepartment. He made his court to the wife of the prefect, sufficientlyto flatter the functionary without disquieting the husband. The prefectinformed the minister that the claims of the Comte de Camors werepressed upon the department by an irresistible influence; that thepolitics of the young Count appeared undecided and a little suspicious, but that the administration, finding it useless to oppose, thought itmore politic to sustain him. 

The minister, not less politic than the prefect, was of the sameopinion. 

In consequence of this combination of circumstances, M. De Camors, toward the end of his twenty-eighth year, was elected, at intervals ofa few days, member of the Council-General, and deputy to the CorpsLegislatif. 

"You have desired it, my dear Elise, " said M. Des Rameures, on learningthis double result "you have desired it, and I have supported this youngParisian with all my influence. But I must say, he does not possess myconfidence. May we never regret our triumph. May we never have to saywith the poet: 'Vita Dais oxidated Malians. '"--[The evil gods have heardour vows. ]

CHAPTER XI. NEW MAN OF THE NEW EMPIRE

It was now five years since the electors of Reuilly had sent the Comtede Camors to the Corps Legislatif, and they had seen no cause toregret their choice. He understood marvellously well their little localinterests, and neglected no occasion of forwarding them. Furthermore, ifany of his constituents, passing through Paris, presented themselvesat his small hotel on the Rue de l'Imperatrice--it had been built byan architect named Lescande, as a compliment from the deputy to his oldfriend--they were received with a winning affability that sent them backto the province with softened hearts. M. De Camors would condescend toinquire whether their wives or their daughters had borne them company;he would place at their disposal tickets for the theatres and passesinto the Legislative Chamber; and would show them his pictures and hisstables. He also trotted out his horses in the court under their eyes. They found him much improved in personal appearance, and even reportedaffectionately that his face was fuller and had lost the melancholy castit used to wear. His manner, once reserved, was now warmer, withoutany loss of dignity; his expression, once morose, was now marked by aserenity at once pleasing and grave. His politeness was almost a royalgrace; for he showed to women--young or old, rich or poor, virtuous orotherwise--the famous suavity of Louis the Fourteenth. 

To his equals, as to his inferiors, his urbanity was perfection; for hecultivated in the depths of his soul--for women, for his inferiors, forhis equals, and for his constituents--the same contempt. 

He loved, esteemed, and respected only himself; but that self he loved, esteemed, and respected as a god! In fact, he had now, realized ascompletely as possible, in his own person, that almost superhuman idealhe had conceived in the most critical hour of his life. 

When he surveyed himself from head to foot in the mental mirror beforehim, he was content! He was truly that which he wished to be. Theprogramme of his life, as he had laid it down, was faithfully carriedout. 

By a powerful effort of his mighty will, he succeeded in himselfadopting, rather than disdaining in others, all those animal instinctsthat govern the vulgar. These he believed fetters which bound thefeeble, but which the strong could use. He applied himself ceaselesslyto the development and perfection of his rare physical and intellectualgifts, only that he might, during the short passage from the cradleto the tomb, extract from them the greatest amount of pleasure. Fullyconvinced that a thorough knowledge of the world, delicacy of taste andelegance, refinement and the point of honor constituted a sort of moralwhole which formed the true gentleman, he strove to adorn hisperson with the graver as well as the lighter graces. He was like aconscientious artist, who would leave no smallest detail incomplete. The result of his labor was so satisfactory, that M. De Camors, at themoment we rejoin him, was not perhaps one of the best men in the world, but he was beyond doubt one of the happiest and most amiable. Like allmen who have determined to cultivate ability rather than scrupulousness, he saw all things developing to his satisfaction. Confident of hisfuture, he discounted it boldly, and lived as if very opulent. His rapidelevation was explained by his unfailing audacity, by his cool judgmentand neat finesse, by his great connection and by his moral independence. He had a hard theory, which he continually expounded with all imaginablegrace: "Humanity, " he would say, "is composed of speculators!"

Thoroughly imbued with this axiom, he had taken his degree in the grandlodge of financiers. There he at once made himself an authority by hismanner and address; and he knew well how to use his name, his politicalinfluence, and his reputation for integrity. Employing all these, yetnever compromising one of them, he influenced men by their virtues, ortheir vices, with equal indifference. He was incapable of meanness; henever wilfully entrapped a friend, or even an enemy, into a disastrousspeculation; only, if the venture proved unsuccessful, he happened toget out and leave the others in it. But in financial speculations, as inbattles, there must be what is called "food for powder;" and if onebe too solicitous about this worthless pabulum, nothing great can beaccomplished. So Camors passed as one of the most scrupulous of thisgoodly company; and his word was as potential in the region of "therings, " as it was in the more elevated sphere of the clubs and of theturf. 

Nor was he less esteemed in the Corps Legislatif, where he assumed thecurious role of a working member until committees fought for him. Itsurprised his colleagues to see this elegant young man, with such fineabilities, so modest and so laborious--to see him ready on the dryestsubjects and with the most tedious reports. Ponderous laws of localinterest neither frightened nor mystified him. He seldom spoke in thepublic debates, except as a reporter; but in the committee he spokeoften, and there his manner was noted for its grave precision, tingedwith irony. No one doubted that he was one of the statesmen of thefuture; but it could be seen he was biding his time. 

The exact shade of his politics was entirely unknown. He sat in the"centre left;" polite to every one, but reserved with all. Persuaded, like his father, that the rising generation was preparing, after a time, to pass from theories to revolution--and calculating with pleasure thatthe development of this periodical catastrophe would probably coincidewith his fortieth year, and open to his blase maturity a source ofnew emotions--he determined to wait and mold his political opinionsaccording to circumstances. 

His life, nevertheless, had sufficient of the agreeable to permit him towait the hour of ambition. Men respected, feared, and envied him. Womenadored him. 

His presence, of which he was not prodigal, adorned an entertainment:his intrigues could not be gossiped about, being at the same timechoice, numerous, and most discreetly conducted. 

Passions purely animal never endure long, and his were most ephemeral;but he thought it due to himself to pay the last honors to his victims, and to inter them delicately under the flowers of his friendship. He hadin this way made many friends among the Parisian women--a few only ofwhom detested him. As for the husbands--they were universally fond ofhim. 

To these elegant pleasures he sometimes added a furious debauch, whenhis imagination was for the moment maddened by champagne. But lowcompany disgusted him, and he shunned it; he was not a man for frequentorgies, and economized his health, his energies, and his strength. Histastes were as thoroughly elevated as could be those of a beingwho strove to repress his soul. Refined intrigues, luxury in music, paintings, books, and horses--these constituted all the joy of his soul, of his sense, and of his pride. He hovered over the flowers of Parisianelegance; as a bee in the bosom of a rose, he drank in its essence andrevelled in its beauty. 

It is easy to understand that M. De Camors, relishing this prosperity, attached himself more and more to the moral and religious creed thatassured it to him; that he became each day more and more confirmed inthe belief that the testament of his father and his own reflection hadrevealed to him the true evangel of men superior to their species. Hewas less and less tempted to violate the rules of the game of life; butamong all the useless cards, to hold which might disturb his system, thefirst he discarded was the thought of marriage. He pitied himselftoo tenderly at the idea of losing the liberty of which he made suchagreeable use; at the idea of taking on himself gratuitously therestraints, the tedium, the ridicule, and even the danger of ahousehold. He shuddered at the bare thought of a community of goods andinterest; and of possible paternity. 

With such views he was therefore but little disposed to encouragethe natural hopes in which Madame de Tecle had entombed her love. Hedetermined so to conduct himself toward her as to leave no ground forthe growth of her illusion. He ceased to visit Reuilly, remaining therebut two or three weeks in each year, as such time as the session of theCouncil-General summoned him to the province. 

It is true that during these rare visits Camors piqued himself onrendering Madame de Tecle and M. Des Rameures all the duties ofrespectful gratitude. Yet avoiding all allusion to the past, guardinghimself scrupulously from confidential converse, and observing a frigidpoliteness to Mademoiselle Marie, there remained doubt in his mind that, the fickleness of the fair sex aiding him, the young mother of the girlwould renounce her chimerical project. His error was great: and it maybe here remarked that a hard and scornful scepticism may in this worldengender as many false judgments and erroneous calculations as candor oreven inexperience can. He believed too much in what had been written offemale fickleness; in deceived lovers, who truly deserved to be such;and in what disappointed men had judged of them. 

The truth is, women are generally remarkable for the tenacity of theirideas and for fidelity to their sentiments. Inconstancy of heart is thespecial attribute of man; but he deems it his privilege as well, andwhen woman disputes the palm with him on this ground, he cries aloud asif the victim of a robber. 

Rest assured this theory is no paradox; as proven by the prodigies ofpatient devotion--tenacious, inviolable--every day displayed by womenof the lower classes, whose natures, if gross, retain their primitivesincerity. Even with women of the world, depraved though they be bythe temptations that assail them, nature asserts herself; and it is norarity to see them devote an entire life to one idea, one thought, orone affection! Their lives do not know the thousand distractions whichat once disturb and console men; and any idea that takes hold upon themeasily becomes fixed. They dwell upon it in the crowd and in solitude;when they read and while they sew; in their dreams and in their prayers. In it they live--for it they die. 

It was thus that Madame de Tecle had dwelt year after year on theproject of this alliance with unalterable fervor, and had blended thetwo pure affections that shared her heart in this union of her daughterwith Camors, and in thus securing the happiness of both. Ever since shehad conceived this desire--which could only have had its birth in asoul as pure as it was tender--the education of her child had becomethe sweet romance of her life. She dreamed of it always, and of nothingelse. 

Without knowing or even suspecting the evil traits lurking in thecharacter of Camors, she still understood that, like the great majorityof the young men of his day, the young Count was not overburdened withprinciple. But she held that one of the privileges of woman, in oursocial system, was the elevation of their husbands by connection with apure soul, by family affections, and by the sweet religion of the heart. Seeking, therefore, by making her daughter an amiable and lovable woman, to prepare her for the high mission for which she was destined, sheomitted nothing which could improve her. What success rewarded hercare the sequel of this narrative will show. It will suffice, for thepresent, to inform the reader that Mademoiselle de Tecle was a younggirl of pleasing countenance, whose short neck was placed on shouldersa little too high. She was not beautiful, but extremely pretty, welleducated, and much more vivacious than her mother. 

Mademoiselle Marie was so quick-witted that her mother often suspectedshe knew the secret which concerned herself. Sometimes she talked toomuch of M. De Camors; sometimes she talked too little, and assumed amysterious air when others spoke of him. 

Madame de Tecle was a little disturbed by these eccentricities. Theconduct of M. De Camors, and his more than reserved bearing, annoyedher occasionally; but when we love any one we are likely to interpretfavorably all that he does, or all that he omits to do. Madame de Teclereadily attributed the equivocal conduct of the Count to the inspirationof a chivalric loyalty. As she believed she knew him thoroughly, shethought he wished to avoid committing himself, or awakening publicobservation, before he had made up his mind. 

He acted thus to avoid disturbing the repose of both mother anddaughter. Perhaps also the large fortune which seemed destined forMademoiselle de Tecle might add to his scruples by rousing his pride. 

His not marrying was in itself a good augury, and his little fiancee wasreaching a marriageable age. She therefore did not despair that someday M. De Camors would throw himself at her feet, and say, "Give her tomet!"

If God did not intend that this delicious page should ever be writtenin the book of her destiny, and she was forced to marry her daughter toanother, the poor woman consoled herself with the thought that all thecares she lavished upon her would not be lost, and that her dear childwould thus be rendered better and happier. 

The long months which intervened between the annual apparition of Camorsat Reuilly, filled up by Madame de Tecle with a single idea and by thesweet monotony of a regular life, passed more rapidly than the Countcould have imagined. His own life, so active and so occupied, placedages and abysses between each of his periodical voyages. But Madamede Tecle, after five years, was always only a day removed from thecherished and fatal night on which her dream had begun. Since thatperiod there had been no break in her thoughts, no void in her heart, nowrinkle on her forehead. Her dream continued young, like herself. Butin spite of the peaceful and rapid succession of her days, it was notwithout anxiety that she saw the approach of the season which alwaysheralded the return of Camors. 

As her daughter matured, she preoccupied herself with the impressionshe would make on the mind of the Count, and felt more sensibly thesolemnity of the matter. 

Mademoiselle Marie, as we have already stated, was a cunning littlepuss, and had not failed to perceive that her tender mother chosehabitually the season of the convocation of the Councils-General to trya new style of hair-dressing for her. The same year on which we haveresumed our recital there passed, on one occasion, a little scenewhich rather annoyed Madame de Tecle. She was trying a new coiffureon Mademoiselle Marie, whose hair was very pretty and very black; somestray and rebellious portions had frustrated her mother's efforts. 

There was one lock in particular, which in spite of all combing andbrushing would break away from the rest, and fall in careless curls. Madame de Tecle finally, by the aid of some ribbons, fastened down therebellious curl:

"Now I think it will do, " she said sighing, and stepping back to admirethe effect of her work. 

"Don't believe it, " said Marie, who was laughing and mocking. "I do notthink so. I see exactly what will happen: the bell rings--I runout--my net gives way--Monsieur de Camors walks in--my mother isannoyed--tableau!"

"I should like to know what Monsieur de Camors has to do with it?" saidMadame de Tecle. 

Her daughter threw her arms around her neck--"Nothing!" she said. 

Another time Madame de Tecle detected her speaking of M. De Camors ina tone of bitter irony. He was "the great man"--"the mysteriouspersonage"--"the star of the neighborhood"--"the phoenix of guests intheir woods"--or simply "the Prince!"

Such symptoms were of so serious a nature as not to escape Madame deTecle. 

In presence of "the Prince, " it is true, the young girl lost her gayety;but this was another cross. Her mother found her cold, awkward, andsilent--brief, and slightly caustic in her replies. She feared M. DeCamors would misjudge her from such appearances. 

But Camors formed no judgment, good or bad; Mademoiselle de Tecle wasfor him only an insignificant little girl, whom he never thought of fora moment in the year. 

There was, however, at this time in society a person who did interesthim very much, and the more because against his will. This was theMarquise de Campvallon, nee de Luc d'Estrelles. 

The General, after making the tour of Europe with his young wife, hadtaken possession of his hotel in the Rue Vanneau, where he lived ingreat splendor. They resided at Paris during the winter and spring, butin July returned to their chateau at Campvallon, where they entertainedin great state until the autumn. The General invited Madame de Tecleand her daughter, every year, to pass some weeks at Campvallon, rightlyjudging that he could not give his young wife better companions. Madamede Tecle accepted these invitations cheerfully, because it gave her anopportunity of seeing the elite of the Parisian world, from whom thewhims of her uncle had always isolated her. For her own part, she didnot much enjoy it; but her daughter, by moving in the midst of suchfashion and elegance could thus efface some provincialisms of toilet orof language; perfect her taste in the delicate and fleeting changesof the prevailing modes, and acquire some additional graces. The youngMarquise, who reigned and scintillated like a bright star in these highregions of social life, lent herself to the designs of her neighbor. Sheseemed to take a kind of maternal interest in Mademoiselle de Tecle, andfrequently added her advice to her example. She assisted at her toiletand gave the final touches with her own dainty hands; and the younggirl, in return, loved, admired, and confided in her. 

Camors also enjoyed the hospitalities of the General once every season, but was not his guest as often as he wished. He seldom remained atCampvallon longer than a week. Since the return of the Marquise toFrance he had resumed the relations of a kinsman and friend with herhusband and herself; but, while trying to adopt the most natural manner, he treated them both with a certain reserve, which astonished theGeneral. It will not surprise the reader, who recollects the secret andpowerful reasons which justified this circumspection. 

For Camors, in renouncing the greater part of the restraints whichcontrol and bind men in their relations with one another, hadreligiously intended to preserve one--the sentiment of honor. Manytimes, in the course of this life, he had felt himself embarrassed tolimit and fix with certainty the boundaries of the only moral law hewished to respect. 

It is easy to know exactly what is in the Bible; it is not easy to knowexactly what the code of honor commands. 

CHAPTER XII. CIRCE

But there exists, nevertheless, in this code one article, as to which M. De Camors could not deceive himself, and it was that which forbade hisattempting to assail the honor of the General under penalty of beingin his own eyes, as a gentleman, a felon and foresworn. He had acceptedfrom this old man confidence, affection, services, benefits--everythingwhich could bind one man inviolably to another man--if there be beneaththe heavens anything called honor. He felt this profoundly. 

His conduct toward Madame de Campvallon had been irreproachable; and allthe more so, because the only woman he was interdicted from loving wasthe only woman in Paris, or in the universe, who naturally pleased himmost. He entertained for her, at once, the interest which attaches toforbidden fruit, to the attraction of strange beauty, and to the mysteryof an impenetrable sphinx. She was, at this time, more goddess-like thanever. The immense fortune of her husband, and the adulation which itbrought her, had placed her on a golden car. On this she seated herselfwith a gracious and native majesty, as if in her proper place. 

The luxury of her toilet, of her jewels, of her house and of herequipages, was of regal magnificence. She blended the taste of an artistwith that of a patrician. Her person appeared really to be made divineby the rays of this splendor. Large, blonde, graceful, the eyes blueand unfathomable, the forehead grave, the mouth pure and proud it wasimpossible to see her enter a salon with her light, gliding step, or tosee her reclining in her carriage, her hands folded serenely, withoutdreaming of the young immortals whose love brought death. 

She had even those traits of physiognomy, stern and wild, which theantique sculptors doubtless had surprised in supernatural visitations, and which they have stamped on the eyes and the lips of their marblegods. Her arms and shoulders, perfect in form, seemed models, inthe midst of the rosy and virgin snow which covered the neighboringmountains. She was truly superb and bewitching. The Parisian worldrespected as much as it admired her, for she played her difficult partof young bride to an old man so perfectly as to avoid scandal. Withoutany pretence of extraordinary devotion, she knew how to join to herworldly pomps the exercise of charity, and all the other practices of anelegant piety. Madame de la Roche-Jugan, who watched her closely, as onewatching a prey, testified, herself, in her favor; and judged her moreand more worthy of her son. And Camors, who observed her, in spite ofhimself, with an eager curiosity, was finally induced to believe, asdid his aunt and all the world, that she conscientiously performed herdifficult duties, and that she found in the eclat of her life and thegratification of her pride a sufficient compensation for the sacrificeof her youth, her heart, and her beauty; but certain souvenirs of thepast, joined to certain peculiarities, which he fancied he remarked inthe Marquise, induced him to distrust. 

There were times, when recalling all that he had once witnessed--theabysses and the flame at the bottom of that heart--he was tempted tosuspect the existence of many storms under all this calm exterior, andperhaps some wickedness. It is true she never was with him precisely asshe was before the world. The character of their relations was marked bya peculiar tone. It was precisely that tone of covert irony adopted bytwo persons who desired neither to remember nor to forget. This tone, softened in the language of Camors by his worldly tact and his respect, was much more pointed, and had much more of bitterness on the side ofthe young woman. 

He even fancied, at times, that he discovered a shade of coquetry underthis treatment; and this provocation, vague as it was, coming fromthis beautiful, cold, and inscrutable creature, seemed to him a gamefearfully mysterious, that at once attracted and disturbed him. 

This was the state of things when the Count came, according to custom, to pass the first days of September at the chateau of Campvallon, andmet there Madame de Tecle and her daughter. The visit was a painful one, this year, for Madame de Tecle. Her confidence deserted her, and seriousconcern took its place. She had, it is true, fixed in her mind, asthe last point of her hopes, the moment when her daughter should havereached twenty years of age; and Marie was only eighteen. 

But she already had had several offers, and several times public rumorhad already declared her to be betrothed. 

Now, Camors could not have been ignorant of the rumors circulating inthe neighborhood, and yet he did not speak. His countenance did notchange. He was coldly affectionate to Madame de Tecle, but toward Marie, in spite of her beautiful blue eyes, like her mother's, and hercurly hair, he preserved a frozen indifference. For Camors had otheranxieties, of which Madame de Tecle knew nothing. The manner of MadameCampvallon toward him had assumed a more marked character of aggressiveraillery. A defensive attitude is never agreeable to a man, and Camorsfelt it more disagreeable than most men--being so little accustomed toit. 

He resolved promptly to shorten his visit at Campvallon. 

On the eve of his departure, about five o'clock in the afternoon, hewas standing at his window, looking beyond the trees at the great blackclouds sailing over the valley, when he heard the sound of a voice thathad power to move him deeply--"Monsieur de Camors!" He saw the Marquisestanding under his window. 

"Will you walk with me?" she added. 

He bowed and descended immediately. At the moment he reached her:

"It is suffocating, " she said. "I wish to walk round the park and willtake you with me. "

He muttered a few polite phrases, and they began walking, side by side, through the alleys of the park. 

She moved at a rapid pace, with her majestic motion, her body swaying, her head erect. One would have looked for a page behind her, but she hadnone, and her long blue robe--she rarely wore short skirts--trailed onthe sand and over the dry leaves with the soft rustle of silk. 

"I have disturbed you, probably?" she said, after a moment's pause. "What were you dreaming of up there?"

"Nothing--only watching the coming storm. "

"Are you becoming poetical, cousin?"

"There is no necessity for becoming, for I already am infinitely so!"

"I do not think so. Shall you leave to-morrow?"

"I shall. "

"Why so soon?"

"I have business elsewhere. "

"Very well. But Vau--Vautrot--is he not there?"

Vautrot was the secretary of M. De Camors. 

"Vautrot can not do everything, " he replied. 

"By the way, I do not like your Vautrot. "

"Nor I. But he was recommended to me by my old friend, Madame d'Oilly, as a freethinker, and at the same time by my aunt, Madame de laRoche-Jugan, as a religious man!"

"How amusing!"

"Nevertheless, " said Camors, "he is intelligent and witty, and writes afine hand. "

"And you?"

"How? What of me?"

"Do you also write a good hand?"

"I will show you, whenever you wish!"

"Ah! and will you write to me?"

It is difficult to imagine the tone of supreme indifference and haughtypersiflage with which the Marquise sustained this dialogue, without onceslackening her pace, or glancing at her companion, or changing the proudand erect pose of her head. 

"I will write you either prose or verse, as you wish, " said Camors. 

"Ah! you know how to compose verses?"

"When I am inspired!"

"And when are you inspired?"

"Usually in the morning. "

"And we are now in the evening. That is not complimentary to me. "

"But you, Madame, had no desire to inspire me, I think. "

"Why not, then? I should be happy and proud to do so. Do you know whatI should like to put there?" and she stopped suddenly before a rusticbridge, which spanned a murmuring rivulet. 

"I do not know!"

"You can not even guess? I should like to put an artificial rock there. "

"Why not a natural one? In your place I should put a natural one!"

"That is an idea, " said the Marquise, and walking on she crossed thebridge. 

"But it really thunders. I like to hear thunder in the country. Do you?"

"I prefer to hear it thunder at Paris. "

"Why?"

"Because then I should not hear it. "

"You have no imagination. "

"I have; but I smother it. "

"Possibly. I have suspected you of hiding your merits, and particularlyfrom me. "

"Why should I conceal my merits from you?"

"'Why should I conceal my merits' is good!" said the Marquise, ironically. "Why? Out of charity, Monsieur, not to dazzle me, and inregard for my repose! You are really too good, I assure you. Here comesthe rain. "

Large drops of rain began to fall on the dry leaves, and on the yellowsand of the alley. The day was dying, and the sudden shower bent theboughs of the trees. 

"We must return, " said the young woman; "this begins to get serious. "

She took, in haste, the path which led to the chateau; but after afew steps a bright flash broke over her head, the noise of the thunderresounded, and a deluge of rain fell upon the fields. 

There was fortunately, near by, a shelter in which the Marquise and hercompanion could take refuge. It was a ruin, preserved as an ornament tothe park, which had formerly been the chapel of the ancient chateau. It was almost as large as the village chapel--the broken walls halfconcealed under a thick mantle of ivy. Its branches had pushed throughthe roof and mingled with the boughs of the old trees which surroundedand shaded it. The timbers had disappeared. The extremity of the choir, and the spot formerly occupied by the altar, were alone covered by theremains of the roof. Wheelbarrows, rakes, spades, and other garden toolswere piled there. 

The Marquise had to take refuge in the midst of this rubbish, in thenarrow space, and her companion followed her. 

The storm, in the mean time, increased in violence. The rain fell intorrents through the old walls, inundating the soil in the ancient nave. The lightning flashed incessantly. Every now and then fragments of earthand stone detached themselves from the roof, and fell into the choir. 

"I find this magnificent!" said Madame de Campvallon. 

"I also, " said Camors, raising his eyes to the crumbling roof which halfprotected them; "but I do not know whether we are safe here!"

"If you fear, you would better go!" said the Marquise. 

"I fear for you. "

"You are too good, I assure you. "

She took off her cap and brushed it with her glove, to remove the dropsof rain which had fallen upon it. After a slight pause, she suddenlyraised her uncovered head and cast on Camors one of those searchinglooks which prepares a man for an important question. 

"Cousin!" she said, "if you were sure that one of these flashes oflightning would kill you in a quarter of an hour, what would you do?"

"Why, cousin, naturally I should take a last farewell of you. "

"How?"

He regarded her steadily, in his turn. "Do you know, " he said, "thereare moments when I am tempted to think you a devil?"

