Albert Savarus

 By

 Honore de Balzac

 Translated by Ellen Marriage

 DEDICATION

 To Madame Emile Girardin

 ALBERT SAVARUS

One of the few drawing-rooms where, under the Restoration, theArchbishop of Besancon was sometimes to be seen, was that of theBaronne de Watteville, to whom he was particularly attached on accountof her religious sentiments. 

A word as to this lady, the most important lady of Besancon. 

Monsieur de Watteville, a descendant of the famous Watteville, themost successful and illustrious of murderers and renegades--hisextraordinary adventures are too much a part of history to be relatedhere--this nineteenth century Monsieur de Watteville was as gentle andpeaceable as his ancestor of the _Grand Siecle_ had been passionateand turbulent. After living in the _Comte_ (La Franche Comte) like awood-louse in the crack of a wainscot, he had married the heiress ofthe celebrated house of Rupt. Mademoiselle de Rupt brought twentythousand francs a year in the funds to add to the ten thousand francsa year in real estate of the Baron de Watteville. The Swissgentleman's coat-of-arms (the Wattevilles are Swiss) was then borne asan escutcheon of pretence on the old shield of the Rupts. Themarriage, arranged in 1802, was solemnized in 1815 after the secondRestoration. Within three years of the birth of a daughter all Madamede Watteville's grandparents were dead, and their estates wound up. Monsieur de Watteville's house was then sold, and they settled in theRue de la Prefecture in the fine old mansion of the Rupts, with animmense garden stretching to the Rue du Perron. Madame de Watteville, devout as a girl, became even more so after her marriage. She is oneof the queens of the saintly brotherhood which gives the upper circlesof Besancon a solemn air and prudish manners in harmony with thecharacter of the town. 

Monsieur le Baron de Watteville, a dry, lean man devoid ofintelligence, looked worn out without any one knowing whereby, for heenjoyed the profoundest ignorance; but as his wife was a red-hairedwoman, and of a stern nature that became proverbial (we still say "assharp as Madame de Watteville"), some wits of the legal professiondeclared that he had been worn against that rock--_Rupt_ is obviouslyderived from _rupes_. Scientific students of social phenomena will notfail to have observed that Rosalie was the only offspring of the unionbetween the Wattevilles and the Rupts. 

Monsieur de Watteville spent his existence in a handsome workshop witha lathe; he was a turner! As subsidiary to this pursuit, he took up afancy for making collections. Philosophical doctors, devoted to thestudy of madness, regard this tendency towards collecting as a firstdegree of mental aberration when it is set on small things. The Baronde Watteville treasured shells and geological fragments of theneighborhood of Besancon. Some contradictory folk, especially women, would say of Monsieur de Watteville, "He has a noble soul! Heperceived from the first days of his married life that he would neverbe his wife's master, so he threw himself into a mechanical occupationand good living. "

The house of the Rupts was not devoid of a certain magnificence worthyof Louis XIV. , and bore traces of the nobility of the two families whohad mingled in 1815. The chandeliers of glass cut in the shape ofleaves, the brocades, the damask, the carpets, the gilt furniture, were all in harmony with the old liveries and the old servants. Thoughserved in blackened family plate, round a looking-glass tray furnishedwith Dresden china, the food was exquisite. The wines selected byMonsieur de Watteville, who, to occupy his time and vary hisemployments, was his own butler, enjoyed a sort of fame throughout thedepartment. Madame de Watteville's fortune was a fine one; while herhusband's, which consisted only of the estate of Rouxey, worth aboutten thousand francs a year, was not increased by inheritance. It isneedless to add that in consequence of Madame de Watteville's closeintimacy with the Archbishop, the three or four clever or remarkableAbbes of the diocese who were not averse to good feeding were verymuch at home at her house. 

At a ceremonial dinner given in honor of I know not whose wedding, atthe beginning of September 1834, when the women were standing in acircle round the drawing-room fire, and the men in groups by thewindows, every one exclaimed with pleasure at the entrance of Monsieurl'Abbe de Grancey, who was announced. 

"Well, and the lawsuit?" they all cried. 

"Won!" replied the Vicar-General. "The verdict of the Court, fromwhich we had no hope, you know why----"

This was an allusion to the members of the First Court of Appeal of1830; the Legitimists had almost all withdrawn. 

"The verdict is in our favor on every point, and reverses the decisionof the Lower Court. "

"Everybody thought you were done for. "

"And we should have been, but for me. I told our advocate to be off toParis, and at the crucial moment I was able to secure a new pleader, to whom we owe our victory, a wonderful man--"

"At Besancon?" said Monsieur de Watteville, guilelessly. 

"At Besancon, " replied the Abbe de Grancey. 

"Oh yes, Savaron, " said a handsome young man sitting near theBaroness, and named de Soulas. 

"He spent five or six nights over it; he devoured documents andbriefs; he had seven or eight interviews of several hours with me, "continued Monsieur de Grancey, who had just reappeared at the Hotel deRupt for the first time in three weeks. "In short, Monsieur Savaronhas just completely beaten the celebrated lawyer whom our adversarieshad sent for from Paris. This young man is wonderful, the bigwigs say. Thus the chapter is twice victorious; it has triumphed in law and alsoin politics, since it has vanquished Liberalism in the person of theCounsel of our Municipality. --'Our adversaries, ' so our advocate said, 'must not expect to find readiness on all sides to ruin theArchbishoprics. '--The President was obliged to enforce silence. Allthe townsfolk of Besancon applauded. Thus the possession of thebuildings of the old convent remains with the Chapter of the Cathedralof Besancon. Monsieur Savaron, however, invited his Parisian opponentto dine with him as they came out of court. He accepted, saying, 'Honor to every conqueror, ' and complimented him on his successwithout bitterness. "

"And where did you unearth this lawyer?" said Madame de Watteville. "Inever heard his name before. "

"Why, you can see his windows from hence, " replied the Vicar-General. "Monsieur Savaron lives in the Rue du Perron; the garden of his housejoins on to yours. "

"But he is not a native of the Comte, " said Monsieur de Watteville. 

"So little is he a native of any place, that no one knows where hecomes from, " said Madame de Chavoncourt. 

"But who is he?" asked Madame de Watteville, taking the Abbe's arm togo into the dining-room. "If he is a stranger, by what chance has hesettled at Besancon? It is a strange fancy for a barrister. "

"Very strange!" echoed Amedee de Soulas, whose biography is herenecessary to the understanding of this tale. 

* * * * *

In all ages France and England have carried on an exchange of trifles, which is all the more constant because it evades the tyranny of theCustom-house. The fashion that is called English in Paris is calledFrench in London, and this is reciprocal. The hostility of the twonations is suspended on two points--the uses of words and the fashionsof dress. _God Save the King_, the national air of England, is a tunewritten by Lulli for the Chorus of Esther or of Athalie. Hoops, introduced at Paris by an Englishwoman, were invented in London, it isknown why, by a Frenchwoman, the notorious Duchess of Portsmouth. Theywere at first so jeered at that the first Englishwoman who appeared inthem at the Tuileries narrowly escaped being crushed by the crowd; butthey were adopted. This fashion tyrannized over the ladies of Europefor half a century. At the peace of 1815, for a year, the long waistsof the English were a standing jest; all Paris went to see Pothier andBrunet in _Les Anglaises pour rire_; but in 1816 and 1817 the belt ofthe Frenchwoman, which in 1814 cut her across the bosom, graduallydescended till it reached the hips. 

Within ten years England has made two little gifts to our language. The _Incroyable_, the _Merveilleux_, the _Elegant_, the threesuccesses of the _petit-maitre_ of discreditable etymology, have madeway for the "dandy" and the "lion. " The _lion_ is not the parent ofthe _lionne_. The _lionne_ is due to the famous song by Alfred deMusset:

 Avez vous vu dans Barcelone . . . . . . C'est ma maitresse et ma lionne. 

There has been a fusion--or, if you prefer it, a confusion--of the twowords and the leading ideas. When an absurdity can amuse Paris, whichdevours as many masterpieces as absurdities, the provinces can hardlybe deprived of them. So, as soon as the _lion_ paraded Paris with hismane, his beard and moustaches, his waistcoats and his eyeglass, maintained in its place, without the help of his hands, by thecontraction of his cheek, and eye-socket, the chief towns of somedepartments had their sub-lions, who protested by the smartness oftheir trouser-straps against the untidiness of their fellow-townsmen. 

Thus, in 1834, Besancon could boast of a _lion_, in the person ofMonsieur Amedee-Sylvain de Soulas, spelt Souleyas at the time of theSpanish occupation. Amedee de Soulas is perhaps the only man inBesancon descended from a Spanish family. Spain sent men to manage herbusiness in the Comte, but very few Spaniards settled there. TheSoulas remained in consequence of their connection with CardinalGranvelle. Young Monsieur de Soulas was always talking of leavingBesancon, a dull town, church-going, and not literary, a militarycentre and garrison town, of which the manners and customs andphysiognomy are worth describing. This opinion allowed of his lodging, like a man uncertain of the future, in three very scantily furnishedrooms at the end of the Rue Neuve, just where it opens into the Rue dela Prefecture. 

Young Monsieur de Soulas could not possibly live without a tiger. Thistiger was the son of one of his farmers, a small servant agedfourteen, thick-set, and named Babylas. The lion dressed his tigervery smartly--a short tunic-coat of iron-gray cloth, belted withpatent leather, bright blue plush breeches, a red waistcoat, polishedleather top-boots, a shiny hat with black lacing, and brass buttonswith the arms of Soulas. Amedee gave this boy white cotton gloves andhis washing, and thirty-six francs a month to keep himself--a sum thatseemed enormous to the grisettes of Besancon: four hundred and twentyfrancs a year to a child of fifteen, without counting extras! Theextras consisted in the price for which he could sell his turnedclothes, a present when Soulas exchanged one of his horses, and theperquisite of the manure. The two horses, treated with sordid economy, cost, one with another, eight hundred francs a year. His bills forarticles received from Paris, such as perfumery, cravats, jewelry, patent blacking, and clothes, ran to another twelve hundred francs. Add to this the groom, or tiger, the horses, a very superior style ofdress, and six hundred francs a year for rent, and you will see agrand total of three thousand francs. 

Now, Monsieur de Soulas' father had left him only four thousand francsa year, the income from some cottage farms which lent painfuluncertainty to the rents. The lion had hardly three francs a day leftfor food, amusements, and gambling. He very often dined out, andbreakfasted with remarkable frugality. When he was positively obligedto dine at his own cost, he sent his tiger to fetch a couple of dishesfrom a cookshop, never spending more than twenty-five sous. 

Young Monsieur de Soulas was supposed to be a spendthrift, recklesslyextravagant, whereas the poor man made the two ends meet in the yearwith a keenness and skill which would have done honor to a thriftyhousewife. At Besancon in those days no one knew how great a tax on aman's capital were six francs spent in polish to spread on his bootsor shoes, yellow gloves at fifty sous a pair, cleaned in the deepestsecrecy to make them three times renewed, cravats costing ten francs, and lasting three months, four waistcoats at twenty-five francs, andtrousers fitting close to the boots. How could he do otherwise, sincewe see women in Paris bestowing their special attention on simpletonswho visit them, and cut out the most remarkable men by means of thesefrivolous advantages, which a man can buy for fifteen louis, and gethis hair curled and a fine linen shirt into the bargain?

If this unhappy youth should seem to you to have become a _lion_ onvery cheap terms, you must know that Amedee de Soulas had been threetimes to Switzerland, by coach and in short stages, twice to Paris, and once from Paris to England. He passed as a well-informed traveler, and could say, "In England, where I went . . . " The dowagers of thetown would say to him, "You, who have been in England . . . " He hadbeen as far as Lombardy, and seen the shores of the Italian lakes. Heread new books. Finally, when he was cleaning his gloves, the tigerBabylas replied to callers, "Monsieur is very busy. " An attempt hadbeen made to withdraw Monsieur Amedee de Soulas from circulation bypronouncing him "A man of advanced ideas. " Amedee had the gift ofuttering with the gravity of a native the commonplaces that were infashion, which gave him the credit of being one of the mostenlightened of the nobility. His person was garnished with fashionabletrinkets, and his head furnished with ideas hall-marked by the press. 

In 1834 Amedee was a young man of five-and-twenty, of medium height, dark, with a very prominent thorax, well-made shoulders, rather plumplegs, feet already fat, white dimpled hands, a beard under his chin, moustaches worthy of the garrison, a good-natured, fat, rubicund face, a flat nose, and brown expressionless eyes; nothing Spanish about him. He was progressing rapidly in the direction of obesity, which would befatal to his pretensions. His nails were well kept, his beard trimmed, the smallest details of his dress attended to with English precision. Hence Amedee de Soulas was looked upon as the finest man in Besancon. A hairdresser who waited upon him at a fixed hour--another luxury, costing sixty francs a year--held him up as the sovereign authority inmatters of fashion and elegance. 

Amedee slept late, dressed and went out towards noon, to go to one ofhis farms and practise pistol-shooting. He attached as much importanceto this exercise as Lord Byron did in his later days. Then, at threeo'clock he came home, admired on horseback by the grisettes and theladies who happened to be at their windows. After an affectation ofstudy or business, which seemed to engage him till four, he dressed todine out, spent the evening in the drawing-rooms of the aristocracy ofBesancon playing whist, and went home to bed at eleven. No life couldbe more above board, more prudent, or more irreproachable, for hepunctually attended the services at church on Sundays and holy days. 

To enable you to understand how exceptional is such a life, it isnecessary to devote a few words to an account of Besancon. No townever offered more deaf and dumb resistance to progress. At Besanconthe officials, the _employes_, the military, in short, every one engagedin governing it, sent thither from Paris to fill a post of any kind, are all spoken of by the expressive general name of _the Colony_. Thecolony is neutral ground, the only ground where, as in church, theupper rank and the townsfolk of the place can meet. Here, fired by aword, a look, or gesture, are started those feuds between house andhouse, between a woman of rank and a citizen's wife, which endure tilldeath, and widen the impassable gulf which parts the two classes ofsociety. With the exception of the Clermont-Mont-Saint-Jean, theBeauffremont, the de Scey, and the Gramont families, with a few otherswho come only to stay on their estates in the Comte, the aristocracyof Besancon dates no further back than a couple of centuries, the timeof the conquest by Louis XIV. This little world is essentially of the_parlement_, and arrogant, stiff, solemn, uncompromising, haughtybeyond all comparison, even with the Court of Vienna, for in this thenobility of Besancon would put the Viennese drawing-rooms to shame. Asto Victor Hugo, Nodier, Fourier, the glories of the town, they arenever mentioned, no one thinks about them. The marriages in thesefamilies are arranged in the cradle, so rigidly are the greatestthings settled as well as the smallest. No stranger, no intruder, everfinds his way into one of these houses, and to obtain an introductionfor the colonels or officers of title belonging to the first familiesin France when quartered there, requires efforts of diplomacy whichPrince Talleyrand would gladly have mastered to use at a congress. 

In 1834 Amedee was the only man in Besancon who wore trouser-straps;this will account for the young man's being regarded as a lion. And alittle anecdote will enable you to understand the city of Besancon. 

Some time before the opening of this story, the need arose at theprefecture for bringing an editor from Paris for the officialnewspaper, to enable it to hold its own against the little _Gazette_, dropped at Besancon by the great _Gazette_, and the _Patriot_, whichfrisked in the hands of the Republicans. Paris sent them a young man, knowing nothing about la Franche Comte, who began by writing them aleading article of the school of the _Charivari_. The chief of themoderate party, a member of the municipal council, sent for thejournalist and said to him, "You must understand, monsieur, that weare serious, more than serious--tiresome; we resent being amused, andare furious at having been made to laugh. Be as hard of digestion asthe toughest disquisitions in the Revue des Deux Mondes, and you willhardly reach the level of Besancon. "

The editor took the hint, and thenceforth spoke the mostincomprehensible philosophical lingo. His success was complete. 

If young Monsieur de Soulas did not fall in the esteem of Besanconsociety, it was out of pure vanity on its part; the aristocracy werehappy to affect a modern air, and to be able to show any Parisians ofrank who visited the Comte a young man who bore some likeness to them. 

All this hidden labor, all this dust thrown in people's eyes, thisdisplay of folly and latent prudence, had an object, or the _lion_ ofBesancon would have been no son of the soil. Amedee wanted to achievea good marriage by proving some day that his farms were not mortgaged, and that he had some savings. He wanted to be the talk of the town, tobe the finest and best-dressed man there, in order to win first theattention, and then the hand, of Mademoiselle Rosalie de Watteville. 

In 1830, at the time when young Monsieur de Soulas was setting up inbusiness as a dandy, Rosalie was but fourteen. Hence, in 1834, Mademoiselle de Watteville had reached the age when young persons areeasily struck by the peculiarities which attracted the attention ofthe town to Amedee. There are so many _lions_ who become _lions_ outof self-interest and speculation. The Wattevilles, who for twelveyears had been drawing an income of fifty thousand francs a year, didnot spend more than four-and-twenty thousand francs a year, whilereceiving all the upper circle of Besancon every Monday and Friday. OnMonday they gave a dinner, on Friday an evening party. Thus, in twelveyears, what a sum must have accumulated from twenty-six thousandfrancs a year, saved and invested with the judgment that distinguishesthose old families! It was very generally supposed that Madame deWatteville, thinking she had land enough, had placed her savings inthe three per cents, in 1830. Rosalie's dowry would therefore, as thebest informed opined, amount to about twenty thousand francs a year. So for the last five years Amedee had worked like a mole to get intothe highest favor of the severe Baroness, while laying himself out toflatter Mademoiselle de Watteville's conceit. 

Madame de Watteville was in the secret of the devices by which Amedeesucceeded in keeping up his rank in Besancon, and esteemed him highlyfor it. Soulas had placed himself under her wing when she was thirty, and at that time had dared to admire her and make her his idol; he hadgot so far as to be allowed--he alone in the world--to pour out to herall the unseemly gossip which almost all very precise women love tohear, being authorized by their superior virtue to look into the gulfwithout falling, and into the devil's snares without being caught. Doyou understand why the lion did not allow himself the very smallestintrigue? He lived a public life, in the street so to speak, onpurpose to play the part of a lover sacrificed to duty by theBaroness, and to feast her mind with the sins she had forbidden to hersenses. A man who is so privileged as to be allowed to pour lightstories into the ear of a bigot is in her eyes a charming man. If thisexemplary youth had better known the human heart, he might withoutrisk have allowed himself some flirtations among the grisettes ofBesancon who looked up to him as a king; his affairs might perhapshave been all the more hopeful with the strict and prudish Baroness. To Rosalie our Cato affected prodigality; he professed a life ofelegance, showing her in perspective the splendid part played by awoman of fashion in Paris, whither he meant to go as Depute. 

All these manoeuvres were crowned with complete success. In 1834 themothers of the forty noble families composing the high society ofBesancon quoted Monsieur Amedee de Soulas as the most charming youngman in the town; no one would have dared to dispute his place as cockof the walk at the Hotel de Rupt, and all Besancon regarded him asRosalie de Watteville's future husband. There had even been someexchange of ideas on the subject between the Baroness and Amedee, towhich the Baron's apparent nonentity gave some certainty. 

Mademoiselle de Watteville, to whom her enormous prospective fortuneat that time lent considerable importance, had been brought upexclusively within the precincts of the Hotel de Rupt--which hermother rarely quitted, so devoted was she to her dear Archbishop--andseverely repressed by an exclusively religious education, and by hermother's despotism, which held her rigidly to principles. Rosalie knewabsolutely nothing. Is it knowledge to have learned geography fromGuthrie, sacred history, ancient history, the history of France, andthe four rules all passed through the sieve of an old Jesuit? Dancingand music were forbidden, as being more likely to corrupt life than tograce it. The Baroness taught her daughter every conceivable stitch intapestry and women's work--plain sewing, embroidery, netting. Atseventeen Rosalie had never read anything but the _Lettres edifiantes_and some works on heraldry. No newspaper had ever defiled her sight. She attended mass at the Cathedral every morning, taken there by hermother, came back to breakfast, did needlework after a little walk inthe garden, and received visitors, sitting with the baroness untildinner-time. Then, after dinner, excepting on Mondays and Fridays, sheaccompanied Madame de Watteville to other houses to spend the evening, without being allowed to talk more than the maternal rule permitted. 

At eighteen Mademoiselle de Watteville was a slight, thin girl with aflat figure, fair, colorless, and insignificant to the last degree. Her eyes, of a very light blue, borrowed beauty from their lashes, which, when downcast, threw a shadow on her cheeks. A few frecklesmarred the whiteness of her forehead, which was shapely enough. Herface was exactly like those of Albert Durer's saints, or those of thepainters before Perugino; the same plump, though slender modeling, thesame delicacy saddened by ecstasy, the same severe guilelessness. Everything about her, even to her attitude, was suggestive of thosevirgins, whose beauty is only revealed in its mystical radiance to theeyes of the studious connoisseur. She had fine hands though red, and apretty foot, the foot of an aristocrat. 

She habitually wore simple checked cotton dresses; but on Sundays andin the evening her mother allowed her silk. The cut of her frocks, made at Besancon, almost made her ugly, while her mother tried toborrow grace, beauty, and elegance from Paris fashions; for throughMonsieur de Soulas she procured the smallest trifles of her dress fromthence. Rosalie had never worn a pair of silk stockings or thin boots, but always cotton stockings and leather shoes. On high days she wasdressed in a muslin frock, her hair plainly dressed, and had bronzekid shoes. 

This education, and her own modest demeanor, hid in Rosalie a spiritof iron. Physiologists and profound observers will tell you, perhapsto your astonishment, that tempers, characteristics, wit, or geniusreappear in families at long intervals, precisely like what are knownas hereditary diseases. Thus talent, like the gout, sometimes skipsover two generations. We have an illustrious example of thisphenomenon in George Sand, in whom are resuscitated the force, thepower, and the imaginative faculty of the Marechal de Saxe, whosenatural granddaughter she is. 

The decisive character and romantic daring of the famous Wattevillehad reappeared in the soul of his grand-niece, reinforced by thetenacity and pride of blood of the Rupts. But these qualities--orfaults, if you will have it so--were as deeply buried in this younggirlish soul, apparently so weak and yielding, as the seething lavaswithin a hill before it becomes a volcano. Madame de Watteville alone, perhaps, suspected this inheritance from two strains. She was sosevere to her Rosalie, that she replied one day to the Archbishop, whoblamed her for being too hard on the child, "Leave me to manage her, monseigneur. I know her! She has more than one Beelzebub in her skin!"

The Baroness kept all the keener watch over her daughter, because sheconsidered her honor as a mother to be at stake. After all, she hadnothing else to do. Clotilde de Rupt, at this time five-and-thirty, and as good as widowed, with a husband who turned egg-cups in everyvariety of wood, who set his mind on making wheels with six spokes outof iron-wood, and manufactured snuff-boxes for everyone of hisacquaintance, flirted in strict propriety with Amedee de Soulas. Whenthis young man was in the house, she alternately dismissed andrecalled her daughter, and tried to detect symptoms of jealousy inthat youthful soul, so as to have occasion to repress them. Sheimitated the police in its dealings with the republicans; but shelabored in vain. Rosalie showed no symptoms of rebellion. Then thearid bigot accused her daughter of perfect insensibility. Rosalie knewher mother well enough to be sure that if she had thought youngMonsieur de Soulas _nice_, she would have drawn down on herself asmart reproof. Thus, to all her mother's incitement she replied merelyby such phrases as are wrongly called Jesuitical--wrongly, because theJesuits were strong, and such reservations are the _chevaux de frise_behind which weakness takes refuge. Then the mother regarded the girlas a dissembler. If by mischance a spark of the true nature of theWattevilles and the Rupts blazed out, the mother armed herself withthe respect due from children to their parents to reduce Rosalie topassive obedience. 

This covert battle was carried on in the most secret seclusion ofdomestic life, with closed doors. The Vicar-General, the dear AbbeGrancey, the friend of the late Archbishop, clever as he was in hiscapacity of the chief Father Confessor of the diocese, could notdiscover whether the struggle had stirred up some hatred between themother and daughter, whether the mother were jealous in anticipation, or whether the court Amedee was paying to the girl through her motherhad not overstepped its due limits. Being a friend of the family, neither mother nor daughter, confessed to him. Rosalie, a little toomuch harried, morally, about young de Soulas, could not abide him, touse a homely phrase, and when he spoke to her, trying to take herheart by surprise, she received him but coldly. This aversion, discerned only by her mother's eyes, was a constant subject ofadmonition. 

"Rosalie, I cannot imagine why you affect such coldness towardsAmedee. Is it because he is a friend of the family, and because welike him--your father and I?"

"Well, mamma, " replied the poor child one day, "if I made him welcome, should I not be still more in the wrong?"

"What do you mean by that?" cried Madame de Watteville. "What is themeaning of such words? Your mother is unjust, no doubt, and accordingto you, would be so in any case! Never let such an answer pass yourlips again to your mother--" and so forth. 

This quarrel lasted three hours and three-quarters. Rosalie noted thetime. Her mother, pale with fury, sent her to her room, where Rosaliepondered on the meaning of this scene without discovering it, soguileless was she. Thus young Monsieur de Soulas, who was supposed byevery one to be very near the end he was aiming at, all neckclothsset, and by dint of pots of patent blacking--an end which required somuch waxing of his moustaches, so many smart waistcoats, wore out somany horseshoes and stays--for he wore a leather vest, the stays ofthe _lion_--Amedee, I say, was further away than any chance comer, although he had on his side the worthy and noble Abbe de Grancey. 

* * * * *

"Madame, " said Monsieur de Soulas, addressing the Baroness, whilewaiting till his soup was cool enough to swallow, and affecting togive a romantic turn to his narrative, "one fine morning the mailcoach dropped at the Hotel National a gentleman from Paris, who, afterseeking apartments, made up his mind in favor of the first floor inMademoiselle Galard's house, Rue du Perron. Then the stranger wentstraight to the Mairie, and had himself registered as a resident withall political qualifications. Finally, he had his name entered on thelist of the barristers to the Court, showing his title in due form, and he left his card on all his new colleagues, the Ministerialofficials, the Councillors of the Court, and the members of the bench, with the name, 'ALBERT SAVARON. '"

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

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

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

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

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

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

"You may suppose that in a town where everything is classified, known, pigeon-holed, ticketed, and numbered, as in Besancon, Albert Savaronwas received without hesitation by the lawyers of the town. They weresatisfied to say, 'Here is a man who does not know his Besancon. Whothe devil can have sent him here? What can he hope to do? Sending hiscard to the Judges instead of calling in person! What a blunder!' Andso, three days after, Savaron had ceased to exist. He took as hisservant old Monsieur Galard's man--Galard being dead--Jerome, who cancook a little. Albert Savaron was all the more completely forgotten, because no one had seen him or met him anywhere. "

"Then, does he not go to mass?" asked Madame de Chavoncourt. 

"He goes on Sundays to Saint-Pierre, but to the early service at eightin the morning. He rises every night between one and two in themorning, works till eight, has his breakfast, and then goes onworking. He walks in his garden, going round fifty, or perhaps sixtytimes; then he goes in, dines, and goes to bed between six and seven. "

"How did you learn all that?" Madame de Chavoncourt asked Monsieur deSoulas. 

"In the first place, madame, I live in the Rue Neuve, at the corner ofthe Rue du Perron; I look out on the house where this mysteriouspersonage lodges; then, of course, there are communications between mytiger and Jerome. "

"And you gossip with Babylas?"

"What would you have me do out riding?"

"Well--and how was it that you engaged a stranger for your defence?"asked the Baroness, thus placing the conversation in the hands of theVicar-General. 

"The President of the Court played this pleader a trick by appointinghim to defend at the Assizes a half-witted peasant accused of forgery. But Monsieur Savaron procured the poor man's acquittal by proving hisinnocence and showing that he had been a tool in the hands of the realculprits. Not only did his line of defence succeed, but it led to thearrest of two of the witnesses, who were proved guilty and condemned. His speech struck the Court and the jury. One of these, a merchant, placed a difficult case next day in the hands of Monsieur Savaron, andhe won it. In the position in which we found ourselves, MonsieurBerryer finding it impossible to come to Besancon, Monsieur deGarcenault advised him to employ this Monsieur Albert Savaron, foretelling our success. As soon as I saw him and heard him, I feltfaith in him, and I was not wrong. "

"Is he then so extraordinary?" asked Madame de Chavoncourt. 

"Certainly, madame, " replied the Vicar-General. 

"Well, tell us about it, " said Madame de Watteville. 

"The first time I saw him, " said the Abbe de Grancey, "he received mein his outer room next the ante-room--old Galard's drawing-room--whichhe has had painted like old oak, and which I found entirely lined withlaw-books, arranged on shelves also painted as old oak. The paintingand the books are the sole decoration of the room, for the furnitureconsists of an old writing table of carved wood, six old armchairscovered with tapestry, window curtains of gray stuff bordered withgreen, and a green carpet over the floor. The ante-room stove heatsthis library as well. As I waited there I did not picture my advocateas a young man. But this singular setting is in perfect harmony withhis person; for Monsieur Savaron came out in a black merinodressing-gown tied with a red cord, red slippers, a red flannelwaistcoat, and a red smoking-cap. "

"The devil's colors!" exclaimed Madame de Watteville. 

"Yes, " said the Abbe; "but a magnificent head. Black hair alreadystreaked with a little gray, hair like that of Saint Peter and SaintPaul in pictures, with thick shining curls, hair as stiff ashorse-hair; a round white throat like a woman's; a splendid forehead, furrowed by the strong median line which great schemes, greatthoughts, deep meditations stamp on a great man's brow; an olivecomplexion marbled with red, a square nose, eyes of flame, hollowcheeks, with two long lines, betraying much suffering, a mouth with asardonic smile, and a small chin, narrow, and too short; crow's feeton his temples; deep-set eyes, moving in their sockets like burningballs; but, in spite of all these indications of a violentlypassionate nature, his manner was calm, deeply resigned, and his voiceof penetrating sweetness, which surprised me in Court by its easyflow; a true orator's voice, now clear and appealing, sometimesinsinuating, but a voice of thunder when needful, and lending itselfto sarcasm to become incisive. 

"Monsieur Albert Savaron is of middle height, neither stout nor thin. And his hands are those of a prelate. 

"The second time I called on him he received me in his bed-room, adjoining the library, and smiled at my astonishment when I saw therea wretched chest of drawers, a shabby carpet, a camp-bed, and cottonwindow-curtains. He came out of his private room, to which no one isadmitted, as Jerome informed me; the man did not go in, but merelyknocked at the door. 

"The third time he was breakfasting in his library on the most frugalfare; but on this occasion, as he had spent the night studying ourdocuments, as I had my attorney with me, and as that worthy MonsieurGirardet is long-winded, I had leisure to study the stranger. Hecertainly is no ordinary man. There is more than one secret behindthat face, at once so terrible and so gentle, patient and yetimpatient, broad and yet hollow. I saw, too, that he stooped a little, like all men who have some heavy burden to bear. "

"Why did so eloquent a man leave Paris? For what purpose did he cometo Besancon?" asked pretty Madame de Chavoncourt. "Could no one tellhim how little chance a stranger has of succeeding here? The goodfolks of Besancon will make use of him, but they will not allow him tomake use of them. Why, having come, did he make so little effort thatit needed a freak of the President's to bring him forward?"

"After carefully studying that fine head, " said the Abbe, lookingkeenly at the lady who had interrupted him, in such a way as tosuggest that there was something he would not tell, "and especiallyafter hearing him this morning reply to one of the bigwigs of theParis Bar, I believe that this man, who may be five-and-thirty, willby and by make a great sensation. "

"Why should we discuss him? You have gained your action, and paidhim, " said Madame de Watteville, watching her daughter, who, all thetime the Vicar-General had been speaking, seemed to hang on his lips. 

The conversation changed, and no more was heard of Albert Savaron. 

The portrait sketched by the cleverest of the Vicars-General of thediocese had all the greater charm for Rosalie because there was aromance behind it. For the first time in her life she had come acrossthe marvelous, the exceptional, which smiles on every youthfulimagination, and which curiosity, so eager at Rosalie's age, goesforth to meet half-way. What an ideal being was this Albert--gloomy, unhappy, eloquent, laborious, as compared by Mademoiselle deWatteville to that chubby fat Count, bursting with health, payingcompliments, and talking of the fashions in the very face of thesplendor of the old counts of Rupt. Amedee had cost her many quarrelsand scoldings, and, indeed, she knew him only too well; while thisAlbert Savaron offered many enigmas to be solved. 

"Albert Savaron de Savarus, " she repeated to herself. 

Now, to see him, to catch sight of him! This was the desire of thegirl to whom desire was hitherto unknown. She pondered in her heart, in her fancy, in her brain, the least phrases used by the Abbe deGrancey, for all his words had told. 

"A fine forehead!" said she to herself, looking at the head of everyman seated at the table; "I do not see one fine one. --Monsieur deSoulas' is too prominent; Monsieur de Grancey's is fine, but he isseventy, and has no hair, it is impossible to see where his foreheadends. "

"What is the matter, Rosalie; you are eating nothing?"

"I am not hungry, mamma, " said she. "A prelate's hands----" she wenton to herself. "I cannot remember our handsome Archbishop's hands, though he confirmed me. "

Finally, in the midst of her coming and going in the labyrinth of hermeditations, she remembered a lighted window she had seen from herbed, gleaming through the trees of the two adjoining gardens, when shehad happened to wake in the night. . . . "Then that was his light!"thought she. "I might see him!--I will see him. "

"Monsieur de Grancey, is the Chapter's lawsuit quite settled?" saidRosalie point-blank to the Vicar-General, during a moment of silence. 

Madame de Watteville exchanged rapid glances with the Vicar-General. 

"What can that matter to you, my dear child?" she said to Rosalie, with an affected sweetness which made her daughter cautious for therest of her days. 

"It might be carried to the Court of Appeal, but our adversaries willthink twice about that, " replied the Abbe. 

"I never could have believed that Rosalie would think about a lawsuitall through a dinner, " remarked Madame de Watteville. 

"Nor I either, " said Rosalie, in a dreamy way that made every onelaugh. "But Monsieur de Grancey was so full of it, that I wasinterested. "

The company rose from table and returned to the drawing-room. Allthrough the evening Rosalie listened in case Albert Savaron should bementioned again; but beyond the congratulations offered by eachnewcomer to the Abbe on having gained his suit, to which no one addedany praise of the advocate, no more was said about it. Mademoiselle deWatteville impatiently looked forward to bedtime. She had promisedherself to wake at between two and three in the morning, and to lookat Albert's dressing-room windows. When the hour came, she felt almostpleasure in gazing at the glimmer from the lawyer's candles that shonethrough the trees, now almost bare of their leaves. By the help of thestrong sight of a young girl, which curiosity seems to make longer, she saw Albert writing, and fancied she could distinguish the color ofthe furniture, which she thought was red. From the chimney above theroof rose a thick column of smoke. 

"While all the world is sleeping, he is awake--like God!" thought she. 

The education of girls brings with it such serious problems--for thefuture of a nation is in the mother--that the University of Francelong since set itself the task of having nothing to do with it. Hereis one of these problems: Ought girls to be informed on all points?Ought their minds to be under restraint? It need not be said that thereligious system is one of restraint. If you enlighten them, you makethem demons before their time; if you keep them from thinking, you endin the sudden explosion so well shown by Moliere in the character ofAgnes, and you leave this suppressed mind, so fresh and clear-seeing, as swift and as logical as that of a savage, at the mercy of anaccident. This inevitable crisis was brought on in Mademoiselle deWatteville by the portrait which one of the most prudent Abbes of theChapter of Besancon imprudently allowed himself to sketch at a dinnerparty. 

Next morning, Mademoiselle de Watteville, while dressing, necessarilylooked out at Albert Savaron walking in the garden adjoining that ofthe Hotel de Rupt. 

"What would have become of me, " thought she, "if he had lived anywhereelse? Here I can, at any rate, see him. --What is he thinking about?"

Having seen this extraordinary man, though at a distance, the only manwhose countenance stood forth in contrast with crowds of Besanconfaces she had hitherto met with, Rosalie at once jumped at the idea ofgetting into his house, of ascertaining the reason of so much mystery, of hearing that eloquent voice, of winning a glance from those fineeyes. All this she set her heart on, but how could she achieve it?

All that day she drew her needle through her embroidery with theobtuse concentration of a girl who, like Agnes, seems to be thinkingof nothing, but who is reflecting on things in general so deeply, thather artifice is unfailing. As a result of this profound meditation, Rosalie thought she would go to confession. Next morning, after Mass, she had a brief interview with the Abbe Giroud at Saint-Pierre, andmanaged so ingeniously that the hour of her confession was fixed forSunday morning at half-past seven, before the eight o'clock Mass. Shecommitted herself to a dozen fibs in order to find herself, just foronce, in the church at the hour when the lawyer came to Mass. Then shewas seized with an impulse of extreme affection for her father; shewent to see him in his workroom, and asked him for all sorts ofinformation on the art of turning, ending by advising him to turnlarger pieces, columns. After persuading her father to set to work onsome twisted pillars, one of the difficulties of the turner's art, shesuggested that he should make use of a large heap of stones that layin the middle of the garden to construct a sort of grotto on which hemight erect a little temple or Belvedere in which his twisted pillarscould be used and shown off to all the world. 

At the climax of the pleasure the poor unoccupied man derived fromthis scheme, Rosalie said, as she kissed him, "Above all, do not tellmamma who gave you the notion; she would scold me. "

"Do not be afraid!" replied Monsieur de Watteville, who groaned asbitterly as his daughter under the tyranny of the terrible descendantof the Rupts. 

So Rosalie had a certain prospect of seeing ere long a charmingobservatory built, whence her eye would command the lawyer's privateroom. And there are men for whose sake young girls can carry out suchmasterstrokes of diplomacy, while, for the most part, like AlbertSavaron, they know it not. 

The Sunday so impatiently looked for arrived, and Rosalie dressed withsuch carefulness as made Mariette, the ladies'-maid, smile. 

"It is the first time I ever knew mademoiselle to be so fidgety, " saidMariette. 

"It strikes me, " said Rosalie, with a glance at Mariette, whichbrought poppies to her cheeks, "that you too are more particular onsome days than on others. "

As she went down the steps, across the courtyard, and through thegates, Rosalie's heart beat, as everybody's does in anticipation of agreat event. Hitherto, she had never known what it was to walk in thestreets; for a moment she had felt as though her mother must read herschemes on her brow, and forbid her going to confession, and she nowfelt new blood in her feet, she lifted them as though she trod onfire. She had, of course, arranged to be with her confessor at aquarter-past eight, telling her mother eight, so as to have about aquarter of an hour near Albert. She got to church before Mass, andafter a short prayer, went to see if the Abbe Giroud were in hisconfessional, simply to pass the time; and she thus placed herself insuch a way as to see Albert as he came into church. 

The man must have been atrociously ugly who did not seem handsome toMademoiselle de Watteville in the frame of mind produced by hercuriosity. And Albert Savaron, who was really very striking, made allthe more impression on Rosalie because his mien, his walk, hiscarriage, everything down to his clothing, had the indescribable stampwhich can only be expressed by the word Mystery. 

He came in. The church, till now gloomy, seemed to Rosalie to beilluminated. The girl was fascinated by his slow and solemn demeanor, as of a man who bears a world on his shoulders and whose deep gaze, whose very gestures, combine to express a devastating or absorbingthought. Rosalie now understood the Vicar-General's words in theirfullest extent. Yes, those eyes of tawny brown, shot with goldenlights, covered ardor which revealed itself in sudden flashes. Rosalie, with a recklessness which Mariette noted, stood in thelawyer's way, so as to exchange glances with him; and this glanceturned her blood, for it seethed and boiled as though its warmth weredoubled. 

As soon as Albert had taken a seat, Mademoiselle de Watteville quicklyfound a place whence she could see him perfectly during all the timethe Abbe might leave her. When Mariette said, "Here is MonsieurGiroud, " it seemed to Rosalie that the interview had lasted no morethan a few minutes. By the time she came out from the confessional, Mass was over. Albert had left the church. 

"The Vicar-General was right, " thought she. "_He_ is unhappy. Whyshould this eagle--for he has the eyes of an eagle--swoop down onBesancon? Oh, I must know everything! But how?"