"Truly! Well, there are times when I am tempted to think so myself--forexample, at this moment. Do you know what I should wish? I wish I couldcontrol the lightning, and in two seconds you would cease to exist. "

"For what reason?"

"Because I recollect there was a man to whom I offered myself, and whorefused me, and that this man still lives. And this displeases me alittle--a great deal--passionately. "

"Are you serious, Madame?" replied Camors. 

She laughed. 

"I hope you did not think so. I am not so wicked. It was a joke--and inbad taste, I admit. But seriously now, cousin, what is your opinion ofme? What kind of woman has time made me?"

"I swear to you I am entirely ignorant. "

"Admitting I had become, as you did me the honor to suppose, adiabolical person, do you think you had nothing to do with it? Tell me!Do you not believe that there is in the life of a woman a decisive hour, when the evil seed which is cast upon her soul may produce a terribleharvest? Do you not believe this? Answer me! And should I not beexcusable if I entertained toward you the sentiment of an exterminatingangel; and have I not some merit in being what I am--a good woman, wholoves you well--with a little rancor, but not much--and who wishes youall sorts of prosperity in this world and the next? Do not answer me: itmight embarrass you, and it would be useless. "

She left her shelter, and turned her face toward the lowering sky to seewhether the storm was over. 

"It has stopped raining, " she said, "let us go. "

She then perceived that the lower part of the nave had been transformedinto a lake of mud and water. She stopped at its brink, and uttered alittle cry:

"What shall I do?" she said, looking at her light shoes. Then, turningtoward Camors, she added, laughing:

"Monsieur, will you get me a boat?"

Camors, himself, recoiled from stepping into the greasy mud and stagnantwater which filled the whole space of the nave. 

"If you will wait a little, " he said, "I shall find you some boots orsabots, no matter what. "

"It will be much easier, " she said abruptly, "for you to carry me to thedoor;" and without waiting for the young man's reply, she tucked up herskirts carefully, and when she had finished, she said, "Carry me!"

He looked at her with astonishment, and thought for a moment she wasjesting; but soon saw she was perfectly serious. 

"Of what are you afraid?" she asked. 

"I am not at all afraid, " he answered. 

"Is it that you are not strong enough?"

"Mon Dieu! I should think I was. "

He took her in his arms, as in a cradle, while she held up her skirtswith both hands. He then descended the steps and moved toward the doorwith his strange burden. He was obliged to be very careful not to slipon the wet earth, and this absorbed him during the first few steps;but when he found his footing more sure, he felt a natural curiosity toobserve the countenance of the Marquise. 

The uncovered head of the young woman rested a little on the arm withwhich he held her. Her lips were slightly parted with a half-wickedsmile that showed her fine white teeth; the same expression ofungovernable malice burned in her dark eyes, which she riveted for someseconds on those of Camors with persistent penetration--then suddenlyveiled them under the fringe of her dark lashes. This glance sent athrill like lightning to his very marrow. 

"Do you wish to drive me mad?" he murmured. 

"Who knows?" she replied. 

The same moment she disengaged herself from his arms, and placing herfoot on the ground again, left the ruin. 

They reached the chateau without exchanging a word. Just before enteringthe house the young Marquise turned toward Camors and said to him:

"Be sure that at heart I am very good, really. "

Notwithstanding this assertion, Camors was yet more determined to leavethe next morning, as he had previously decided. He carried away the mostpainful impression of the scene of that evening. 

She had wounded his pride, inflamed his hopeless passion, and disquietedhis honor. 

"What is this woman, and what does she want of me? Is it love orvengeance that inspires her with this fiendish coquetry?" he askedhimself. Whatever it was, Camors was not such a novice in similaradventures as not to perceive clearly the yawning abyss under the brokenice. He resolved sincerely to close it again between them, and forever. The best way to succeed in this, avowedly, was to cease all intercoursewith the Marquise. But how could such conduct be explained to theGeneral, without awakening his suspicion and lowering his wife in hisesteem? That plan was impossible. He armed himself with all his courage, and resigned himself to endure with resolute soul all the trials whichthe love, real or pretended, of the Marquise reserved for him. 

He had at this time a singular idea. He was a member of several of themost aristocratic clubs. He organized a chosen group of men from theelite of his companions, and formed with them a secret association, of which the object was to fix and maintain among its members theprinciples and points of honor in their strictest form. This society, which had only been vaguely spoken of in public under the name of"Societe des Raffines, " and also as "The Templars" which latter was itstrue name--had nothing in common with "The Devourers, " illustrated byBalzac. It had nothing in it of a romantic or dramatic character. Thosewho composed this club did not, in any way, defy ordinary morals, nor set themselves above the laws of their country. They did not bindthemselves by any vows of mutual aid in extremity. They bound themselvessimply by their word of honor to observe, in their reciprocal relations, the rules of purest honor. 

These rules were specified in their code. The text it is difficult togive; but it was based entirely on the point of honor, and regulatedthe affairs of the club, such as the card-table, the turf, duelling, andgallantry. For example, any member was disqualified from belonging tothis association who either insulted or interfered with the wife orrelative of one of his colleagues. The only penalty was exclusion:but the consequences of this exclusion were grave; for all the membersceased thereafter to associate with, recognize, or even bow to theoffender. The Templars found in this secret society many advantages. Itwas a great security in their intercourse with one another, and in thedifferent circumstances of daily life, where they met continually eitherat the opera, in salons, or on the turf. 

Camors was an exception among his companions and rivals in Parisianlife by the systematic decision of his doctrine. It was not so much anembodiment of absolute scepticism and practical materialism; but thewant of a moral law is so natural to man, and obedience to higher lawsso sweet to him, that the chosen adepts to whom the project of Camorswas submitted accepted it with enthusiasm. They were happy in being ableto substitute a sort of positive and formal religion for restraints solimited as their own confused and floating notions of honor. For Camorshimself, as is easily understood, it was a new barrier which he wishedto erect between himself and the passion which fascinated him. Heattached himself to this with redoubled force, as the only moral bondyet left him. He completed his work by making the General accept thetitle of President of the Association. The General, to whom Honor was asort of mysterious but real goddess, was delighted to preside over theworship of his idol. He felt flattered by his young friend's selection, and esteemed him the more. 

It was the middle of winter. The Marquise Campvallon had resumed forsome time her usual course of life, which was at the same time strictbut elegant. Punctual at church every morning, at the Bois and atcharity bazaars during the day, at the opera or the theatres in theevening, she had received M. De Camors without the shadow of apparentemotion. She even treated him more simply and more naturally than ever, with no recurrence to the past, no allusion to the scene in the parkduring the storm; as if she had, on that day, disclosed everythingthat had lain hidden in her heart. This conduct so much resembledindifference, that Camors should have been delighted; but he was not--onthe contrary he was annoyed by it. A cruel but powerful interest, already too dear to his blase soul, was disappearing thus from his life. He was inclined to believe that Madame de Campvallon possessed a muchless complicated character than he had fancied; and that little bylittle absorbed in daily trifles, she had become in reality what shepretended to be--a good woman, inoffensive, and contented with her lot. 

He was one evening in his orchestra-stall at the opera. They weresinging The Huguenots. The Marquise occupied her box between thecolumns. The numerous acquaintances Camors met in the passages duringthe first entr'acte prevented his going as soon as usual to pay hisrespects to his cousin. At last, after the fourth act, he went to visither in her box, where he found her alone, the General having descendedto the parterre for a few moments. He was astonished, on entering, tofind traces of tears on the young woman's cheeks. Her eyes were evenmoist. She seemed displeased at being surprised in the very act ofsentimentality. 

"Music always excites my nerves, " she said. 

"Indeed!" said Camors. "You, who always reproach me with hiding mymerits, why do you hide yours? If you are still capable of weeping, somuch the better. "

"No! I claim no merit for that. Oh, heavens! If you only knew! It isquite the contrary. "

"What a mystery you are!"

"Are you very curious to fathom this mystery? Only that? Very well--behappy! It is time to put an end to this. "

She drew her chair from the front of the box out of public view, and, turning toward Camors, continued: "You wish to know what I am, what Ifeel, and what I think; or rather, you wish to know simply whether Idream of love? Very well, I dream only of that! Have I lovers, or have Inot? I have none, and never shall have, but that will not be becauseof my virtue. I believe in nothing, except my own self-esteem and mycontempt of others. The little intrigues, the petty passions, which Isee in the world, make me indignant to the bottom of my soul. Itseems to me that women who give themselves for so little must be basecreatures. As for myself, I remember having said to you one day--it is amillion years since then!--that my person is sacred to me; and to commita sacrilege I should wish, like the vestals of Rome, a love as greatas my crime, and as terrible as death. I wept just now during thatmagnificent fourth act. It was not because I listened to the mostmarvellous music ever heard on this earth; it was because I admire andenvy passionately the superb and profound love of that time. And it isever thus--when I read the history of the glorious sixteenth century, Iam in ecstacies. How well those people knew how to love and how to die!One night of love--then death. That is delightful. Now, cousin, you mustleave me. We are observed. They will believe we love each other, and aswe have not that pleasure, it is useless to incur the penalties. SinceI am still in the midst of the court of Charles Tenth, I pity you, withyour black coat and round hat. Good-night. "

"I thank you very much, " replied Camors, taking the hand she extended tohim coldly, and left the box. He met M. De Campvallon in the passage. 

"Parbleu! my dear friend, " said the General, seizing him by the arm. "I must communicate to you an idea which has been in my brain all theevening. "

"What idea, General?"

"Well, there are here this evening a number of charming young girls. This set me to thinking of you, and I even said to my wife that we mustmarry you to one of these young women!"

"Oh, General!"

"Well, why not?"

"That is a very serious thing--if one makes a mistake in hischoice--that is everything. "

"Bah! it is not so difficult a thing. Take a wife like mine, who has agreat deal of religion, not much imagination, and no fancies. That isthe whole secret. I tell you this in confidence, my dear fellow!"

"Well, General, I will think of it. "

"Do think of it, " said the General, in a serious tone; and went to joinhis young wife, whom he understood so well. 

As to her, she thoroughly understood herself, and analyzed her owncharacter with surprising truth. 

Madame de Campvallon was just as little what her manner indicated aswas M. De Camors on his side. Both were altogether exceptional in Frenchsociety. Equally endowed by nature with energetic souls and enlightenedminds, both carried innate depravity to a high degree. The artificialatmosphere of high Parisian civilization destroys in women the sentimentand the taste for duty, and leaves them, nothing but the sentiment andthe taste for pleasure. They lose in the midst of this enchanted andfalse life, like theatrical fairyland, the true idea of life in general, and Christian life in particular. And we can confidently affirm that allthose who do not make for themselves, apart from the crowd, a kind ofThebaid--and there are such--are pagans. They are pagans, because thepleasures of the senses and of the mind alone interest them, and theyhave not once, during the year, an impression of the moral law, unlessthe sentiment, which some of them detest, recalls it to them. Theyare pagans, like the beautiful, worldly Catholics of the fifteenthcentury--loving luxury, rich stuffs, precious furniture, literature, art, themselves, and love. They were charming pagans, like Marie Stuart, and capable, like her, of remaining true Catholics even under the axe. 

We are speaking, let it be understood, of the best of the elite--ofthose that read, and of those that dream. As to the rest, those whoparticipate in the Parisian life on its lighter side, in its childishwhirl, and the trifling follies it entails, who make rendezvous, wastetheir time, who dress and are busy day and night doing nothing, whodance frantically in the rays of the Parisian sun, without thought, without passion, without virtue, and even without vice--we must own itis impossible to imagine anything more contemptible. 

The Marquise de Campvallon was then--as she truly said to the man sheresembled--a great pagan; and, as she also said to herself in one of herserious moments when a woman's destiny is decided by the influenceof those they love, Camors had sown in her heart a seed which hadmarvellously fructified. 

Camors dreamed little of reproaching himself for it, but struck withall the harmony that surrounded the Marquise, he regretted more bitterlythan ever the fatality which separated them. 

He felt, however, more sure of himself, since he had bound himselfby the strictest obligations of honor. He abandoned himself from thismoment with less scruple to the emotions, and to the danger againstwhich he believed himself invincibly protected. He did not fear to seekoften the society of his beautiful cousin, and even contracted the habitof repairing to her house two or three times a week, after leaving theChamber of Deputies. Whenever he found her alone, their conversationinvariably assumed a tone of irony and of raillery, in which bothexcelled. He had not forgotten her reckless confidences at the opera, and recalled it to her, asking her whether she had yet discovered thathero of love for whom she was looking, who should be, according to herideas, a villain like Bothwell, or a musician like Rizzio. 

"There are, " she replied, "villains who are also musicians; but that isimagination. Sing me, then, something apropos. "

It was near the close of winter. The Marquise gave a ball. Her feteswere justly renowned for their magnificence and good taste. She did thehonors with the grace of a queen. This evening she wore a very simplecostume, as was becoming in the courteous hostess. It was a gown of darkvelvet, with a train; her arms were bare, without jewels; a necklaceof large pearls lay on her rose-tinted bosom, and the heraldic coronetsparkled on her fair hair. 

Camors caught her eye as he entered, as if she were watching for him. He had seen her the previous evening, and they had had a more livelyskirmish than usual. He was struck by her brilliancy--her beautyheightened, without doubt, by the secret ardor of the quarrel, as ifilluminated by an interior flame, with all the clear, soft splendor of atransparent alabaster vase. 

When he advanced to join her and salute her, yielding, against his will, to an involuntary movement of passionate admiration, he said:

"You are truly beautiful this evening. Enough so to make one commit acrime. "

She looked fixedly in his eyes, and replied:

"I should like to see that, " and then left him, with superb nonchalance. 

The General approached, and tapping the Count on the shoulder, said:

"Camors! you do not dance, as usual. Let us play a game of piquet. "

"Willingly, General;" and traversing two or three salons they reachedthe private boudoir of the Marquise. It was a small oval room, verylofty, hung with thick red silk tapestry, covered with black and whiteflowers. As the doors were removed, two heavy curtains isolated the roomcompletely from the neighboring gallery. It was there that the Generalusually played cards and slept during his fetes. A small card-table wasplaced before a divan. Except this addition, the boudoir preserved itsevery-day aspect. Woman's work, half finished, books, journals, andreviews were strewn upon the furniture. They played two or three games, which the General won, as Camors was very abstracted. 

"I reproach myself, young man, " said the former, "in having kept you solong away from the ladies. I give you back your liberty--I shall cast myeye on the journals. "

"There is nothing new in them, I think, " said Camors, rising. He tookup a newspaper himself, and placing his back against the mantelpiece, warmed his feet, one after the other. The General threw himself on thedivan, ran his eye over the 'Moniteur de l'Armee', approving of somemilitary promotions, and criticising others; and, little by little, hefell into a doze, his head resting on his chest. 

But Camors was not reading. He listened vaguely to the music of theorchestra, and fell into a reverie. Through these harmonies, through themurmurs and warm perfume of the ball, he followed, in thought, all theevolutions of her who was mistress and queen of all. He saw her proudand supple step--he heard her grave and musical voice--he felt herbreath. 

This young man had exhausted everything. Love and pleasure had no longerfor him secrets or temptations; but his imagination, cold and blase, hadarisen all inflamed before this beautiful, living, palpitating statue. She was really for him more than a woman--more than a mortal. Theantique fables of amorous goddesses and drunken Bacchantes--thesuperhuman voluptuousness unknown in terrestrial pleasures--werein reach of his hand, separated from him only by the shadow of thissleeping old man. But a shadow was ever between them--it was honor. 

His eyes, as if lost in thought, were fixed straight before him on thecurtain opposite the chimney. Suddenly this curtain was noiselesslyraised, and the young Marquise appeared, her brow surmounted by hercoronet. She threw a rapid glance over the boudoir, and after a moment'spause, let the curtain fall gently, and advanced directly toward Camors, who stood dazzled and immovable. She took both his hands, withoutspeaking, looked at his steadily--throwing a rapid glance at herhusband, who still slept--and, standing on tiptoe, offered her lips tothe young man. 

Bewildered, and forgetting all else, he bent, and imprinted a kiss onher lips. 

At that very moment, the General made a sudden movement and woke up; butthe same instant the Marquise was standing before him, her hands restingon the card-table; and smiling upon him, she said, "Good-morning, myGeneral!"

The General murmured a few words of apology, but she laughingly pushedhim back on his divan. 

"Continue your nap, " she said; "I have come in search of my cousin, forthe last cotillon. " The General obeyed. 

She passed out by the gallery. The young man; pale as a spectre, followed her. 

Passing under the curtain, she turned toward him with a wild lightburning in her eyes. Then, before she was lost in the throng, shewhispered, in a low, thrilling voice:

"There is the crime!"

CHAPTER XIII. THE FIRST ACT OF THE TRAGEDY

Camors did not attempt to rejoin the Marquise, and it seemed to himthat she also avoided him. A quarter of an hour later, he left the HotelCampvallon. 

He returned immediately home. A lamp was burning in his chamber. Whenhe saw himself in the mirror, his own face terrified him. This excitingscene had shaken his nerves. 

He could no longer control himself. His pupil had become his master. The fact itself did not surprise him. Woman is more exalted than man inmorality. There is no virtue, no devotion, no heroism in which she doesnot surpass him; but once impelled to the verge of the abyss, she fallsfaster and lower than man. This is attributable to two causes: she hasmore passion, and she has no honor. For honor is a reality and mustnot be underrated. It is a noble, delicate, and salutary quality. Itelevates manly attributes; in fact, it constitutes the modesty of man. It is sometimes a force, and always a grace. But to think that honoris all-sufficient; that in the face of great interests, great passions, great trials in life, it is a support and an infallible defence; thatit can enforce the precepts which come from God--in fact that it canreplace God--this is a terrible mistake. It exposes one in a fatalmoment to the loss of one's self-esteem, and to fall suddenly andforever into that dismal ocean of bitterness where Camors at thatinstant was struggling in despair, like a drowning man in the darknessof midnight. 

He abandoned himself, on this evil night, to a final conflict full ofagony; and he was beaten. 

The next evening at six o'clock he was at the house of the Marquise. Hefound her in her boudoir, surrounded by all her regal luxury. She washalf buried in a fauteuil in the chimney-corner, looking a littlepale and fatigued. She received him with her usual coldness andself-possession. 

"Good-day, " she said. "How are you?"

"Not very well, " replied Camors. 

"What is the matter?"

"I fancy that you know. "

She opened her large eyes wide with surprise, but did not reply. 

"I entreat you, Madame, " continued Camors, smiling--"no more music, thecurtain is raised, and the drama has begun. "

"Ah! we shall see. "

"Do you love me?" he continued; "or were you simply acting, to try me, last night? Can you, or will you, tell me?"

"I certainly could, but I do not wish to do so. "

"I had thought you more frank. "

"I have my hours. "

"Well, then, " said Camors, "if your hours of frankness have passed, minehave begun. "

"That would be compensation, " she replied. 

"And I will prove it to you, " continued Camors. 

"I shall make a fete of it, " said the Marquise, throwing herself backon the sofa, as if to make herself comfortable in order to enjoy anagreeable conversation. 

"I love you, Madame; and as you wish to be loved. I love you devotedlyand unto death--enough to kill myself, or you!"

"That is well, " said the Marquise, softly. 

"But, " he continued in a hoarse and constrained tone, "in loving you, intelling you of it, in trying to make you share my love, I violate baselythe obligations of honor of which you know, and others of which youknow not. It is a crime, as you have said. I do not try to extenuate myoffence. I see it, I judge it, and I accept it. I break the last moraltie that is left me; I leave the ranks of men of honor, and I leave alsothe ranks of humanity. I have nothing human left except my love, nothingsacred but you; but my crime elevates itself by its magnitude. Well, Iinterpret it thus: I imagine two beings, equally free and strong, lovingand valuing each other beyond all else, having no affection, no loyalty, no devotion, no honor, except toward each other--but possessing all foreach other in a supreme degree. 

"I give and consecrate absolutely to you, my person, all that I can be, or may become, on condition of an equal return, still preservingthe same social conventionalities, without which we should both bemiserable. 

"Secretly united, and secretly isolated; though in the midst ofthe human herd, governing and despising it; uniting our gifts, ourfaculties, and our powers, our two Parisian royalties--yours, which cannot be greater, and mine, which shall become greater if you love me andliving thus, one for the other, until death. You have dreamed, you toldme, of strange and almost sacrilegious love. Here it is; only beforeaccepting it, reflect well, for I assure you it is a serious thing. My love for you is boundless. I love you enough to disdain and trampleunder foot that which the meanest human being still respects. I loveyou enough to find in you alone, in your single esteem, and in yoursole tenderness, in the pride and madness of being yours, oblivion andconsolation for friendship outraged, faith betrayed, and honor lost. But, Madame, this is a sentiment which you will do well not to triflewith. You should thoroughly understand this. If you desire my love, ifyou consent to this alliance, opposed to all human laws, but grand andsingular also, deign to tell me so, and I shall fall at your feet. Ifyou do not wish it, if it terrifies you, if you are not prepared forthe double obligation it involves, tell me so, and fear not a word ofreproach. Whatever it might cost me--I would ruin my life, I wouldleave you forever, and that which passed yesterday should be eternallyforgotten. "

He ceased, and remained with his eyes fixed on the young woman with aburning anxiety. As he went on speaking her air became more grave; shelistened to him, her head a little inclined toward him in an attitude ofoverpowering interest, throwing upon him at intervals a glance full ofgloomy fire. A slight but rapid palpitation of the bosom, a scarcelyperceptible quivering of the nostrils, alone betrayed the storm ragingwithin her. 

"This, " she said, after a moment's silence, "becomes really interesting;but you do not intend to leave this evening, I suppose?"

"No, " said Camors. 

"Very well, " she replied, inclining her head in sign of dismissal, without offering her hand; "we shall see each other again. "

"But when?"

"At an early day. "

He thought she required time for reflection, a little terrifieddoubtless by the monster she had evoked; he saluted her gravely anddeparted. 

The next day, and on the two succeeding days, he vainly presentedhimself at her door. 

The Marquise was either dining out or dressing. 

It was for Camors a whole century of torment. One thought which oftendisquieted him revisited him with double poignancy. The Marquise didnot love him. She only wished to revenge herself for the past, and afterdisgracing him would laugh at him. She had made him sign the contract, and then had escaped him. In the midst of these tortures of his pride, his passion, instead of weakening, increased. 

The fourth day after their interview he did not go to her house. Hehoped to meet her in the evening at the Viscountess d'Oilly's, wherehe usually saw her every Friday. This lady had been formerly the mosttender friend of the Count's father. It was to her the Count had thoughtproper to confide the education of his son. 

Camors had preserved for her a kind of affection. She was an amiablewoman, whom he liked and laughed at. 

No longer young, she had been compelled to renounce gallantry, which hadbeen the chief occupation of her youth, and never having had much tastefor devotion, she conceived the idea of having a salon. She receivedthere some distinguished men, savants and artists, who piqued themselveson being free-thinkers. 

The Viscountess, in order to fit herself for her new position, resolvedto enlighten herself. She attended public lectures and conferences, which began to be fashionable. She spoke easily about spontaneousgeneration. She manifested a lively surprise when Camors, who delightedin tormenting her, deigned to inform her that men were descended frommonkeys. 

"Now, my friend, " she said to him, "I can not really admit that. How canyou think your grandfather was a monkey, you who are so handsome?"

She reasoned on everything with the same force. 

Although she boasted of being a sceptic, sometimes in the morning shewent out, concealed by a thick veil, and entered St. Sulpice, whereshe confessed and put herself on good terms with God, in case Heshould exist. She was rich and well connected, and in spite of theirregularities of her youth, the best people visited her house. 

Madame de Campvallon permitted herself to be introduced by M. De Camors. Madame de la Roche-Jugan followed her there, because she followed hereverywhere, and took her son Sigismund. On this evening the reunion wassmall. M. De Camors had only been there a few moments, when he hadthe satisfaction of seeing the General and the Marquise enter. Shetranquilly expressed to him her regret at not having been at homethe preceding day; but it was impossible to hope for a more decidedexplanation in a circle so small, and under the vigilant eye of Madamede la Roche-Jugan. Camors interrogated vainly the face of his youngcousin. It was as beautiful and cold as usual. His anxiety increased;he would have given his life at that moment to hear her say one word oflove. 

The Viscountess liked the play of wit, as she had little herself. Theyplayed at her house such little games as were then fashionable. Thoselittle games are not always innocent, as we shall see. 

They had distributed pencils, pens, and packages of paper--some of theplayers sitting around large tables, and some in separate chairs--andscratched mysteriously, in turn, questions and answers. During thistime the General played whist with Madame de la Roche-Jugan. MadameCampvallon did not usually take part in these games, as they fatiguedher. Camors was therefore astonished to see her accept the pencil andpaper offered her. 

This singularity awakened his attention and put him on his guard. Hehimself joined in the game, contrary to his custom, and even chargedhimself with collecting in the basket the small notes as they werewritten. 

An hour passed without any special incident. The treasures of wit weredispensed. The most delicate and unexpected questions--such as, "What islove?" "Do you think that friendship can exist between the sexes?""Is it sweeter to love or to beloved?"--succeeded each other withcorresponding replies. All at once the Marquise gave a slight scream, and they saw a drop of blood trickle down her forehead. She laughed, andshowed her little silver pencil-case, which had a pen at one end, withwhich she had scratched her forehead in her abstraction. 