Under the smart of this new desire Rosalie set the stitches of herworsted-work with exquisite precision, and hid her meditations under alittle innocent air, which shammed simplicity to deceive Madame deWatteville. 

From that Sunday, when Mademoiselle de Watteville had met that look, or, if you please, received this baptism of fire--a fine expression ofNapoleon's which may be well applied to love--she eagerly promoted theplan for the Belvedere. 

"Mamma, " said she one day when two columns were turned, "my father hastaken a singular idea into his head; he is turning columns for aBelvedere he intends to erect on the heap of stones in the middle ofthe garden. Do you approve of it? It seems to me--"

"I approve of everything your father does, " said Madame de Wattevilledrily, "and it is a wife's duty to submit to her husband even if shedoes not approve of his ideas. Why should I object to a thing which isof no importance in itself, if only it amuses Monsieur de Watteville?"

"Well, because from thence we shall see into Monsieur de Soulas'rooms, and Monsieur de Soulas will see us when we are there. Perhapsremarks may be made--"

"Do you presume, Rosalie, to guide your parents, and think you knowmore than they do of life and the proprieties?"

"I say no more, mamma. Besides, my father said that there would be aroom in the grotto, where it would be cool, and where we can takecoffee. "

"Your father has had an excellent idea, " said Madame de Watteville, who forthwith went to look at the columns. 

She gave her entire approbation to the Baron de Watteville's design, while choosing for the erection of this monument a spot at the bottomof the garden, which could not be seen from Monsieur de Soulas'windows, but whence they could perfectly see into Albert Savaron'srooms. A builder was sent for, who undertook to construct a grotto, ofwhich the top should be reached by a path three feet wide through therock-work, where periwinkles would grow, iris, clematis, ivy, honeysuckle, and Virginia creeper. The Baroness desired that theinside should be lined with rustic wood-work, such as was then thefashion for flower-stands, with a looking-glass against the wall, anottoman forming a box, and a table of inlaid bark. Monsieur de Soulasproposed that the floor should be of asphalt. Rosalie suggested ahanging chandelier of rustic wood. 

"The Wattevilles are having something charming done in their garden, "was rumored in Besancon. 

"They are rich, and can afford a thousand crowns for a whim--"

"A thousand crowns!" exclaimed Madame de Chavoncourt. 

"Yes, a thousand crowns, " cried young Monsieur de Soulas. "A man hasbeen sent for from Paris to rusticate the interior but it will be verypretty. Monsieur de Watteville himself is making the chandelier, andhas begun to carve the wood. "

"Berquet is to make a cellar under it, " said an Abbe. 

"No, " replied young Monsieur de Soulas, "he is raising the kiosk on aconcrete foundation, that it may not be damp. "

"You know the very least things that are done in that house, " saidMadame de Chavoncourt sourly, as she looked at one of her great girlswaiting to be married for a year past. 

Mademoiselle de Watteville, with a little flush of pride in thinkingof the success of her Belvedere, discerned in herself a vastsuperiority over every one about her. No one guessed that a littlegirl, supposed to be a witless goose, had simply made up her mind toget a closer view of the lawyer Savaron's private study. 

Albert Savaron's brilliant defence of the Cathedral Chapter was allthe sooner forgotten because the envy of the other lawyers wasaroused. Also, Savaron, faithful to his seclusion, went nowhere. Having no friends to cry him up, and seeing no one, he increased thechances of being forgotten which are common to strangers in Besancon. Nevertheless, he pleaded three times at the Commercial Tribunal inthree knotty cases which had to be carried to the superior Court. Hethus gained as clients four of the chief merchants of the place, whodiscerned in him so much good sense and sound legal purview that theyplaced their claims in his hands. 

On the day when the Watteville family inaugurated the Belvedere, Savaron also was founding a monument. Thanks to the connections he hadobscurely formed among the upper class of merchants in Besancon, hewas starting a fortnightly paper, called the _Eastern Review_, withthe help of forty shares of five hundred francs each, taken up by hisfirst ten clients, on whom he had impressed the necessity forpromoting the interests of Besancon, the town where the traffic shouldmeet between Mulhouse and Lyons, and the chief centre between Mulhouseand Rhone. 

To compete with Strasbourg, was it not needful that Besancon shouldbecome a focus of enlightenment as well as of trade? The leadingquestions relating to the interests of Eastern France could only bedealt with in a review. What a glorious task to rob Strasbourg andDijon of their literary importance, to bring light to the East ofFrance, and compete with the centralizing influence of Paris! Thesereflections, put forward by Albert, were repeated by the tenmerchants, who believed them to be their own. 

Monsieur Savaron did not commit the blunder of putting his name infront; he left the finance of the concern to his chief client, Monsieur Boucher, connected by marriage with one of the greatpublishers of important ecclesiastical works; but he kept theeditorship, with a share of the profits as founder. The commercialinterest appealed to Dole, to Dijon, to Salins, to Neufchatel, to theJura, Bourg, Nantua, Lous-le-Saulnier. The concurrence was invited ofthe learning and energy of every scientific student in the districtsof le Bugey, la Bresse, and Franche Comte. By the influence ofcommercial interests and common feeling, five hundred subscribers werebooked in consideration of the low price; the _Review_ cost eightfrancs a quarter. 

To avoid hurting the conceit of the provincials by refusing theirarticles, the lawyer hit on the good idea of suggesting a desire forthe literary management of this _Review_ to Monsieur Boucher's eldestson, a young man of two-and-twenty, very eager for fame, to whom thesnares and woes of literary responsibilities were utterly unknown. Albert quietly kept the upper hand and made Alfred Boucher his devotedadherent. Alfred was the only man in Besancon with whom the king ofthe bar was on familiar terms. Alfred came in the morning to discussthe articles for the next number with Albert in the garden. It isneedless to say that the trial number contained a "Meditation" byAlfred, which Savaron approved. In his conversations with Alfred, Albert would let drop some great ideas, subjects for articles of whichAlfred availed himself. And thus the merchant's son fancied he wasmaking capital out of the great man. To Alfred, Albert was a man ofgenius, of profound politics. The commercial world, enchanted at thesuccess of the _Review_, had to pay up only three-tenths of theirshares. Two hundred more subscribers, and the periodical would pay adividend to the share-holders of five per cent, the editor remainingunpaid. This editing, indeed, was beyond price. 

After the third number the _Review_ was recognized for exchange by allthe papers published in France, which Albert henceforth read at home. This third number included a tale signed "A. S. , " and attributed tothe famous lawyer. In spite of the small attention paid by the highercircle of Besancon to the _Review_ which was accused of Liberal views, this, the first novel produced in the county, came under discussionthat mid-winter at Madame de Chavoncourt's. 

"Papa, " said Rosalie, "a _Review_ is published in Besancon; you oughtto take it in; and keep it in your room, for mamma would not let meread it, but you will lend it to me. "

Monsieur de Watteville, eager to obey his dear Rosalie, who for thelast five months had given him so many proofs of filial affection, --Monsieur de Watteville went in person to subscribe for a year tothe _Eastern Review_, and lent the four numbers already out to hisdaughter. In the course of the night Rosalie devoured the tale--thefirst she had ever read in her life--but she had only known life fortwo months past. Hence the effect produced on her by this work mustnot be judged by ordinary rules. Without prejudice of any kind as tothe greater or less merit of this composition from the pen of aParisian who had thus imported into the province the manner, thebrilliancy, if you will, of the new literary school, it could not failto be a masterpiece to a young girl abandoning all her intelligenceand her innocent heart to her first reading of this kind. 

Also, from what she had heard said, Rosalie had by intuition conceiveda notion of it which strangely enhanced the interest of this novel. She hoped to find in it the sentiments, and perhaps something of thelife of Albert. From the first pages this opinion took so strong ahold on her, that after reading the fragment to the end she wascertain that it was no mistake. Here, then, is this confession, inwhich, according to the critics of Madame de Chavoncourt'sdrawing-room, Albert had imitated some modern writers who, for lackof inventiveness, relate their private joys, their private griefs, orthe mysterious events of their own life. 

* * * * *

AMBITION FOR LOVE'S SAKE

In 1823 two young men, having agreed as a plan for a holiday to make atour through Switzerland, set out from Lucerne one fine morning in themonth of July in a boat pulled by three oarsmen. They started forFluelen, intending to stop at every notable spot on the lake of theFour Cantons. The views which shut in the waters on the way fromLucerne to Fluelen offer every combination that the most exactingfancy can demand of mountains and rivers, lakes and rocks, brooks andpastures, trees and torrents. Here are austere solitudes and charmingheadlands, smiling and trimly kept meadows, forests crowningperpendicular granite cliffs, like plumes, deserted but verdantreaches opening out, and valleys whose beauty seems the lovelier inthe dreamy distance. 

As they passed the pretty hamlet of Gersau, one of the friends lookedfor a long time at a wooden house which seemed to have been recentlybuilt, enclosed by a paling, and standing on a promontory, almostbathed by the waters. As the boat rowed past, a woman's head wasraised against the background of the room on the upper story of thishouse, to admire the effect of the boat on the lake. One of the youngmen met the glance thus indifferently given by the unknown fair. 

"Let us stop here, " said he to his friend. "We meant to make Lucerneour headquarters for seeing Switzerland; you will not take it amiss, Leopold, if I change my mind and stay here to take charge of ourpossessions. Then you can go where you please; my journey is ended. Pull to land, men, and put us out at this village; we will breakfasthere. I will go back to Lucerne to fetch all our luggage, and beforeyou leave you will know in which house I take a lodging, where youwill find me on your return. "

"Here or at Lucerne, " replied Leopold, "the difference is not so greatthat I need hinder you from following your whim. "

These two youths were friends in the truest sense of the word. Theywere of the same age; they had learned at the same school; and afterstudying the law, they were spending their holiday in the classicaltour in Switzerland. Leopold, by his father's determination, wasalready pledged to a place in a notary's office in Paris. His spiritof rectitude, his gentleness, and the coolness of his senses and hisbrain, guaranteed him to be a docile pupil. Leopold could see himselfa notary in Paris; his life lay before him like one of the highroadsthat cross the plains of France, and he looked along its whole lengthwith philosophical resignation. 

The character of his companion, whom we will call Rodolphe, presenteda strong contrast with Leopold's, and their antagonism had no doubthad the result of tightening the bond that united them. Rodolphe wasthe natural son of a man of rank, who was carried off by a prematuredeath before he could make any arrangements for securing the means ofexistence to a woman he fondly loved and to Rodolphe. Thus cheated bya stroke of fate, Rodolphe's mother had recourse to a heroic measure. She sold everything she owed to the munificence of her child's fatherfor a sum of more than a hundred thousand francs, bought with it alife annuity for herself at a high rate, and thus acquired an incomeof about fifteen thousand francs, resolving to devote the whole of itto the education of her son, so as to give him all the personaladvantages that might help to make his fortune, while saving, bystrict economy, a small capital to be his when he came of age. It wasbold; it was counting on her own life; but without this boldness thegood mother would certainly have found it impossible to live and tobring her child up suitably, and he was her only hope, her future, thespring of all her joys. 

Rodolphe, the son of a most charming Parisian woman, and a man ofmark, a nobleman of Brabant, was cursed with extreme sensitiveness. From his infancy he had in everything shown a most ardent nature. Inhim mere desire became a guiding force and the motive power of hiswhole being, the stimulus to his imagination, the reason of hisactions. Notwithstanding the pains taken by a clever mother, who wasalarmed when she detected this predisposition, Rodolphe wished forthings as a poet imagines, as a mathematician calculates, as a paintersketches, as a musician creates melodies. Tender-hearted, like hismother, he dashed with inconceivable violence and impetus of thoughtafter the object of his desires; he annihilated time. While dreamingof the fulfilment of his schemes, he always overlooked the means ofattainment. "When my son has children, " said his other, "he will wantthem born grown up. "

This fine frenzy, carefully directed, enabled Rodolphe to achieve hisstudies with brilliant results, and to become what the English call anaccomplished gentleman. His mother was then proud of him, though stillfearing a catastrophe if ever a passion should possess a heart at onceso tender and so susceptible, so vehement and so kind. Therefore, thejudicious mother had encouraged the friendship which bound Leopold toRodolphe and Rodolphe to Leopold, since she saw in the cold andfaithful young notary, a guardian, a comrade, who might to a certainextent take her place if by some misfortune she should be lost to herson. Rodolphe's mother, still handsome at three-and-forty, hadinspired Leopold with an ardent passion. This circumstance made thetwo young men even more intimate. 

So Leopold, knowing Rodolphe well, was not surprised to find himstopping at a village and giving up the projected journey toSaint-Gothard, on the strength of a single glance at the upper windowof a house. While breakfast was prepared for them at the Swan Inn, thefriends walked round the hamlet and came to the neighborhood of thepretty new house; here, while gazing about him and talking to theinhabitants, Rodolphe discovered the residence of some decent folk, who were willing to take him as a boarder, a very frequent custom inSwitzerland. They offered him a bedroom looking over the lake and themountains, and from whence he had a view of one of those immensesweeping reaches which, in this lake, are the admiration of everytraveler. This house was divided by a roadway and a little creek fromthe new house, where Rodolphe had caught sight of the unknown fairone's face. 

For a hundred francs a month Rodolphe was relieved of all thought forthe necessaries of life. But, in consideration of the outlay theStopfer couple expected to make, they bargained for three months'residence and a month's payment in advance. Rub a Swiss ever solittle, and you find the usurer. After breakfast, Rodolphe at oncemade himself at home by depositing in his room such property as he hadbrought with him for the journey to the Saint-Gothard, and he watchedLeopold as he set out, moved by the spirit of routine, to carry outthe excursion for himself and his friend. When Rodolphe, sitting on afallen rock on the shore, could no longer see Leopold's boat, heturned to examine the new house with stolen glances, hoping to see thefair unknown. Alas! he went in without its having given a sign oflife. During dinner, in the company of Monsieur and Madame Stopfer, retired coopers from Neufchatel, he questioned them as to theneighborhood, and ended by learning all he wanted to know about thelady, thanks to his hosts' loquacity; for they were ready to pour outtheir budget of gossip without any pressing. 

The fair stranger's name was Fanny Lovelace. This name (pronounced_Loveless_) is that of an old English family, but Richardson has givenit to a creation whose fame eclipses all others! Miss Lovelace hadcome to settle by the lake for her father's health, the physicianshaving recommended him the air of Lucerne. These two English peoplehad arrived with no other servant than a little girl of fourteen, adumb child, much attached to Miss Fanny, on whom she waited veryintelligently, and had settled, two winters since, with monsieur andMadame Bergmann, the retired head-gardeners of His Excellency CountBorromeo of Isola Bella and Isola Madre in the Lago Maggiore. TheseSwiss, who were possessed of an income of about a thousand crowns ayear, had let the top story of their house to the Lovelaces for threeyears, at a rent of two hundred francs a year. Old Lovelace, a man ofninety, and much broken, was too poor to allow himself anygratifications, and very rarely went out; his daughter worked tomaintain him, translating English books, and writing some herself, itwas said. The Lovelaces could not afford to hire boats to row on thelake, or horses and guides to explore the neighborhood. 

Poverty demanding such privation as this excites all the greatercompassion among the Swiss, because it deprives them of a chance ofprofit. The cook of the establishment fed the three English boardersfor a hundred francs a month inclusive. In Gersau it was generallybelieved, however, that the gardener and his wife, in spite of theirpretensions, used the cook's name as a screen to net the littleprofits of this bargain. The Bergmanns had made beautiful gardensround their house, and had built a hothouse. The flowers, the fruit, and the botanical rarities of this spot were what had induced theyoung lady to settle on it as she passed through Gersau. Miss Fannywas said to be nineteen years old; she was the old man's youngestchild, and the object of his adulation. About two months ago she hadhired a piano from Lucerne, for she seemed to be crazy about music. 

"She loves flowers and music, and she is unmarried!" thought Rodolphe;"what good luck!"

The next day Rodolphe went to ask leave to visit the hothouses andgardens, which were beginning to be somewhat famous. The permissionwas not immediately granted. The retired gardeners asked, strangelyenough, to see Rodolphe's passport; it was sent to them at once. Thepaper was not returned to him till next morning, by the hands of thecook, who expressed her master's pleasure in showing him their place. Rodolphe went to the Bergmanns', not without a certain trepidation, known only to persons of strong feelings, who go through as muchpassion in a moment as some men experience in a whole lifetime. 

After dressing himself carefully to gratify the old gardeners of theBorromean Islands, whom he regarded as the warders of his treasure, hewent all over the grounds, looking at the house now and again, butwith much caution; the old couple treated him with evident distrust. But his attention was soon attracted by the little English deaf-mute, in whom his discernment, though young as yet, enabled him to recognizea girl of African, or at least of Sicilian, origin. The child had thegolden-brown color of a Havana cigar, eyes of fire, Armenian eyelidswith lashes of very un-British length, hair blacker than black; andunder this almost olive skin, sinews of extraordinary strength andfeverish alertness. She looked at Rodolphe with amazing curiosity andeffrontery, watching his every movement. 

"To whom does that little Moresco belong?" he asked worthy MadameBergmann. 

"To the English, " Monsieur Bergmann replied. 

"But she never was born in England!"

"They may have brought her from the Indies, " said Madame Bergmann. 

"I have been told that Miss Lovelace is fond of music. I should bedelighted if, during my residence by the lake to which I am condemnedby my doctor's orders, she would allow me to join her. "

"They receive no one, and will not see anybody, " said the oldgardener. 

Rodolphe bit his lips and went away, without having been invited intothe house, or taken into the part of the garden that lay between thefront of the house and the shore of the little promontory. On thatside the house had a balcony above the first floor, made of wood, andcovered by the roof, which projected deeply like the roof of a chaleton all four sides of the building, in the Swiss fashion. Rodolphe hadloudly praised the elegance of this arrangement, and talked of theview from that balcony, but all in vain. When he had taken leave ofthe Bergmanns it struck him that he was a simpleton, like any man ofspirit and imagination disappointed of the results of a plan which hehad believed would succeed. 

In the evening he, of course, went out in a boat on the lake, roundand about the spit of land, to Brunnen and to Schwytz, and came in atnightfall. From afar he saw the window open and brightly lighted; heheard the sound of a piano and the tones of an exquisite voice. Hemade the boatman stop, and gave himself up to the pleasure oflistening to an Italian air delightfully sung. When the singingceased, Rodolphe landed and sent away the boat and rowers. At the costof wetting his feet, he went to sit down under the water-worn graniteshelf crowned by a thick hedge of thorny acacia, by the side of whichran a long lime avenue in the Bergmanns' garden. By the end of an hourhe heard steps and voices just above him, but the words that reachedhis ears were all Italian, and spoken by two women. 

He took advantage of the moment when the two speakers were at one endof the walk to slip noiselessly to the other. After half an hour ofstruggling he got to the end of the avenue, and there took up aposition whence, without being seen or heard, he could watch the twowomen without being observed by them as they came towards him. Whatwas Rodolphe's amazement on recognizing the deaf-mute as one of them;she was talking to Miss Lovelace in Italian. 

It was now eleven o'clock at night. The stillness was so perfect onthe lake and around the dwelling, that the two women must have thoughtthemselves safe; in all Gersau there could be no eyes open but theirs. Rodolphe supposed that the girl's dumbness must be a necessarydeception. From the way in which they both spoke Italian, Rodolphesuspected that it was the mother tongue of both girls, and concludedthat the name of English also hid some disguise. 

"They are Italian refugees, " said he to himself, "outlaws in fear ofthe Austrian or Sardinian police. The young lady waits till it is darkto walk and talk in security. "

He lay down by the side of the hedge, and crawled like a snake to finda way between two acacia shrubs. At the risk of leaving his coatbehind him, or tearing deep scratches in his back, he got through thehedge when the so-called Miss Fanny and her pretended deaf-and-dumbmaid were at the other end of the path; then, when they had comewithin twenty yards of him without seeing him, for he was in theshadow of the hedge, and the moon was shining brightly, he suddenlyrose. 

"Fear nothing, " said he in French to the Italian girl, "I am not aspy. You are refugees, I have guessed that. I am a Frenchman whom onelook from you has fixed at Gersau. "

Rodolphe, startled by the acute pain caused by some steel instrumentpiercing his side, fell like a log. 

"_Nel lago con pietra_!" said the terrible dumb girl. 

"Oh, Gina!" exclaimed the Italian. 

"She has missed me, " said Rodolphe, pulling from his wound a stiletto, which had been turned by one of the false ribs. "But a little higherup it would have been deep in my heart. --I was wrong, Francesca, " hewent on, remembering the name he had heard little Gina repeat severaltimes; "I owe her no grudge, do not scold her. The happiness ofspeaking to you is well worth the prick of a stiletto. Only show methe way out; I must get back to the Stopfers' house. Be easy; I shalltell nothing. "

Francesca, recovering from her astonishment, helped Rodolphe to rise, and said a few words to Gina, whose eyes filled with tears. The twogirls made him sit down on a bench and take off his coat, hiswaistcoat and cravat. Then Gina opened his shirt and sucked the woundstrongly. Francesca, who had left them, returned with a large piece ofsticking-plaster, which she applied to the wound. 

"You can now walk as far as your house, " she said. 

Each took an arm, and Rodolphe was conducted to a side gate, of whichthe key was in Francesca's apron pocket. 

"Does Gina speak French?" said Rodolphe to Francesca. 

"No. But do not excite yourself, " replied Francesca with someimpatience. 

"Let me look at you, " said Rodolphe pathetically, "for it may be longbefore I am able to come again---"

He leaned against one of the gate-posts contemplating the beautifulItalian, who allowed him to gaze at her for a moment under thesweetest silence and the sweetest night which ever, perhaps, shone onthis lake, the king of Swiss lakes. 

Francesca was quite of the Italian type, and such as imaginationsupposes or pictures, or, if you will, dreams, that Italian women are. What first struck Rodolphe was the grace and elegance of a figureevidently powerful, though so slender as to appear fragile. An amberpaleness overspread her face, betraying sudden interest, but it didnot dim the voluptuous glance of her liquid eyes of velvety blackness. A pair of hands as beautiful as ever a Greek sculptor added to thepolished arms of a statue grasped Rodolphe's arm, and their whitenessgleamed against his black coat. The rash Frenchman could but justdiscern the long, oval shape of her face, and a melancholy mouthshowing brilliant teeth between the parted lips, full, fresh, andbrightly red. The exquisite lines of this face guaranteed to Francescapermanent beauty; but what most struck Rodolphe was the adorablefreedom, the Italian frankness of this woman, wholly absorbed as shewas in her pity for him. 

Francesca said a word to Gina, who gave Rodolphe her arm as far as theStopfers' door, and fled like a swallow as soon as she had rung. 

"These patriots do not play at killing!" said Rodolphe to himself ashe felt his sufferings when he found himself in his bed. "'_Nellago!'_ Gina would have pitched me into the lake with a stone tied tomy neck. "

Next day he sent to Lucerne for the best surgeon there, and when hecame, enjoined on him absolute secrecy, giving him to understand thathis honor depended on it. 

Leopold returned from his excursion on the day when his friend firstgot out of bed. Rodolphe made up a story, and begged him to go toLucerne to fetch their luggage and letters. Leopold brought back themost fatal, the most dreadful news: Rodolphe's mother was dead. Whilethe two friends were on their way from Bale to Lucerne, the fatalletter, written by Leopold's father, had reached Lucerne the day theyleft for Fluelen. 

In spite of Leopold's utmost precautions, Rodolphe fell ill of anervous fever. As soon as Leopold saw his friend out of danger, he setout for France with a power of attorney, and Rodolphe could thusremain at Gersau, the only place in the world where his grief couldgrow calmer. The young Frenchman's position, his despair, thecircumstances which made such a loss worse for him than for any otherman, were known, and secured him the pity and interest of every one inGersau. Every morning the pretended dumb girl came to see him andbring him news of her mistress. 

As soon as Rodolphe could go out he went to the Bergmanns' house, tothank Miss Fanny Lovelace and her father for the interest they hadtaken in his sorrow and his illness. For the first time since he hadlodged with the Bergmanns the old Italian admitted a stranger to hisroom, where Rodolphe was received with the cordiality due to hismisfortunes and to his being a Frenchman, which excluded all distrustof him. Francesca looked so lovely by candle-light that first eveningthat she shed a ray of brightness on his grieving heart. Her smilesflung the roses of hope on his woe. She sang, not indeed gay songs, but grave and solemn melodies suited to the state of Rodolphe's heart, and he observed this touching care. 

At about eight o'clock the old man left the young people without anysign of uneasiness, and went to his room. When Francesca was tired ofsinging, she led Rodolphe on to the balcony, whence they perceived thesublime scenery of the lake, and signed to him to be seated by her ona rustic wooden bench. 

"Am I very indiscreet in asking how old you are, cara Francesca?" saidRodolphe. 

"Nineteen, " said she, "well past. "

"If anything in the world could soothe my sorrow, " he went on, "itwould be the hope of winning you from your father, whatever yourfortune may be. So beautiful as you are, you seem to be richer than aprince's daughter. And I tremble as I confess to you the feelings withwhich you have inspired me; but they are deep--they are eternal. "

"_Zitto_!" said Francesca, laying a finger of her right hand on herlips. "Say no more; I am not free. I have been married these threeyears. "

For a few minutes utter silence reigned. When the Italian girl, alarmed at Rodolphe's stillness, went close to him, she found that hehad fainted. 

"_Povero_!" she said to herself. "And I thought him cold. "

She fetched him some salts, and revived Rodolphe by making him smellat them. 

"Married!" said Rodolphe, looking at Francesca. And then his tearsflowed freely. 

"Child!" said she. "But there is still hope. My husband is--"

"Eighty?" Rodolphe put in. 

"No, " said she with a smile, "but sixty-five. He has disguised himselfas much older to mislead the police. "

"Dearest, " said Rodolphe, "a few more shocks of this kind and I shalldie. Only when you have known me twenty years will you understand thestrength and power of my heart, and the nature of its aspirations forhappiness. This plant, " he went on, pointing to the yellow jasminewhich covered the balustrade, "does not climb more eagerly to spreaditself in the sunbeams than I have clung to you for this month past. Ilove you with unique passion. That love will be the secret fount of mylife--I may possibly die of it. "

"Oh! Frenchman, Frenchman!" said she, emphasizing her exclamation witha little incredulous grimace. 

"Shall I not be forced to wait, to accept you at the hands of time?"said he gravely. "But know this: if you are in earnest in what youhave allowed to escape you, I will wait for you faithfully, withoutsuffering any other attachment to grow up in my heart. "

She looked at him doubtfully. 

"None, " said he, "not even a passing fancy. I have my fortune to make;you must have a splendid one, nature created you a princess----"

At this word Francesca could not repress a faint smile, which gave herface the most bewildering expression, something subtle, like what thegreat Leonardo has so well depicted in the _Gioconda_. This smile madeRodolphe pause. "Ah yes!" he went on, "you must suffer much from thedestitution to which exile has brought you. Oh, if you would make mehappy above all men, and consecrate my love, you would treat me as afriend. Ought I not to be your friend?--My poor mother has left sixtythousand francs of savings; take half. "

Francesca looked steadily at him. This piercing gaze went to thebottom of Rodolphe's soul. 

"We want nothing; my work amply supplies our luxuries, " she replied ina grave voice. 

"And can I endure that a Francesca should work?" cried he. "One dayyou will return to your country and find all you left there. " Againthe Italian girl looked at Rodolphe. "And you will then repay me whatyou may have condescended to borrow, " he added, with an expressionfull of delicate feeling. 

"Let us drop the subject, " said she, with incomparable dignity ofgesture, expression, and attitude. "Make a splendid fortune, be one ofthe remarkable men of your country; that is my desire. Fame is adrawbridge which may serve to cross a deep gulf. Be ambitious if youmust. I believe you have great and powerful talents, but use themrather for the happiness of mankind than to deserve me; you will beall the greater in my eyes. "

In the course of this conversation, which lasted two hours, Rodolphediscovered that Francesca was an enthusiast for Liberal ideas, and forthat worship of liberty which had led to the three revolutions inNaples, Piemont, and Spain. On leaving, he was shown to the door byGina, the so-called mute. At eleven o'clock no one was astir in thevillage, there was no fear of listeners; Rodolphe took Gina into acorner, and asked her in a low voice and bad Italian, "Who are yourmaster and mistress, child? Tell me, I will give you this fine newgold piece. "

"Monsieur, " said the girl, taking the coin, "my master is the famousbookseller Lamporani of Milan, one of the leaders of the revolution, and the conspirator of all others whom Austria would most like to havein the Spielberg. "

"A bookseller's wife! Ah, so much the better, " thought he; "we are onan equal footing. --And what is her family?" he added, "for she lookslike a queen. "

"All Italian women do, " replied Gina proudly. "Her father's name isColonna. "

Emboldened by Francesca's modest rank, Rodolphe had an awning fittedto his boat and cushions in the stern. When this was done, the lovercame to propose to Francesca to come out on the lake. The Italianaccepted, no doubt to carry out her part of a young English Miss inthe eyes of the villagers, but she brought Gina with her. FrancescaColonna's lightest actions betrayed a superior education and thehighest social rank. By the way in which she took her place at the endof the boat Rodolphe felt himself in some sort cut off from her, and, in the face of a look of pride worthy of an aristocrat, thefamiliarity he had intended fell dead. By a glance Francesca madeherself a princess, with all the prerogatives she might have enjoyedin the Middle Ages. She seemed to have read the thoughts of thisvassal who was so audacious as to constitute himself her protector. 

Already, in the furniture of the room where Francesca had receivedhim, in her dress, and in the various trifles she made use of, Rodolphe had detected indications of a superior character and a finefortune. All these observations now recurred to his mind; he becamethoughtful after having been trampled on, as it were, by Francesca'sdignity. Gina, her half-grown-up _confidante_, also seemed to have amocking expression as she gave a covert or a side glance at Rodolphe. This obvious disagreement between the Italian lady's rank and hermanners was a fresh puzzle to Rodolphe, who suspected some furthertrick like Gina's assumed dumbness. 

"Where would you go, Signora Lamporani?" he asked. 

"Towards Lucerne, " replied Francesca in French. 

"Good!" said Rodolphe to himself, "she is not startled by hearing mespeak her name; she had, no doubt, foreseen that I should ask Gina--she is so cunning. --What is your quarrel with me?" he went on, goingat last to sit down by her side, and asking her by a gesture to givehim her hand, which she withdrew. "You are cold and ceremonious; what, in colloquial language, we should call _short_. "

"It is true, " she replied with a smile. "I am wrong. It is not goodmanners; it is vulgar. In French you would call it inartistic. It isbetter to be frank than to harbor cold or hostile feelings towards afriend, and you have already proved yourself my friend. Perhaps I havegone too far with you. You must take me to be a very ordinary woman. "--Rodolphe made many signs of denial. --"Yes, " said the bookseller'swife, going on without noticing this pantomime, which, however, sheplainly saw. "I have detected that, and naturally I have reconsideredmy conduct. Well! I will put an end to everything by a few words ofdeep truth. Understand this, Rodolphe: I feel in myself the strengthto stifle a feeling if it were not in harmony with my ideas oranticipation of what true love is. I could love--as we can love inItaly, but I know my duty. No intoxication can make me forget it. Married without my consent to that poor old man, I might takeadvantage of the liberty he so generously gives me; but three years ofmarried life imply acceptance of its laws. Hence the most vehementpassion would never make me utter, even involuntarily, a wish to findmyself free. 

"Emilio knows my character. He knows that without my heart, which ismy own, and which I might give away, I should never allow anyone totake my hand. That is why I have just refused it to you. I desire tobe loved and waited for with fidelity, nobleness, ardor, while all Ican give is infinite tenderness of which the expression may notoverstep the boundary of the heart, the permitted neutral ground. Allthis being thoroughly understood--Oh!" she went on with a girlishgesture, "I will be as coquettish, as gay, as glad, as a child whichknows nothing of the dangers of familiarity. "

This plain and frank declaration was made in a tone, an accent, andsupported by a look which gave it the deepest stamp of truth. 

"A Princess Colonna could not have spoken better, " said Rodolphe, smiling. 

"Is that, " she answered with some haughtiness, "a reflection on thehumbleness of my birth? Must your love flaunt a coat-of-arms? At Milanthe noblest names are written over shop-doors: Sforza, Canova, Visconti, Trivulzio, Ursini; there are Archintos apothecaries; but, believe me, though I keep a shop, I have the feelings of a duchess. "

"A reflection? Nay, madame, I meant it for praise. "

"By a comparison?" she said archly. 

"Ah, once for all, " said he, "not to torture me if my words should illexpress my feelings, understand that my love is perfect; it carrieswith it absolute obedience and respect. "

She bowed as a woman satisfied, and said, "Then monsieur accepts thetreaty?"

"Yes, " said he. "I can understand that in a rich and powerful femininenature the faculty of loving ought not to be wasted, and that you, outof delicacy, wished to restrain it. Ah! Francesca, at my agetenderness requited, and by so sublime, so royally beautiful acreature as you are--why, it is the fulfilment of all my wishes. Tolove you as you desire to be loved--is not that enough to make a youngman guard himself against every evil folly? Is it not to concentrateall his powers in a noble passion, of which in the future he may beproud, and which can leave none but lovely memories? If you could butknow with what hues you have clothed the chain of Pilatus, the Rigi, and this superb lake--"

"I want to know, " said she, with the Italian artlessness which hasalways a touch of artfulness. 

"Well, this hour will shine on all my life like a diamond on a queen'sbrow. "

Francesca's only reply was to lay her hand on Rodolphe's. 

"Oh dearest! for ever dearest!--Tell me, have you never loved?"

"Never. "

"And you allow me to love you nobly, looking to heaven for the utmostfulfilment?" he asked. 

She gently bent her head. Two large tears rolled down Rodolphe'scheeks. 

"Why! what is the matter?" she cried, abandoning her imperial manner. 

"I have now no mother whom I can tell of my happiness; she left thisearth without seeing what would have mitigated her agony--"

"What?" said she. 

"Her tenderness replaced by an equal tenderness----"

"_Povero mio_!" exclaimed the Italian, much touched. "Believe me, " shewent on after a pause, "it is a very sweet thing, and to a woman, astrong element of fidelity to know that she is all in all on earth tothe man she loves; to find him lonely, with no family, with nothing inhis heart but his love--in short, to have him wholly to herself. "

When two lovers thus understand each other, the heart feels deliciouspeace, supreme tranquillity. Certainty is the basis for which humanfeelings crave, for it is never lacking to religious sentiment; man isalways certain of being fully repaid by God. Love never believesitself secure but by this resemblance to divine love. And the rapturesof that moment must have been fully felt to be understood; it isunique in life; it can never return no more, alas! than the emotionsof youth. To believe in a woman, to make her your human religion, thefount of life, the secret luminary of all your least thoughts!--is notthis a second birth? And a young man mingles with this love a littleof the feeling he had for his mother. 

Rodolphe and Francesca for some time remained in perfect silence, answering each other by sympathetic glances full of thoughts. Theyunderstood each other in the midst of one of the most beautiful scenesof Nature, whose glories, interpreted by the glory in their hearts, helped to stamp on their minds the most fugitive details of thatunique hour. There had not been the slightest shade of frivolity inFrancesca's conduct. It was noble, large, and without any secondthought. This magnanimity struck Rodolphe greatly, for in it herecognized the difference between the Italian and the Frenchwoman. Thewaters, the land, the sky, the woman, all were grandiose and suave, even their love in the midst of this picture, so vast in its expanse, so rich in detail, where the sternness of the snowy peaks and theirhard folds standing clearly out against the blue sky, remindedRodolphe of the circumstances which limited his happiness; a lovelycountry shut in by snows. 

This delightful intoxication of soul was destined to be disturbed. Aboat was approaching from Lucerne; Gina, who had been watching itattentively, gave a joyful start, though faithful to her part as amute. The bark came nearer; when at length Francesca could distinguishthe faces on board, she exclaimed, "Tito!" as she perceived a youngman. She stood up, and remained standing at the risk of being drowned. "Tito! Tito!" cried she, waving her handkerchief. 

Tito desired the boatmen to slacken, and the two boats pulled side byside. The Italian and Tito talked with such extreme rapidity, and in adialect unfamiliar to a man who hardly knew even the Italian of books, that Rodolphe could neither hear nor guess the drift of thisconversation. But Tito's handsome face, Francesca's familiarity, andGina's expression of delight, all aggrieved him. And indeed no lovercan help being ill pleased at finding himself neglected for another, whoever he may be. Tito tossed a little leather bag to Gina, full ofgold no doubt, and a packet of letters to Francesca, who began to readthem, with a farewell wave of the hand to Tito. 

"Get quickly back to Gersau, " she said to the boatmen, "I will not letmy poor Emilio pine ten minutes longer than he need. "

"What has happened?" asked Rodolphe, as he saw Francesca finishreading the last letter. 

"_La liberta_!" she exclaimed, with an artist's enthusiasm. 

"_E denaro_!" added Gina, like an echo, for she had found her tongue. 

"Yes, " said Francesca, "no more poverty! For more than eleven monthshave I been working, and I was beginning to be tired of it. I amcertainly not a literary woman. "

"Who is this Tito?" asked Rodolphe. 

"The Secretary of State to the financial department of the humble shopof the Colonnas, in other words, the son of our _ragionato_. Poor boy!he could not come by the Saint-Gothard, nor by the Mont-Cenis, nor bythe Simplon; he came by sea, by Marseilles, and had to cross France. Well, in three weeks we shall be at Geneva, and living at our ease. Come, Rodolphe, " she added, seeing sadness overspread the Parisian'sface, "is not the Lake of Geneva quite as good as the Lake ofLucerne?"

"But allow me to bestow a regret on the Bergmanns' delightful house, "said Rodolphe, pointing to the little promontory. 

"Come and dine with us to add to your associations, _povero mio_, "said she. "This is a great day; we are out of danger. My mother writesthat within a year there will be an amnesty. Oh! _la cara patria_!"

These three words made Gina weep. "Another winter here, " said she, "and I should have been dead!"

"Poor little Sicilian kid!" said Francesca, stroking Gina's head withan expression and an affection which made Rodolphe long to be socaressed, even if it were without love. 

The boat grounded; Rodolphe sprang on to the sand, offered his hand tothe Italian lady, escorted her to the door of the Bergmanns' house, and went to dress and return as soon as possible. 

When he joined the librarian and his wife, who were sitting on thebalcony, Rodolphe could scarcely repress an exclamation of surprise atseeing the prodigious change which the good news had produced in theold man. He now saw a man of about sixty, extremely well preserved, alean Italian, as straight as an I, with hair still black, though thinand showing a white skull, with bright eyes, a full set of whiteteeth, a face like Caesar, and on his diplomatic lips a sardonicsmile, the almost false smile under which a man of good breeding hideshis real feelings. 

"Here is my husband under his natural form, " said Francesca gravely. 

"He is quite a new acquaintance, " replied Rodolphe, bewildered. 

"Quite, " said the librarian; "I have played many a part, and know wellhow to make up. Ah! I played one in Paris under the Empire, withBourrienne, Madame Murat, Madame d'Abrantis _e tutte quanti_. Everything we take the trouble to learn in our youth, even the mostfutile, is of use. If my wife had not received a man's education--anunheard-of thing in Italy--I should have been obliged to chop wood toget my living here. _Povera_ Francesca! who would have told me thatshe would some day maintain me!"

As he listened to this worthy bookseller, so easy, so affable, sohale, Rodolphe scented some mystification, and preserved the watchfulsilence of a man who has been duped. 

"_Che avete, signor_?" Francesca asked with simplicity. "Does ourhappiness sadden you?"

"Your husband is a young man, " he whispered in her ear. 

She broke into such a frank, infectious laugh that Rodolphe was stillmore puzzled. 

"He is but sixty-five, at your service, " said she; "but I can assureyou that even that is something--to be thankful for!"

"I do not like to hear you jest about an affection so sacred as this, of which you yourself prescribed the conditions. "

"_Zitto_!" said she, stamping her foot, and looking whether herhusband were listening. "Never disturb the peace of mind of that dearman, as simple as a child, and with whom I can do what I please. He isunder my protection, " she added. "If you could know with whatgenerosity he risked his life and fortune because I was a Liberal! forhe does not share my political opinions. Is not that love, MonsieurFrenchman?--But they are like that in his family. Emilio's youngerbrother was deserted for a handsome youth by the woman he loved. Hethrust his sword through his own heart ten minutes after he had saidto his servant, 'I could of course kill my rival, but that wouldgrieve the _Diva_ too deeply. '"

This mixture of dignity and banter, of haughtiness and playfulness, made Francesca at this moment the most fascinating creature in theworld. The dinner and the evening were full of cheerfulness, justified, indeed, by the relief of the two refugees, but depressingto Rodolphe. 