The attention of Camors was redoubled from this moment--the more so froma rapid and significant glance from the Marquise, which seemed to warnhim of an approaching event. She was sitting a little in shadow in onecorner, in order to meditate more at ease on questions and answers. Aninstant later Camors was passing around the room collecting notes. Shedeposited one in the basket, slipping another into his hand with thecat-like dexterity of her sex. In the midst of these papers, whicheach person amused himself with reading, Camors found no difficulty inretaining without remark the clandestine note of the Marquise. It waswritten in red ink, a little pale, but very legible, and contained thesewords:

 "I belong, soul, body, honor, riches, to my best-beloved cousin, Louis de Camors, from this moment and forever. 

 "Written and signed with the pure blood of my veins, March 5, 185-. 

 "CHARLOTTE DE LUC. D'ESTRELLES. "

All the blood of Camors surged to his brain--a cloud came over hiseyes--he rested his hand on the marble table, then suddenly his facewas covered with a mortal paleness. These symptoms did not arise fromremorse or fear; his passion overshadowed all. He felt a boundless joy. He saw the world at his feet. 

It was by this act of frankness and of extraordinary audacity, seasonedby the bloody mysticism so familiar to the sixteenth century, which sheadored, that the Marquise de Campvallon surrendered herself to her loverand sealed their fatal union. 

CHAPTER XIV. AN ANONYMOUS LETTER

Nearly six weeks had passed after this last episode. It was five o'clockin the afternoon and the Marquise awaited Camors, who was to come afterthe session of the Corps Legislatif. There was a sudden knock at one ofthe doors of her room, which communicated with her husband's apartment. It was the General. She remarked with surprise, and even with fear, thathis countenance was agitated. 

"What is the matter with you, my dear?" she said. "Are you ill?"

"No, " replied the General, "not at all. "

He placed himself before her, and looked at her some moments beforespeaking, his eyes rolling wildly. 

"Charlotte!" he said at last, with a painful smile, "I must own to youmy folly. I am almost mad since morning--I have received such a singularletter. Would you like to see it?"

"If you wish, " she replied. 

He took a letter from his pocket, and gave it to her. The writing wasevidently carefully disguised, and it was not signed. 

"An anonymous letter?" said the Marquise, whose eyebrows were slightlyraised, with an expression of disdain; then she read the letter, whichwas as follows:

 "A true friend, General, feels indignant at seeing your confidence and your loyalty abused. You are deceived by those whom you love most. 

 "A man who is covered with your favors and a woman who owes everything to you are united by a secret intimacy which outrages you. They are impatient for the hour when they can divide your spoils. 

 "He who regards it as a pious duty to warn you does not desire to calumniate any one. He is sure that your honor is respected by her to whom you have confided it, and that she is still worthy of your confidence and esteem. She wrongs you in allowing herself to count upon the future, which your best friend dates from your death. He seeks your widow and your estate. 

 "The poor woman submits against her will to the fascinations of a man too celebrated for his successful affairs of the heart. But this man, your friend--almost your son--how can he excuse his conduct? Every honest person must be shocked by such behavior, and particularly he whom a chance conversation informed of the fact, and who obeys his conscience in giving you this information. "

The Marquise, after reading it, returned the letter coldly to theGeneral. 

"Sign it Eleanore-Jeanne de la Roche-Jugan!" she said. 

"Do you think so?" asked the General. 

"It is as clear as day, " replied the Marquise. "These expressions betrayher--'a pious duty to warn you--'celebrated for his successful affairsof the heart'--'every honest person. ' She can disguise her writing, but not her style. But what is still more conclusive is that which sheattributes to Monsieur de Camors--for I suppose it alludes to him--andto his private prospects and calculations. This can not have failed tostrike you, as it has me, I suppose?"

"If I thought this vile letter was her work, " cried the General, "Inever would see her again during my life. "

"Why not? It is better to laugh at it!"

The General began one of his solemn promenades across the room. TheMarquise looked uneasily at the clock. Her husband, intercepting one ofthese glances, suddenly stopped. 

"Do you expect Camors to-day?" he inquired. 

"Yes; I think he will call after the session. "

"I think he will, " responded the General, with a convulsive smile. "Anddo you know, my dear, " he added, "the absurd idea which has haunted mesince I received this infamous letter?--for I believe that infamy iscontagious. "

"You have conceived the idea of observing our interview?" said theMarquise, in a tone of indolent raillery. 

"Yes, " said the General, "there--behind that curtain--as in a theatre;but, thank God! I have been able to resist this base intention. If everI allow myself to play so mean a part, I should wish at least to do itwith your knowledge and consent. "

"And do you ask me to consent to it?" asked the Marquise. 

"My poor Charlotte!" said the General, in a sad and almost supplicatingtone, "I am an old fool--an overgrown child--but I feel that thismiserable letter will poison my life. I shall have no more an hour ofpeace and confidence. What can you expect? I was so cruelly deceivedbefore. I am an honorable man, but I have been taught that all men arenot like myself. There are some things which to me seem as impossible aswalking on my head, yet I see others doing these things every day. Whatcan I say to you? After reading this perfidious letter, I could not helprecollecting that your intimacy with Camors has greatly increased oflate!"

"Without doubt, " said the Marquise, "I am very fond of him!"

"I remembered also your tete-a-tete with him, the other night, in theboudoir, during the ball. When I awoke you had both an air of mystery. What mysteries could there be between you two?"

"Ah, what indeed!" said the Marquise, smiling. 

"And will you not tell me?"

"You shall know it at the proper time. "

"Finally, I swear to you that I suspect neither of you--I neithersuspect you of wronging me--of disgracing me--nor of soiling my name. . . God help me!

"But if you two should love each other, even while respecting my honor:if you love each other and confess it--if you two, even at my side, inmy heart--if you, my two children, should be calculating with impatienteyes the progress of my old age--planning your projects for the future, and smiling at my approaching death--postponing your happiness only formy tomb you may think yourselves guiltless, but no, I tell you it wouldbe shameful!"

Under the empire of the passion which controlled him, the voice of theGeneral became louder. His common features assumed an air of sombredignity and imposing grandeur. A slight shade of paleness passed overthe lovely face of the young woman and a slight frown contracted herforehead. 

By an effort, which in a better cause would have been sublime, shequickly mastered her weakness, and, coldly pointing out to her husbandthe draped door by which he had entered, said:

"Very well, conceal yourself there!"

"You will never forgive me?"

"You know little of women, my friend, if you do not know that jealousyis one of the crimes they not only pardon but love. "

"My God, I am not jealous!"

"Call it yourself what you will, but station yourself there!"

"And you are sincere in wishing me to do so?"

"I pray you to do so! Retire in the interval, leave the door open, andwhen you hear Monsieur de Camors enter the court of the hotel, return. "

"No!" said the General, after a moment's hesitation; "since I have goneso far"--and he sighed deeply "I do not wish to leave myself the leastpretext for distrust. If I leave you before he comes, I am capable offancying--"

"That I might secretly warn him? Nothing more natural. Remain here, then. Only take a book; for our conversation, under such circumstances, can not be lively. "

He sat down. 

"But, " he said, "what mystery can there be between you two?"

"You shall hear!" she said, with her sphinx-like smile. 

The General mechanically took up a book. She stirred the fire, andreflected. As she liked terror, danger, and dramatic incidents to blendwith her intrigues, she should have been content; for at that momentshame, ruin, and death were at her door. But, to tell the truth, it wastoo much for her; and when she looked, in the midst of the silence whichsurrounded her, at the true character and scope of the perils whichsurrounded her, she thought her brain would fail and her heart break. 

She was not mistaken as to the origin of the letter. This shameful workhad indeed been planned by Madame de la Roche-Jugan. To do her justice, she had not suspected the force of the blow she was dealing. Shestill believed in the virtue of the Marquise; but during the perpetualsurveillance she had never relaxed, she could not fail to see thechanged nature of the intercourse between Camors and the Marquise. Itmust not be forgotten that she dreamed of securing for her sonSigismund the succession to her old friend; and she foresaw a dangerousrivalry--the germ of which she sought to destroy. To awaken the distrustof the General toward Camors, so as to cause his doors to be closedagainst him, was all she meditated. But her anonymous letter, like mostvillainies of this kind, was a more fatal and murderous weapon than itsbase author imagined. 

The young Marquise, then, mused while stirring the fire, casting, fromtime to time, a furtive glance at the clock. 

M. De Camors would soon arrive--how could she warn him? In the presentstate of their relations it was not impossible that the very first wordsof. Camors might immediately divulge their secret: and once betrayed, there was not only for her personal dishonor, a scandalous fall, poverty, a convent--but for her husband or her lover--perhaps forboth--death!

When the bell in the lower court sounded, announcing the Count'sapproach, these thoughts crowded into the brain of the Marquise like alegion of phantoms. But she rallied her courage by a desperate effortand strained all her faculties to the execution of the plan she hadhastily conceived, which was her last hope. And one word, one gesture, one mistake, or one carelessness of her lover, might overthrow it in asecond. A moment later the door was opened by a servant, announcingM. De Camors. Without speaking, she signed to her husband to gain hishiding-place. The General, who had risen at the sound of the bell, seemed still to hesitate, but shrugging his shoulders, as if in disdainof himself, retired behind the curtain which faced the door. 

M. De Camors entered the room carelessly, and advanced toward thefireplace where sat the Marquise; his smiling lips half opened tospeak, when he was struck by the peculiar expression on the face of theMarquise, and the words were frozen on his lips. This look, fixed uponhim from his entrance, had a strange, weird intensity, which, withoutexpressing anything, made him fear everything. But he was accustomed totrying situations, and as wary and prudent as he was intrepid. He ceasedto smile and did not speak, but waited. 

She gave him her hand without ceasing to look at him with the samealarming intensity. 

"Either she is mad, " he said to himself, "or there is some great peril!"

With the rapid perception of her genius and of her love, she felt heunderstood her; and not leaving him time to speak and compromise her, instantly said:

"It is very kind of you to keep your promise. "

"Not at all, " said Camors, seating himself. 

"Yes! For you know you come here to be tormented. " There was a pause. 

"Have you at last become a convert to my fixed idea?" she added after asecond. 

"What fixed idea? It seems to me you have a great many!"

"Yes! But I speak of a good one--my best one, at least--of yourmarriage!"

"What! again, cousin?" said Camors, who, now assured of his danger andits nature, marched with a firmer foot over the burning soil. 

"Yes, again, cousin; and I will tell you another thing--I have found theperson. "

"Ah! Then I shall run away!"

She met his smile with an imperious glance. 

"Then you still adhere to that plan?" said Camors, laughing. 

"Most firmly! I need not repeat to you my reasons--having preachedabout it all winter--in fact so much so as to disturb the General, whosuspects some mystery between us. "

"The General? Indeed!"

"Oh, nothing serious, you must understand. Well, let us resume thesubject. Miss Campbell will not do--she is too blonde--an odd objectionfor me to make by the way; not Mademoiselle de Silas--too thin;not Mademoiselle Rolet, in spite of her millions; not Mademoiselled'Esgrigny--too much like the Bacquieres and Van-Cuyps. All this is alittle discouraging, you will admit; but finally everything clears up. Itell you I have discovered the right one--a marvel!"

"Her name?" said Camors. 

"Marie de Tecle!"

There was silence. 

"Well, you say nothing, " resumed the Marquise, "because you can havenothing to say! Because she unites everything--personal beauty, family, fortune, everything--almost like a dream. Then, too, your propertiesjoin. You see how I have thought of everything, my friend! I can notimagine how we never came to think of this before!"

M. De Camors did not reply, and the Marquise began to be surprised athis silence. 

"Oh!" she exclaimed; "you may look a long time--there can not be asingle objection--you are caught this time. Come, my friend, say yes, I implore you!" And while her lips said "I implore you, " in a tone ofgracious entreaty, her look said, with terrible emphasis, "You must!"

"Will you allow me to reflect upon it, Madame?" he said at last. 

"No, my friend!"

"But really, " said Camors, who was very pale, "it seems to me youdispose of the hand of Mademoiselle de Tecle very readily. Mademoisellede Tecle is rich and courted on all sides--also, her great-uncle hasideas of the province, and her mother, ideas of religion, which mightwell--"

"I charge myself with all that, " interrupted the Marquise. 

"What a mania you have for marrying people!"

"Women who do not make love, cousin, always have a mania formatchmaking. "

"But seriously, you will give me a few days for reflection?"

"To reflect about what? Have you not always told me you intendedmarrying and have been only waiting the chance? Well, you never can finda better one than this; and if you let it slip, you will repent the restof your life. "

"But give me time to consult my family!"

"Your family--what a joke! It seems to me you have reached full age; andthen--what family? Your aunt, Madame de la Roche-Jugan?"

"Doubtless! I do not wish to offend her:"

"Ah, my dear cousin, don't be uneasy; suppress this uneasiness; I assureyou she will be delighted!"

"Why should she?"

"I have my reasons for thinking so;" and the young woman in utteringthese words was seized with a fit of sardonic laughter which came nearconvulsion, so shaken were her nerves by the terrible tension. 

Camors, to whom little by little the light fell stronger on the moreobscure points of the terrible enigma proposed to him, saw the necessityof shortening a scene which had overtasked her faculties to an almostinsupportable degree. He rose:

"I am compelled to leave you, " he said; "for I am not dining at home. But I will come to-morrow, if you will permit me. "

"Certainly. You authorize me to speak to the General?"

"Well, yes, for I really can see no reasonable objection. "

"Very good. I adore you!" said the Marquise. She gave him her hand, which he kissed and immediately departed. 

It would have required a much keener vision than that of M. DeCampvallon to detect any break, or any discordance, in the audaciouscomedy which had just been played before him by these two great artists. 

The mute play of their eyes alone could have betrayed them; and that hecould not see. 

As to their tranquil, easy, natural dialogue there was not in it a wordwhich he could seize upon, and which did not remove all his disquietude, and confound all his suspicions. From this moment, and ever afterward, every shadow was effaced from his mind; for the ability to imagine sucha plot as that in which his wife in her despair had sought refuge, or tocomprehend such depth of perversity, was not in the General's pure andsimple spirit. 

When he reappeared before his wife, on leaving his concealment, he wasconstrained and awkward. With a gesture of confusion and humility hetook her hand, and smiled upon her with all the goodness and tendernessof his soul beaming from his face. 

At this moment the Marquise, by a new reaction of her nervous system, broke into weeping and sobbing; and this completed the General'sdespair. 

Out of respect to this worthy man, we shall pass over a scene theinterest of which otherwise is not sufficient to warrant the unpleasanteffect it would produce on all honest people. We shall equally pass overwithout record the conversation which took place the next day betweenthe Marquise and M. De Camors. 

Camors had experienced, as we have observed, a sentiment of repulsionat hearing the name of Mademoiselle de Tecle appear in the midst of thisintrigue. It amounted almost to horror, and he could not control themanifestation of it. How could he conquer this supreme revolt of hisconscience to the point of submitting to the expedient which would makehis intrigue safe? By what detestable sophistries he dared persuadehimself that he owed everything to his accomplice--even this, we shallnot attempt to explain. To explain would be to extenuate, and thatwe wish not to do. We shall only say that he resigned himself to thismarriage. On the path which he had entered a man can check himself aslittle as he can check a flash of lightning. 

As to the Marquise, one must have formed no conception of this depravedthough haughty spirit, if astonished at her persistence, in cold blood, and after reflection, in the perfidious plot which the imminence of herdanger had suggested to her. She saw that the suspicions of the Generalmight be reawakened another day in a more dangerous manner, if thismarriage proved only a farce. She loved Camors passionately; and sheloved scarcely less the dramatic mystery of their liaison. She had alsofelt a frantic terror at the thought of losing the great fortune whichshe regarded as her own; for the disinterestedness of her early youthhad long vanished, and the idea of sinking miserably in the Parisianworld, where she had long reigned by her luxury as well as her beauty, was insupportable to her. 

Love, mystery, fortune-she wished to preserve them all at any price; andthe more she reflected, the more the marriage of Camors appeared to herthe surest safeguard. 

It was true, it would give her a sort of rival. But she had too high anopinion of herself to fear anything; and she preferred Mademoisellede Tecle to any other, because she knew her, and regarded her as aninferior in everything. 

About fifteen days after, the General called on Madame de Tecle onemorning, and demanded for M. De Camors her daughter's hand. It wouldbe painful to dwell on the joy which Madame de Tecle felt; and her onlysurprise was that Camors had not come in person to press his suit. ButCamors had not the heart to do so. He had been at Reuilly since thatmorning, and called on Madame de Tecle, where he learned his overturewas accepted. Once having resolved on this monstrous action, he wasdetermined to carry it through in the most correct manner, and we knowhe was master of all social arts. 

In the evening Madame de Tecle and her daughter, left alone, walkedtogether a long time on their dear terrace, by the soft light ofthe stars--the daughter blessing her mother, and the mother thankingGod--both mingling their hearts, their dreams, their kisses, and theirtears--happier, poor women, than is permitted long to human beings. Themarriage took place the ensuing month. 

BOOK 3. 

CHAPTER XV. THE COUNTESS DE CAMORS

After passing the few weeks of the honeymoon at Reuilly, the Comte andComtesse de Camors returned to Paris and established themselves at theirhotel in the Rue de l'Imperatrice. From this moment, and during themonths that followed, the young wife kept up an active correspondencewith her mother; and we here transcribe some of the letters, whichwill make us more intimately acquainted with the character of the youngwoman. 

 Madame de Camors to Madame de Tecle. "October. 

 "Am I happy? No, my dearest mother! No--not happy! I have only wings and soar to heaven like a bird! I feel the sunshine in my head, in my eyes, in my heart. 

 "It blinds me, it enchants me, it causes me to shed delicious tears! Happy? No, my tender mother; that is not possible, when I think that I am his wife! The wife--understand me--of him who has reigned in my poor thoughts since I was able to think--of him whom I should have chosen out of the whole universe! When I remember that I am his wife, that we are united forever, how I love life! how I love you! how I love God!

 "The Bois and the lake are within a few steps of us, as you know. We ride thither nearly every morning, my husband and I!--I repeat, I and my husband! We go there, my husband and I--I and my husband!

 "I know not how it is, but it is always delicious weather to me, even when it rains--as it does furiously to-day; for we have just come in, driven home by the storm. 

 "During our ride to-day, I took occasion to question him quietly as to some points of our history which puzzled me. First, why had he married me?

 "'Because you pleased me apparently, Miss Mary. ' He likes to give me this name, which recalls to him I know not what episode of my untamed youth--untamed still to him. 

 "'If I pleased you, why did I see you so seldom?'

 "'Because I did not wish to court you until I had decided on marrying. '

 "'How could I have pleased you, not being at all beautiful?'

 "'You are not beautiful, it is true, ' replies this cruel young man, 'but you are very pretty; and above all you are grace itself, like your mother. '

 "All these obscure points being cleared up to the complete satisfaction of Miss Mary, Miss Mary took to fast galloping; not because it was raining, but because she became suddenly--we do not know the reason why--as red as a poppy. 

 "Oh, beloved mother! how sweet it is to be loved by him we adore, and to be loved precisely as we wish--as we have dreamed--according to the exact programme of our young, romantic hearts!

 "Did you ever believe I had ideas on such a delicate subject? Yes, dear mother, I had them. Thus, it seemed to me there were many different styles of loving--some vulgar, some pretentious, some foolish, and others, again, excessively comic. None of these seemed suited to the Prince, our neighbor. I ever felt he should love, like the Prince he is, with grace and dignity; with serious tenderness, a little stern perhaps; with amiability, but almost with condescension--as a lover, but as a master, too--in fine, like my husband!

 "Dear angel, who art my mother! be happy in my happiness, which was your sole work. I kiss your hands--I kiss your wings!

 "I thank you! I bless you! I adore you!

 "If you were near me, it would be too much happiness! I should die, I think. Nevertheless, come to us very soon. Your chamber awaits you. It is as blue as the heavens in which I float. I have already told you this, but I repeat it. 

 "Good-by, mother of the happiest woman in the world!

 "MISS MARY, "Comtesse de Camors. "

 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 

 "November. 

 "MY MOTHER:

 "You made me weep--I who await you every morning. I will say nothing to you, however; I will not beg you. If the health of my grandfather seems to you so feeble as to demand your presence, I know no prayer would take you away from your duty. Nor would I make the prayer, my angel mother!

 "But exaggerate nothing, I pray you, and think your little Marie can not pass by the blue chamber without feeling a swelling of the heart. Apart from this grief which you cause her, she continues to be as happy as even you could wish. 

 "Her charming Prince is ever charming and ever her Prince! He takes her to see the monuments, the museums, the theatres, like the poor little provincial that she is. Is it not touching on the part of so great a personage?

 "He is amused at my ecstasies--for I have ecstasies. Do not breathe it to my Uncle Des Rameures, but Paris is superb! The days here count double our own for thought and life. 

 "My husband took me to Versailles yesterday. I suspect that this, in the eyes of the people here, is rather a ridiculous episode; for I notice the Count did not boast of it. Versailles corresponds entirely with the impressions you had given me of it; for there is not the slightest change since you visited it with my grandfather. 

 "It is grand, solemn, and cold. There is, though, a new and very curious museum in the upper story of the palace, consisting chiefly of original portraits of the famous men of history. Nothing pleases me more than to see these heroes of my memory passing before me in grand procession--from Charles the Bold to George Washington. Those faces my imagination has so often tried to evoke, that it seems to me we are in the Elysian Fields, and hold converse with the dead:

 "You must know, my mother, I was familiar with many things that surprised M. De Camors very much. He was greatly struck by my knowledge of science and my genius. I did no more, as you may imagine, than respond to his questions; but it seemed to astonish him that I could respond at all. 

 "Why should he ask me these things? If he did not know how to distinguish the different Princesses of Conti, the answer is simple. 

 "But I knew, because my mother taught me. That is simple enough too. 

 "We dined afterward, at my suggestion, at a restaurant. Oh, my mother! this was the happiest moment of my life! To dine at a restaurant with my husband was the most delightful of all dissipations!

 "I have said he seemed astonished at my learning. I ought to add in general, he seemed astonished whenever I opened my lips. Did he imagine me a mute? I speak little, I acknowledge, however, for he inspires me with a ceaseless fear: I am afraid of displeasing him, of appearing silly before him, or pretentious, or pedantic. The day when I shall be at ease with him, and when I can show him my good sense and gratitude--if that day ever comes--I shall be relieved of a great weight on my mind, for truly I sometimes fear he looks on me as a child. 

 "The other day I stopped before a toy-shop on the Boulevard. What a blunder! And as he saw my eye fixed on a magnificent squadron of dolls--

 "'Do you wish one, Miss Mary?' he said. 

 "Was not this horrible, my mother--from him who knows everything except the Princesses of Conti? He explained everything to me; but briefly in a word, as if to a person he despaired of ever making understand him. And I understand so well all the time, my poor little mother!

 "But so much the better, say I; for if he loves me while thinking me silly, what will it be later!

 "With fond love, your

 "MARIE. "

 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 

 "December. 

 "All Paris has returned once more, my dear mother, and for fifteen days I have been occupied with visits. The men here do not usually visit; but my husband is obliged to present me for the first time to the persons I ought to know. He accompanies me there, which is much more agreeable to me than to him, I believe. 

 "He is more serious than usual. Is not this the only form in which amiable men show their bad humor? The people we visit look on me with a certain interest. The woman whom this great lord has honored with his choice is evidently an object of great curiosity. This flatters and intimidates me; I blush and feel constrained; I appear awkward. When they find me awkward and insignificant, they stare. They believe he married me for my fortune: then I wish to cry. We reenter the carriage, he smiles upon me, and I am in heaven! Such are our visits. 

 "You must know, my mother, that to me Madame Campvallon is divine. She often takes me to her box at the Italiens, as mine will not be vacant until January. Yesterday she gave a little fete for me in her beautiful salon: the General opened the ball with me. 

 "Oh! my mother, what a wonderfully clever man the General is! And I admire him because he admires you!

 "The Marquise presented to me all the best dancers. They were young gentlemen, with their necks so uncovered it almost gave me a chill. I never before had seen men bare-necked and the fashion is not becoming. It was very evident, however, that they considered themselves indispensable and charming. Their deportment was insolent and self-sufficient; their eyes were disdainful and all-conquering. 

 "Their mouths ever open to breathe freer, their coat-tails flapping like wings, they take one by the waist--as one takes his own property. Informing you by a look that they are about to do you the honor of removing you, they whirl you away; then, panting for breath, inform you by another look that they will do themselves the pleasure of stopping--and they stop. Then they rest a moment, panting, laughing, showing their teeth; another look--and they repeat the same performance. They are wonderful!

 "Louis waltzed with me and seemed satisfied. I saw him for the first time waltz with the Marquise. Oh, my mother, it was the dance of the stars!

 "One thing which struck me this evening, as always, was the manifest idolatry with which the women regard my husband. This, my tender mother, terrifies me. Why--I ask myself--why did he choose me? How can I please him? How can I succeed?

 "Behold the result of all my meditations! A folly perhaps, but of which the effect is to reassure me:

 "Portrait of the Comtesse de Camors, drawn by herself. 

 "The Comtesse de Camors, formerly Marie de Tecle, is a personage who, having reached her twentieth year, looks older. She is not beautiful, as her husband is the first person to confess. He says she is pretty; but she doubts even this. Let us see. She has very long limbs, a fault which she shares with Diana, the Huntress, and which probably gives to the gait of the Countess a lightness it might not otherwise possess. Her body is naturally short, and on horseback appears to best advantage. She is plump without being gross. 

 "Her features are irregular; the mouth being too large and the lips too thick, with--alas! the shade of a moustache; white teeth, a little too small; a commonplace nose, a slightly pug; and her mother's eyes--her best feature. She has the eyebrows of her Uncle Des Rameures, which gives an air of severity to the face and neutralizes the good-natured expression-a reflex from the softness of her heart. 

 "She has the dark complexion of her mother, which is more becoming to her mother than to her. Add to all this, blue-black hair in great silky masses. On the whole, one knows not what to pronounce her. 

 "There, my mother, is my portrait! Intended to reassure me, it has hardly done so; for it seems to me to be that of an ugly little woman!

 "I wish to be the most lively of women; I wish to be one of the most distinguished. I wish to be one of the most captivating! But, oh, my mother! if I please him I am still more enchanted! On the whole, thank God! he finds me perhaps much better than I am: for men have not the same taste in these matters that we have. 

 "But what I really can not comprehend, is why he has so little admiration for the Marquise de Campvallon. His manner is very cold to her. Were I a man, I should be wildly in love with that superb woman! Good-night, most beloved of mothers!"

 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 

 "January. 

 "You complain of me, my cherished one! The tone of my letters wounds you! You can not comprehend how this matter of my personal appearance haunts me. I scrutinize it; I compare it with that of others. There is something of levity in that which hurts you? You ask how can I think a man attaches himself to these things, while the merits of mind and soul go for nothing?

 "But, my dearest mother, how will these merits of mind and of soul --supposing your daughter to possess them--serve her, unless she possesses the courage or has the opportunity to display them? And when I summon up the courage, it seems to me the occasion never comes. 

 "For I must confess to you that this delicious Paris is not perfect; and I discover, little by little, the spots upon the sun. 

 "Paris is the most charming place! The only pity is that it has inhabitants! Not but that they are agreeable, for they are only too much so; only they are also very careless, and appear to my view to live and die without reflecting much on what they are doing. It is not their fault; they have no time. 

 "Without leaving Paris, they are incessant travellers, eternally distracted by motion and novelty. Other travellers, when they have visited some distant corner--forgetting for a while their families, their duties, and their homes--return and settle down again. But these Parisians never do. Their life is an endless voyage; they have no home. That which elsewhere is the great aim of life is secondary here. One has here, as elsewhere, an establishment--a house, a private chamber. One must have. Here one is wife or mother, husband or father, just as elsewhere; but, my poor mother, they are these things just as little as possible. The whole interest centres not in the homes; but in the streets, the museums, the salons, the theatres, and the clubs. It radiates to the immense outside life, which in all its forms night and day agitates Paris, attracts, excites, and enervates you; steals your time, your mind, your soul--and devours them all!

 "Paris is the most delicious of places to visit--the worst of places to live in. 

 "Understand well, my mother, that in seeking by what qualifies I can best attract my husband--who is the best of men, doubtless, but of Parisian men nevertheless--I have continually reflected on merits which may be seen at once, which do not require time to be appreciated. 

 "Finally, I do not deny that all this is miserable cynicism, unworthy of you and of myself; for you know I am not at heart a bad little woman. Certainly, if I could keep Monsieur de Camors for a year or two at an old chateau in the midst of a solitary wood, I should like it much. I could then see him more frequently, I could then become familiar with his august person, and could develop my little talents under his charmed eyes. But then this might weary him and would be too easy. Life and happiness, I know, are not so easily managed. All is difficulty, peril, and conflict. 

 "What joy, then, to conquer! And I swear to you, my mother, that I will conquer! I will force him to know me as you know me; to love me, not as he now does, but as you do, for many good reasons of which he does not yet dream. 

 "Not that he believes me absolutely a fool; I think he has abandoned that idea for at least two days past. 

 "How he came thus to think, my next letter shall explain. 

 "Your own

 "MARIE. "

CHAPTER XVI. THE REPTILE STRIVES TO CLIMB

 "March. 

 "You will remember, my mother, that the Count has as secretary a man named Vautrot. The name is a bad one; but the man himself is a good enough creature, except that I somewhat dislike his catlike style of looking at one. 

 "Well, Monsieur de Vautrot lives in the house with us. He comes early in the morning, breakfasts at some neighboring cafe, passes the day in the Count's study, and often remains to dine with us, if he has work to finish in the evening. 

 "He is an educated man, and knows a little of everything; and he has undertaken many occupations before he accepted the subordinate though lucrative post he now occupies with my husband. He loves literature; but not that of his time and of his country, perhaps because he himself has failed in this. He prefers foreign writers and poets, whom he quotes with some taste, though with too much declamation. 

 "Most probably his early education was defective; for on all occasions, when speaking with us, he says, 'Yes, Monsieur le Comte!' or 'Certainly, Madame la Comtesse!' as if he were a servant. Yet withal, he has a peculiar pride, or perhaps I should say insufferable vanity. But his great fault, in my eyes, is the scoffing tone he adopts, when the subject is religion or morals. 

 "Two days ago, while we were dining, Vautrot allowed himself to indulge in a rather violent tirade of this description. It was certainly contrary to all good taste. 

 "'My dear Vautrot, ' my husband said quietly to him, 'to me these pleasantries of yours are indifferent; but pray remember, that while you are a strong-minded man, my wife is a weak-minded woman; and strength, you know, should respect weakness. '

 "Monsieur Vautrot first grew white, then red, and finally green. He rose, bowed awkwardly, and immediately afterward left the table. Since that time I have remarked his manner has been more reserved. The moment I was alone with Louis, I said:

 "'You may think me indiscreet, but pray let me ask you a question. How can you confide all your affairs and all your secrets to a man who professes to have no principles?'

 "Monsieur de Camors laughed. 

 "'Oh, he talks thus out of bravado, ' he answered. 'He thinks to make himself more interesting in your eyes by these Mephistophelian airs. At bottom he is a good fellow. '

 "'But, ' I answered, 'he has faith in nothing. '

 "'Not in much, I believe. Yet he has never deceived me. He is an honorable man. '

 "I opened my eyes wide at this. 

 "'Well, ' he said, with an amused look, 'what is the matter, Miss Mary?'

 "'What is this honor you speak of?'

 "'Let me ask your definition of it, Miss Mary, ' he replied. 

 "'Mon Dieu!' I cried, blushing deeply, 'I know but little of it, but it seems to me that honor separated from morality is no great thing; and morality without religion is nothing. They all constitute a chain. Honor hangs to the last link, like a flower; but if the chain be broken, honor falls with the rest. ' He looked at me with strange eyes, as if he were not only confounded but disquieted by my philosophy. Then he gave a deep sigh, and rising said:

 "'Very neat, that definition-very neat. '

 "That night, at the opera, he plied me with bonbons and orange ices. Madame de Campvallon accompanied us; and at parting, I begged her to call for me next day on her way to the Bois, for she is my idol. She is so lovely and so distinguished--and she I knows it well. I love to be with her. On our return home, Louis remained silent, contrary to his custom. Suddenly he said, brusquely:

 "'Marie, do you go with the Marquise to the Bois to-morrow?'

 "'Yes. '

 "'But you see her often, it seems to me-morning and evening. You are always with her. '

 "'Heavens! I do it to be agreeable to you. Is not Madame de Campvallon a good associate?'

 "'Excellent; only in general I do not admire female friendships. But I did wrong to speak to you on this subject. You have wit and discretion enough to preserve the proper limits. '

 "This, my mother, was what he said to me. I embrace you. 

 "Ever your

 "MARIE. "

 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 

 "March. 

 "I hope, my own mother, not to bore you this year with a catalogue of fetes and festivals, lamps and girandoles; for Lent is coming. To-day is Ash-Wednesday. Well, we dance to-morrow evening at Madame d'Oilly's. I had hoped not to go, but I saw Louis was disappointed, and I feared to offend Madame d'Oilly, who has acted a mother's part to my husband. Lent here is only an empty name. I sigh to myself: 'Will they never stop! Great heavens! will they never cease amusing themselves?'

 "I must confess to you, my darling mother, I amuse myself too much to be happy. I depended on Lent for some time to myself, and see how they efface the calendar!

 "This dear Lent! What a sweet, honest, pious invention it is, notwithstanding. How sensible is our religion! How well it understands human weakness and folly! How far-seeing in its regulations! How indulgent also! for to limit pleasure is to pardon it. 

 "I also love pleasure--the beautiful toilets that make us resemble flowers, the lighted salons, the music, the gay voices and the dance. Yes, I love all these things; I experience their charming confusion; I palpitate, I inhale their intoxication. But always-- always! at Paris in the winter--at the springs in summer--ever this crowd, ever this whirl, this intoxication of pleasure! All become like savages, like negroes, and--dare I say so?--bestial! Alas for Lent!

 "HE foresaw it. HE told us, as the priest told me this morning: 'Remember you have a soul: Remember you have duties!--a husband --a child--a mother--a God!'

 "Then, my mother, we should retire within ourselves; should pass the time in grave thought between the church and our homes; should converse on solemn and serious subjects; and should dwell in the moral world to gain a foothold in heaven! This season is intended as a wholesome interval to prevent our running frivolity into dissipation, and pleasure into convulsion; to prevent our winter's mask from becoming our permanent visage. This is entirely the opinion of Madame Jaubert. 

 "Who is this Madame Jaubert? you will ask. She is a little Parisian angel whom my mother would dearly love! I met her almost everywhere--but chiefly at St. Phillipe de Roule--for several months without being aware that she is our neighbor, that her hotel adjoins ours. Such is Paris!

 "She is a graceful person, with a soft and tender, but decided air. We sat near each other at church; we gave each other side-glances; we pushed our chairs to let each other pass; and in our softest voices would say, 'Excuse me, Madame!' 'Oh, Madame!' My glove would fall, she would pick it up; I would offer her the holy water, and receive a sweet smile, with 'Dear Madame!' Once at a concert at the Tuileries we observed each other at a distance, and smiled recognition; when any part of the music pleased us particularly we glanced smilingly at each other. Judge of my surprise next morning when I saw my affinity enter the little Italian house next ours--and enter it, too, as if it were her home. On inquiry I found she was Madame Jaubert, the wife of a tall, fair young man who is a civil engineer. 

 "I was seized with a desire to call upon my neighbor. I spoke of it to Louis, blushing slightly, for I remembered he did not approve of intimacies between women. But above all, he loves me!

 "Notwithstanding he slightly shrugged his shoulders--'Permit me at least, Miss Mary, to make some inquiries about these people. '

 "A few days afterward he had made them, for he said: 'Miss Mary, you may visit Madame Jaubert; she is a perfectly proper person. '

 "I first flew to my husband's neck, and thence went to call upon Madame Jaubert. 

 "'It is I, Madame!'

 "'Oh, Madame, permit me!'

 "And we embraced each other and were good friends immediately. 

 "Her husband is a civil engineer, as I have said. He was once occupied with great inventions and with great industrial works; but that was only for a short time. Having inherited a large estate, he abandoned his studies and did nothing--at least nothing but mischief. When he married to increase his fortune, his pretty little wife had a sad surprise. He was never seen at home; always at the club--always behind the scenes at the opera--always going to the devil! He gambled, he had mistresses and shameful affairs. But worse than all, he drank--he came to his wife drunk. One incident, which my pen almost refuses to write, will give you an idea. Think of it! He conceived the idea of sleeping in his boots! There, my mother, is the pretty fellow my sweet little friend transformed, little by little, into a decent man, a man of merit, and an excellent husband!

 "And she did it all by gentleness, firmness, and sagacity. Now is not this encouraging?--for, God knows, my task is less difficult. 

 "Their household charms me; for it proves that one may build for one's self, even in the midst of this Paris, a little nest such as one dreams of. These dear neighbors are inhabitants of Paris--not its prey. They have their fireside; they own it, and it belongs to them. Paris is at their door--so much the better. They have ever a relish for refined amusement; 'they drink at the fountain, ' but do not drown themselves in it. Their habits are the same, passing their evenings in conversation, reading, or music; stirring the fire and listening to the wind and rain without, as if they were in a forest. 

 "Life slips gently through their fingers, thread by thread, as in our dear old country evenings. 

 "My mother, they are happy!

 "Here, then, is my dream--here is my plan. 

 "My husband has no vices, as Monsieur Jaubert had. He has only the habits of all the brilliant men of his Paris-world. It is necessary, my own mother, gradually to reform him; to suggest insensibly to him the new idea that one may pass one evening at home in company with a beloved and loving wife, without dying suddenly of consumption. 

 "The rest will follow. 

 "What is this rest? It is the taste for a quiet life, for the serious sweetness of the domestic hearth--the family taste--the idea of seclusion--the recovered soul!

 "Is it not so, my good angel? Then trust me. I am more than ever full of ardor, courage, and confidence. For he loves me with all his heart, with more levity, perhaps, than I deserve; but still--he loves me!

 "He loves me; he spoils me; he heaps presents upon me. There is no pleasure he does not offer me, except, be it understood, the pleasure of passing one evening at home together. 

 "But he loves me! That is the great point--he loves me!

 "Now, dearest mother, let me whisper one final word-a word that makes me laugh and cry at the same time. It seems to me that for some time past I have had two hearts--a large one of my own, and-- another--smaller!

 "Oh, my mother! I see you in tears. But it is a great mystery this. It is a dream of heaven; but perhaps only a dream, which I have not yet told even to my husband--only to my adorable mother! Do not weep, for it is not yet quite certain. 

 "Your naughty Miss MARY. "

In reply to this letter Madame de Camors received one three morningsafter, announcing to her the death of her grandfather. The Comte deTecle had died of apoplexy, of which his state of health had long givenwarning. Madame de Tecle foresaw that the first impulse of her daughterwould be to join her to share her sad bereavement. She advised herstrongly against undertaking the fatigue of the journey, and promised tovisit her in Paris, as soon as she conveniently could. The mourning inthe family heightened in the heart of the Countess the uneasy feelingand vague sadness her last letters had indicated. 

She was much less happy than she told her mother; for the firstenthusiasm and first illusions of marriage could not long deceive aspirit so quick and acute as hers. 

A young girl who marries is easily deceived by the show of an affectionof which she is the object. It is rare that she does not adore herhusband and believe she is adored by him, simply because he has marriedher. 

The young heart opens spontaneously and diffuses its delicate perfume oflove and its songs of tenderness; and enveloped in this heavenly cloudall seems love around it. But, little by little, it frees itself; and, too often, recognizes that this delicious harmony and intoxicatingatmosphere which charmed it came only from itself. 

Thus was it with the Countess; so far as the pen can render the shadowsof a feminine soul. Such were the impressions which, day by day, penetrated the very soul of our poor "Miss Mary. "

It was nothing more than this; but this was everything to her!

The idea of being betrayed by her husband--and that, too, with cruelpremeditation--never had arisen to torture her soul. But, beyond thosedelicate attentions to her which she never exaggerated in her lettersto her mother, she felt herself disdained and slighted. Marriage had notchanged Camors's habits: he dined at home, instead of at his club, thatwas all. She believed herself loved, however, but with a lightness thatwas almost offensive. Yet, though she was sometimes sad and nearly intears, she did not despair; this valiant little heart attached itselfwith intrepid confidence to all the happy chances the future might havein store for it. 

M. De Camors continued very indifferent--as one may readilycomprehend--to the agitation which tormented this young heart, butwhich never occurred to him for a moment. For himself, strange as it mayappear, he was happy enough. This marriage had been a painful step totake; but, once confirmed in his sin, he became reconciled to it. Buthis conscience, seared as it was, had some living fibres in it; and hewould not have failed in the duty he thought he owed to his wife. Thesesentiments were composed of a sort of indifference, blended with pity. He was vaguely sorry for this child, whose existence was absorbed anddestroyed between those of two beings of nature superior to her own; andhe hoped she would always remain ignorant of the fate to which she wascondemned. He resolved never to neglect anything that might extenuateits rigor; but he belonged, nevertheless, more than ever solely to thepassion which was the supreme crime of his life. For his intrigue withMadame de Campvallon, continually excited by mystery and danger--andconducted with profound address by a woman whose cunning was equal toher beauty--continued as strong, after years of enjoyment, as at first. 

The gracious courtesy of M. De Camors, on which he piqued himself, as regarded his wife, had its limits; as the young Countess perceivedwhenever she attempted to abuse it. Thus, on several occasions shedeclined receiving guests on the ground of indisposition, hoping herhusband would not abandon her to her solitude. She was in error. 

The Count gave her in reality, under these circumstances, a tete-a-teteof a few minutes after dinner; but near nine o'clock he would leave herwith perfect tranquillity. Perhaps an hour later she would receive alittle packet of bonbons, or a pretty basket of choice fruit, that wouldpermit her to pass the evening as she might. These little gifts shesometimes divided with her neighbor, Madame Jaubert; sometimes with M. De Vautrot, secretary to her husband. 

This M. De Vautrot, for whom she had at first conceived an aversion, wasgradually getting into her good graces. In the absence of her husbandshe always found him at hand; and referred to him for many littledetails, such as addresses, invitations, the selection of books and thepurchase of furniture. From this came a certain familiarity; she beganto call him Vautrot, or "My good Vautrot, " while he zealously performedall her little commissions. He manifested for her a great deal ofrespectful attention, and even refrained from indulging in the scepticalsneers which he knew displeased her. Happy to witness this reform andto testify her gratitude, she invited him to remain on two or threeevenings when he came to take his leave, and talked with him of booksand the theatres. 

When her mourning kept her at home, M. De Camors passed the two firstevenings with her until ten o'clock. But this effort fatigued him, andthe poor young woman, who had already erected an edifice for the futureon this frail basis, had the mortification of observing that on thethird evening he had resumed his bachelor habits. 

This was a great blow to her, and her sadness became greater than ithad been up to that time; so much so in fact, that solitude was almostunbearable. She had hardly been long enough in Paris to form intimacies. Madame Jaubert came to her friend as often as she could; but in theintervals the Countess adopted the habit of retaining Vautrot, or evenof sending for him. Camors himself, three fourths of the time, wouldbring him in before going out in the evening. 

"I bring you Vautrot, my dear, " he would say, "and Shakespeare. You canread him together. "

Vautrot read well; and though his heavy declamatory style frequentlyannoyed the Countess, she thus managed to kill many a long evening, while waiting the expected visit of Madame de Tecle. But Vautrot, whenever he looked at her, wore such a sympathetic air and seemed somortified when she did not invite him to stay, that, even when weariedof him, she frequently did so. 

About the end of the month of April, M. Vautrot was alone with theCountess de Camors about ten o'clock in the evening. They were readingGoethe's Faust, which she had never before heard. This reading seemed tointerest the young woman more than usual, and with her eyes fixed onthe reader, she listened to it with rapt attention. She was not alonefascinated by the work, but--as is frequently the case-she traced herown thoughts and her own history in the fiction of the poet. 

We all know with what strange clairvoyance a mind possessed with a fixedidea discovers resemblances and allusions in accidental description. Madame de Camors perceived without doubt some remote connection betweenher husband and Faust--between herself and Marguerite; for she could nothelp showing that she was strangely agitated. She could not restrainthe violence of her emotion, when Marguerite in prison cries out, in heragony and madness:

 Marguerite. 

Who has given you, headsman, this power over me? You come to me while itis yet midnight. Be merciful and let me live. 

Is not to-morrow morning soon enough?

I am yet so young--so young! and am to die already! I was fair, too;that was my undoing. My true love was near, now he is far away. 

Torn lies my garland; scattered the flowers. Don't take hold of me soroughly! spare me! spare me. What have I done to you? Let me not imploreyou in vain! I never saw you before in all my life; you know. 

 Faust. 

Can I endure this misery?

 Marguerite. 

I am now entirely in thy power. Only let me give suck to the child. Ipressed it this whole night to my heart. They took it away to vex me, and now say I killed it, and I shall never be happy again. They singsongs upon me! It is wicked of the people. An old tale ends so--who bidsthem apply it?

 Faust. 

A lover lies at thy feet, to unloose the bonds of wickedness. 

What a blending of confused sentiments, of powerful sympathies, of vagueapprehensions, suddenly seized on the breast of the young Countess! Onecan hardly imagine their force--to the very verge of distracting her. She turned on her fauteuil and closed her beautiful eyes, as if to keepback the tears which rolled under the fringe of the long lashes. 

At this moment Vautrot ceased to read, dropped his book, sighedprofoundly, and stared a moment. 

Then he knelt at the feet of the Comtesse de Camors! He took her hand;he said, with a tragic sigh, "Poor angel!"

It will be difficult to understand this incident and the unfortunatelygrave results that followed it, without having the moral and physicalportrait of its principal actor. 

M. Hippolyte Vautrot was a handsome man and knew it perfectly. He evenflattered himself on a certain resemblance to his patron, the Comte deCamors. Partly from nature and partly from continual imitation, thisidea had some foundation; for he resembled the Count as much as a vulgarman can resemble one of the highest polish. 

He was the son of a small confectioner in the provinces; had receivedfrom his father an honestly acquired fortune, and had dissipated it inthe varied enterprises of his adventurous life. The influence of hiscollege, however, obtained for him a place in the Seminary. He leftit to come to Paris and study law; placed himself with an attorney;attempted literature without success; gambled on the Bourse and lostthere. 

He had successively knocked with feverish hand at all the doors ofFortune, and none had opened to him, because, though his ambition wasgreat, his capacity was limited. Subordinate positions, for which alonehe was fit, he did not want. He would have made a good tutor: he sighedto be a poet. He would have been a respectable cure in the country: hepined to be a bishop. Fitted for an excellent secretary, he aspired tobe a minister. In fine, he wished to be a great man, and consequentlywas a failure as a little one. 

But he made himself a hypocrite; and that he found much easier. Hesupported himself on the one hand by the philosophic society to be metat Madame d'Oilly's; on the other, by the orthodox reunions of Madame dela Roche-Jugan. 

By these influences he contrived to secure the secretaryship to theComte de Camors, who, in his general contempt of the human species, judged Vautrot to be as good as any other. Now, familiarity with M. DeCamors was, morally, fearfully prejudicial to the secretary. It had, itis true, the effect of stripping off his devout mask, which he seldomput on before his patron; but it terribly increased in venom thedepravity which disappointment and wounded pride had secreted in hisulcerated heart. 

Of course no one will imagine that M. De Camors had the bad taste toundertake deliberately the demoralization of his secretary; but contact, intimacy, and example sufficed fully to do this. A secretary is alwaysmore or less a confidant. He divines that which is not revealed to him;and Vautrot could not be long in discovering that his patron's successdid not arise, morally, from too much principle--in politics, fromexcess of conviction--in business, from a mania for scruples! Theintellectual superiority of Camors, refined and insolent as it was, aided to blind Vautrot, showing him evil which was not only prosperous, but was also radiant in grace and prestige. For these reasons he mostprofoundly admired his master--admired, imitated, and execrated him!

Camors professed for him and for his solemn airs an utter contempt, which he did not always take the trouble to conceal; and Vautrottrembled when some burning sarcasm fell from such a height on the oldwound of his vanity--that wound which was ever sore within him. What hehated most in Camors was his easy and insolent triumph--his rapid andunmerited fortune--all those enjoyments which life yielded him withoutpain, without toil, without conscience--peacefully tasted! But what hehated above all, was that this man had thus obtained these things whilehe had vainly striven for them. 

Assuredly, in this Vautrot was not an exception. The same examplepresented to a healthier mind would not have been much more salutary, for we must tell those who, like M. De Camors, trample under foot allprinciples of right, and nevertheless imagine that their secretaries, their servants, their wives and their children, may remain virtuous--wemust tell these that while they wrong others they deceive themselves!And this was the case with Hippolyte Vautrot. 

He was about forty years of age--a period of life when men often becomevery vicious, even when they have been passably virtuous up to thattime. He affected an austere and puritanical air; was the great man ofthe cafe he frequented; and there passed judgment on his contemporariesand pronounced them all inferior. He was difficult to please--in pointof virtue demanding heroism; in talent, genius; in art, perfection. 

His political opinions were those of Erostratus, with thisdifference--always in favor of the ancient--that Vautrot, after settingfire to the temple, would have robbed it also. In short, he was a fool, but a vicious fool as well. 

If M. De Camors, at the moment of leaving his luxurious study thatevening, had had the bad taste to turn and apply his eye to the keyhole, he would have seen something greatly to astonish even him. 

He would have seen this "honorable man" approach a beautiful Italiancabinet inlaid with ivory, turn over the papers in the drawers, andfinally open in the most natural manner a very complicated lock, the keyof which the Count at that moment had in his pocket. 

It was after this search that M. Vautrot repaired with his volumeof Faust to the boudoir of the young Countess, at whose feet we havealready left him too long. 

CHAPTER XVII. LIGHTNING FROM A CLEAR SKY

Madame de Camors had closed her eyes to conceal her tears. She openedthem at the instant Vautrot seized her hand and called her "Poor angel!"

Seeing the man on his knees, she could not comprehend it, and onlyexclaimed, simply:

"Are you mad, Vautrot?"

"Yes, I am mad!" Vautrot threw his hair back with a romantic gesturecommon to him, and, as he believed, to the poets-"Yes, I am mad withlove and with pity, for I see your sufferings, pure and noble victim!"