"Can she be fickle?" he asked himself as he returned to the Stopfers'house. "She sympathized in my sorrow, and I cannot take part in herjoy!"

He blamed himself, justifying this girl-wife. 

"She has no taint of hypocrisy, and is carried away by impulse, "thought he, "and I want her to be like a Parisian woman. "

* * * * *

Next day and the following days, in fact, for twenty days after, Rodolphe spent all his time at the Bergmanns', watching Francescawithout having determined to watch her. In some souls admiration isnot independent of a certain penetration. The young Frenchmandiscerned in Francesca the imprudence of girlhood, the true nature ofa woman as yet unbroken, sometimes struggling against her love, and atother moments yielding and carried away by it. The old man certainlybehaved to her as a father to his daughter, and Francesca treated himwith a deeply felt gratitude which roused her instinctive nobleness. The situation and the woman were to Rodolphe an impenetrable enigma, of which the solution attracted him more and more. 

These last days were full of secret joys, alternating with melancholymoods, with tiffs and quarrels even more delightful than the hourswhen Rodolphe and Francesca were of one mind. And he was more and morefascinated by this tenderness apart from wit, always and in all thingsthe same, an affection that was jealous of mere nothings--already!

"You care very much for luxury?" said he one evening to Francesca, whowas expressing her wish to get away from Gersau, where she missed manythings. 

"I!" cried she. "I love luxury as I love the arts, as I love a pictureby Raphael, a fine horse, a beautiful day, or the Bay of Naples. Emilio, " she went on, "have I ever complained here during our days ofprivation. "

"You would not have been yourself if you had, " replied the old mangravely. 

"After all, is it not in the nature of plain folks to aspire tograndeur?" she asked, with a mischievous glance at Rodolphe and at herhusband. "Were my feet made for fatigue?" she added, putting out twopretty little feet. "My hands"--and she held one out to Rodolphe--"were those hands made to work?--Leave us, " she said to her husband;"I want to speak to him. "

The old man went into the drawing-room with sublime good faith; he wassure of his wife. 

"I will not have you come with us to Geneva, " she said to Rodolphe. "It is a gossiping town. Though I am far above the nonsense the worldtalks, I do not choose to be calumniated, not for my own sake, but forhis. I make it my pride to be the glory of that old man, who is, afterall, my only protector. We are leaving; stay here a few days. When youcome on to Geneva, call first on my husband, and let him introduce youto me. Let us hide our great and unchangeable affection from the eyesof the world. I love you; you know it; but this is how I will prove itto you--you shall never discern in my conduct anything whatever thatmay arouse your jealousy. "

She drew him into a corner of the balcony, kissed him on the forehead, and fled, leaving him in amazement. 

Next day Rodolphe heard that the lodgers at the Bergmanns' had left atdaybreak. It then seemed to him intolerable to remain at Gersau, andhe set out for Vevay by the longest route, starting sooner than wasnecessary. Attracted to the waters of the lake where the beautifulItalian awaited him, he reached Geneva by the end of October. To avoidthe discomforts of the town he took rooms in a house at Eaux-Vives, outside the walls. As soon as he was settled, his first care was toask his landlord, a retired jeweler, whether some Italian refugeesfrom Milan had not lately come to reside at Geneva. 

"Not so far as I know, " replied the man. "Prince and Princess Colonnaof Rome have taken Monsieur Jeanrenaud's place for three years; it isone of the finest on the lake. It is situated between the VillaDiodati and that of Monsieur Lafin-de-Dieu, let to the Vicomtesse deBeauseant. Prince Colonna has come to see his daughter and hisson-in-law Prince Gandolphini, a Neopolitan, or if you like, a Sicilian, an old adherent of King Murat's, and a victim of the last revolution. These are the last arrivals at Geneva, and they are not Milanese. Serious steps had to be taken, and the Pope's interest in the Colonnafamily was invoked, to obtain permission from the foreign powers andthe King of Naples for the Prince and Princess Gandolphini to livehere. Geneva is anxious to do nothing to displease the Holy Allianceto which it owes its independence. _Our_ part is not to ruffle foreigncourts; there are many foreigners here, Russians and English. "

"Even some Gevenese?"

"Yes, monsieur, our lake is so fine! Lord Byron lived here about sevenyears at the Villa Diodati, which every one goes to see now, likeCoppet and Ferney. "

"You cannot tell me whether within a week or so a bookseller fromMilan has come with his wife--named Lamporani, one of the leaders ofthe last revolution?"

"I could easily find out by going to the Foreigners' Club, " said thejeweler. 

Rodolphe's first walk was very naturally to the Villa Diodati, theresidence of Lord Byron, whose recent death added to itsattractiveness: for is not death the consecration of genius?

The road to Eaux-Vives follows the shore of the lake, and, like allthe roads in Switzerland, is very narrow; in some spots, inconsequence of the configuration of the hilly ground, there isscarcely space for two carriages to pass each other. 

At a few yards from the Jeanrenauds' house, which he was approachingwithout knowing it, Rodolphe heard the sound of a carriage behind him, and, finding himself in a sunk road, he climbed to the top of a rockto leave the road free. Of course he looked at the approachingcarriage--an elegant English phaeton, with a splendid pair of Englishhorses. He felt quite dizzy as he beheld in this carriage Francesca, beautifully dressed, by the side of an old lady as hard as a cameo. Aservant blazing with gold lace stood behind. Francesca recognizedRodolphe, and smiled at seeing him like a statue on a pedestal. Thecarriage, which the lover followed with his eyes as he climbed thehill, turned in at the gate of a country house, towards which he ran. 

"Who lives here?" he asked the gardener. 

"Prince and Princess Colonna, and Prince and Princess Gandolphini. "

"Have they not just driven in?"

"Yes, sir. "

In that instant a veil fell from Rodolphe's eyes; he saw clearly themeaning of the past. 

"If only this is her last piece of trickery!" thought thethunder-struck lover to himself. 

He trembled lest he should have been the plaything of a whim, for hehad heard what a _capriccio_ might mean in an Italian. But what acrime had he committed in the eyes of a woman--in accepting a bornprincess as a citizen's wife! in believing that a daughter of one ofthe most illustrious houses of the Middle Ages was the wife of abookseller! The consciousness of his blunders increased Rodolphe'sdesire to know whether he would be ignored and repelled. He asked forPrince Gandolphini, sending in his card, and was immediately receivedby the false Lamporani, who came forward to meet him, welcomed himwith the best possible grace, and took him to walk on a terrace whencethere was a view of Geneva, the Jura, the hills covered with villas, and below them a wide expanse of the lake. 

"My wife is faithful to the lakes, you see, " he remarked, afterpointing out the details to his visitor. "We have a sort of concertthis evening, " he added, as they returned to the splendid VillaJeanrenaud. "I hope you will do me and the Princess the pleasure ofseeing you. Two months of poverty endured in intimacy are equal toyears of friendship. "

Though he was consumed by curiosity, Rodolphe dared not ask to see thePrincess; he slowly made his way back to Eaux-Vives, looking forwardto the evening. In a few hours his passion, great as it had alreadybeen, was augmented by his anxiety and by suspense as to futureevents. He now understood the necessity for making himself famous, that he might some day find himself, socially speaking, on a levelwith his idol. In his eyes Francesca was made really great by thesimplicity and ease of her conduct at Gersau. Princess Colonna'shaughtiness, so evidently natural to her, alarmed Rodolphe, who wouldfind enemies in Francesca's father and mother--at least so he mightexpect; and the secrecy which Princess Gandolphini had so strictlyenjoined on him now struck him as a wonderful proof of affection. Bynot choosing to compromise the future, had she not confessed that sheloved him?

At last nine o'clock struck; Rodolphe could get into a carriage andsay with an emotion that is very intelligible, "To the VillaJeanrenaud--to Prince Gandolphini's. "

At last he saw Francesca, but without being seen by her. The Princesswas standing quite near the piano. Her beautiful hair, so thick andlong, was bound with a golden fillet. Her face, in the light of waxcandles, had the brilliant pallor peculiar to Italians, and whichlooks its best only by artificial light. She was in full eveningdress, showing her fascinating shoulders, the figure of a girl and thearms of an antique statue. Her sublime beauty was beyond all possiblerivalry, though there were some charming women of Geneva, and otherItalians, among them the dazzling and illustrious Princess Varese, andthe famous singer Tinti, who was at that moment singing. 

Rodolphe, leaning against the door-post, looked at the Princess, turning on her the fixed, tenacious, attracting gaze, charged with thefull, insistent will which is concentrated in the feeling calleddesire, and thus assumes the nature of a vehement command. Did theflame of that gaze reach Francesca? Was Francesca expecting eachinstant to see Rodolphe? In a few minutes she stole a glance at thedoor, as though magnetized by this current of love, and her eyes, without reserve, looked deep into Rodolphe's. A slight thrill quiveredthrough that superb face and beautiful body; the shock to her spiritreacted: Francesca blushed! Rodolphe felt a whole life in thisexchange of looks, so swift that it can only be compared to alightning flash. But to what could his happiness compare? He wasloved. The lofty Princess, in the midst of her world, in this handsomevilla, kept the pledge given by the disguised exile, the capriciousbeauty of Bergmanns' lodgings. The intoxication of such a momentenslaves a man for life! A faint smile, refined and subtle, candid andtriumphant, curled Princess Gandolphini's lips, and at a moment whenshe did not feel herself observed she looked at Rodolphe with anexpression which seemed to ask his pardon for having deceived him asto her rank. 

When the song was ended Rodolphe could make his way to the Prince, whograciously led him to his wife. Rodolphe went through the ceremonialof a formal introduction to Princess and Prince Colonna, and toFrancesca. When this was over, the Princess had to take part in thefamous quartette, _Mi manca la voce_, which was sung by her withTinti, with the famous tenor Genovese, and with a well-known ItalianPrince then in exile, whose voice, if he had not been a Prince, wouldhave made him one of the Princes of Art. 

"Take that seat, " said Francesca to Rodolphe, pointing to her ownchair. "_Oime_! I think there is some mistake in my name; I have forthe last minute been Princess Rodolphini. "

It was said with the artless grace which revived, in this avowalhidden beneath a jest, the happy days at Gersau. Rodolphe reveled inthe exquisite sensation of listening to the voice of the woman headored, while sitting so close to her that one cheek was almosttouched by the stuff of her dress and the gauze of her scarf. Butwhen, at such a moment, _Mi manca la voce_ is being sung, and by thefinest voices in Italy, it is easy to understand what it was thatbrought the tears to Rodolphe's eyes. 

In love, as perhaps in all else, there are certain circumstances, trivial in themselves, but the outcome of a thousand little previousincidents, of which the importance is immense, as an epitome of thepast and as a link with the future. A hundred times already we havefelt the preciousness of the one we love; but a trifle--the perfecttouch of two souls united during a walk perhaps by a single word, bysome unlooked-for proof of affection, will carry the feeling to itssupremest pitch. In short, to express this truth by an image which hasbeen pre-eminently successful from the earliest ages of the world, there are in a long chain points of attachment needed where thecohesion is stronger than in the intermediate loops of rings. Thisrecognition between Rodolphe and Francesca, at this party, in the faceof the world, was one of those intense moments which join the futureto the past, and rivet a real attachment more deeply in the heart. Itwas perhaps of these incidental rivets that Bossuet spoke when hecompared to them the rarity of happy moments in our lives--he who hadsuch a living and secret experience of love. 

Next to the pleasure of admiring the woman we love, comes that ofseeing her admired by every one else. Rodolphe was enjoying both atonce. Love is a treasury of memories, and though Rodolphe's wasalready full, he added to it pearls of great price; smiles shed asidefor him alone, stolen glances, tones in her singing which Francescaaddressed to him alone, but which made Tinti pale with jealousy, theywere so much applauded. All his strength of desire, the specialexpression of his soul, was thrown over the beautiful Roman, whobecame unchangeably the beginning and the end of all his thoughts andactions. Rodolphe loved as every woman may dream of being loved, witha force, a constancy, a tenacity, which made Francesca the verysubstance of his heart; he felt her mingling with his blood as purerblood, with his soul as a more perfect soul; she would henceforthunderlie the least efforts of his life as the golden sand of theMediterranean lies beneath the waves. In short, Rodolphe's lightestaspiration was now a living hope. 

At the end of a few days, Francesca understood this boundless love;but it was so natural, and so perfectly shared by her, that it did notsurprise her. She was worthy of it. 

"What is there that is strange?" said she to Rodolphe, as they walkedon the garden terrace, when he had been betrayed into one of thoseoutbursts of conceit which come so naturally to Frenchmen in theexpression of their feelings--"what is extraordinary in the fact ofyour loving a young and beautiful woman, artist enough to be able toearn her living like Tinti, and of giving you some of the pleasures ofvanity? What lout but would then become an Amadis? This is not inquestion between you and me. What is needed is that we both lovefaithfully, persistently; at a distance from each other for years, with no satisfaction but that of knowing that we are loved. "

"Alas!" said Rodolphe, "will you not consider my fidelity as devoid ofall merit when you see me absorbed in the efforts of devouringambition? Do you imagine that I can wish to see you one day exchangethe fine name of Gandolphini for that of a man who is a nobody? I wantto become one of the most remarkable men of my country, to be rich, great--that you may be as proud of my name as of your own name ofColonna. "

"I should be grieved to see you without such sentiments in yourheart, " she replied, with a bewitching smile. "But do not wearyourself out too soon in your ambitious labors. Remain young. They saythat politics soon make a man old. "

One of the rarest gifts in women is a certain gaiety which does notdetract from tenderness. This combination of deep feeling with thelightness of youth added an enchanting grace at this moment toFrancesca's charms. This is the key to her character; she laughs andshe is touched; she becomes enthusiastic, and returns to arch raillerywith a readiness, a facility, which makes her the charming andexquisite creature she is, and for which her reputation is knownoutside Italy. Under the graces of a woman she conceals vast learning, thanks to the excessively monotonous and almost monastic life she ledin the castle of the old Colonnas. 

This rich heiress was at first intended for the cloister, being thefourth child of Prince and Princess Colonna; but the death of her twobrothers, and of her elder sister, suddenly brought her out of herretirement, and made her one of the most brilliant matches in thePapal States. Her elder sister had been betrothed to PrinceGandolphini, one of the richest landowners in Sicily; and Francescawas married to him instead, so that nothing might be changed in theposition of the family. The Colonnas and Gandolphinis had alwaysintermarried. 

From the age of nine till she was sixteen, Francesca, under thedirection of a Cardinal of the family, had read all through thelibrary of the Colonnas, to make weight against her ardent imaginationby studying science, art, and letters. But in these studies sheacquired the taste for independence and liberal ideas, which threwher, with her husband, into the ranks of the revolution. Rodolphe hadnot yet learned that, besides five living languages, Francesca knewGreek, Latin, and Hebrew. The charming creature perfectly understoodthat, for a woman, the first condition of being learned is to keep itdeeply hidden. 

Rodolphe spent the whole winter at Geneva. This winter passed like aday. When spring returned, notwithstanding the infinite delights ofthe society of a clever woman, wonderfully well informed, young andlovely, the lover went through cruel sufferings, endured indeed withcourage, but which were sometimes legible in his countenance, andbetrayed themselves in his manners or speech, perhaps because hebelieved that Francesca shared them. Now and again it annoyed him toadmire her calmness. Like an Englishwoman, she seemed to pride herselfon expressing nothing in her face; its serenity defied love; he longedto see her agitated; he accused her of having no feeling, for hebelieved in the tradition which ascribes to Italian women a feverishexcitability. 

"I am a Roman!" Francesca gravely replied one day when she took quiteseriously some banter on this subject from Rodolphe. 

There was a depth of tone in her reply which gave it the appearance ofscathing irony, and which set Rodolphe's pulses throbbing. The monthof May spread before them the treasures of her fresh verdure; the sunwas sometimes as powerful as at midsummer. The two lovers happened tobe at a part of the terrace where the rock arises abruptly from thelake, and were leaning over the stone parapet that crowns the wallabove a flight of steps leading down to a landing-stage. From theneighboring villa, where there is a similar stairway, a boat presentlyshot out like a swan, its flag flaming, its crimson awning spread overa lovely woman comfortably reclining on red cushions, her hairwreathed with real flowers; the boatman was a young man dressed like asailor, and rowing with all the more grace because he was under thelady's eye. 

"They are happy!" exclaimed Rodolphe, with bitter emphasis. "Claire deBourgogne, the last survivor of the only house which can ever vie withthe royal family of France--"

"Oh! of a bastard branch, and that a female line. "

"At any rate, she is Vicomtesse de Beauseant; and she did not--"

"Did not hesitate, you would say, to bury herself here with MonsieurGaston de Nueil, you would say, " replied the daughter of the Colonnas. "She is only a Frenchwoman; I am an Italian, my dear sir!"

Francesca turned away from the parapet, leaving Rodolphe, and went tothe further end of the terrace, whence there is a wide prospect of thelake. Watching her as she slowly walked away, Rodolphe suspected thathe had wounded her soul, at once so simple and so wise, so proud andso humble. It turned him cold; he followed Francesca, who signed tohim to leave her to herself. But he did not heed the warning, anddetected her wiping away her tears. Tears! in so strong a nature. 

"Francesca, " said he, taking her hand, "is there a single regret inyour heart?"

She was silent, disengaged her hand which held her embroideredhandkerchief, and again dried her eyes. 

"Forgive me!" he said. And with a rush, he kissed her eyes to wipeaway the tears. 

Francesca did not seem aware of his passionate impulse, she was soviolently agitated. Rodolphe, thinking she consented, grew bolder; heput his arm round her, clasped her to his heart, and snatched a kiss. But she freed herself by a dignified movement of offended modesty, and, standing a yard off, she looked at him without anger, but withfirm determination. 

"Go this evening, " she said. "We meet no more till we meet at Naples. "

This order was stern, but it was obeyed, for it was Francesca's will. 

* * * * *

On his return to Paris Rodolphe found in his rooms a portrait ofPrincess Gandolphini painted by Schinner, as Schinner can paint. Theartist had passed through Geneva on his way to Italy. As he hadpositively refused to paint the portraits of several women, Rodolphedid not believe that the Prince, anxious as he was for a portrait ofhis wife, would be able to conquer the great painter's objections; butFrancesca, no doubt, had bewitched him, and obtained from him--whichwas almost a miracle--an original portrait for Rodolphe, and aduplicate for Emilio. She told him this in a charming and delightfulletter, in which the mind indemnified itself for the reserve requiredby the worship of the proprieties. The lover replied. Thus began, never to cease, a regular correspondence between Rodolphe andFrancesca, the only indulgence they allowed themselves. 

Rodolphe, possessed by an ambition sanctified by his love, set towork. First he longed to make his fortune, and risked his all in anundertaking to which he devoted all his faculties as well as hiscapital; but he, an inexperienced youth, had to contend againstduplicity, which won the day. Thus three years were lost in a vastenterprise, three years of struggling and courage. 

The Villele ministry fell just when Rodolphe was ruined. The valiantlover thought he would seek in politics what commercial industry hadrefused him; but before braving the storms of this career, he went, all wounded and sick at heart, to have his bruises healed and hiscourage revived at Naples, where the Prince and Princess had beenreinstated in their place and rights on the King's accession. This, inthe midst of his warfare, was a respite full of delights; he spentthree months at the Villa Gandolphini, rocked in hope. 

Rodolphe then began again to construct his fortune. His talents werealready known; he was about to attain the desires of his ambition; ahigh position was promised him as the reward of his zeal, hisdevotion, and his past services, when the storm of July 1830 broke, and again his bark was swamped. 

She, and God! These are the only witnesses of the brave efforts, thedaring attempts of a young man gifted with fine qualities, but towhom, so far, the protection of luck--the god of fools--has beendenied. And this indefatigable wrestler, upheld by love, comes back tofresh struggles, lighted on his way by an always friendly eye, an everfaithful heart. 

Lovers! Pray for him!