The Countess only stared in blank astonishment. 

"Repose yourself with confidence, " he continued, "on a heart thatwill be devoted to you until death--a heart into which your tears nowpenetrate to its most sacred depths!"

The Countess did not wish her tears to penetrate to such a distance, soshe dried them. 

A man on his knees before a woman he adores must appear to her eithersublime or ridiculous. Unfortunately, the attitude of Vautrot, at oncetheatrical and awkward, did not seem sublime to the Countess. To herlively imagination it was irresistibly ludicrous. A bright gleam ofamusement illumined her charming countenance; she bit her lip to concealit, but it shone out of her eyes nevertheless. 

A man never should kneel unless sure of rising a conqueror. Otherwise, like Vautrot, he exposes himself to be laughed at. 

"Rise, my good Vautrot, " the Countess said, gravely. "This book hasevidently bewildered you. Go and take some rest and we will forget this;only you must never forget yourself again in this manner. "

Vautrot rose. He was livid. 

"Madame la Comtesse, " he said, bitterly, "the love of a great heartnever can be an offence. Mine at least would have been sincere; minewould have been faithful: mine would not have been an infamous snare!"

The emphasis of these words displayed so evident an intention, thecountenance of the young woman changed immediately. She moved uneasilyon her fauteuil. 

"What do you mean, Monsieur Vautrot?"

"Nothing, Madame, which you do not know, I think, " he replied, meaningly. 

She rose. 

"You shall explain your meaning immediately to me, Monsieur!" sheexclaimed; "or later, to my husband. "

"But your sadness, your tears, " cried the secretary, in a tone ofadmirable sincerity--"these made me sure you were not ignorant of it!"

"Of what? You hesitate! Speak, man!"

"I am not a wretch! I love you and pity you!--that is all;" and Vautrotsighed deeply. 

"And why do you pity me?" She spoke haughtily; and though Vautrothad never suspected this imperiousness of manner or of language, hereflected hurriedly on the point at which he had arrived. More sure thanever of success, after a moment he took from his pocket a folded letter. It was one with which he had provided himself to confirm the suspicionsof the Countess, now awakened for the first time. 

In profound silence he unfolded and handed it to her. She hesitated amoment, then seized it. A single glance recognized the writing, for shehad often exchanged notes with the Marquise de Campvallon. 

Words of the most burning passion terminated thus:

"--Always a little jealous of Mary; half vexed at having given herto you. For--she is pretty and--but I! I am beautiful, am I not, mybeloved?--and, above all, I adore you!"

At the first word the Countess became fearfully pale. Finishing, sheuttered a deep groan; then she reread the letter and returned it toVautrot, as if unconscious of what she was doing. 

For a few seconds she remained motionless--petrified--her eyes fixed onvacancy. A world seemed rolling down and crushing her heart. 

Suddenly she turned, passed with rapid steps into her boudoir; andVautrot heard the sound of opening and shutting drawers. A moment aftershe reappeared with bonnet and cloak, and crossed the boudoir with thesame strong and rapid step. 

Vautrot, greatly terrified, rushed to stop her. 

"Madame!" he cried, throwing himself before her. 

She waved him aside with an imperious gesture of her hand; he trembledand obeyed, and she left the boudoir. A moment later she was in theAvenue des Champs Elysees, going toward Paris. 

It was now near midnight; cold, damp April weather, with the rainfalling in great drops. The few pedestrians still on the broad pavementturned to follow with their eyes this majestic young woman, whose gaitseemed hastened by some errand of life or death. 

But in Paris nothing is surprising, for people witness all manner ofthings there. Therefore the strange appearance of Madame de Camors didnot excite any extraordinary attention. A few men smiled and nodded;others threw a few words of raillery at her--both were unheeded alike. She traversed the Place de la Concorde with the same convulsive haste, and passed toward the bridge. Arriving on it, the sound of the swollenSeine rushing under the arches and against the pillars, caught her ear;she stopped, leaned against the parapet, and gazed into the angry water;then bowing her head she uttered a deep sigh, and resumed her rapidwalk. 

In the Rue Vanneau she stopped before a brilliantly lighted mansion, isolated from the adjoining houses by a garden wall. It was the dwellingof the Marquise de Campvallon: Arrived there, the unfortunate child knewnot what to do, nor even why she had come. She had some vague designof assuring herself palpably of her misfortune; to touch it with herfinger; or perhaps to find some reason, some pretext to doubt it. 

She dropped down on a stone bench against the garden wall, and hid herface in both her hands, vainly striving to think. It was past midnight. The streets were deserted: a shower of rain was falling over Paris, andshe was chilled to numbness. 

A sergent-de-ville passed, enveloped in his cape. He turned and staredat the young woman; then took her roughly by the arm. 

"What are you doing here?" he said, brutally. 

She looked up at him with wondering eyes. 

"I do not know myself, " she answered. 

The man looked more closely at her, discovered through all her confusiona nameless refinement and the subtle perfume of purity. He took pity onher. 

"But, Madame, you can not stay here, " he rejoined in a softer voice. 

"No?"

"You must have some great sorrow?"

"Very great. "

"What is your name?"

"The Comtesse de Camors, " she said, simply. 

The man looked bewildered. 

"Will you tell me where you live, Madame?"

She gave the address with perfect simplicity and perfect indifference. She seemed to be thinking nothing of what she was saying. The man took afew steps, then stopped and listened to the sound of wheels approaching. The carriage was empty. He stopped it, opened the door, and requestedthe Countess to get in. She did so quietly, and he placed himself besidethe driver. 

The Comte de Camors had just reached his house and heard with surprise, from the lips of his wife's maid, the details of the Countess'smysterious disappearance, when the bell rang violently. 

He rushed out and met his wife on the stairs. She had somewhat recoveredher calmness on the road, and as he interrogated her with a searchingglance, she made a ghastly effort to smile. 

"I was slightly ill and went out a little, " she said. "I do not know thestreets and lost my way. "

Notwithstanding the improbability of the explanation, he did nothesitate. He murmured a few soft words of reproach and placed her in thehands of her maid, who removed her wet garments. 

During that time he called the sergent-de-ville, who remained in thevestibule, and closely interrogated him. On learning in what street andwhat precise spot he had found the Countess, her husband knew at onceand fully the whole truth. 

He went directly to his wife. She had retired and was trembling in everylimb. One of her hands was resting outside the coverlet. He rushed totake it, but she withdrew it gently, with sad and resolute dignity. 

The simple gesture told him they were separated forever. 

By a tacit agreement, arranged by her and as tacitly accepted by him, Madame de Camors became virtually a widow. 

He remained for some seconds immovable, his expression lost in theshadow of the bed-hangings; then walked slowly across the chamber. Theidea of lying to defend himself never occurred to him. 

His line of conduct was already arranged--calmly, methodically. But twoblue circles had sunk around his eyes, and his face wore a waxen pallor. His hands, joined behind his back, were clenched; and the ring he woresparkled with their tremulous movement. At intervals he seemed to ceasebreathing, as he listened to the chattering teeth of his young wife. 

After half an hour he approached the bed. 

"Marie!" he said in a low voice. She turned upon him her eyes gleamingwith fever. 

"Marie, I am ignorant of what you know, and I shall not ask, " hecontinued. "I have been very criminal toward you, but perhaps less sothan you think. Terrible circumstances bound me with iron bands. Fateruled me! But I seek no palliation. Judge me as severely as you wish;but I beg of you to calm yourself--preserve yourself! You spoke tome this morning of your presentiments--of your maternal hopes. Attachyourself to those thoughts, and you will always be mistress of yourlife. As for myself, I shall be whatever you will--a stranger or afriend. But now I feel that my presence makes you ill. I would leave youfor the present, but not alone. Do you wish Madame Jaubert to come toyou tonight?"

"Yes!" she murmured, faintly. 

"I shall go for her; but it is not necessary to tell you that there areconfidences one must reserve even from one's dearest friends. "

"Except a mother?" She murmured the question with a supplicating agonyvery painful to see. 

He grew still paler. After an instant, "Except a mother!" he said. "Beit so!"

She turned her face and buried it in the pillow. 

"Your mother arrives to-morrow, does she not?" She made an affirmativemotion of her head. "You can make your arrangements with her. I shallaccept everything. "

"Thank you, " she replied, feebly. 

He left the room and went to find Madame Jaubert, whom he awakened, andbriefly told her that his wife had been seized with a severe nervousattack--the effect of a chill. The amiable little woman ran hastily toher friend and spent the night with her. 

But she was not the dupe of the explanation Camors had given her. Womenquickly understand one another in their grief. Nevertheless she askedno confidences and received none; but her tenderness to her friendredoubled. During the silence of that terrible night, the only serviceshe could render her was to make her weep. 

Nor did those laggard hours pass less bitterly for M. De Camors. Hetried to take no rest, but walked up and down his apartment untildaylight in a sort of frenzy. The distress of this poor child woundedhim to the heart. The souvenirs of the past rose before him and passedin sad procession. Then the morrow would show him the crushed daughterwith her mother--and such a mother! Mortally stricken in all herbest illusions, in all her dearest beliefs, in all connected with thehappiness of life!

He found that he still had in his heart lively feelings of pity; stillsome remorse in his conscience. 

This weakness irritated him, and he denounced it to himself. Who hadbetrayed him? This question agitated him to an equal degree; but fromthe first instant he had not been deceived in this matter. 

The sudden grief and half-crazed conviction of his wife, her despairingattitude and her silence, could only be explained by strong assuranceand certain revelation. After turning the matter over and over in hisown mind, he arrived at the conclusion that nothing could have thrownsuch clear light into his life save the letters of Madame de Campvallon. 

He never wrote the Marquise, but could not prevent her writing to him;for to her, as to all women, love without letters was incomplete. 

But the fault of the Count--inexcusable in a man of his tact--was inpreserving these letters. No one, however, is perfect, and he wasan artist. He delighted in these the 'chefs-d'oeuvre' of passionateeloquence, was proud of inspiring them, and could not make up his mindto burn or destroy them. He examined at once the secret drawer where hehad concealed them and, by certain signs, discovered the lock had beentampered with. Nevertheless no letter was missing; the arrangement ofthem alone had been disturbed. 

His suspicions at once reverted to Vautrot, whose scruples he suspectedwere slight; and in the morning they were confirmed beyond doubt by aletter from the secretary. In fact Vautrot, after passing on his parta most wretched night, did not feel his nerves equal in the morning tomeeting the reception the Count possibly had in waiting for him. Hisletter was skilfully penned to put suspicion to sleep if it had not beenfully roused, and if the Countess had not betrayed him. 

It announced his acceptance of a lucrative situation suddenly offeredhim in a commercial house in London. He was obliged to decide at once, and to sail that same morning for fear of losing an opportunity whichcould not occur again. It concluded with expressions of the liveliestgratitude and regret. 

Camors could not reach his secretary to strangle him; so he resolved topay him. He not only sent him all arrears of salary, but a large sum inaddition as a testimonial of his sympathy and good wishes. 

This, however, was a simple precaution; for the Count apprehendednothing more from the venomous reptile so far beneath him, after he hadonce shaken it off. Seeing him deprived of the only weapon he could useagainst him, he felt safe. Besides, he had lost the only interesthe could desire to subserve, for he knew M. Vautrot had done him thecompliment of courting his Wife. 

And he really esteemed him a little less low, after discovering thisgentlemanly taste!

CHAPTER XVIII. ONE GLEAM OF HOPE

It required on the part of M. De Camors, this morning, an exertion ofall his courage to perform his duty as a gentleman in going to receiveMadame de Tecle at the station. But courage had been for some time pasthis sole remaining virtue; and this at least he sought never to lose. Hereceived, then, most gracefully his mother-in-law, robed in her mourningattire. She was surprised at not seeing her daughter with him. Heinformed her that she had been a little indisposed since the precedingevening. Notwithstanding the precautions he took in his language and byhis smile, he could not prevent Madame de Tecle from feeling a livelyalarm. 

He did not pretend, however, entirely to reassure her. Under hisreserved and measured replies, she felt the presentiment of somedisaster. After first pressing him with many questions, she kept silentduring the rest of the drive. 

The young Countess, to spare her mother the first shock, had quitted herbed; and the poor child had even put a little rouge on her palecheeks. M. De Camors himself opened for Madame de Tecle the door of herdaughter's chamber, and then withdrew. 

The young woman raised herself with difficulty from her couch, and hermother took her in her arms. 

All that passed between them at first was a silent interchange of mutualcaresses. Then the mother seated herself near her daughter, drew herhead on her bosom, and looked into the depths of her eyes. 

"What is the matter?" she said, sadly. 

"Oh, nothing--nothing hopeless! only you must love your little Mary morethan ever. Will you not?"

"Yes; but why?"

"I must not worry you; and I must not wrong myself either--you knowwhy!"

"Yes; but I implore you, my darling, to tell me. "

"Very well; I will tell you everything; but, mother, you must be braveas I am. "

She buried her head lower still on her mother's breast, and recountedto her, in a low voice, without looking up once, the terrible revelationwhich had been made to her, and which her husband's avowal hadconfirmed. 

Madame de Tecle did not once interrupt her during this cruel recital. She only imprinted a kiss on her hair from time to time. The youngCountess, who did not dare to raise her eyes to her, as if she wereashamed of another's crime, might have imagined that she had exaggeratedthe gravity of her misfortune, since her mother had received theconfidence with so much calmness. But the calmness of Madame de Tecleat this terrible moment was that of the martyrs; for all that could havebeen suffered by the Christians under the claws of the tiger, or onthe rack of the torturer, this mother was suffering at the hands of herbest-beloved daughter. Her beautiful pale face--her large eyes upturnedto heaven, like those that artists give to the pure victims kneelingin the Roman circus--seemed to ask God whether He really had anyconsolation for such torture. 

When she had heard all, she summoned strength to smile at herdaughter, who at last looked up to her with an expression of timiduncertainty--embracing her more tightly still. 

"Well, my darling, " said she, at last, "it is a great affliction, it istrue. You are right, notwithstanding; there is nothing to despair of. "

"Do you really believe so?"

"Certainly. There is some inconceivable mystery under all this; but beassured that the evil is not so terrible as it appears. "

"My poor mother! but he has acknowledged it?"

"I am better pleased that he has acknowledged it. That proves he has yetsome pride, and that some good is left in his soul. Then, too, he feelsvery much afflicted--he suffers as much as we. Think of that. Let usthink of the future, my darling. "

They clasped each other's hands, and smiled at each other to restrainthe tears which filled the eyes of both. After a few minutes--"I wishmuch, my child, " said Madame de Tecle, "to repose for half an hour; andthen also I wish to arrange my toilet. "

"I will conduct you to your chamber. Oh, I can walk! I feel a great dealbetter. "

Madame de Camors took her mother's arm and conducted her as far as thedoor of the chamber prepared for her. On the threshold she left her. 

"Be sensible, " said Madame de Tecle, turning and giving her anothersmile. 

"And you also, " said the young woman, whose voice failed her. 

Madame de Tecle, as soon as the door was closed, raised her claspedhands toward heaven; then, falling on her knees before the bed, sheburied her head in it, and wept despairingly. 

The library of M. De Camors was contiguous to this chamber. He had beenwalking with long strides up and down this corridor, expecting everymoment to see Madame de Tecle enter. As the time passed, he sat himselfdown and tried to read, but his thoughts wandered. His ear eagerlycaught, against his will, the slightest sounds in the house. If afoot seemed approaching him, he rose suddenly and tried to compose hiscountenance. When the door of the neighboring chamber was opened, hisagony was redoubled. He distinguished the whispering of the two voices;then, an instant after, the dull fall of Madame de Tecle upon thecarpet; then her despairing sobs. M. De Camors threw from him violentlythe book which he was forcing himself to read, and, placing his elbowson the bureau which was before him, held, for a long time, his pale browtightened in his contracted hands. When the sound of sobs abated littleby little, and then ceased, he breathed freer. About midday he receivedthis note:

 "If you will permit me to take my daughter to the country for a few days, I shall be grateful to you. 

 "ELISE DE TECLE. "

He returned immediately this simple reply:

 "You can do nothing of which I do not approve to-day and always. CAMORS. "

Madame de Tecle, in fact, having consulted the inclination and thestrength of her daughter, had determined to remove her without delay, if possible, from the impressions of the spot where she had sufferedso severely from the presence of her husband, and from the unfortunateembarrassment of their situation. She desired also to meditate insolitude, in order to decide what course to take under such unexampledcircumstances. Finally, she had not the courage to see M. De Camorsagain--if she ever could see him again--until some time had elapsed. Itwas not without anxiety that she awaited the reply of the Count to therequest she had addressed him. 

In the midst of the troubled confusion of her ideas, she believed himcapable of almost anything; and she feared everything from him. TheCount's note reassured her. She hastened to read it to her daughter;and both of them, like two poor lost creatures who cling to the smallesttwig, remarked with pleasure the tone of respectful abandonment withwhich he had reposed their destinies in their own hands. He spent hiswhole day at the session of the Corps Legislatif; and when he returned, they had departed. 

Madame de Camors woke up the next morning in the chamber where hergirlhood had passed. The birds of spring were singing under her windowsin the old ancestral gardens. As she recognized these friendly voices, so familiar to her infancy, her heart melted; but several hours' sleephad restored to her her natural courage. She banished the thoughts whichhad weakened her, rose, and went to surprise her mother at her firstwaking. Soon after, both of them were walking together on the terraceof lime-trees. It was near the end of April; the young, scented verdurespread itself out beneath the sunbeams; buzzing flies already swarmedin the half-opened roses, in the blue pyramids of lilacs, and in theclusters of pink clover. After a few turns made in silence in the midstof this fresh and enchanting scene, the young Countess, seeing hermother absorbed in reverie, took her hand. 

"Mother, " she said, "do not be sad. Here we are as formerly--both of usin our little nook. We shall be happy. "

The mother looked at her, took her head and kissed her fervently on theforehead. 

"You are an angel!" she said. 

It must be confessed that their uncle, Des Rameures, notwithstandingthe tender affection he showed them, was rather in the way. He never hadliked Camors; he had accepted him as a nephew as he had accepted him fora deputy--with more of resignation than enthusiasm. His antipathy wasonly too well justified by the event; but it was necessary to keep himin ignorance of it. He was an excellent man; but rough and blunt. Theconduct of Camors, if he had but suspected it, would surely have urgedhim to some irreparable quarrel. Therefore Madame de Tecle and herdaughter, in his presence, were compelled to make only half utterances, and maintain great reserve--as much as if he had been a stranger. Thispainful restraint would have become insupportable had not the youngCountess's health, day by day, assumed a less doubtful character, andfurnished them with excuses for their preoccupation, their disquiet, andtheir retired life. 

Madame de Tecle, who reproached herself with the misfortunes of herdaughter, as her own work, and who condemned herself with an unspeakablebitterness, did not cease to search, in the midst of those ruins of thepast and of the present, some reparation, some refuge for the future. The first idea which presented itself to her imagination had been toseparate absolutely, and at any cost, the Countess from her husband. Under the first shock of fright which the duplicity of Camors hadinflicted upon her, she could not dwell without horror on the thoughtof replacing her child at the side of such a man. But thisseparation-supposing they could obtain it, through the consent of M. DeCamors, or the authority of the law--would give to the public a secretscandal, and might entail redoubled catastrophes. Were it not for theseconsequences she would, at least, have dug between Madame de Camors andher husband an eternal abyss. Madame de Tecle did not desire this. Byforce of reflection she had finally seen through the character of M. DeCamors in one day--not probably more favorably, but more truly. Madamede Tecle, although a stranger to all wickedness, knew the world and knewlife, and her penetrating intelligence divined yet more than she knewcertainly. She then very nearly understood what species of moral monsterM. De Camors was. Such as she understood him, she hoped something fromhim still. However, the condition of the Countess offered her someconsolation in the future, which she ought not to risk depriving herselfof; and God might permit that this pledge of this unfortunate unionmight some day reunite the severed ties. 

Madame de Tecle, in communicating her reflections, her hopes, and herfears to her daughter, added: "My poor child, I have almost lost theright to give you counsel; but I tell you, were it myself I should actthus. "

"Very well, mother, I shall do so, " replied the young woman. 

"Reflect well on it first, for the situation which you are about toaccept will have much bitterness in it; but we have only a choice ofevils. "

At the close of this conversation, and eight days after their arrival inthe country, Madame de Tecle wrote M. De Camors a letter, which she readto her daughter, who approved it. 

 "I understood you to say, that you would restore to your wife her liberty if she wished to resume it. She neither wishes, nor could she accept it. Her first duty is to the child which will bear your name. It does not depend on her to keep this name stainless. She prays you, then, to reserve for her a place in your house. You need not fear any trouble or any reproach from her. She and I know how to suffer in silence. Nevertheless, I supplicate you to be true to her--to spare her. Will you leave her yet a few days in peace, then recall, or come for her?"

This letter touched M. De Camors deeply. Impassive as he was, it caneasily be imagined that after the departure of his wife he had notenjoyed perfect ease of mind. Uncertainty is the worst of all evils, because everything may be apprehended. Deprived entirely of all news foreight days, there was no possible catastrophe he did not fancy floatingover his head. He had the haughty courage to conceal from Madame deCampvallon the event that had occurred in his house, and to leave herundisturbed while he himself was sleepless for many nights. It was bysuch efforts of energy and of indomitable pride that this strange manpreserved within his own consciousness a proud self-esteem. The letterof Madame de Tecle came to him like a deliverance. He sent the followingbrief reply:

 "I accept your decision with gratitude and respect. The resolution of your daughter is generous. I have yet enough of generosity left myself to comprehend this. I am forever, whether you wish it or not, her friend and yours. 

 "CAMORS. "

A week later, having taken the precaution of announcing his intention, he arrived one evening at Madame de Tecle's. 

His young wife kept her chamber. They had taken care to have nowitnesses, but their meeting was less painful and less embarrassing thanthey apprehended. 

Madame de Tecle and her daughter found in his courteous reply a gleamof nobleness which inspired them with a shadow of confidence. Above all, they were proud, and more averse to noisy scenes than women usually are. They received him coldly, then, but calmly. On his part, he displayedtoward them in his looks and language a subdued seriousness and sadness, which did not lack either dignity or grace. 

The conversation having dwelt for some time on the health of theCountess, turned on current news, on local incidents, and took, littleby little, an easy and ordinary tone. M. De Camors, under the pretext ofslight fatigue, retired as he had entered--saluting both the ladies, butwithout attempting to take their hands. Thus was inaugurated, betweenMadame de Camors and her husband, the new, singular relation whichshould hereafter be the only tie in their common life. 

The world might easily be silenced, because M. De Camors never had beenvery demonstrative in public toward his wife, and his courteous butreserved manner toward her did not vary from his habitual demeanor. Heremained two days at Reuilly. 

Madame de Tecle vainly waited for these two days for a slightexplanation, which she did not wish to demand, but which she hoped for. 

What were the terrible circumstances which had overruled the will of M. De Camors, to the point of making him forget the most sacred sentiments?When her thoughts plunged into this dread mystery, they never approachedthe truth. M. De Camors might have committed this base action under themenace of some great danger to save the fortune, the honor, probably thelife of Madame de Campvallon. This, though a poor excuse in the mother'seyes, still was an extenuation. Probably also he had in his heart, whilemarrying her daughter, the resolution to break off this fatal liaison, which he had again resumed against his will, as often happens. On allthese painful points she dwelt after the departure of M. De Camors, asshe had previous to his arrival; confined to her own conjectures, whenshe suggested to her daughter the most consolatory appearances. It wasagreed upon that Madame de Camors should remain in the country until herhealth was reestablished: only her husband expressed the desire that sheshould reside ordinarily on his estate at Reuilly, the chateau on whichhad recently been restored with the greatest taste. 

Madame de Tecle felt the propriety of this arrangement. She herselfabandoned the old habitation of the Comte de Tecle, to install herselfnear her daughter in the modest chateau which belonged to the maternalancestors of M. De Camors, and which we have already described inanother place, with its solemn avenue, its balustrades of granite, itslabyrinths of hornbeams and the black fishpond, shaded with poplars. 

Both dwelt there in the midst of their sweetest and most pleasantsouvenirs; for this little chateau, so long deserted--the neglectedwoods which surrounded it the melancholy piece of water--the solitarynymph all this had been their particular domain, the favorite frameworkof their reveries, the legend of their infancy, the poetry of theiryouth. It was doubtless a great grief to revisit again, with tearfuleyes and wounded hearts and heads bowed by the storms of life, the familiar paths where they once knew happiness and peace. But, nevertheless, all these dear confidants of past joys, of blastedhopes, of vanished dreams--if they are mournful witnesses they are alsofriends. We love them; and they seem to love us. Thus these two poorwomen, straying amid these woods, these waters, these solitudes, bearingwith them their incurable wounds, fancied they heard voices which pitiedthem and breathed a healing sympathy. The most cruel trial reserved toMadame de Camors in the life which she had the courage and judgmentto adopt, was assuredly the duty of again seeing the Marquise deCampvallon, and preserving with her such relations as might blind theeyes of the General and of the world. 

She resigned herself even to this; but she desired to defer as longas possible the pain of such a meeting. Her health supplied her witha natural excuse for not going, during that summer, to Campvallon, andalso for keeping herself confined to her own room the day the Marquisevisited Reuilly, accompanied by the General. 

Madame de Tecle received her with her usual kindness. Madame deCampvallon, whom M. De Camors had already warned, did not troubleherself much; for the best women, like the worst, excel in comedy, andeverything passed off without the General having conceived the shadow ofa suspicion. 

The fine season had passed. M. De Camors had visited the country severaltimes, strengthening at every interview the new tone of his relationswith his wife. He remained at Reuilly, as was his custom, during themonth of August; and under the pretext of the health of the Countess, did not multiply his visits that year to Campvallon. On his return toParis, he resumed his old habits, and also his careless egotism, for herecovered little by little from the blow he had received. He began toforget his sufferings and those of his wife; and even to felicitatehimself secretly on the turn that chance had given to her situation. Hehad obtained the advantage and had no longer any annoyance. His wife hadbeen enlightened, and he no longer deceived her--which was a comfortablething for him. As for her, she would soon be a mother, she would have aplaything, a consolation; and he designed redoubling his attentions andregards to her. 

She would be happy, or nearly so; as much so as two thirds of the womenin the world. 

Everything was for the best. He gave anew the reins to his car andlaunched himself afresh on his brilliant career-proud of his royalmistress, and foreseeing in the distance, to crown his life, thetriumphs of ambition and power. Pleading various doubtful engagements, he went to Reuilly only once during the autumn; but he wrote frequently, and Madame de Tecle sent him in return brief accounts of his wife'shealth. 

One morning toward the close of November, he received a despatchwhich made him understand, in telegraphic style, that his presence wasimmediately required at Reuilly, if he wished to be present at the birthof his son. 

Whenever social duties or courtesy were required of M. De Camors, henever hesitated. Seeing he had not a moment to spare if he wished tocatch the train which left that morning, he jumped into a cab and droveto the station. His servant would join him the next morning. 

The station at Reuilly was several miles distant from the house. In theconfusion no arrangement had been made to receive him on his arrival, and he was obliged to content himself with making the intermediatejourney in a heavy country-wagon. The bad condition of the roads was anew obstacle, and it was three o'clock in the morning when the Count, impatient and travel-worn, jumped out of the little cart before therailings of his avenue. He strode toward the house under the dark andsilent dome of the tufted elms. He was in the middle of the avenue whena sharp cry rent the air. His heart bounded in his breast: he suddenlystopped and listened attentively. The cry echoed through the stillnessof the night. One would have deemed it the despairing shriek of a humanbeing under the knife of a murderer. 

These dolorous sounds gradually ceasing, he continued his walk withgreater haste, and only heard the hollow and muffled sound of his ownbeating heart. At the moment he saw the lights of the chateau, anotheragonized cry, more shrill and alarming than the first, arose. 

This time Camors stopped. Notwithstanding that the natural explanationof these agonized cries presented itself to his mind, he was troubled. 

It is not unusual that men like him, accustomed to a purely artificiallife, feel a strange surprise when one of the simplest laws of naturepresents itself all at once before them with a violence as imperiousand irresistible as a divine law. Camors soon reached the house, andreceiving some information from the servants, notified Madame deTecle of his arrival. Madame de Tecle immediately descended from herdaughter's room. On seeing her convulsed features and streaming eyes, "Are you alarmed?" Camors asked, quickly. 

"Alarmed? No, " she replied; "but she suffers much, and it is very long. "

"Can I see her?"

There was a moment's silence. 

Madame de Tecle, whose forehead was contracted, lowered her eyes, thenraised them. "If you insist on it, " she said. 

"I insist on nothing! If you believe my presence would do her harm--"The voice of Camors was not as steady as usual. 

"I am afraid, " replied Madame de Tecle, "that it would agitate hergreatly; and if you will have confidence in me, I shall be much obligedto you. "

"But at least, " said Camors, "she might probably be glad to know that Ihave come, and that I am here--that I have not abandoned her. "

"I shall tell her. "

"It is well. " He saluted Madame de Tecle with a slight movement of hishead, and turned away immediately. 

He entered the garden at the back of the house, and walked abstractedlyfrom alley to alley. We know that generally the role of men in thesituation in which M. De Camors at this moment was placed is not veryeasy or very glorious; but the common annoyance of this position wasparticularly aggravated to him by painful reflections. Not only was hisassistance not needed, but it was repelled; not only was he far from asupport on the contrary, he was but an additional danger and sorrow. In this thought was a bitterness which he keenly felt. His nativegenerosity, his humanity, shuddered as he heard the terrible cries andaccents of distress which succeeded each other without intermission. He passed some heavy hours in the damp garden this cold night, and thechilly morning which succeeded it. Madame de Tecle came frequently togive him the news. Near eight o'clock he saw her approach him with agrave and tranquil air. 

"Monsieur, " she said, "it is a boy. "

"I thank you. How is she?"

"Well. I shall request you to go and see her shortly. "

Half an hour later she reappeared on the threshold of the vestibule, andcalled:

"Monsieur de Camors!" and when he approached her, she added, with anemotion which made her lips tremble:

"She has been uneasy for some time past. She is afraid that you havekept terms with her in order to take the child. If ever you have such athought--not now, Monsieur. Have you?"

"You are severe, Madame, " he replied in a hoarse voice. 

She breathed a sigh. 

"Come!" she said, and led the way upstairs. She opened the door of thechamber and permitted him to enter it alone. 

His first glance caught the eyes of his young wife fixed upon him. Shewas half sitting up in bed, supported by pillows, and whiter than thecurtains whose shadow enveloped her. She held clasped to her breast hersleeping infant, which was already covered, like its mother, with laceand pink ribbons. From the depths of this nest she fixed on her husbandher large eyes, sparkling with a kind of savage light--an expression inwhich the sentiment of triumph was blended with one of profound terror. He stopped within a few feet of the bed, and saluted her with his mostwinning smile. 

"I have pitied you very much, Marie, " he said. 

"I thank you!" she replied, in a voice as feeble as a sigh. 

She continued to regard him with the same suppliant and affrighted air. 

"Are you a little happier now?" he continued. 

The glittering eye of the young woman was fastened on the calm face ofher infant. Then turning toward Camors:

"You will not take him from me?"

"Never!" he replied. 

As he pronounced these words his eyes were suddenly dimmed, and hewas astonished himself to feel a tear trickling down his cheek. Heexperienced a singular feeling, he bent over, seized the folds of thesheet, raised them to his lips, rose immediately and left the room. 

In this terrible struggle, too often victorious against nature andtruth, the man was for once vanquished. But it would be idle toimagine that a character of this temperament and of this obduracy couldtransform itself, or could be materially modified under the stroke ofa few transitory emotions, or of a few nervous shocks. M. De Camorsrallied quickly from his weakness, if even he did not repent it. Hespent eight days at Reuilly, remarking in the countenance of Madame deTecle and in her manner toward him, more ease than formerly. 

On his return to Paris, with thoughtful care he made some changes inthe interior arrangement of his mansion. This was to prepare for theCountess and her son, who were to join him a few weeks later, larger andmore comfortable apartments, in which they were to be installed. 

CHAPTER XIX. THE REPTILE TURNS TO STING

When Madame de Camors came to Paris and entered the home of her husband, she there experienced the painful impressions of the past, and thesombre preoccupations of the future; but she brought with her, althoughin a fragile form, a powerful consolation. 

Assailed by grief, and ever menaced by new emotion she was obliged torenounce the nursing of her child; but, nevertheless, she never lefthim, for she was jealous even of his nurse. She at least wished to beloved by him. She loved him with an infinite passion. She loved himbecause he was her own son and of her blood. He was the price of hermisfortune--of her pain. She loved him because he was her only hopeof human happiness hereafter. She loved him because she found him asbeautiful as the day. And it was true he was so; for he resembled hisfather--and she loved him also on that account. She tried to concentrateher heart and all her thoughts on this dear creature, and at first shethought she had succeeded. She was surprised at herself, at herown tranquillity, when she saw Madame de Campvallon; for her livelyimagination had exhausted, in advance, all the sadness which her newexistence could contain; but when she had lost the kind of torpor intowhich excessive suffering had plunged her--when her maternal sensationswere a little quieted by custom, her woman's heart recovered itself inthe mother's. She could not prevent herself from renewing her passionateinterest in her graceful though terrible husband. 

Madame de Tecle went to pass two months with her daughter in Paris, andthen returned to the country. 

Madame de Camors wrote to her, in the beginning of the following spring, a letter which gave her an exact idea of the sentiments of the youngwoman at the time, and of the turn her domestic life had taken. After along and touching detail of the health and beauty of her son Robert, sheadded:

 "His father is always to me what you have seen him. He spares me everything he can spare me, but evidently the fatality he has obeyed continues under the same form. Notwithstanding, I do not despair of the future, my beloved mother. Since I saw that tear in his eye, confidence has entered my poor heart. Be assured, my adored mother, that he will love me one day, if it is only through our child, whom he begins quietly to love without himself perceiving it. At first, as you remember, this infant was no more to him than I was. When he surprised him on my knee, he would give him a cold kiss, say, 'Good-morning, Monsieur, ' and withdraw. It is just one month--I have forgotten the date--it was, 'Good-morning, my son--how pretty you are!' You see the progress; and do you know, finally, what passed yesterday? I entered Robert's room noiselessly; the door was open-- what did I behold, my mother! Monsieur de Camors, with his head resting on the pillow of the cradle, and laughing at this little creature, who smiled back at him! I assure you, he blushed and excused himself: 'The door was open, ' he said, 'and I came in. ' I assured him that he had done nothing wrong. 

 "Monsieur de Camors is very odd sometimes. He occasionally passes the limits which were agreed upon as necessary. He is not only polite, but takes great trouble. Alas! once these courtesies would have fallen upon my heart like roses from heaven--now they annoy me a little. Last evening, for example, I sat down, as is my custom, at my piano after dinner, he reading a journal at the chimney- corner--his usual hour for going out passed. Behold me, much surprised. I threw a furtive glance, between two bars of music, at him: he was not reading, he was not sleeping--he was dreaming. 'Is there anything new in the Journal?'--'No, no; nothing at all. ' Another two or three bars of music, and I entered my son's room. He was in bed and asleep. I devoured him with kisses and returned-- Monsieur de Camors was still there. And now, surprise after surprise: 'Have you heard from your mother? What does she say? Have you seen Madame Jaubert? Have you read this review?' Just like one who sought to open a conversation. Once I would willingly have paid with my blood for one of these evenings, and now he offers them to me, when I know not what to do with them. Notwithstanding I remember the advice of my mother, I do not wish to discourage these symptoms. I adopt a festive manner. I light four extra waxlights. I try to be amiable without being coquettish; for coquetry here would be shameful--would it not, my dear mother? Finally, we chatted together; he sang two airs to the piano; I played two others; he painted the design of a little Russian costume for Robert to wear next year; then talked politics to me. This enchanted me. He explained to me his situation in the Chamber. Midnight arrived; I became remarkably silent; he rose: 'May I press your hand in friendship?'--' Mon Dieu! yes. '--'Good-night, Marie. '--' Goodnight. ' Yes, my mother, I read your thoughts. There is danger here! but you have shown it to me; and I believe also, I should have perceived it by myself. Do not fear, then. I shall be happy at his good inclinations, and shall encourage them to the best of my power; but I shall not be in haste to perceive a return, on his part, toward virtue and myself. I see here in society arrangements which revolt me. In the midst of my misfortune I remain pure and proud; but I should fall into the deepest contempt of myself if I should ever permit myself to be a plaything for Monsieur de Camors. A man so fallen does not raise himself in a day. If ever he really returns to me, it will be necessary for me to have much proof. I never have ceased to love him, and probably he doubts it: but he will learn that if this sad love can break my heart it can never abase it; and it is unnecessary to tell my mother that I shall live and die courageously in my widow's robe. 

 "There are other symptoms which also strike me. He is more attentive to me when she is present. This may probably be arranged between them, but I doubt it. The other evening we were at the General's. She was waltzing, and Monsieur de Camors, as a rare favor, came and seated himself at your daughter's side. In passing before us she threw him a look--a flash. I felt the flame. Her blue eyes glared ferociously. He perceived it. I have not assuredly much tenderness for her. She is my most cruel enemy; but if ever she suffers what she has made me suffer-yes, I believe I shall pity her. My mother, I embrace you. I embrace our dear lime- trees. I taste their young leaves as in olden times. Scold me as in old times, and love, above all things, as in old times, your

 "MARIE. "

This wise young woman, matured by misfortune, observed everything saweverything--and exaggerated nothing. She touched, in this letter, on themost delicate points in the household of M. De Camors--and even ofhis secret thoughts--with accurate justice. For Camors was not at allconverted, nor near being so; but it would be belying human nature toattribute to his heart, or that of any other human being, a supernaturalimpassibility. If the dark and implacable theories which M. De Camorshad made the law of his existence could triumph absolutely, this wouldbe true. The trials he had passed through did not reform him, they onlystaggered him. He did not pursue his paths with the same firmness; hestrayed from his programme. He pitied one of his victims, and, as onewrong always entails another, after pitying his wife, he came nearloving his child. These two weaknesses had glided into his petrifiedsoul as into a marble fount, and there took root-two imperceptibleroots, however. The child occupied him not more than a few moments everyday. He thought of him, however, and would return home a little earlierthan usual each day than was his habit, secretly attracted by thesmile of that fresh face. The mother was for him something more. Hersufferings, her youthful heroism had touched him. She became somebodyin his eyes. He discovered many merits in her. He perceived she wasremarkably well-informed for a woman, and prodigiously so for a Frenchwoman. She understood half a word--knew a great deal--and guessed at theremainder. She had, in short, that blending of grace and solidity whichgives to the conversation of a woman of cultivated mind an incomparablecharm. Habituated from infancy to her mental superiority as to herpretty face, she carried the one as unconsciously as the other. Shedevoted herself to the care of his household as if she had no ideabeyond it. There were domestic details which she would not confide toservants. She followed them into her salons, into her boudoirs, ablue feather-brush in hand, lightly dusting the 'etageres', the'jardinieres', the 'consoles'. She arranged one piece of furniture andremoved another, put flowers in a vase-gliding about and singing like abird in a cage. 

Her husband sometimes amused himself in following her with his eye inthese household occupations. She reminded him of the princesses onesees in the ballet of the opera, reduced by some change of fortune to atemporary servitude, who dance while putting the house in order. 

"How you love order, Marie!" said he to her one day. 

"Order, " she said, gravely, "is the moral beauty of things. "

She emphasized the word things--and, fearing she might be consideredpretentious, she blushed. 

She was a lovable creature, and it can be understood that she might havemany attractions, even for her husband. Yet though he had not for oneinstant the idea of sacrificing to her the passion that ruled his life, it is certain, however, that his wife pleased him as a charming friend, which she was, and probably as a charming forbidden fruit, which shealso was. Two or three years passed without making any sensible changein the relations of the different persons in this history. This wasthe most brilliant phase and probably the happiest in the life of M. DeCamors. 

His marriage had doubled his fortune, and his clever speculationsaugmented it every day. He had increased the retinue of his house inproportion to his new resources. In the region of elegant high lifehe decidedly held the sceptre. His horses, his equipages, his artistictastes, even his toilet, set the law. 

His liaison with Madame de Campvallon, without being proclaimed, wassuspected, and completed his prestige. At the same time his capacity asa political man began to be acknowledged. He had spoken in some recentdebate, and his maiden speech was a triumph. His prosperity was great. It was nevertheless true that M. De Camors did not enjoy it withouttrouble. Two black spots darkened the sky above his head, and mightcontain destroying thunder. His life was eternally suspended on athread. 

Any day General Campvallon might be informed of the intrigue whichdishonored him, either through some selfish treason, or through somepublic rumor, which might begin to spread. Should this ever happen, heknew the General never would submit to it; and he had determined neverto defend his life against his outraged friend. 

This resolve, firmly decided upon in his secret soul, gave him the lastsolace to his conscience. All his future destiny was thus at themercy of an accident most likely to happen. The second cause of hisdisquietude was the jealous hatred of Madame Campvallon toward the youngrival she had herself selected. After jesting freely on this subject atfirst, the Marquise had, little by little, ceased even to allude to it. 

M. De Camors could not misunderstand certain mute symptoms, and wassometimes alarmed at this silent jealousy. Fearing to exasperate thismost violent feminine sentiment in so strong a soul, he was compelledday by day to resort to tricks which wounded his pride, and probablyhis heart also; for his wife, to whom his new conduct was inexplicable, suffered intensely, and he saw it. 

One evening in the month of May, 1860, there was a reception at theHotel Campvallon. The Marquise, before leaving for the country, wasmaking her adieus to a choice group of her friends. Although this feteprofessed to be but an informal gathering, she had organized it with herusual elegance and taste. A kind of gallery, composed of verdure and offlowers, connected the salon with the conservatory at the other end ofthe garden. 

This evening proved a very painful one to the Comtesse de Camors. Herhusband's neglect of her was so marked, his assiduities to the Marquiseso persistent, their mutual understanding so apparent, that the youngwife felt the pain of her desertion to an almost insupportable degree. She took refuge in the conservatory, and finding herself alone there, she wept. 

A few moments later, M. De Camors, not seeing her in the salon, becameuneasy. She saw him, as he entered the conservatory, in one of thoseinstantaneous glances by which women contrive to see without looking. She pretended to be examining the flowers, and by a strong effort ofwill dried her tears. Her husband advanced slowly toward her. 

"What a magnificent camellia!" he said to her. "Do you know thisvariety?"

"Very well, " she replied; "this is the camellia that weeps. "

He broke off the flowers. 

"Marie, " he said, "I never have been much addicted to sentimentality, but this flower I shall keep. "

She turned upon him her astonished eyes. 

"Because I love it, " he added. 

The noise of a step made them both turn. It was Madame de Campvallon, who was crossing the conservatory on the arm of a foreign diplomat. 

"Pardon me, " she said, smiling; "I have disturbed you! How awkward ofme!" and she passed out. 

Madame de Camors suddenly grew very red, and her husband very pale. Thediplomat alone did not change color, for he comprehended nothing. Theyoung Countess, under pretext of a headache, which her face did notbelie, returned home immediately, promising her husband to send back thecarriage for him. Shortly after, the Marquise de Campvallon, obeyinga secret sign from M. De Camors, rejoined him in the retired boudoir, which recalled to them both the most culpable incident of their lives. She sat down beside him on the divan with a haughty nonchalance. 

"What is it?" she said. 

"Why do you watch me?" asked Camors. "It is unworthy of you!"

"Ah! an explanation? a disagreeable thing. It is the first betweenus--at least let us be quick and complete. "

She spoke in a voice of restrained passion--her eyes fixed on her foot, which she twisted in her satin shoe. 

"Well, tell the truth, " she said. "You are in love with your wife. "

He shrugged his shoulders. "Unworthy of you, I repeat. "

"What, then, mean these delicate attentions to her?"

"You ordered me to marry her, but not to kill her, I suppose?"

She made a strange movement of her eyebrows, which he did not see, forneither of them looked at the other. After a pause she said:

"She has her son! She has her mother! I have no one but you. Hear me, myfriend; do not make me jealous, for when I am so, ideas torment me whichterrify even myself. Wait an instant. Since we are on this subject, ifyou love her, tell me so. You know me--you know I am not fond of pettyartifices. Well, I fear so much the sufferings and humiliations of whichI have a presentiment, I am so much afraid of myself, that I offer you, and give you, your liberty. I prefer this horrible grief, for it is atleast open and noble! It is no snare that I set for you, believe me!Look at me. I seldom weep. " The dark blue of her eyes was bathed intears. "Yes, I am sincere; and I beg of you, if it is so, profit by thismoment, for if you let it escape, you never will find it again. "

M. De Camors was little prepared for this decided proposal. The idea ofbreaking off his liaison with the Marquise never had entered his mind. This liaison seemed to him very reconcilable with the sentiments withwhich his wife could inspire him. 

It was at the same time the greatest wickedness and the perpetualdanger of his life, but it was also the excitement, the pride, and themagnificent voluptuousness of it. He shuddered. The idea of losingthe love which had cost him so dear exasperated him. He cast a burningglance on this beautiful face, refined and exalted as that of a warringarchangel. 

"My life is yours, " he said. "How could you have dreamed of breakingties like ours? How could you have alarmed yourself, or even thoughtof my feelings toward another? I do what honor and humanity commandme--nothing more. As for you--I love you--understand that. "

"Is it true?" she asked. "It is true! I believe you!"

She took his hand, and gazed at him a moment without speaking--hereye dimmed, her bosom palpitating; then suddenly rising, she said, "Myfriend, you know I have guests!" and saluting him with a smile, left theboudoir. 

This scene, however, left a disagreeable impression on the mind ofCamors. He thought of it impatiently the next morning, while trying ahorse on the Champs Elysees--when he suddenly found himself face to facewith his former secretary, Vautrot. He had never seen this person sincethe day he had thought proper to give himself his own dismissal. 

The Champs Elysees was deserted at this hour. Vautrot could not avoid, as he had probably done more than once, encountering Camors. 

Seeing himself recognized he saluted him and stopped, with an uneasysmile on his lips. His worn black coat and doubtful linen showed apoverty unacknowledged but profound. M. De Camors did not notice thesedetails, or his natural generosity would have awakened, and curbed thesudden indignation that took possession of him. 

He reined in his horse sharply. 

"Ah, is it you, Monsieur Vautrot?" he said. "You have left England then!What are you doing now?"

"I am looking for a situation, Monsieur de Camors, " said Vautrot, humbly, who knew his old patron too well not to read clearly in the curlof his moustache the warning of a storm. 

"And why, " said Camors, "do you not return to your trade of locksmith?You were so skilful at it! The most complicated locks had no secrets foryou. "

"I do not understand your meaning, " murmured Vautrot. 

"Droll fellow!" and throwing out these words with an accent of witheringscorn, M. De Camors struck Vautrot's shoulder lightly with the end ofhis riding-whip, and tranquilly passed on at a walk. 

Vautrot was truly in search of a place, had he consented to accept onefitted to his talents; but he was, as will be remembered, one of thosewhose vanity was greater than his merit, and one who loved an officebetter than work. 

CHAPTER XX. THE SECOND ACT OF THE TRAGEDY

Vautrot had at this time fallen into the depth of want and distress, which, if aggravated, would prompt him to evil and even to crime. Thereare many examples of the extremes to which this kind of intelligence, at once ambitious, grasping, yet impotent, can transport its possessor. Vautrot, in awaiting better times, had relapsed into his old role ofhypocrite, in which he had formerly succeeded so well. Only the eveningbefore he had returned to the house of Madame de la Roche-Jugan, andmade honorable amends for his philosophical heresies; for he was likethe Saxons in the time of Charlemagne, who asked to be baptized everytime they wanted new tunics. Madame de la Roche-Jugan had given a kindreception to this sad prodigal son, but she chilled perceptibly onseeing him more discreet than she desired on certain subjects, themystery of which she had set her heart upon unravelling. 

She was now more preoccupied than ever about the relations which shesuspected to exist between M. De Camors and Madame de Campvallon. Theserelations could not but prove fatal to the hopes she had so long foundedon the widowhood of the Marquise and the heritage of the General. Themarriage of M. De Camors had for the moment deceived her, but she wasone of those pious persons who always think evil, and whose suspicionsare soon reawakened. She tried to obtain from Vautrot, who had so longbeen intimate with her nephew, some explanation of the mystery; but asVautrot was too prudent to enlighten her, she turned him out of doors. 

After his encounter with M. De Camors, he immediately turned his stepstoward the Rue St. Dominique, and an hour later Madame de la Roche-Juganhad the pleasure of knowing all that he knew of the liaison between theCount and the Marquise. But we remember that he knew everything. Theserevelations, though not unexpected, terrified Madame de la Roche-Jugan, who saw her maternal projects destroyed forever. To her bitter feelingat this deception was immediately joined, in this base soul, a suddenthirst for revenge. It was true she had been badly recompensed for heranonymous letter, by which she had previously attempted to open theeyes of the unfortunate General; for from that moment the General, theMarquise, and M. De Camors himself, without an open rupture, let herfeel their marks of contempt, which embittered her heart. She neverwould again expose herself to a similar slight of this kind; but shemust assuredly, in the cause of good morals, at once confront the blindwith the culpable, and this time with such proofs as would make theblow irresistible. By the mere thought, Madame de la Roche-Jugan hadpersuaded herself that the new turn events were taking might becomefavorable to the expectations which had become the fixed idea of herlife. 

Madame de Campvallon destroyed, M. De Camors set aside, the Generalwould be alone in the world; and it was natural to suppose he would turnto his young relative Sigismund, if only to recognize the far-sightedaffection and wounded heart of Madame de la Roche-Jugan. 

The General, in fact, had by his marriage contract settled all hisproperty on his wife; but Madame de la Roche-Jugan, who had consulteda lawyer on this question, knew that he had the power of alienating hisfortune during life, and of stripping his unworthy wife and transferringit to Sigismund. 

Madame de la Roche-Jugan did not shrink from the probability--which wasmost likely--of an encounter between the General and Camors. Every oneknows the disdainful intrepidity of women in the matter of duels. Shehad no scruple, therefore, in engaging Vautrot in the meritorious workshe meditated. She secured him by some immediate advantages and bypromises; she made him believe the General would recompense him largely. Vautrot, smarting still from the cut of Camors's whip on his shoulder, and ready to kill him with his own hand had he dared, hardly requiredthe additional stimulus of gain to aid his protectress in her vengeanceby acting as her instrument. 