* * * * *

As she finished this narrative, Mademoiselle de Watteville's cheekswere on fire; there was a fever in her blood. She was crying--but withrage. This little novel, inspired by the literary style then infashion, was the first reading of the kind that Rosalie had ever hadthe chance of devouring. Love was depicted in it, if not by amaster-hand, at any rate by a man who seemed to give his ownimpressions; and truth, even if unskilled, could not fail to touch avirgin soul. Here lay the secret of Rosalie's terrible agitation, ofher fever and her tears; she was jealous of Francesca Colonna. 

She never for an instant doubted the sincerity of this poeticalflight; Albert had taken pleasure in telling the story of his passion, while changing the names of persons and perhaps of places. Rosalie waspossessed by infernal curiosity. What woman but would, like her, havewanted to know her rival's name--for she too loved! As she read thesepages, to her really contagious, she had said solemnly to herself, "Ilove him!"--She loved Albert, and felt in her heart a gnawing desireto fight for him, to snatch him from this unknown rival. She reflectedthat she knew nothing of music, and that she was not beautiful. 

"He will never love me!" thought she. 

This conclusion aggravated her anxiety to know whether she might notbe mistaken, whether Albert really loved an Italian Princess, and wasloved by her. In the course of this fateful night, the power of swiftdecision, which had characterized the famous Watteville, was fullydeveloped in his descendant. She devised those whimsical schemes, round which hovers the imagination of most young girls when, in thesolitude to which some injudicious mothers confine them, they areroused by some tremendous event which the system of repression towhich they are subjected could neither foresee nor prevent. Shedreamed of descending by a ladder from the kiosk into the garden ofthe house occupied by Albert; of taking advantage of the lawyer'sbeing asleep to look through the window into his private room. Shethought of writing to him, or of bursting the fetters of Besanconsociety by introducing Albert to the drawing-room of the Hotel deRupt. This enterprise, which to the Abbe de Grancey even would haveseemed the climax of the impossible, was a mere passing thought. 

"Ah!" said she to herself, "my father has a dispute pending as to hisland at les Rouxey. I will go there! If there is no lawsuit, I willmanage to make one, and _he_ shall come into our drawing-room!" shecried, as she sprang out of bed and to the window to look at thefascinating gleam which shone through Albert's nights. The clockstruck one; he was still asleep. 

"I shall see him when he gets up; perhaps he will come to his window. "

At this instant Mademoiselle de Watteville was witness to an incidentwhich promised to place in her power the means of knowing Albert'ssecrets. By the light of the moon she saw a pair of arms stretched outfrom the kiosk to help Jerome, Albert's servant, to get across thecoping of the wall and step into the little building. In Jerome'saccomplice Rosalie at once recognized Mariette the lady's-maid. 

"Mariette and Jerome!" said she to herself. "Mariette, such an uglygirl! Certainly they must be ashamed of themselves. "

Though Mariette was horribly ugly and six-and-thirty, she hadinherited several plots of land. She had been seventeen years withMadame de Watteville, who valued her highly for her bigotry, herhonesty, and long service, and she had no doubt saved money andinvested her wages and perquisites. Hence, earning about ten louis ayear, she probably had by this time, including compound interest andher little inheritance, not less than ten thousand francs. 

In Jerome's eyes ten thousand francs could alter the laws of optics;he saw in Mariette a neat figure; he did not perceive the pits andseams which virulent smallpox had left on her flat, parched face; tohim the crooked mouth was straight; and ever since Savaron, by takinghim into his service, had brought him so near to the Wattevilles'house, he had laid siege systematically to the maid, who was as primand sanctimonious as her mistress, and who, like every ugly old maid, was far more exacting than the handsomest. 

If the night-scene in the kiosk is thus fully accounted for to allperspicacious readers, it was not so to Rosalie, though she derivedfrom it the most dangerous lesson that can be given, that of a badexample. A mother brings her daughter up strictly, keeps her under herwing for seventeen years, and then, in one hour, a servant girldestroys the long and painful work, sometimes by a word, often indeedby a gesture! Rosalie got into bed again, not without considering howshe might take advantage of her discovery. 

Next morning, as she went to Mass accompanied by Mariette--her motherwas not well--Rosalie took the maid's arm, which surprised the countrywench not a little. 

"Mariette, " said she, "is Jerome in his master's confidence?"

"I do not know, mademoiselle. "

"Do not play the innocent with me, " said Mademoiselle de Wattevilledrily. "You let him kiss you last night under the kiosk; I no longerwonder that you so warmly approved of my mother's ideas for theimprovements she planned. "

Rosalie could feel how Mariette was trembling by the shaking of herarm. 

"I wish you no ill, " Rosalie went on. "Be quite easy; I shall not saya word to my mother, and you can meet Jerome as often as you please. "

"But, mademoiselle, " said Mariette, "it is perfectly respectable;Jerome honestly means to marry me--"

"But then, " said Rosalie, "why meet at night?"

Mariette was dumfounded, and could make no reply. 

"Listen, Mariette; I am in love too! In secret and without any return. I am, after all, my father's and mother's only child. You have more tohope for from me than from any one else in the world--"

"Certainly, mademoiselle, and you may count on us for life or death, "exclaimed Mariette, rejoiced at the unexpected turn of affairs. 

"In the first place, silence for silence, " said Rosalie. "I will notmarry Monsieur de Soulas; but one thing I will have, and must have; myhelp and favor are yours on one condition only. "

"What is that?"

"I must see the letters which Monsieur Savaron sends to the post byJerome. "

"But what for?" said Mariette in alarm. 

"Oh! merely to read them, and you yourself shall post them afterwards. It will cause a little delay; that is all. "

At this moment they went into church, and each of them, instead ofreading the order of Mass, fell into her own train of thought. 

"Dear, dear, how many sins are there in all that?" thought Mariette. 

Rosalie, whose soul, brain, and heart were completely upset by readingthe story, by this time regarded it as history, written for her rival. By dint of thinking of nothing else, like a child, she ended bybelieving that the _Eastern Review_ was no doubt forwarded to Albert'slady-love. 

"Oh!" said she to herself, her head buried in her hands in theattitude of a person lost in prayer; "oh! how can I get my father tolook through the list of people to whom the _Review_ is sent?"

After breakfast she took a turn in the garden with her father, coaxingand cajoling him, and brought him to the kiosk. 

"Do you suppose, my dear little papa, that our _Review_ is ever readabroad?"

"It is but just started--"

"Well, I will wager that it is. "

"It is hardly possible. "

"Just go and find out, and note the names of any subscribers out ofFrance. "

Two hours later Monsieur de Watteville said to his daughter:

"I was right; there is not one foreign subscriber as yet. They hope toget some at Neufchatel, at Berne, and at Geneva. One copy, is in fact, sent to Italy, but it is not paid for--to a Milanese lady at hercountry house at Belgirate, on Lago Maggiore. 

"What is her name?"

"The Duchesse d'Argaiolo. "

"Do you know her, papa?"

"I have heard about her. She was by birth a Princess Soderini, aFlorentine, a very great lady, and quite as rich as her husband, whohas one of the largest fortunes in Lombardy. Their villa on the LagoMaggiore is one of the sights of Italy. "

Two days after, Mariette placed the following letter in Mademoisellede Watteville's hand:--

 Albert Savaron to Leopold Hannequin. 

 "Yes, 'tis so, my dear friend; I am at Besancon, while you thought I was traveling. I would not tell you anything till success should begin, and now it is dawning. Yes, my dear Leopold, after so many abortive undertakings, over which I have shed the best of my blood, have wasted so many efforts, spent so much courage, I have made up my mind to do as you have done--to start on a beaten path, on the highroad, as the longest but the safest. I can see you jump with surprise in your lawyer's chair!

 "But do not suppose that anything is changed in my personal life, of which you alone in the world know the secret, and that under the reservations _she_ insists on. I did not tell you, my friend; but I was horribly weary of Paris. The outcome of the first enterprise, on which I had founded all my hopes, and which came to a bad end in consequence of the utter rascality of my two partners, who combined to cheat and fleece me--me, though everything was done by my energy--made me give up the pursuit of a fortune after the loss of three years of my life. One of these years was spent in the law courts, and perhaps I should have come worse out of the scrape if I had not been made to study law when I was twenty. 

 "I made up my mind to go into politics solely, to the end that I may some day find my name on a list for promotion to the Senate under the title of Comte Albert Savaron de Savarus, and so revive in France a good name now extinct in Belgium--though indeed I am neither legitimate nor legitimized. "

"Ah! I knew it! He is of noble birth!" exclaimed Rosalie, dropping theletter. 

 "You know how conscientiously I studied, how faithful and useful I was as an obscure journalist, and how excellent a secretary to the statesman who, on his part, was true to me in 1829. Flung to the depths once more by the revolution of July just when my name was becoming known, at the very moment when, as Master of Appeals, I was about to find my place as a necessary wheel in the political machine, I committed the blunder of remaining faithful to the fallen, and fighting for them, without them. Oh! why was I but three-and-thirty, and why did I not apply to you to make me eligible? I concealed from you all my devotedness and my dangers. What would you have? I was full of faith. We should not have agreed. 

 "Ten months ago, when you saw me so gay and contented, writing my political articles, I was in despair; I foresaw my fate, at the age of thirty-seven, with two thousand francs for my whole fortune, without the smallest fame, just having failed in a noble undertaking, the founding, namely, of a daily paper answering only to a need of the future instead of appealing to the passions of the moment. I did not know which way to turn, and I felt my own value! I wandered about, gloomy and hurt, through the lonely places of Paris--Paris which had slipped through my fingers --thinking of my crushed ambitions, but never giving them up. Oh, what frantic letters I wrote at that time to _her_, my second conscience, my other self! Sometimes I would say to myself, 'Why did I sketch so vast a programme of life? Why demand everything? Why not wait for happiness while devoting myself to some mechanical employment. '

 "I then looked about me for some modest appointment by which I might live. I was about to get the editorship of a paper under a manager who did not know much about it, a man of wealth and ambition, when I took fright. 'Would _she_ ever accept as her husband a man who had stooped so low?' I wondered. 

 "This reflection made me two-and-twenty again. But, oh, my dear Leopold, how the soul is worn by these perplexities! What must not the caged eagles suffer, and imprisoned lions!--They suffer what Napoleon suffered, not at Saint Helena, but on the Quay of the Tuileries, on the 10th of August, when he saw Louis XVI. Defending himself so badly while he could have quelled the insurrection; as he actually did, on the same spot, a little later, in Vendemiaire. Well, my life has been a torment of that kind, extending over four years. How many a speech to the Chamber have I not delivered in the deserted alleys of the Bois de Boulogne! These wasted harangues have at any rate sharpened my tongue and accustomed my mind to formulate its ideas in words. And while I was undergoing this secret torture, you were getting married, you had paid for your business, you were made law-clerk to the Maire of your district, after gaining a cross for a wound at Saint-Merri. 

 "Now, listen. When I was a small boy and tortured cock-chafers, the poor insects had one form of struggle which used almost to put me in a fever. It was when I saw them making repeated efforts to fly but without getting away, though they could spread their wings. We used to say, 'They are marking time. ' Now was this sympathy? Was it a vision of my own future?--Oh! to spread my wings and yet be unable to fly! That has been my predicament since that fine undertaking by which I was disgusted, but which has now made four families rich. 

 "At last, seven months ago, I determined to make myself a name at the Paris Bar, seeing how many vacancies had been left by the promotion of several lawyers to eminent positions. But when I remembered the rivalry I had seen among men of the press, and how difficult it is to achieve anything of any kind in Paris, the arena where so many champions meet, I came to a determination painful to myself, but certain in its results, and perhaps quicker than any other. In the course of our conversations you had given me a picture of the society of Besancon, of the impossibility for a stranger to get on there, to produce the smallest effect, to get into society, or to succeed in any way whatever. It was there that I determined to set up my flag, thinking, and rightly, that I should meet with no opposition, but find myself alone to canvass for the election. The people of the Comte will not meet the outsider? The outsider will meet them! They refuse to admit him to their drawing-rooms, he will never go there! He never shows himself anywhere, not even in the streets! But there is one class that elects the deputies--the commercial class. I am going especially to study commercial questions, with which I am already familiar; I will gain their lawsuits, I will effect compromises, I will be the greatest pleader in Besancon. By and by I will start a _Review_, in which I will defend the interests of the country, will create them, or preserve them, or resuscitate them. When I shall have won a sufficient number of votes, my name will come out of the urn. For a long time the unknown barrister will be treated with contempt, but some circumstance will arise to bring him to the front--some unpaid defence, or a case which no other pleader will undertake. 

 "Well, my dear Leopold, I packed up my books in eleven cases, I bought such law-books as might prove useful, and I sent everything off, furniture and all, by carrier to Besancon. I collected my diplomas, and I went to bid you good-bye. The mail coach dropped me at Besancon, where, in three days' time, I chose a little set of rooms looking out over some gardens. I sumptuously arranged the mysterious private room where I spend my nights and days, and where the portrait of my divinity reigns--of her to whom my life is dedicate, who fills it wholly, who is the mainspring of my efforts, the secret of my courage, the cause of my talents. Then, as soon as the furniture and books had come, I engaged an intelligent man-servant, and there I sat for five months like a hibernating marmot. 

 "My name had, however, been entered on the list of lawyers in the town. At last I was called one day to defend an unhappy wretch at the Assizes, no doubt in order to hear me speak for once! One of the most influential merchants of Besancon was on the jury; he had a difficult task to fulfil; I did my utmost for the man, and my success was absolute and complete. My client was innocent; I very dramatically secured the arrest of the real criminals, who had come forward as witnesses. In short, the Court and the public were united in their admiration. I managed to save the examining magistrate's pride by pointing out the impossibility of detecting a plot so skilfully planned. 

 "Then I had to fight a case for my merchant, and won his suit. The Cathedral Chapter next chose me to defend a tremendous action against the town, which had been going on for four years; I won that. Thus, after three trials, I had become the most famous advocate of Franche-Comte. 

 "But I bury my life in the deepest mystery, and so hide my aims. I have adopted habits which prevent my accepting any invitations. I am only to be consulted between six and eight in the morning; I go to bed after my dinner, and work at night. The Vicar-General, a man of parts, and very influential, who placed the Chapter's case in my hands after they had lost it in the lower Court, of course professed their gratitude. 'Monsieur, ' said I, 'I will win your suit, but I want no fee; I want more' (start of alarm on the Abbe's part). 'You must know that I am a great loser by putting myself forward in antagonism to the town. I came here only to leave the place as deputy. I mean to engage only in commercial cases, because commercial men return the members; they will distrust me if I defend "the priests"--for to them you are simply priests. If I undertake your defence, it is because I was, in 1828, private secretary to such a Minister' (again a start of surprise on the part of my Abbe), 'and Master of Appeals, under the name of Albert de Savarus' (another start). 'I have remained faithful to monarchical opinions; but, as you have not the majority of votes in Besancon, I must gain votes among the citizens. So the fee I ask of you is the votes you may be able secretly to secure for me at the opportune moment. Let us each keep our own counsel, and I will defend, for nothing, every case to which a priest of this diocese may be a party. Not a word about my previous life, and we will be true to each other. '

 "When he came to thank me afterwards, he gave me a note for five hundred francs, and said in my ear, 'The votes are a bargain all the same. '--I have in the course of five interviews made a friend, I think, of this Vicar-General. 

 "Now I am overwhelmed with business, and I undertake no cases but those brought to me by merchants, saying that commercial questions are my specialty. This line of conduct attaches business men to me, and allows me to make friends with influential persons. So all goes well. Within a few months I shall have found a house to purchase in Besancon, so as to secure a qualification. I count on your lending me the necessary capital for this investment. If I should die, if I should fail, the loss would be too small to be any consideration between you and me. You will get the interest out of the rental, and I shall take good care to look out for something cheap, so that you may lose nothing by this mortgage, which is indispensable. 

 "Oh! my dear Leopold, no gambler with the last remains of his fortune in his pocket, bent on staking it at the Cercle des Etrangers for the last time one night, when he must come away rich or ruined, ever felt such a perpetual ringing in his ears, such a nervous moisture on his palms, such a fevered tumult in his brain, such inward qualms in his body as I go through every day now that I am playing my last card in the game of ambition. Alas! my dear and only friend, for nearly ten years now I have been struggling. This battle with men and things, in which I have unceasingly poured out my strength and energy, and so constantly worn the springs of desire, has, so to speak, undermined my vitality. With all the appearance of a strong man of good health, I feel myself a wreck. Every day carries with it a shred of my inmost life. At every fresh effort I feel that I should never be able to begin again. I have no power, no vigor left but for happiness; and if it should never come to crown my head with roses, the _me_ that is really me would cease to exist, I should be a ruined thing. I should wish for nothing more in the world. I should want to cease from living. You know that power and fame, the vast moral empire that I crave, is but secondary; it is to me only a means to happiness, the pedestal for my idol. 

 "To reach the goal and die, like the runner of antiquity! To see fortune and death stand on the threshold hand in hand! To win the beloved woman just when love is extinct! To lose the faculty of enjoyment after earning the right to be happy!--Of how many men has this been the fate!

 "But there surely is a moment when Tantalus rebels, crosses his arms, and defies hell, throwing up his part of the eternal dupe. That is what I shall come to if anything should thwart my plan; if, after stooping to the dust of provincial life, prowling like a starving tiger round these tradesmen, these electors, to secure their votes; if, after wrangling in these squalid cases, and giving them my time--the time I might have spent on Lago Maggiore, seeing the waters she sees, basking in her gaze, hearing her voice --if, after all, I failed to scale the tribune and conquer the glory that should surround the name that is to succeed to that of Argaiolo! Nay, more than this, Leopold; there are days when I feel a heady languor; deep disgust surges up from the depths of my soul, especially when, abandoned to long day-dreams, I have lost myself in anticipation of the joys of blissful love! May it not be that our desire has only a certain modicum of power, and that it perishes, perhaps, of a too lavish effusion of its essence? For, after all, at this present, my life is fair, illuminated by faith, work, and love. 

 "Farewell, my friend; I send love to your children, and beg you to remember me to your excellent wife. --Yours, "ALBERT. "

Rosalie read this letter twice through, and its general purport wasstamped on her heart. She suddenly saw the whole of Albert's previousexistence, for her quick intelligence threw light on all the details, and enabled her to take it all in. By adding this information to thelittle novel published in the _Review_, she now fully understoodAlbert. Of course, she exaggerated the greatness, remarkable as itwas, of this lofty soul and potent will, and her love for Albertthenceforth became a passion, its violence enhanced by all thestrength of her youth, the weariness of her solitude, and the unspentenergy of her character. Love is in a young girl the effect of anatural law; but when her craving for affection is centered in anexceptional man, it is mingled with the enthusiasm which overflows ina youthful heart. Thus Mademoiselle de Watteville had in a few daysreached a morbid and very dangerous stage of enamored infatuation. TheBaroness was much pleased with her daughter, who, being under thespell of her absorbing thoughts, never resisted her will, seemed to bedevoted to feminine occupations, and realized her mother's ideal of adocile daughter. 

The lawyer was now engaged in Court two or three times a week. Thoughhe was overwhelmed with business, he found time to attend the trials, call on the litigious merchants, and conduct the _Review_; keeping uphis personal mystery, from the conviction that the more covert andhidden was his influence, the more real it would be. But he neglectedno means of success, reading up the list of electors of Besancon, andfinding out their interests, their characters, their variousfriendships and antipathies. Did ever a Cardinal hoping to be madePope give himself more trouble?

One evening Mariette, on coming to dress Rosalie for an evening party, handed to her, not without many groans over this treachery, a letterof which the address made Mademoiselle de Watteville shiver and reddenand turn pale again as she read the address:

 To Madame la Duchesse d'Argaiolo (nee Princesse Soderini) At Belgirate, Lago Maggiore, Italy. 

In her eyes this direction blazed as the words _Mene_, _Tekel_, _Upharsin_, did in the eyes of Belshazzar. After concealing theletter, Rosalie went downstairs to accompany her mother to Madame deChavoncourt's; and as long as the endless evening lasted, she wastormented by remorse and scruples. She had already felt shame athaving violated the secrecy of Albert's letter to Leopold; she hadseveral times asked herself whether, if he knew of her crime, infamousinasmuch as it necessarily goes unpunished, the high-minded Albertcould esteem her. Her conscience answered an uncompromising "No. "

She had expiated her sin by self-imposed penances; she fasted, shemortified herself by remaining on her knees, her arms outstretched forhours, and repeating prayers all the time. She had compelled Marietteto similar sets of repentance; her passion was mingled with genuineasceticism, and was all the more dangerous. 