He resolved, however, since he had the opportunity, to put himself, oncefor all, beyond misery and want, by cleverly speculating, through thesecret he held, on the great fortune of the General. This secret hehad already given to Madame de Camors under the inspiration of anothersentiment, but he had then in his hands the proofs, which he now waswithout. 

It was necessary, then, for him to arm himself with new and infallibleproofs; but if the intrigue he was required to unmask still existed, he did not despair of detecting something certain, aided by the generalknowledge he had of the private habits and ways of Camors. This was thetask to which he applied himself from this moment, day and night, withan evil ardor of hate and jealousy. The absolute confidence which theGeneral reposed in his wife and Camors after the latter's marriage withMarie de Tecle, had doubtless allowed them to dispense with much ofthe mystery and adventure of their intrigue; but that which was ardent, poetic, and theatrical to the Marquise's imagination had not been lost. Love alone was not sufficient for her. She needed danger, scenic effect, and pleasure heightened by terror. Once or twice, in the early time, shewas reckless enough to leave her house during the night and to returnbefore day. But she was obliged to renounce these audacious flights, finding them too perilous. 

These nocturnal interviews with M. De Camors were rare, and she hadusually received him at home. This was their arrangement: An openspace, sometimes used as a woodyard, was next the garden of the HotelCampvallon. The General had purchased a portion of it and had had acottage erected in the midst of a kitchen-garden, and had placed in it, with his usual kind-heartedness, an old 'sous-officier', named Mesnil, who had served under him in the artillery. This Mesnil enjoyed hismaster's confidence. He was a kind of forester on the property; he livedin Paris in the winter, but occasionally passed two or three days inthe country whenever the General wished to obtain information about thecrops. Madame de Campvallon and M. De Camors chose the time of theseabsences for their dangerous interviews at night. Camors, apprised fromwithin by some understood signal, entered the enclosure surrounding thecottage of Mesnil, and thence proceeded to the garden belonging to thehouse. Madame de Campvallon always charged herself with the peril thatcharmed her--with keeping open one of the windows on the ground floor. The Parisian custom of lodging the domestics in the attics gave tothis hardihood a sort of security, notwithstanding its being alwayshazardous. Near the end of May, one of these occasions, alwaysimpatiently awaited on both sides, presented itself, and M. De Camors atmidnight penetrated into the little garden of the old 'sous-officier'. At the moment when he turned the key in the gate of the enclosure, hethought he heard a slight sound behind him. He turned, cast a rapidglance over the dark space that surrounded him, and thinking himselfmistaken, entered. An instant after, the shadow of a man appeared atthe angle of a pile of lumber, which was scattered over the carpenter'syard. This shadow remained for some time immovable in front of thewindows of the hotel and then plunged again into the darkness. 

The following week M. De Camors was at the club one evening, playingwhist with the General. He remarked that the General was not playinghis usual game, and saw also imprinted on his features a painfulpreoccupation. 

"Are you in pain, General?" said he, after they had finished their game. 

"No, no!" said the General; "I am only annoyed--a tiresome affairbetween two of my people in the country. I sent Mesnil away this morningto examine into it. "

The General took a few steps, then returned to Camors and took himaside: "My friend, " he said, "I deceived you, just now; I have somethingon my mind--something very serious. I am even very unhappy!"

"What is the matter?" said Camors, whose heart sank. 

"I shall tell you that probably to-morrow. Come, in any case, to see meto-morrow morning. Won't you?"

"Yes, certainly. "

"Thanks! Now I shall go--for I am really not well. "

He clasped his hand more affectionately than usual. 

"Adieu, my dear child, " he added, and turned around brusquely to hidethe tears which suddenly filled his eyes. M. De Camors experienced forsome moments a lively disquietude, but the friendly and tender adieusof the General reassured him that it did not relate to himself. Still hecontinued astonished and even affected by the emotion of the old man. 

Was it not strange? If there was one man in the world whom he loved, or to whom he would have devoted himself, it was this one whom he hadmortally wronged. 

He had, however, good reason to be uneasy; and was wrong in reassuringhimself; for the General in the course of that evening had been informedof the treachery of his wife--at least he had been prepared for it. Onlyhe was still ignorant of the name of her accomplice. 

Those who informed him were afraid of encountering the blind andobstinate faith of the General, had they named Camors. 

It was probable, also, after what had already occurred, that hadthey again pronounced that name, the General would have repelled thesuspicion as a monstrous impossibility, regretting even the thought. 

M. De Camors remained until one o'clock at the club and then went tothe Rue Vanneau. He was introduced into the Hotel Campvallon with thecustomary precautions; and this time we shall follow him there. Intraversing the garden, he raised his eyes to the General's window, andsaw the soft light of the night-lamp burning behind the blinds. 

The Marquise awaited him at the door of her boudoir, which opened on arotunda at an elevation of a few feet. He kissed her hand, and told herin few words of the General's sadness. 

She replied that she had been very uneasy about his health for somedays. This explanation seemed natural to M. De Camors, and he followedthe Marquise through the dark and silent salon. She held in her handa candle, the feeble light of which threw on her delicate features astrange pallor. When they passed up the long, echoing staircase, therustling of her skirt on the steps was the only sound that betrayed herlight movement. 

She stopped from time to time, shivering--as if better to taste thedramatic solemnity that surrounded them--turned her blonde head a littleto look at Camors; then cast on him her inspiring smile, placed her handon her heart, as if to say, "I am fearful, " and went on. They reachedher chamber, where a dim lamp faintly illumined the sombre magnificence, the sculptured wainscotings, and the heavy draperies. 

The flame on the hearth which flickered up at intervals, threw a brightgleam on two or three pictures of the Spanish school, which were theonly decorations of this sumptuous, but stern-looking apartment. 

The Marquise sank as if terrified on a divan near the chimney, andpushed with her feet two cushions before her, on which Camors halfreclined; she then thrust back the thick braids of her hair, and leanedtoward her lover. 

"Do you love me to-day?" she asked. 

The soft breath of her voice was passing over the face of Camors, whenthe door suddenly opened before them. The General entered. The Marquiseand Camors instantly rose to their feet, and standing side by side, motionless, gazed upon him. The General paused near the door. As hesaw them a shudder passed over his frame, and his face assumed alivid pallor. For an instant his eye rested on Camors with a stupefiedsurprise and almost bewilderment; then he raised his arms over hishead, and his hands struck together with a sharp sound. At this terriblemoment Madame de Campvallon seized the arm of Camors, and threw him alook so profound, supplicating, and tragic, that it alarmed him. 

He roughly pushed her from him, crossed his arms, and waited the result. 

The General walked slowly toward him. Suddenly his face became inflamedwith a purple hue; his lips half opened, as if about to deliver somedeadly insult. He advanced rapidly, his hand raised; but after a fewsteps the old man suddenly stopped, beat the air with both hands, as ifseeking some support, then staggered and fell forward, striking hishead against the marble mantelpiece, rolled on the carpet, and remainedmotionless. There was an ominous silence. A stifled cry from M. DeCamors broke it. At the same time he threw himself on his knees by theside of the motionless old man, touched first his hand, then his heart. He saw that he was dead. A thin thread of blood trickled down his paleforehead where it had struck the marble; but this was only a slightwound. It was not that which had killed him. It was the treachery ofthose two beings whom he had loved, and who, he believed, loved him. Hisheart had been broken by the violence of the surprise, the grief, andthe horror. 

One look of Camors told Madame de Campvallon she was a widow. She threwherself on the divan, buried her face in the cushions and sobbed aloud. Camors still stood, his back against the mantelpiece, his eyes fixed, wrapped in his own thoughts. He wished in all sincerity of heart that hecould have awakened the dead and restored him to life. He had sworn todeliver himself up to him without defence, if ever the old man demandedit of him for forgotten favors, betrayed friendship, and violated honor. Now he had killed him. If he had not slain him with his own hand, thecrime was still there, in its most hideous form. He saw it before him, he inhaled its odor--he breathed its blood. An uneasy glance of theMarquise recalled him to himself and he approached her. They thenconversed together in whispers, and he hastily explained to her the lineof conduct she should adopt. 

She must summon the servants, say the General had been taken suddenlyill, and that on entering her room he had been seized by an apoplecticstroke. 

It was with some effort that she understood she was to wait long enoughbefore giving the alarm to give Camors sufficient time to escape; anduntil then she was to remain in this frightful tete-a-tete, alone withthe dead. 

He pitied her, and decided on leaving the hotel by the apartment of M. De Campvallon, which had a private entrance on the street. 

The Marquise immediately rang violently several times, and Camors didnot retire till he heard the sound of hastening feet on the stairs. Theapartment of the General communicated with that of his wife by a shortgallery. There was a suite of apartments--first a study, then hissleeping-room. M. De Camors traversed this room with feelings we shallnot attempt to describe and gained the street. The surgeon testifiedthat the General had died from the rupture of a vessel in the heart. Twodays after the interment took place, at which M. De Camors attended. Thesame evening he left Paris to join his wife, who had gone to Reuilly thepreceding week. 

CHAPTER XXI. THE FEATHER IN THE BALANCE

One of the sweetest sensations in the world is that of a man who hasjust escaped the fantastic terrors of night mare; and who, awaking, hisfore head bathed with icy sweat, says to himself, "It was only a dream!"This was, in some degree, the impression which Camors felt on awaking, the morning after his arrival at Reuilly, when his first glance fell onthe sunlight streaming over the foliage, and when he heard beneathhis window the joyous laugh of his little son. He, however, was notdreaming; but his soul, crushed by the horrible tension of recentemotions, had a moment's respite, and drank in, almost without alloy, the new calm that surrounded him. He hastily dressed himself anddescended to the garden, where his son ran to meet him. 

M. De Camors embraced the child with tenderness; and leaning toward him, spoke to him in a low voice, and asked after his mother and about hisamusements, with a singularly soft and sad manner. Then he let him go, and walked with a slow step, breathing the fresh morning air, examiningthe leaves and the flowers with extraordinary interest. From time totime a deep, sad sigh broke from his oppressed chest; he passed his handover his brow as if to efface the importunate images. He sat down amidthe quaintly clipped boxwood which ornamented the garden in the antiquefashion, called his son again to him, held him between his knees, interrogating him again, in a low voice, as he had done before; thendrew him toward him and clasped him tightly for a long time, as if todraw into his own heart the innocence and peace of the child's. Madamede Camors surprised him in this gush of feeling, and remained mute withastonishment. He rose immediately and took her hand. 

"How well you bring him up!" he said. "I thank you for it. He will beworthy of you and of your mother. "

She was so surprised at the soft, sad tone of his voice, that shereplied, stammering with embarrassment, "And worthy of you also, Ihope. "

"Of me?" said Camors, whose lips were slightly tremulous. "Poor child, Ihope not!" and rapidly withdrew. 

Madame de Camors and Madame de Tecle had learned, the previous morning, of the death of the General. The evening of the Count's arrival theydid not speak to him on the subject, and were cautious not to make anyallusion to it. The next day, and the succeeding ones, theypractised the same reserve, though very far from suspecting the fatalcircumstances which rendered this souvenir so painful to M. De Camors. They thought it only natural he should be pained at so sudden acatastrophe, and that his conscience should be disturbed; but they wereastonished when this impression prolonged itself from day to day, untilit took the appearance of a lasting sentiment. 

They began to believe that there had arisen between Madame de Campvallonand himself, probably occasioned by the General's death, some quarrelwhich had weakened the tie between them. 

A journey of twenty-four hours, which he made fifteen days after hisarrival, was to them a confirmation of the truth they before suspected;but his prompt return, his new tastes, which kept him at Reuilly duringthe summer, seemed to them favorable symptoms. 

He was singularly sad, pensive, and more inactive than usual in hishabits. He took long walks alone. Sometimes he took his son with him, asif by chance. He sometimes attempted a little timid tenderness with hiswife; and this awkwardness, on his part, was quite touching. 

"Marie, " he said to her one day, "you, who are a fairy, wave your wandover Reuilly and make of it an island in mid-ocean. "

"You say that because you know how to swim, " said she, laughing andshaking her head; but the heart of the young woman was joyful. 

"You embrace me now every moment, my little one, " said Madame de Tecleto her. "Is this really all intended for me?"

"My adorable mother, " while embracing her again, "I assure you he isreally courting me again. Why, I am ignorant; but he is courting me andyou also, my mother. Observe it!"

Madame de Tecle did observe it. In his conversation with her, M. DeCamors sought, under every pretext, to recall the souvenirs of the past, common to them both. It seemed he wished to link the past with his newlife; to forget the rest, and pray of them to forget it also. 

It was not without fear that these two charming women abandonedthemselves to their hopes. They remembered they were in the presence ofan uncertain person; they little trusted a change so sudden, the reasonof which they could not comprehend. They feared it was some passingcaprice, which would return to them, if they were its dupes, all theirmisfortunes, without the dignity which had hitherto attended them. 

They were not the only ones struck by this transformation. M. DesRameures remarked it to them. The neighboring country people felt in theCount's language something new--as it were, a tender humility; they saidthat in other years he had been polite, but this year he was angelic. Even the inanimate things, the woods, the trees, the heavens, shouldhave borne the same testimony, for he looked at and studied them with abenevolent curiosity with which he had never before honored them. 

In truth, a profound trouble had invaded him and would not leave him. More than once, before this epoch, his soul, his philosophy, his pride, had received a rude shock, but he had no less pursued his path, risingafter every blow, like a lion wounded, but unconquered. In tramplingunder his feet all moral belief which binds the vulgar, he had reservedhonor as an inviolable limit. Then, under the empire of his passions, he said to himself that, after all, honor, like all the rest, wasconventional. Then he encountered crime--he touched it with hishand--horror seized him--and he recoiled. He rejected with disgust theprinciple which had conducted him there--asked himself what would becomeof human society if it had no other. 

The simple truths which he had misunderstood now appeared to him intheir tranquil splendor. He could not yet distinguish them clearly; hedid not try to give them a name, but he plunged with a secret delightinto their shadows and their peace. He sought them in the pure heart ofhis child, in the pure love of his young wife, in the daily miraclesof nature, in the harmonies of the heavens, and probably already in thedepths of his thoughts--in God. In the midst of this approach toward anew life he hesitated. Madame de Campvallon was there. He still lovedher vaguely. Above all, he could not abandon her without being guilty ofa kind of baseness. Terrible struggles agitated him. Having done so muchevil, would he now be permitted to do good, and gracefully partake ofthe joys he foresaw? These ties with the past, his fortune dishonestlyacquired, his fatal mistress--the spectre of that old man would theypermit it?

And we may add, would Providence suffer it? Not that we should lightlyuse this word Providence, and suspend over M. De Camors a menace ofsupernatural chastisement. Providence does not intervene in human eventsexcept through the logic of her eternal laws. She has only the sanctionof these laws; and it is for this reason she is feared. At the end ofAugust M. De Camors repaired to the principal town in the district, toperform his duties in the Council-General. The session finished, hepaid a visit to Madame de Campvallon before returning to Reuilly. He hadneglected her a little in the course of the summer, and had only visitedCampvallon at long intervals, as politeness compelled him. The Marquisewished to keep him for dinner, as she had no guests with her. Shepressed him so warmly that, reproaching himself all the time, heconsented. He never saw her without pain. She always brought back to himthose terrible memories, but also that terrible intoxication. She hadnever been more beautiful. Her deep mourning embellished yet more herlanguishing and regal grace; it made her pale complexion yet more fair, and it heightened the brilliancy of her look. She had the air of a youngtragic queen, or of an allegory of Night. In the evening an hour arrivedwhen the reserve which for some time had marked their relations wasforgotten. M. De Camors found himself, as in olden time, at the feet ofthe young Marquise--his eyes gazing into hers, and covering with kissesher lovely hands. She was strange that evening. She looked at him witha wild tenderness, instilling, at pleasure, into his veins the poisonof burning passion then escaping him, the tears gathering in her eyes. Suddenly, by one of those magical movements of hers, she enveloped withher hands the head of her lover, and spoke to him quite low beneath theshadow of this perfumed veil. 

"We might be so happy!" she said. 

"Are we not so?" said Camors. 

"No! I at least am not, for you are not all mine, as I am yours. Thisappears harder, now that I am free. If you had remained free--when Ithink of it! or if you could become so, it would be heaven!"

"You know that I am not so! Why speak of it?"

She drew nearer to him, and with her breath, more than with her voice, answered:

"Is it impossible? Tell me!"

"How?" he demanded. 

She did not reply, but her fixed look, caressing and cruel, answeredhim. 

"Speak, then, I beg of you!" murmured Camors. 

"Have you not told me--I have not forgotten it--that we are united byties stronger than all others; that the world and its laws exist nolonger for us; that there is no other good, no other bad for us, but ourhappiness or our unhappiness? Well, we are not happy, and if we could beso--listen, I have thought well over it!"

Her lips touched the cheek of Camors, and the murmur of her last wordswas lost in her kisses. 

Camors roughly repelled her, sprang up, and stood before her. 

"Charlotte, " he said, sternly, "this is only a trial, I hope; but, trialor no, never repeat it--never! Remember!"

She also quickly drew herself up. 

"Ah! how you love her!" she cried. "Yes, you love her, it is she youlove-I know it, I feel it, and I-I am only the wretched object of yourpity, or of your caprice. Very well, go back to her--go and protect her, for I swear to you she is in peril!"

He smiled with his haughty irony. 

"Let us see your plot, " he said. "So you intend to kill her?"

"If I can!" she said; and her superb arm was stretched out as if toseize a weapon. 

"What! with your own hand?"

"The hand shall be found. "

"You are so beautiful at this moment!" said Camors; "I am dying with thedesire to fall at your feet. Acknowledge only that you wished to try me, or that you were mad for a moment. "

She gave a savage smile. 

"Oh! you fear, my friend, " she said, coldly; then raising again hervoice, which assumed a malignant tone, "You are right, I am not mad, I did not wish to try you; I am jealous, I am betrayed, and I shallrevenge myself--no matter what it costs me--for I care for nothing morein this world!--Go, and guard her!"

"Be it so; I go, " said Camors. He immediately left the salon and thechateau; he reached the railway station on foot, and that eveningarrived at Reuilly. 

Something terrible there awaited him. 

During his absence, Madame de Camors, accompanied by her mother, hadgone to Paris to make some purchases. She remained there three days. Shehad returned only that morning. He himself arrived late in the evening. He thought he observed some constraint in their reception of him, but hedid not dwell upon it in the state of mind in which he was. 

This is what had occurred: Madame de Camors, during her stay inParis, had gone, as was her custom, to visit her aunt, Madame de laRoche-Jugan. Their intercourse had always been very constrained. Neither their characters nor their religion coincided. Madame de Camorscontented herself with not liking her aunt, but Madame de la Roche-Juganhated her niece. She found a good occasion to prove this, and did notlose it. They had not seen each other since the General's death. Thisevent, which should have caused Madame de la Roche-Jugan to reproachherself, had simply exasperated her. Her bad action had recoiled uponherself. The death of M. Campvallon had finally destroyed her lasthopes, which she had believed she could have founded on the anger anddesperation of the old man. Since that time she was animated against hernephew and the Marquise with the rage of one of the Furies. She learnedthrough Vautrot that M. De Camors had been in the chamber of Madame deCampvallon the night of the General's death. On this foundation oftruth she did not fear to frame the most odious suspicions; and Vautrot, baffled like her in his vengeance and in his envy, had aided her. A fewsinister rumors, escaping apparently from this source, had even crept atthis time into Parisian society. 

M. De Camors and Madame de Campvallon, suspecting that they had beenbetrayed a second time by Madame de la Roche-Jugan, had broken with her;and she could presume that, should she present herself at the doorof the Marquise, orders would have been given not to admit her. Thisaffront made her angrier still. She was still a prey to the violence ofher wrath when she received a visit from Madame de Camors. She affectedto make the General's death the theme of conversation, shed a few tearsover her old friend, and kissed the hand of her niece with a burst oftenderness. 

"My poor little thing!" she said to her; "it is for you also I weep--foryou will yet be more unhappy than heretofore, if that can be possible. "

"I do not understand you, Madame, " answered the young woman, coldly. 

"If you do not understand me, so much the better, " replied Madame de laRoche-Jugan, with a shade of bitterness; then, after a moment'spause--"Listen, my dear! this is a duty of conscience which I complywith. You see, an honest creature like you merits a better fate; andyour mother too, who is also a dupe. That man would deceive the goodGod. In the name of my family, I feel bound to ask your pardon for bothof them. "

"I repeat, Madame, that I do not understand you. "

"But it is impossible, my child--come!--it is impossible that all thistime you have suspected nothing. "

"I suspect nothing, Madame, " said Madame de Camors, "because I knowall. "

"Ah!" continued Madame de la Roche-Jugan, dryly; "if this be so, I havenothing to say. But there are persons, in that case, who can accommodatetheir consciences to very strange things. "

"That is what I thought a moment ago, Madame, " said the young woman, rising. 

"As you wish, my dear; but I speak in your own interest, and I shallreproach myself for not having spoken to you more clearly. I knowmy nephew better than you will ever know him; and the other also. Notwithstanding you say so, you do not know all; let me tell you. TheGeneral died very suddenly; and after him, it is your turn! Be verycareful, my poor child!"

"Oh, Madame!" cried the young woman, becoming ghastly pale; "I shallnever see you again while I live!" She left on the instant-ran home, andthere found her mother. She repeated to her the terrible words shehad just heard, and her mother tried to calm her; but she herselfwas disturbed. She went immediately to Madame de la Roche-Jugan, andsupplicated her to have pity on them and to retract the abominableinnuendo she had thrown out, or to explain it more fully. She made herunderstand that she would inform M. De Camors of the affair in case ofneed, and that he would hold his cousin Sigismund responsible. Terrifiedin her turn, Madame de la Roche-Jugan judged the best method was todestroy M. De Camors in the estimation of Madame de Tecle. She relatedwhat had been told her by Vautrot, being careful not to compromiseherself in the recital. She informed her of the presence of M. De Camorsat the General's house the night of his death. She told her ofthe reports that were circulated, and mingling calumny with truth, redoubling at the same time her affection, her caresses, and hertears, she succeeded in giving Madame de Tecle such an estimate ofthe character of M. De Camors, that there were no suspicions orapprehensions which the poor woman, from that moment, did not considerlegitimate as connected with him. 

Madame de la Roche-Jugan finally offered to send Vautrot to her, that she might herself interrogate him. Madame de Tecle, affecting anincredulity and a tranquillity she did not feel, refused and withdrew. 

On her returning to her daughter, she forced herself to deceive her asto the impressions she had received, but she did not succeed; for heranxious face belied her reassuring words. They separated the followingnight, mutually concealing the trouble and distress of their souls; butaccustomed so long to think, feel, and suffer together, they met, soto speak, in the same reflections, the same reasonings, and in the sameterrors. They went over, in their memories, all the incidents of thelife of Camors--all his faults; and, under the shadow of the monstrousaction imputed to him, his faults took a criminal character which theywere surprised they had not seen before. They discovered a series anda sequence in his designs, all of which were imputed to him ascrimes--even his good actions. Thus his conduct during the last fewmonths, his strange ways, his fancy for his child and for his wife, hisassiduous tenderness toward her, were nothing more than the hypocriticalmeditation of a new crime--a mask which he was preparing in advance. 

What was to be done? What kind of life was it possible to live incommon, under the weight of such thoughts? What present--what future?These thoughts bewildered them. Next day Camors could not fail remarkingthe singular change in their countenances in his presence; but he knewthat his servant, without thinking of harm, had spoken of his visit toMadame de Campvallon, and he attributed the coldness and embarrassmentof the two women to this fact. He was less disquieted at this, because he was resolved to keep them entirely safe. As a result of hisreflections during the night, he had determined to break off forever hisintrigue with Madame de Campvallon. For this rupture, which he had madeit a point of honor not to provoke, Madame de Campvallon had herselffurnished him a sufficient pretext. 

The criminal thought she had suggested was, he knew, only a feint totest him, but it was enough to justify his abandonment of her. As to theviolent and menacing words the Marquise had used, he held them oflittle value, though at times the remembrance of them troubled him. Nevertheless, for many years he had not felt his heart so light. This wicked tie once broken, it seemed as if he had resumed, with hisliberty, his youth and virtue. He walked and played a part of the daywith his little son. After dinner, just as night fell, clear and pure, he proposed to Madame de Camors a tete-a-tete excursion in the woods. He spoke to her of a view which had struck him shortly before on such anight, and which would please, he said laughingly, her romantic taste. 

He would not permit himself to be surprised at the disinclination shemanifested, at the disquietude which her face indicated, or at the rapidglance she exchanged with her mother. 

The same thought, and that a most fearful one; entered the minds of boththese unfortunate women at the same moment. 

They were still under the impression of the shock which had so weakenedtheir nerves, and the brusque proposition of M. De Camors, so contraryto his usual habits-the hour, the night, and the solitary walk--hadsuddenly awakened in their brains the sinister images which Madame dela Roche-Jugan had laid there. Madame de Camors, however, with an air ofresolution the circumstances did not seem entitled to demand, preparedimmediately to go out, then followed her husband from the house, leavingher little son in charge of her mother. They had only to cross thegarden to find themselves on the edge of the wood which almost touchedtheir dwelling, and which stretched to the old fields inherited from theComte de Tecle. The intention of Camors in seeking this tete-a-tetewas to confide to his wife the decisive determination he had taken ofdelivering up to her absolutely and without reserve his heart and life, and to enjoy in these solitudes his first taste of true happiness. Surprised at the cold distraction with which his young wife replied tothe affectionate gayety of his language, he redoubled his efforts tobring their conversation to a tone of more intimacy and confidence. While stopping at intervals to point out to her some effects of lightand shadow in their walk, he began to question her on her recent trip toParis, and on the persons she had seen there. She named Madame Jaubertand a few others; then, lowering her voice against her will, mentionedMadame de la Roche-Jugan. 

"That one, " said Camors, "you could very well have dispensed with. Iforgot to warn you that I no longer recognize her. "

"Why?" asked she, timidly. 

"Because she is a bad woman, " said Camors. "When we are a little moreintimate with each other, you and I, " he added, laughing, "I shall edifyyou on this character, I shall tell you all--all, understand. "

There was so much of nature, and even of goodness in the accent withwhich he pronounced these words, that the Countess felt her hearthalf comforted from the oppression which had weighed it down. She gaveherself up with more abandon to the gracious advances of her husband andto the slight incidents of her walk. 

The phantoms disappeared little by little from her mind, and she beganto say to herself that she had been the sport of a bad dream, and of atrue madness, when a singular change in her husband's face renewed allher terrors. M. De Camors, in his turn, had become absent and visiblypreoccupied with some grave care. He spoke with an effort, made halfreplies, meditated; then stopped quickly to look around him, like afrightened child. These strange ways, so different from his formertemper, alarmed the young woman, the more so as she just then foundherself in the most distant part of the wood. 

There was an extraordinary similarity in the thoughts which occupiedthem both. At the moment when Madame Camors was trembling for fear nearher husband, he was trembling for her. 

He thought he detected that they were followed; at different times hethought he heard in the thicket the cracking of branches, rattling ofleaves, and finally the sound of stealthy steps. These noises alwaysceased on his stopping, and began again the moment he resumed his walk. He thought, a moment later, he saw the shadow of a man pass rapidlyamong the underwood behind them. The idea of some woodman came firstto his mind, but he could not reconcile this with the persistence withwhich they were followed. 

He finally had no doubt that they were dogged--but by whom? The repeatedmenaces of Madame de Campvallon against the life of Madame de Camors, the passionate and unbridled character of this woman, soon presenteditself to his thoughts, suggested this mysterious pursuit, and awakenedthese frightful suspicions. 

He did not imagine for a moment that the Marquise would charge herselfpersonally with the infliction of her vengeance; but she had said--hethen remembered--that the hand would be found. She was rich enough tofind it, and this hand might now be here. 

He did not wish to alarm his wife by calling her attention to thisspectre, which he believed at her side, but he could not hide from herhis agitation, which every movement of his caused her to construe asfalsely as cruelly. 

"Marie, " he said, "let us walk a little faster, I beg of you! I amcold. "

He quickened his steps, resolved to return to the chateau by the publicroad, which was bordered with houses. 

When he reached the border of the woods, although he thought he stillheard at intervals the sound which had alarmed him, he reassured himselfand resumed his flow of spirits as if a little ashamed even of hispanic. He stopped the Countess to look at the pretext of this excursion. This was the rocky wall of the deep excavation of a marl-pit, long sinceabandoned. The arbutus-trees of fantastic shape which covered the summitof these rocks, the pendant vines, the sombre ivy which carpeted thecliffs, the gleaming white stones, the vague reflections in the stagnantpool at the bottom of the pit, the mysterious light of the moon, made ascene of wild beauty. 

The ground in the neighborhood of the marl-pit was so irregular, and thethorny underbrush so thick, that when pedestrians wished to reach thenearest highway they, were compelled either to make a long detour or tocross the deepest part of the excavation by means of the trunks of twogreat trees, which had been cut in half, lashed together, and thrownacross the chasm. Thus they formed a crude bridge, affording a passageacross the deep hollow and adding to the picturesque aspect of thisromantic spot. 

Madame de Camors never had seen anything like this peculiar bridge, which had been laid recently at her husband's orders. After they hadgazed in silence a moment into the depths of the marl-pit, Camors calledhis wife's attention to the unique construction. 

"Do you intend to cross that?" she asked, briefly. 

"Yes, if you are not afraid, " said Camors; "I shall be close beside you, you know. "

He saw that she hesitated, and, looking at her closely in the moonlight, he thought her face was strangely pale, and could not refrain fromsaying:

"I believed that you had more courage. "

She hesitated no longer, but stepped upon the dangerous bridge. In spiteof herself, she turned her head half around, in a backward glance, andher steady step faltered. Suddenly she tottered. M. De Camors sprangforward, and, in the agitation of the moment, seized her in an almostviolent grasp. The unhappy woman uttered a piercing shriek, made agesture as if to defend herself, repelling his touch; then, runningwildly across the bridge, she rushed into the woods. M. De Camors, astounded, alarmed, not knowing how to interpret his wife's strangeconduct, immediately followed her. He found her a short distance beyondthe bridge, leaning against the first tree she had been able to reach. She turned to face him, with an expression of mingled terror and menace, and as he approached, she shot forth the single word:

"Coward!"

He stared at her in sheer amazement. At that moment there was a sound ofhurried footsteps; a shadowy form glided toward them from the depth ofthe thicket, and the next instant Camors recognized Madame de Tecle. Sheran, dishevelled and breathless, toward her daughter, seized her by thehand and, drawing herself up, said to Camors:

"If you kill one of us, kill both!"

He understood the mystery in a flash. A stifled cry escaped him; for aninstant he buried his face in his hands; then; flinging out his arms ina gesture of despair, he said:

"So you took me for a murderer!"

There was a moment of dead silence. 

"Well!" he cried, stamping his foot with sudden violence, "why do youstay here, then? Run! Fly! Save yourselves from me!"

Overcome with terror, the two women fled, the mother dragging herdaughter. The next moment they had disappeared in the darkness of thewoods. 

Camors remained in that lonely spot many hours, without being aware ofthe passage of time. At intervals he paced feverishly to and froalong the narrow strip of land between the woods and the bridge; then, stopping short, with fixed eyes, he became lost in thought, and stood asmotionless as the trunk of the tree against which he leaned. If, as wehope, there is a Divine hand which measures justly our sorrows accordingto our sins, the unhappy man, in this dark hour, must have rendered hisaccount. 

CHAPTER XXII. THE CURTAIN FALLS

The next morning the Marquise de Campvallon was strolling beside a largecircular sheet of water which ornamented the lower part of her park, themetallic gleam of the rippling waves being discernible from afar throughthe branches of the surrounding trees. 

She walked slowly along the bank of the lake, her head bowed, andthe long skirt of her mourning-robe sweeping the grass. Two large anddazzlingly white swans, watching their mistress eagerly, in expectationof receiving their usual titbits from her hands, swam close to the bank, following her steps as if escorting her. 

Suddenly the Comte de Camors appeared before her. She had believed thatshe never should see him again. She raised her head quickly and pressedone hand to her heart. 

"Yes, it is I!" said Camors. "Give me your hand. "

She gave it to him. 

"You were right, Charlotte, " he said, after a moment of silence. "Tieslike ours can not be broken. I have reflected on everything. I wasseized with a momentary cowardice, for which I have reproached myselfbitterly, and for which, moreover, I have been sufficiently punished. But I come to you to ask your forgiveness. "

The Marquise led him tenderly into the deep shadow of the greatplane-trees that surrounded the lake; she knelt before him with theatricgrace, and fixed on him her swimming eyes. She covered his head withkisses. He raised her and pressed her to his heart. 

"But you do not wish that crime to be committed?" he said in a lowvoice. 

She bent her head with mournful indecision. 

"For that matter, " he added, bitterly, "it would only make us worthierof each other; for, as to myself, they have already believed me capableof it. "

He took her arm and recounted to her briefly the scene of the nightbefore. 

He told her he had not returned home, and never should. This was theresult of his mournful meditations. To attempt an explanation withthose who had so mortally outraged him--to open to them the depth of hisheart--to allude to the criminal thought they had accused him of--he hadrepelled with horror, the evening before, when proposed by another. Hethought of all this; but this humiliation--if he could have so abasedhimself--would have been useless. How could he hope to conquer by thesewords the distrust capable of creating such suspicions?

He confusedly divined the origin, and understood that this distrust, envenomed by remembrance of the past, was incurable. 

The sentiment of the irreparable, of revolted pride, indignation, andeven injustice, had shown him but one refuge, and it was this to whichhe had fled. 

The Comtesse de Camors and Madame de Tecle learned only through theirservants and the public of the removal of the Count to a country-househe had rented near the Chateau Campvallon. After writing tenletters--all of which he had burned--he had decided to maintain anabsolute silence. They sometimes trembled at the thought he might takeaway his son. He thought of it; but it was a kind of vengeance that hedisdained. 

This move, which publicly proclaimed the relations existing betweenM. De Camors and the Marquise, made a sensation in the Parisian world, where it was soon known. It revived again the strange recollections andrumors that all remembered. Camors heard of them, but despised them. 

His pride, which was then exasperated by a savage irritation, wasgratified at defying public opinion, which had been so easily dupedbefore. He knew there was no situation one could not impose upon theworld providing one had wealth and audacity. From this day he resumedenergetically the love of his life, his habits, his labors, and histhoughts for the future. Madame de Campvallon was the confidante ofall his projects, and added her own care to them; and both occupiedthemselves in organizing in advance their mutual existence, hereafterblended forever. The personal fortune of M. De Camors, united to thatof the Marquise, left no limits to the fancies which their imaginationcould devise. They arranged to live separately at Paris, though theMarquise's salon should be common to both; but their double influencewould shine at the same time, and they would be the social centre ofa sovereign influence. The Marquise would reign by the splendor of herperson over the society of letters, art, and politics. Camors wouldthere find the means of action which could not fail to accomplish thehigh destiny to which his talent and his ambition called him. 

This was the life that had appeared to them in the origin of theirliaison as a sort of ideal of human happiness--that of two superiorbeings, who proudly shared, above the masses, all the pleasures ofearth, the intoxication of passion, the enjoyment of intellectualstrength, the satisfaction of pride, and the emotions of power. Theeclat of such a life would constitute the vengeance of Camors, and forceto repent bitterly those who had dared to misunderstand him. The recentmourning of the Marquise commanded them, notwithstanding, to adjourn therealization of their dream, if they did not wish to wound the conscienceof the public. They felt it, and resolved to travel for a few monthsbefore settling in Paris. The time that passed in their preparationsfor the future, and in arrangements for this voyage, was to Madame deCampvallon the sweetest period of her life. She finally tasted to thefull an intimacy, so long troubled, of which the charm, in truth, was very great; for her lover, as if to make her forget his momentarydesertion, was prodigal in the effusion of his tenderness. He brought toprivate studies, as well as to their common schemes, an ardor, a fire, which displayed itself in his face, in his eyes, and which seemed yetmore to heighten his manly beauty. It often happened, after quittingthe Marquise in the evening, that he worked very late at home, sometimesuntil morning. One night, shortly before the day fixed for theirdeparture, a private servant of the Count, who slept in the room abovehis master's, heard a noise which alarmed him. 

He went down in great haste, and found M. De Camors stretched apparentlylifeless on the floor at the foot of his desk. The servant, whose namewas Daniel, had all his master's confidence, and he loved him withthat singular affection which strong natures often inspire in theirinferiors. 

He sent for Madame de Campvallon, who soon came. M. De Camors, recovering from his fainting-fit, was very pale, and was walking acrossthe room when she entered. He seemed irritated at seeing her, andrebuked his servant sharply for his ill-advised zeal. 

He said he had only had a touch of vertigo, to which he was subject. Madame de Campvallon soon retired, having first supplicated him not tooverwork himself again. When he came to her next day, she could nothelp being surprised at the dejection stamped on his face, which sheattributed to the attack he had had the night before. But when she spokeof their approaching departure, she was astonished, and even alarmed byhis reply:

"Let us defer it a little, I beg of you, " he said. "I do not feel in astate fit for travelling. "

Days passed; he made no further allusion to the voyage. He was serious, silent, and cold. The active ardor, almost feverish, which had animateduntil then his life, his speech, his eyes, was suddenly quenched. One symptom which disquieted the Marquise above all was the absoluteidleness to which he now abandoned himself. 

He left her in the evening at an early hour. Daniel told the Marquisethat the Count worked no longer; that he heard him pacing up and downthe greater part of the night. At the same time his health failedvisibly. The Marquise ventured once to interrogate him. As they wereboth walking one day in the park, she said:

"You are hiding something from me. You suffer, my friend. What is thecause?"

"There is nothing. "

"I pray you tell me!"

"Nothing is the matter with me, " he replied, petulantly. 

"Is it your son that you regret?"

"I regret nothing. " After a few steps taken in silence--"When I think, "he said, quickly, "that there is one person in the world who considersme a coward--for I hear always that word in my ear--and who treated melike a coward, and who believed it when it was said, and believes itstill! If it had been a man, it would be easy, but it was a woman. "

After this sudden explosion he was silent. 

"Very well; what do you desire?" said the Marquise, with vexation. "Doyou wish that I should go and tell her the truth--tell her that you wereready to defend her against me--that you love her, and hate me? If itbe that you wish, say so. I believe if this life continues I shall becapable of doing anything!"

"Do not you also outrage me! Dismiss me, if that will give you pleasure;but I love you only. My pride bleeds, that is all; and I give you myword of honor that if you ever affront me by going to justify me, Ishall never in my life see you or her. Embrace me!" and he pressed herto his heart. 

She was calm for a few hours. 

The house he occupied was about to be taken again by its proprietor. Themiddle of September approached, and it was the time when the Marquisewas in the habit of returning to Paris. She proposed to M. De Camorsto occupy the chateau during the few days he purposed passing in thecountry. He accepted; but whenever she spoke of returning to Paris:

"Why so soon?" he would say; "are we not very well here?"

A little later she reminded him that the session of the Chamber wasabout to open. He made his health a pretext for delay, saying that hefelt weak and wished to send in his resignation as deputy. She inducedhim only by her urgent prayer to content himself with asking leave ofabsence. 

"But you, my beloved!" he said, "I am condemning you to a sadexistence!"

"With you, " she replied, "I am happy everywhere and always!"

It was not true that she was happy, but it was true that she lovedhim and was devoted to him. There was no suffering she would not haveresigned herself to, no sacrifice she would not make, were it for him. 

From this moment the prospect of worldly sovereignty, which she thoughtshe had touched with her hand, escaped her. She had a presentiment ofa melancholy future of solitude, of renunciation, of secret tears; butnear him grief became a fete. One knows with what rapidity life passeswith those who busy themselves without distraction in some profoundgrief--the days themselves are long, but the succession of them is rapidand imperceptible. It was thus that the months and then the seasonssucceeded one another, for Camors and the Marquise, with a monotonythat left hardly any trace on their thoughts. Their daily relations weremarked, on the part of the Count with an invariably cold and distantcourtesy, and very often silence; on the part of the Marquise by anattentive tenderness and a constrained grief. Every day they rode outon horseback, both clad in black, sympathetic by their beauty and theirsadness, and surrounded in the country by distant respect. About thebeginning of the ensuing winter Madame de Campvallon experienced aserious disquietude. Although M. De Camors never complained, it wasevident his health was gradually failing. A dark and almost clayey tintcovered his thin cheeks, and spread nearly to the whites of his eyes. The Marquise showed some emotion on perceiving it, and persuaded himto consult a physician. The physician perceived symptoms of chronicdebility. He did not think it dangerous, but recommended a season atVichy, a few hygienic precautions, and absolute repose of mind and body. 

When the Marquise proposed to Camors this visit to Vichy, he onlyshrugged his shoulders without reply. 

A few days after, Madame de Campvallon on entering the stable onemorning, saw Medjid, the favorite mare of Camors, white with foam, panting and exhausted. The groom explained, with some awkwardness, thecondition of the animal, by a ride the Count had taken that morning. The Marquise had recourse to Daniel, of whom she made a confidant, andhaving questioned him, drew out the acknowledgment that for some timehis master had been in the habit of going out in the evening and notreturning until morning. Daniel was in despair with these nightlywanderings, which he said greatly fatigued his master. He ended byconfessing to Madame de Campvallon the goal of his excursions. 

The Comtesse de Camors, yielding to considerations the details of whichwould not be interesting, had continued to live at Reuilly since herhusband had abandoned her. Reuilly was distant twelve leagues fromCampvallon, which could be made shorter by a crosscut. M. De Camors didnot hesitate to pass over this distance twice in the same night, to givehimself the emotion of breathing for a few minutes the same air with hiswife and child. 

Daniel had accompanied him two or three times, but the Count generallywent alone. He left his horse in the wood, and approached as near as hecould without risking discovery; and, hiding himself like a malefactorbehind the shadows of the trees, he watched the windows, the lights, thehouse, the least signs of those dear beings, from whom an eternal abysshad divided him. 

The Marquise, half frightened, half irritated, by an oddity which seemedto border on madness, pretended to be ignorant of it. But these twospirits were too accustomed to each other, day by day, to be able tohide anything. He knew she was aware of his weakness, and seemed nolonger to care to make a mystery of it. 

One evening in the month of July, he left on horseback in the afternoon, and did not return for dinner. He arrived at the woods of Reuilly at theclose of the day, as he had premeditated. He entered the garden withhis usual precaution, and, thanks to his knowledge of the habits of thehousehold, he could approach, without being noticed, the pavilion wherethe Countess's chamber was situated, and which was also that of his son. This chamber, by a particular arrangement of the house, was elevated atthe side of the court by the height of an entresol, but was levelwith the garden. One of the windows was open, owing to the heat of theevening. Camors hid himself behind the shutters, which were half closed, and gazed eagerly into the chamber. 

He had not seen for two years either his wife, his child, or Madame deTecle. He now saw all three there. Madame de Tecle was working near thechimney. Her face was unchanged. She had the same youthful look, buther hair was as white, as snow. Madame de Camors was sitting on a couchnearly in front of the window and undressing her son, at the same timetalking to and caressing him. 

The child, at a sign, knelt down at his mother's feet in his lightnight-garments, and while she held his joined hands in her own, he beganin a loud voice his evening prayers. She whispered him from time to timea word that escaped him. This prayer, composed of a number of phrasesadapted to a youthful mind, terminated with these words: "O God! be goodand merciful to my mother, my grandmother, to me--and above all, OGod, to my unfortunate father. " He pronounced these words with childishhaste, but under a serious look from his mother, he repeated themimmediately, with some emotion, as a child who repeats the inflection ofa voice which has been taught him. 

Camors turned suddenly and retired noiselessly, leaving the gardenby the nearest gate. A fixed idea tortured him. He wished to see hisson--to speak to him--to embrace him, and to press him to his heart. After that, he cared for little. 

He remembered they had formerly the habit of taking the child tothe dairy every morning to give him a cup of milk. He hoped they hadcontinued this custom. Morning arrived, and soon came the hour for whichhe waited. He hid himself in the walk which led to the farm. He heardthe noise of feet, of laughter, and of joyous cries, and his sonsuddenly appeared running in advance. He was a charming little boy offive or six years, of a graceful and proud mien. On perceiving M. De Camors in the middle of the walk he stopped, he hesitated at thisunknown or half-forgotten face; but the tender and half-supplicatingsmile of Camors reassured him. 

"Monsieur!" he said, doubtfully. 

Camors opened his arms and bent as if to kneel before him. 

"Come and embrace me, I beg of you, " he murmured. 

The child had already advanced smiling, when the woman who was followinghim, who was his old nurse, suddenly appeared. 'She made a gesture offright:

"Your father!" she said, in a stifled voice. 

At these words the child uttered a cry of terror, rushed back to thenurse, pressed against her, and regarded his father with frightenedeyes. 

The nurse took him by the arm, and earned him off in great haste. 

M. De Camors did not weep. A frightful contraction distorted the cornersof his mouth, and exaggerated the thinness of his cheeks. He had two orthree shudderings as if seized with sudden fever. He slowly passed hishand over his forehead, sighed profoundly, and departed. 

Madame de Campvallon knew nothing of this sad scene, but she saw itsconsequences; and she herself felt them bitterly. The character of M. DeCamors, already so changed, became after this unrecognizable. He showedher no longer even the cold politeness he had manifested for her up tothat period. He exhibited a strange antipathy toward her. He fled fromher. She perceived he avoided even touching her hand. 

They saw each other rarely now. The health of Camors did not admit ofhis taking regular meals. These two desolate existences offered then, inthe midst of the almost royal state which surrounded them, a spectacleof pity. 

In this magnificent park--across these beautiful gardens, with greatvases of marble--under long arcades of verdure peopled with morestatues-both wandered separately, like two sad shadows, meetingsometimes but never speaking. 

One day, near the end of September, Camors did not descend from hisapartment. Daniel told the Marquise he had given orders to let no oneenter. 

"Not even me?" she said. He bent his head mournfully. She insisted. 

"Madame, I should lose my place!"

The Count persisted in this mania of absolute seclusion. She wascompelled from this moment to content herself with the news she obtainedfrom his servant. M. De Camors was not bedridden. He passed his time ina sad reverie, lying on his divan. He got up at intervals, wrote a fewlines, then lay down again. His weakness appeared great, though he didnot complain of any suffering. 

After two or three weeks, the Marquise read in the features of Daniela more marked disquietude than usual. He supplicated her to call in thecountry physician who had once before seen him. It was so decided. The unfortunate woman, when the physician was shown into the Count'sapartment, leaned against the door listening in agony. She thought sheheard the voice of Camors loudly raised, then the noise ceased. 

The doctor, when departing, simply said to her: "Madame, his sad caseappears to me serious--but not hopeless. I did not wish to press himto-day, but he allows me to return tomorrow. "

In the night which followed, at two o'clock, Madame de Campvallon heardsome one calling her, and recognized the voice of Daniel. She roseimmediately, threw a mantle around her, and admitted him. 

"Madame, " he said, "Monsieur le Comte asks for you, " and burst intotears. 

"Mon Dieu! what is the matter?"

"Come, Madame--you must hasten!"

She accompanied him immediately. From the moment she put her foot inthe chamber, she could not deceive herself--Death was there. Crushedby sorrow, this existence, so full, so proud, so powerful, was about toterminate. The head of Camors, turned on the pillow, seemed already tohave assumed a death-like immobility. His beautiful features, sharpenedby suffering, took the rigid outline of sculpture; his eye alone yetlived and looked at her. 

She approached him hastily and wished to seize the hand resting on thesheet. 

He withdrew it. She gave a despairing groan. He continued to lookfixedly at her. She thought he was trying to speak, but could not; buthis eyes spoke. They addressed to her some request, at the same timewith an imperious though supplicating expression, which she doubtlessunderstood; for she said aloud, with an accent full of sadness andtenderness:

"I promise it to you. "

He appeared to make a painful effort, and his look indicated alarge sealed letter lying on the bed. She took it, and read on theenvelope-"To my son. "

"I promise you, " she said, again, falling on her knees, and moisteningthe sheet with her tears. 

He extended his hand toward her. "Thanks!" was all he said. Her tearsflowed faster. She set her lips on this hand already cold. When sheraised her head, she saw at the same instant the eyes of Camors slightlymoist, rolling wildly--then extinguished! She uttered a cry, threwherself on the bed, and kissed madly those eyes still open--yet void oflight forever!

Thus ended Camors, who was a great sinner, but nevertheless a MAN!

 ETEXT EDITOR'S BOOKMARKS:

 A man never should kneel unless sure of rising a conqueror A defensive attitude is never agreeable to a man Bad to fear the opinion of people one despises Believing that it is for virtue's sake alone such men love them Camors refused, hesitated, made objections, and consented Confounding progress with discord, liberty with license Contempt for men is the beginning of wisdom Cried out, with the blunt candor of his age Dangers of liberty outweighed its benefits Demanded of him imperatively--the time of day Determined to cultivate ability rather than scrupulousness Disenchantment which follows possession Do not get angry. Rarely laugh, and never weep Every one is the best judge of his own affairs Every road leads to Rome--and one as surely as another Every cause that is in antagonism with its age commits suicide God--or no principles! Have not that pleasure, it is useless to incur the penalties He is charming, for one always feels in danger near him Inconstancy of heart is the special attribute of man Intemperance of her zeal and the acrimony of her bigotry Knew her danger, and, unlike most of them, she did not love it Man, if he will it, need not grow old: the lion must Never can make revolutions with gloves on Once an excellent remedy, is a detestable regimen One of those pious persons who always think evil Pleasures of an independent code of morals Police regulations known as religion Principles alone, without faith in some higher sanction Property of all who are strong enough to stand it Put herself on good terms with God, in case He should exist Semel insanivimus omnes. ' (every one has his madness) Slip forth from the common herd, my son, think for yourself Suspicion that he is a feeble human creature after all! There will be no more belief in Christ than in Jupiter Ties that become duties where we only sought pleasures Truth is easily found. I shall read all the newspapers Two persons who desired neither to remember nor to forget Whether in this world one must be a fanatic or nothing Whole world of politics and religion rushed to extremes With the habit of thinking, had not lost the habit of laughing You can not make an omelette without first breaking the eggs