"Shall I read that letter, shall I not?" she asked herself, whilelistening to the Chavoncourt girls. One was sixteen, the otherseventeen and a half. Rosalie looked upon her two friends as merechildren because they were not secretly in love. --"If I read it, " shefinally decided, after hesitating for an hour between Yes and No, "itshall, at any rate, be the last. Since I have gone so far as to seewhat he wrote to his friend, why should I not know what he says to_her_? If it is a horrible crime, is it not a proof of love? Oh, Albert! am I not your wife?"

When Rosalie was in bed she opened the letter, dated from day to day, so as to give the Duchess a faithful picture of Albert's life andfeelings. 

 "25th. 

 "My dear Soul, all is well. To my other conquests I have just added an invaluable one: I have done a service to one of the most influential men who work the elections. Like the critics, who make other men's reputations but can never make their own, he makes deputies though he never can become one. The worthy man wanted to show his gratitude without loosening his purse-strings by saying to me, 'Would you care to sit in the Chamber? I can get you returned as deputy. '

 "'If I ever make up my mind to enter on a political career, ' replied I hypocritically, 'it would be to devote myself to the Comte, which I love, and where I am appreciated. '

 "'Well, ' he said, 'we will persuade you, and through you we shall have weight in the Chamber, for you will distinguish yourself there. '

 "And so, my beloved angel, say what you will, my perseverance will be rewarded. Ere long I shall, from the high place of the French Tribune, come before my country, before Europe. My name will be flung to you by the hundred voices of the French press. 

 "Yes, as you tell me, I was old when I came to Besancon, and Besancon has aged me more; but, like Sixtus V. , I shall be young again the day after my election. I shall enter on my true life, my own sphere. Shall we not then stand in the same line? Count Savaron de Savarus, Ambassador I know not where, may surely marry a Princess Soderini, the widow of the Duc d'Argaiolo! Triumph restores the youth of men who have been preserved by incessant struggles. Oh, my Life! with what gladness did I fly from my library to my private room, to tell your portrait of this progress before writing to you! Yes, the votes I can command, those of the Vicar-General, of the persons I can oblige, and of this client, make my election already sure. 

 "26th. 

 "We have entered on the twelfth year since that blest evening when, by a look, the beautiful Duchess sealed the promises made by the exile Francesca. You, dear, are thirty-two, I am thirty-five; the dear Duke is seventy-seven--that is to say, ten years more than yours and mine put together, and he still keeps well! My patience is almost as great as my love, and indeed I need a few years yet to rise to the level of your name. As you see, I am in good spirits to-day, I can laugh; that is the effect of hope. Sadness or gladness, it all comes to me through you. The hope of success always carries me back to the day following that one on which I saw you for the first time, when my life became one with yours as the earth turns to the light. _Qual pianto_ are these eleven years, for this is the 26th of December, the anniversary of my arrival at your villa on the Lake of Geneva. For eleven years have I been crying to you, while you shine like a star set too high for man to reach it. 

 "27th. 

 "No, dearest, do not go to Milan; stay at Belgirate. Milan terrifies me. I do not like that odious Milanese fashion of chatting at the Scala every evening with a dozen persons, among whom it is hard if no one says something sweet. To me solitude is like the lump of amber in whose heart an insect lives for ever in unchanging beauty. Thus the heart and soul of a woman remains pure and unaltered in the form of their first youth. Is it the _Tedeschi_ that you regret?

 "28th. 

 "Is your statue never to be finished? I should wish to have you in marble, in painting, in miniature, in every possible form, to beguile my impatience. I still am waiting for the view of Belgirate from the south, and that of the balcony; these are all that I now lack. I am so extremely busy that to-day I can only write you nothing--but that nothing is everything. Was it not of nothing that God made the world? That nothing is a word, God's word: I love you!

 "30th. 

 "Ah! I have received your journal. Thanks for your punctuality. --So you found great pleasure in seeing all the details of our first acquaintance thus set down? Alas! even while disguising them I was sorely afraid of offending you. We had no stories, and a _Review_ without stories is a beauty without hair. Not being inventive by nature, and in sheer despair, I took the only poetry in my soul, the only adventure in my memory, and pitched it in the key in which it would bear telling; nor did I ever cease to think of you while writing the only literary production that will ever come from my heart, I cannot say from my pen. Did not the transformation of your fierce Sormano into Gina make you laugh?

 "You ask after my health. Well, it is better than in Paris. Though I work enormously, the peacefulness of the surroundings has its effect on the mind. What really tries and ages me, dear angel, is the anguish of mortified vanity, the perpetual friction of Paris life, the struggle of rival ambitions. This peace is a balm. 

 "If you could imagine the pleasure your letter gives me!--the long, kind letter in which you tell me the most trivial incidents of your life. No! you women can never know to what a degree a true lover is interested in these trifles. It was an immense pleasure to see the pattern of your new dress. Can it be a matter of indifference to me to know what you wear? If your lofty brow is knit? If our writers amuse you? If Canalis' songs delight you? I read the books you read. Even to your boating on the lake every incident touched me. Your letter is as lovely, as sweet as your soul! Oh! flower of heaven, perpetually adored, could I have lived without those dear letters, which for eleven years have upheld me in my difficult path like a light, like a perfume, like a steady chant, like some divine nourishment, like everything which can soothe and comfort life. 

 "Do not fail me! If you knew what anxiety I suffer the day before they are due, or the pain a day's delay can give me! Is she ill? Is _he_? I am midway between hell and paradise. 

 "_O mia cara diva_, keep up your music, exercise your voice, practise. I am enchanted with the coincidence of employments and hours by which, though separated by the Alps, we live by precisely the same rule. The thought charms me and gives me courage. The first time I undertook to plead here--I forget to tell you this--I fancied that you were listening to me, and I suddenly felt the flash of inspiration which lifts the poet above mankind. If I am returned to the Chamber--oh! you must come to Paris to be present at my first appearance there!

 "30th, Evening. 

 "Good heavens, how I love you! Alas! I have intrusted too much to my love and my hopes. An accident which should sink that overloaded bark would end my life. For three years now I have not seen you, and at the thought of going to Belgirate my heart beats so wildly that I am forced to stop. --To see you, to hear that girlish caressing voice! To embrace in my gaze that ivory skin, glistening under the candlelight, and through which I can read your noble mind! To admire your fingers playing on the keys, to drink in your whole soul in a look, in the tone of an _Oime_ or an _Alberto_! To walk by the blossoming orange-trees, to live a few months in the bosom of that glorious scenery!--That is life. What folly it is to run after power, a name, fortune! But at Belgirate there is everything; there is poetry, there is glory! I ought to have made myself your steward, or, as that dear tyrant whom we cannot hate proposed to me, live there as _cavaliere servente_, only our passion was too fierce to allow of it. 

 "Farewell, my angel, forgive me my next fit of sadness in consideration of this cheerful mood; it has come as a beam of light from the torch of Hope, which has hitherto seemed to me a Will-o'-the-wisp. "

"How he loves her!" cried Rosalie, dropping the letter, which seemedheavy in her hand. "After eleven years to write like this!"

"Mariette, " said Mademoiselle de Watteville to her maid next morning, "go and post this letter. Tell Jerome that I know all I wish to know, and that he is to serve Monsieur Albert faithfully. We will confessour sins, you and I, without saying to whom the letters belonged, norto whom they were going. I was in the wrong; I alone am guilty. "

"Mademoiselle has been crying?" said Mariette. 

"Yes, but I do not want that my mother should perceive it; give mesome very cold water. "

In the midst of the storms of her passion Rosalie often listened tothe voice of conscience. Touched by the beautiful fidelity of thesetwo hearts, she had just said her prayers, telling herself that therewas nothing left to her but to be resigned, and to respect thehappiness of two beings worthy of each other, submissive to fate, looking to God for everything, without allowing themselves anycriminal acts or wishes. She felt a better woman, and had a certainsense of satisfaction after coming to this resolution, inspired by thenatural rectitude of youth. And she was confirmed in it by a girl'sidea: She was sacrificing herself for _him_. 

"She does not know how to love, " thought she. "Ah! if it were I--Iwould give up everything to a man who loved me so. --To be loved!--When, by whom shall I be loved? That little Monsieur de Soulas onlyloves my money; if I were poor, he would not even look at me. "

"Rosalie, my child, what are you thinking about? You are workingbeyond the outline, " said the Baroness to her daughter, who was makingworsted-work slippers for the Baron. 

* * * * *

Rosalie spent the winter of 1834-35 torn by secret tumults; but in thespring, in the month of April, when she reached the age of nineteen, she sometimes thought that it would be a fine thing to triumph over aDuchesse d'Argaiolo. In silence and solitude the prospect of thisstruggle had fanned her passion and her evil thoughts. She encouragedher romantic daring by making plan after plan. Although suchcharacters are an exception, there are, unfortunately, too manyRosalies in the world, and this story contains a moral that ought toserve them as a warning. 

In the course of this winter Albert de Savarus had quietly madeconsiderable progress in Besancon. Confident of success, he nowimpatiently awaited the dissolution of the Chamber. Among the men ofthe moderate party he had won the suffrages of one of the makers ofBesancon, a rich contractor, who had very wide influence. 

Wherever they settled the Romans took immense pains, and spentenormous sums to have an unlimited supply of good water in every townof their empire. At Besancon they drank the water from Arcier, a hillat some considerable distance from Besancon. The town stands in ahorseshoe circumscribed by the river Doubs. Thus, to restore anaqueduct in order to drink the same water that the Romans drank, in atown watered by the Doubs, is one of those absurdities which onlysucceed in a country place where the most exemplary gravity prevails. If this whim could be brought home to the hearts of the citizens, itwould lead to considerable outlay; and this expenditure would benefitthe influential contractor. 

Albert Savaron de Savarus opined that the water of the river was goodfor nothing but to flow under the suspension bridge, and that the onlydrinkable water was that from Arcier. Articles were printed in the_Review_ which merely expressed the views of the commercial interestof Besancon. The nobility and the citizens, the moderates and thelegitimists, the government party and the opposition, everybody, inshort, was agreed that they must drink the same water as the Romans, and boast of a suspension bridge. The question of the Arcier water wasthe order of the day at Besancon. At Besancon--as in the matter of thetwo railways to Versailles--as for every standing abuse--there wereprivate interests unconfessed which gave vital force to this idea. Thereasonable folk in opposition to this scheme, who were indeed but few, were regarded as old women. No one talked of anything but of Savaron'stwo projects. And thus, after eighteen months of underground labor, the ambitious lawyer had succeeded in stirring to its depths the moststagnant town in France, the most unyielding to foreign influence, infinding the length of its foot, to use a vulgar phrase, and exerting apreponderant influence without stirring from his own room. He hadsolved the singular problem of how to be powerful without beingpopular. 

In the course of this winter he won seven lawsuits for various priestsof Besancon. At moments he could breathe freely at the thought of hiscoming triumph. This intense desire, which made him work so manyinterests and devise so many springs, absorbed the last strength ofhis terribly overstrung soul. His disinterestedness was lauded, and hetook his clients' fees without comment. But this disinterestednesswas, in truth, moral usury; he counted on a reward far greater to himthan all the gold in the world. 

In the month of October 1834 he had brought, ostensibly to serve amerchant who was in difficulties, with money lent him by LeopoldHannequin, a house which gave him a qualification for election. He hadnot seemed to seek or desire this advantageous bargain. 

"You are really a remarkable man, " said the Abbe de Grancey, who, ofcourse, had watched and understood the lawyer. The Vicar-General hadcome to introduce to him a Canon who needed his professional advice. "You are a priest who has taken the wrong turning. " This observationstruck Savarus. 

Rosalie, on her part, had made up her mind, in her strong girl's head, to get Monsieur de Savarus into the drawing-room and acquainted withthe society of the Hotel de Rupt. So far she had limited her desiresto seeing and hearing Albert. She had compounded, so to speak, and acomposition is often no more than a truce. 

Les Rouxey, the inherited estate of the Wattevilles, was worth justten thousand francs a year; but in other hands it would have yielded agreat deal more. The Baron in his indifference--for his wife was tohave, and in fact had, forty thousand francs a year--left themanagement of les Rouxey to a sort of factotum, an old servant of theWattevilles named Modinier. Nevertheless, whenever the Baron and hiswife wished to go out of the town, they went to les Rouxey, which isvery picturesquely situated. The chateau and the park were, in fact, created by the famous Watteville, who in his active old age waspassionately attached to this magnificent spot. 

Between two precipitous hills--little peaks with bare summits known asthe great and the little Rouxey--in the heart of a ravine where thetorrents from the heights, with the Dent de Vilard at their head, cometumbling to join the lovely upper waters of the Doubs, Watteville hada huge dam constructed, leaving two cuttings for the overflow. Abovethis dam he made a beautiful lake, and below it two cascades; andthese, uniting a few yards below the falls, formed a lovely littleriver to irrigate the barren, uncultivated valley, and these two hillshe enclosed in a ring fence, and built himself a retreat on the dam, which he widened to two acres by accumulating above it all the soilwhich had to be removed to make a channel for the river and theirrigation canals. 

When the Baron de Watteville thus obtained the lake above his dam hewas owner of the two hills, but not of the upper valley thus flooded, through which there had been at all times a right-of-way to where itends in a horseshoe under the Dent de Vilard. But this ferocious oldman was so widely dreaded, that so long as he lived no claim was urgedby the inhabitants of Riceys, the little village on the further sideof the Dent de Vilard. When the Baron died, he left the slopes of thetwo Rouxey hills joined by a strong wall, to protect from inundationthe two lateral valleys opening into the valley of Rouxey, to theright and left at the foot of the Dent de Vilard. Thus he died themaster of the Dent de Vilard. 

His heirs asserted their protectorate of the village of Riceys, and somaintained the usurpation. The old assassin, the old renegade, the oldAbbe Watteville, ended his career by planting trees and making a fineroad over the shoulder of one of the Rouxey hills to join thehighroad. The estate belonging to this park and house was extensive, but badly cultivated; there were chalets on both hills and neglectedforests of timber. It was all wild and deserted, left to the care ofnature, abandoned to chance growths, but full of sublime andunexpected beauty. You may now imagine les Rouxey. 

It is unnecessary to complicate this story by relating all theprodigious trouble and the inventiveness stamped with genius, by whichRosalie achieved her end without allowing it to be suspected. It isenough to say that it was in obedience to her mother that she leftBesancon in the month of May 1835, in an antique traveling carriagedrawn by a pair of sturdy hired horses, and accompanied her father toles Rouxey. 

To a young girl love lurks in everything. When she rose, the morningafter her arrival, Mademoiselle de Watteville saw from her bedroomwindow the fine expanse of water, from which the light mists rose likesmoke, and were caught in the firs and larches, rolling up and alongthe hills till they reached the heights, and she gave a cry ofadmiration. 

"They loved by the lakes! _She_ lives by a lake! A lake is certainlyfull of love!" she thought. 

A lake fed by snows has opalescent colors and a translucency thatmakes it one huge diamond; but when it is shut in like that of lesRouxey, between two granite masses covered with pines, when silencebroods over it like that of the Savannas or the Steppes, then everyone must exclaim as Rosalie did. 

"We owe that, " said her father, "to the notorious Watteville. "

"On my word, " said the girl, "he did his best to earn forgiveness. Letus go in a boat to the further end; it will give us an appetite forbreakfast. "

The Baron called two gardener lads who knew how to row, and took withhim his prime minister Modinier. The lake was about six acres inbreadth, in some places ten or twelve, and four hundred in length. Rosalie soon found herself at the upper end shut in by the Dent deVilard, the Jungfrau of that little Switzerland. 

"Here we are, Monsieur le Baron, " said Modinier, signing to thegardeners to tie up the boat; "will you come and look?"

"Look at what?" asked Rosalie. 

"Oh, nothing!" exclaimed the Baron. "But you are a sensible girl; wehave some little secrets between us, and I may tell you what rufflesmy mind. Some difficulties have arisen since 1830 between the villageauthorities of Riceys and me, on account of this very Dent de Vilard, and I want to settle the matter without your mother's knowing anythingabout it, for she is stubborn; she is capable of flinging fire andflames broadcast, particularly if she should hear that the Mayor ofRiceys, a republican, got up this action as a sop to his people. "

Rosalie had presence of mind enough to disguise her delight, so as towork more effectually on her father. 

"What action?" said she. 

"Mademoiselle, the people of Riceys, " said Modinier, "have longenjoyed the right of grazing and cutting fodder on their side of theDent de Vilard. Now Monsieur Chantonnit, the Maire since 1830, declares that the whole Dent belongs to his district, and maintainsthat a hundred years ago, or more, there was a way through ourgrounds. You understand that in that case we should no longer havethem to ourselves. Then this barbarian would end by saying, what theold men in the village say, that the ground occupied by the lake wasappropriated by the Abbe de Watteville. That would be the end of lesRouxey; what next?"

"Indeed, my child, between ourselves, it is the truth, " said Monsieurde Watteville simply. "The land is an usurpation, with no title-deedbut lapse of time. And, therefore, to avoid all worry, I should wishto come to a friendly understanding as to my border line on this sideof the Dent de Vilard, and I will then raise a wall. "

"If you give way to the municipality, it will swallow you up. Youought to have threatened Riceys. "

"That is just what I told the master last evening, " said Modinier. "But in confirmation of that view I proposed that he should come tosee whether, on this side of the Dent or on the other, there may notbe, high or low, some traces of an enclosure. "

For a century the Dent de Vilard had been used by both parties withoutcoming to extremities; it stood as a sort of party wall between thecommunes of Riceys and les Rouxey, yielding little profit. Indeed, theobject in dispute, being covered with snow for six months in the year, was of a nature to cool their ardor. Thus it required all the hotblast by which the revolution of 1830 inflamed the advocates of thepeople, to stir up this matter, by which Monsieur Chantonnit, theMaire of Riceys, hoped to give a dramatic turn to his career on thepeaceful frontier of Switzerland, and to immortalize his term ofoffice. Chantonnit, as his name shows, was a native of Neuchatel. 

"My dear father, " said Rosalie, as they got into the boat again, "Iagree with Modinier. If you wish to secure the joint possession of theDent de Vilard, you must act with decision, and get a legal opinionwhich will protect you against this enterprising Chantonnit. Whyshould you be afraid? Get the famous lawyer Savaron--engage him atonce, lest Chantonnit should place the interests of the village in hishands. The man who won the case for the Chapter against the town cancertainly win that of Watteville _versus_ Riceys! Besides, " she added, "les Rouxey will some day be mine--not for a long time yet, I trust. --Well, then do not leave me with a lawsuit on my hands. I like thisplace, I shall often live here, and add to it as much as possible. Onthose banks, " and she pointed to the feet of the two hills, "I shallcut flowerbeds and make the loveliest English gardens. Let us go toBesancon and bring back with us the Abbe de Grancey, Monsieur Savaron, and my mother, if she cares to come. You can then make up your mind;but in your place I should have done so already. Your name isWatteville, and you are afraid of a fight! If you should lose yourcase--well, I will never reproach you by a word!"

"Oh, if that is the way you take it, " said the Baron, "I am quiteready; I will see the lawyer. "

"Besides a lawsuit is really great fun. It brings some interest intolife, with coming and going and raging over it. You will have a greatdeal to do before you can get hold of the judges. --We did not see theAbbe de Grancey for three weeks, he was so busy!"

"But the very existence of the Chapter was involved, " said Monsieur deWatteville; "and then the Archbishop's pride, his conscience, everything that makes up the life of the priesthood, was at stake. That Savaron does not know what he did for the Chapter! He saved it!"

"Listen to me, " said his daughter in his ear, "if you secure Monsieurde Savaron, you will gain your suit, won't you? Well, then, let meadvise you. You cannot get at Monsieur Savaron excepting throughMonsieur de Grancey. Take my word for it, and let us together talk tothe dear Abbe without my mother's presence at the interview, for Iknow a way of persuading him to bring the lawyer to us. "

"It will be very difficult to avoid mentioning it to your mother!"

"The Abbe de Grancey will settle that afterwards. But just make upyour mind to promise your vote to Monsieur Savaron at the nextelection, and you will see!"

"Go to the election! take the oath?" cried the Baron de Watteville. 

"What then!" said she. 

"And what will your mother say?"

"She may even desire you to do it, " replied Rosalie, knowing as shedid from Albert's letter to Leopold how deeply the Vicar-General hadpledged himself. 

Four days after, the Abbe de Grancey called very early one morning onAlbert de Savarus, having announced his visit the day before. The oldpriest had come to win over the great lawyer to the house of theWattevilles, a proceeding which shows how much tact and subtletyRosalie must have employed in an underhand way. 

"What can I do for you, Monsieur le Vicaire-General?" asked Savarus. 

The Abbe, who told his story with admirable frankness, was coldlyheard by Albert. 

"Monsieur l'Abbe, " said he, "it is out of the question that I shoulddefend the interests of the Wattevilles, and you shall understand why. My part in this town is to remain perfectly neutral. I will display nocolors; I must remain a mystery till the eve of my election. Now, toplead for the Wattevilles would mean nothing in Paris, but here!--Here, where everything is discussed, I should be supposed by everyone to be an ally of your Faubourg Saint-Germain. "

"What! do you suppose that you can remain unknown on the day of theelection, when the candidates must oppose each other? It must thenbecome known that your name is Savaron de Savarus, that you have heldthe appointment of Master of Appeals, that you are a man of theRestoration!"

"On the day of the election, " said Savarus, "I will be all I amexpected to be; and I intend to speak at the preliminary meetings. "

"If you have the support of Monsieur de Watteville and his party, youwill get a hundred votes in a mass, and far more to be trusted thanthose on which you rely. It is always possible to produce division ofinterests; convictions are inseparable. "

"The deuce is in it!" said Savarus. "I am attached to you, and I coulddo a great deal for you, Father! Perhaps we may compound with theDevil. Whatever Monsieur de Watteville's business may be, by engagingGirardet, and prompting him, it will be possible to drag theproceedings out till the elections are over. I will not undertake toplead till the day after I am returned. "

"Do this one thing, " said the Abbe. "Come to the Hotel de Rupt: thereis a young person of nineteen there who, one of these days, will havea hundred thousand francs a year, and you can seem to be paying yourcourt to her--"

"Ah! the young lady I sometimes see in the kiosk?"

"Yes, Mademoiselle Rosalie, " replied the Abbe de Grancey. "You areambitious. If she takes a fancy to you, you may be everything anambitious man can wish--who knows? A Minister perhaps. A man canalways be a Minister who adds a hundred thousand francs a year to youramazing talents. "

"Monsieur l'Abbe, if Mademoiselle de Watteville had three times herfortune, and adored me into the bargain, it would be impossible that Ishould marry her--"

"You are married?" exclaimed the Abbe. 

"Not in church nor before the Maire, but morally speaking, " saidSavarus. 

"That is even worse when a man cares about it as you seem to care, "replied the Abbe. "Everything that is not done, can be undone. Do notstake your fortune and your prospects on a woman's liking, any morethan a wise man counts on a dead man's shoes before starting on hisway. "

"Let us say no more about Mademoiselle de Watteville, " said Albertgravely, "and agree as to the facts. At your desire--for I have aregard and respect for you--I will appear for Monsieur de Watteville, but after the elections. Until then Girardet must conduct the caseunder my instructions. That is the most I can do. "

"But there are questions involved which can only be settled afterinspection of the localities, " said the Vicar-General. 

"Girardet can go, " said Savarus. "I cannot allow myself, in the faceof a town I know so well, to take any step which might compromise thesupreme interests that lie beyond my election. "

The Abbe left Savarus after giving him a keen look, in which he seemedto be laughing at the young athlete's uncompromising politics, whileadmiring his firmness. 

"Ah! I would have dragged my father into a lawsuit--I would have doneanything to get him here!" cried Rosalie to herself, standing in thekiosk and looking at the lawyer in his room, the day after Albert'sinterview with the Abbe, who had reported the result to her father. "Iwould have committed any mortal sin, and you will not enter theWattevilles' drawing-room; I may not hear your fine voice! You makeconditions when your help is required by the Wattevilles and theRupts!--Well, God knows, I meant to be content with these small joys;with seeing you, hearing you speak, going with you to les Rouxey, thatyour presence might to me make the place sacred. That was all I asked. But now--now I mean to be your wife. --Yes, yes; look at _her_portrait, at _her_ drawing-room, _her_ bedroom, at the four sides of_her_ villa, the points of view from _her_ gardens. You expect herstatue? I will make her marble herself towards you!--After all, thewoman does not love. Art, science, books, singing, music, haveabsorbed half her senses and her intelligence. She is old, too; she ispast thirty; my Albert will not be happy!"

"What is the matter that you stay here, Rosalie?" asked her mother, interrupting her reflections. "Monsieur de Soulas is in thedrawing-room, and he observed your attitude, which certainly betraysmore thoughtfulness than is due at your age. "

"Then, is Monsieur de Soulas a foe to thought?" asked Rosalie. 

"Then you were thinking?" said Madame de Watteville. 

"Why, yes, mamma. "

"Why, no! you were not thinking. You were staring at that lawyer'swindow with an attention that is neither becoming, nor decent, andwhich Monsieur de Soulas, of all men, ought never to have observed. "

"Why?" said Rosalie. 

"It is time, " said the Baroness, "that you should know what ourintentions are. Amedee likes you, and you will not be unhappy asComtesse de Soulas. "

Rosalie, as white as a lily, made no reply, so completely was shestupefied by contending feelings. And yet in the presence of the manshe had this instant begun to hate vehemently, she forced the kind ofsmile which a ballet-dancer puts on for the public. Nay, she couldeven laugh; she had the strength to conceal her rage, which presentlysubsided, for she was determined to make use of this fat simpleton tofurther her designs. 

"Monsieur Amedee, " said she, at the moment when her mother was walkingahead of them in the garden, affecting to leave the young peopletogether, "were you not aware that Monsieur Albert Savaron de Savarusis a Legitimist?"

"A Legitimist?"

"Until 1830 he was Master of Appeals to the Council of State, attachedto the supreme Ministerial Council, and in favor with the Dauphin andDauphiness. It would be very good of you to say nothing against him, but it would be better still if you would attend the election thisyear, carry the day, and hinder that poor Monsieur de Chavoncourt fromrepresenting the town of Besancon. "

"What sudden interest have you in this Savaron?"

"Monsieur Albert Savaron de Savarus, the natural son of the Comte deSavarus--pray keep the secret of my indiscretion--if he is returneddeputy, will be our advocate in the suit about les Rouxey. Les Rouxey, my father tells me, will be my property; I intend to live there, it isa lovely place! I should be broken-hearted at seeing that fine pieceof the great de Watteville's work destroyed. "

"The devil!" thought Amedee, as he left the house. "The heiress is notsuch a fool as her mother thinks her. "

Monsieur de Chavoncourt is a Royalist, of the famous 221. Hence, fromthe day after the revolution of July, he always preached the salutarydoctrine of taking the oaths and resisting the present order ofthings, after the pattern of the Tories against the Whigs in England. This doctrine was not acceptable to the Legitimists, who, in theirdefeat, had the wit to divide in their opinions, and to trust to theforce of inertia and to Providence. Monsieur de Chavoncourt was notwholly trusted by his own party, but seemed to the Moderates the bestman to choose; they preferred the triumph of his half-hearted opinionsto the acclamation of a Republican who should combine the votes of theenthusiasts and the patriots. Monsieur de Chavoncourt, highlyrespected in Besancon, was the representative of an old parliamentaryfamily; his fortune, of about fifteen thousand francs a year, was notan offence to anybody, especially as he had a son and three daughters. With such a family, fifteen thousand francs a year are a mere nothing. Now when, under these circumstances, the father of the family is abovebribery, it would be hard if the electors did not esteem him. Electorswax enthusiastic over a _beau ideal_ of parliamentary virtue, just asthe audience in the pit do at the representation of the generoussentiments they so little practise. 

Madame de Chavoncourt, at this time a woman of forty, was one of thebeauties of Besancon. While the Chamber was sitting, she livedmeagrely in one of their country places to recoup herself by economyfor Monsieur de Chavoncourt's expenses in Paris. In the winter shereceived very creditably once a week, on Tuesdays, understanding herbusiness as mistress of the house. Young Chavoncourt, a youth oftwo-and-twenty, and another young gentleman, named Monsieur deVauchelles, no richer than Amedee and his school-friend, were hisintimate allies. They made excursions together to Granvelle, andsometimes went out shooting; they were so well known to be inseparablethat they were invited to the country together. 

Rosalie, who was intimate with the Chavoncourt girls, knew that thethree young men had no secrets from each other. She reflected that ifMonsieur de Soulas should repeat her words, it would be to his twocompanions. Now, Monsieur de Vauchelles had his matrimonial plans, asAmedee had his; he wished to marry Victoire, the eldest of theChavoncourts, on whom an old aunt was to settle an estate worth seventhousand francs a year, and a hundred thousand francs in hard cash, when the contract was to be signed. Victoire was this aunt'sgod-daughter and favorite niece. Consequently, young Chavoncourt andhis friend Vauchelles would be sure to warn Monsieur de Chavoncourtof the danger he was in from Albert's candidature. 

But this did not satisfy Rosalie. She sent the Prefet of thedepartment a letter written with her left hand, signed "_A friend toLouis Philippe_, " in which she informed him of the secret intentionsof Monsieur Albert de Savarus, pointing out the serious support aRoyalist orator might give to Berryer, and revealing to him the deeplyartful course pursued by the lawyer during his two years' residence atBesancon. The Prefet was a capable man, a personal enemy of theRoyalist party, devoted by conviction to the Government of July--inshort, one of those men of whom, in the Rue de Grenelle, the Ministerof the Interior could say, "We have a capital Prefet at Besancon. "--The Prefet read the letter, and, in obedience to its instructions, he burnt it. 

Rosalie aimed at preventing Albert's election, so as to keep him fiveyears longer at Besancon. 

At that time an election was a fight between parties, and in order towin, the Ministry chose its ground by choosing the moment when itwould give battle. The elections were therefore not to take place forthree months yet. When a man's whole life depends on an election, theperiod that elapses between the issuing of the writs for convening theelectoral bodies, and the day fixed for their meetings, is an intervalduring which ordinary vitality is suspended. Rosalie fully understoodhow much latitude Albert's absorbed state would leave her during thesethree months. By promising Mariette--as she afterwards confessed--totake both her and Jerome into her service, she induced the maid tobring her all the letters Albert might sent to Italy, and thoseaddressed to him from that country. And all the time she was ponderingthese machinations, the extraordinary girl was working slippers forher father with the most innocent air in the world. She even made agreater display than ever of candor and simplicity, quiteunderstanding how valuable that candor and innocence would be to herends. 

"My daughter grows quite charming!" said Madame de Watteville. 

Two months before the election a meeting was held at the house ofMonsieur Boucher senior, composed of the contractor who expected toget the work for the aqueduct for the Arcier waters; of MonsieurBoucher's father-in-law; of Monsieur Granet, the influential man towhom Savarus had done a service, and who was to nominate him as acandidate; of Girardet the lawyer; of the printer of the _EasternReview_; and of the President of the Chamber of Commerce. In fact, theassembly consisted of twenty-seven persons in all, men who in theprovinces are regarded as bigwigs. Each man represented on an averagesix votes, but in estimating their values they said ten, for menalways begin by exaggerating their own influence. Among thesetwenty-seven was one who was wholly devoted to the Prefet, one falsebrother who secretly looked for some favor from the Ministry, eitherfor himself or for some one belonging to him. 

At this preliminary meeting, it was agreed that Savaron the lawyershould be named as candidate, a motion received with such enthusiasmas no one looked for from Besancon. Albert, waiting at home for AlfredBoucher to fetch him, was chatting with the Abbe de Grancey, who wasinterested in this absorbing ambition. Albert had appreciated thepriest's vast political capacities; and the priest, touched by theyoung man's entreaties, had been willing to become his guide andadviser in this culminating struggle. The Chapter did not loveMonsieur de Chavoncourt, for it was his wife's brother-in-law, asPresident of the Tribunal, who had lost the famous suit for them inthe lower Court. 

"You are betrayed, my dear fellow, " said the shrewd and worthy Abbe, in that gentle, calm voice which old priests acquire. 

"Betrayed!" cried the lover, struck to the heart. 

"By whom I know not at all, " the priest replied. "But at thePrefecture your plans are known, and your hand read like a book. Atthis moment I have no advice to give you. Such affairs needconsideration. As for this evening, take the bull by the horns, anticipate the blow. Tell them all your previous life, and thus youwill mitigate the effect of the discovery on the good folks ofBesancon. "

"Oh, I was prepared for it, " said Albert in a broken voice. 

"You would not benefit by my advice; you had the opportunity of makingan impression at the Hotel de Rupt; you do not know the advantage youwould have gained--"

"What?"

"The unanimous support of the Royalists, an immediate readiness to goto the election--in short, above a hundred votes. Adding to thesewhat, among ourselves, we call the ecclesiastical vote, though youwere not yet nominated, you were master of the votes by ballot. Undersuch circumstances, a man may temporize, may make his way--"

Alfred Boucher when he came in, full of enthusiasm, to announce thedecision of the preliminary meeting, found the Vicar-General and thelawyer cold, calm, and grave. 

"Good-night, Monsieur l'Abbe, " said Albert. "We will talk of yourbusiness at greater length when the elections are over. "

And he took Alfred's arm, after pressing Monsieur de Grancey's handwith meaning. The priest looked at the ambitious man, whose face atthat moment wore the lofty expression which a general may have when hehears the first gun fired for a battle. He raised his eyes to heaven, and left the room, saying to himself, "What a priest he would make!"

Eloquence is not at the Bar. The pleader rarely puts forth the realpowers of his soul; if he did, he would die of it in a few years. Eloquence is, nowadays, rarely in the pulpit; but it is found oncertain occasions in the Chamber of Deputies, when an ambitious manstakes all to win all, or, stung by a myriad darts, at a given momentbursts into speech. But it is still more certainly found in someprivileged beings, at the inevitable hour when their claims musteither triumph or be wrecked, and when they are forced to speak. Thusat this meeting, Albert Savarus, feeling the necessity of winninghimself some supporters, displayed all the faculties of his soul andthe resources of his intellect. He entered the room well, withoutawkwardness or arrogance, without weakness, without cowardice, quitegravely, and was not dismayed at finding himself among twenty orthirty men. The news of the meeting and of its determination hadalready brought a few docile sheep to follow the bell. 

Before listening to Monsieur Boucher, who was about to deluge him witha speech announcing the decision of the Boucher Committee, Albertbegged for silence, and, as he shook hands with Monsieur Boucher, tried to warn him, by a sign, of an unexpected danger. 

"My young friend, Alfred Boucher, has just announced to me the honoryou have done me. But before that decision is irrevocable, " said thelawyer, "I think that I ought to explain to you who and what yourcandidate is, so as to leave you free to take back your word if mydeclaration should disturb your conscience!"

This exordium was followed by profound silence. Some of the menthought it showed a noble impulse. 

Albert gave a sketch of his previous career, telling them his realname, his action under the Restoration, and revealing himself as a newman since his arrival at Besancon, while pledging himself for thefuture. This address held his hearers breathless, it was said. Thesemen, all with different interests, were spellbound by the brillianteloquence that flowed at boiling heat from the heart and soul of thisambitious spirit. Admiration silenced reflection. Only one thing wasclear--the thing which Albert wished to get into their heads:

Was it not far better for the town to have one of those men who areborn to govern society at large than a mere voting-machine? Astatesman carries power with him. A commonplace deputy, howeverincorruptible, is but a conscience. What a glory for Provence to havefound a Mirabeau, to return the only statesman since 1830 that therevolution of July had produced!

Under the pressure of this eloquence, all the audience believed itgreat enough to become a splendid political instrument in the hands oftheir representative. They all saw in Albert Savaron, Savarus thegreat Minister. And, reading the secret calculations of hisconstituents, the clever candidate gave them to understand that theywould be the first to enjoy the right of profiting by his influence. 

This confession of faith, this ambitious programme, this retrospect ofhis life and character was, according to the only man present who wascapable of judging of Savarus (he has since become one of the leadingmen of Besancon), a masterpiece of skill and of feeling, of fervor, interest, and fascination. This whirlwind carried away the electors. Never had any man had such a triumph. But, unfortunately, speech, aweapon only for close warfare, has only an immediate effect. Reflection kills the word when the word ceases to overpowerreflection. If the votes had then been taken, Albert's name wouldundoubtedly have come out of the ballot-box. At the moment, he wasconqueror. But he must conquer every day for two months. 

Albert went home quivering. The townsfolk had applauded him, and hehad achieved the great point of silencing beforehand the malignanttalk to which his early career might give rise. The commercialinterest of Besancon had nominated the lawyer, Albert Savaron deSavarus, as its candidate. 

Alfred Boucher's enthusiasm, at first infectious, presently becameblundering. 

The Prefet, alarmed by this success, set to work to count theMinisterial votes, and contrived to have a secret interview withMonsieur de Chavoncourt, so as to effect a coalition in their commoninterests. Every day, without Albert's being able to discover how, thevoters in the Boucher committee diminished in number. 

Nothing could resist the slow grinding of the Prefecture. Three offour clever men would say to Albert's clients, "Will the deputy defendyou and win your lawsuits? Will he give you advice, draw up yourcontracts, arrange your compromises?--He will be your slave for fiveyears longer, if, instead of returning him to the Chamber, you onlyhold out the hope of his going there five years hence. "

This calculation did Savarus all the more mischief, because the wivesof some of the merchants had already made it. The parties interestedin the matter of the bridge and that of the water from Arcier couldnot hold out against a talking-to from a clever Ministerialist, whoproved to them that their safety lay at the Prefecture, and not in thehands of an ambitious man. Each day was a check for Savarus, thougheach day the battle was led by him and fought by his lieutenants--abattle of words, speeches, and proceedings. He dared not go to theVicar-General, and the Vicar-General never showed himself. Albert roseand went to bed in a fever, his brain on fire. 

At last the day dawned of the first struggle, practically the show ofhands; the votes are counted, the candidates estimate their chances, and clever men can prophesy their failure or success. It is a decenthustings, without the mob, but formidable; agitation, though it is notallowed any physical display, as it is in England, is not the lessprofound. The English fight these battles with their fists, the Frenchwith hard words. Our neighbors have a scrimmage, the French try theirfate by cold combinations calmly worked out. This particular politicalbusiness is carried out in opposition to the character of the twonations. 

The Radical party named their candidate; Monsieur de Chavoncourt cameforward; then Albert appeared, and was accused by the Chavoncourtcommittee and the Radicals of being an uncompromising man of theRight, a second Berryer. The Ministry had their candidate, astalking-horse, useful only to receive the purely Ministerial votes. The votes, thus divided, gave no result. The Republican candidate hadtwenty, the Ministry got fifty, Albert had seventy, Monsieur deChavoncourt obtained sixty-seven. But the Prefet's party hadperfidiously made thirty of its most devoted adherents vote forAlbert, so as to deceive the enemy. The votes for Monsieur deChavoncourt, added to the eighty votes--the real number--at thedisposal of the Prefecture, would carry the election, if only thePrefet could succeed in gaining over a few of the Radicals. A hundredand sixty votes were not recorded: those of Monsieur de Grancey'sfollowing and the Legitimists. 

The show of hands at an election, like a dress rehearsal at a theatre, is the most deceptive thing in the world. Albert Savarus came home, putting a brave face on the matter, but half dead. He had had the wit, the genius, or the good luck to gain, within the last fortnight, twostaunch supporters--Girardet's father-in-law and a very shrewd oldmerchant to whom Monsieur de Grancey had sent him. These two worthymen, his self-appointed spies, affected to be Albert's most ardentopponents in the hostile camp. Towards the end of the show of handsthey informed Savarus, through the medium of Monsieur Boucher, thatthirty voters, unknown, were working against him in his party, playingthe same trick that they were playing for his benefit on the otherside. 

A criminal marching to execution could not suffer as Albert sufferedas he went home from the hall where his fate was at stake. Thedespairing lover could endure no companionship. He walked through thestreets alone, between eleven o'clock and midnight. At one in themorning, Albert, to whom sleep had been unknown for the past threedays, was sitting in his library in a deep armchair, his face as paleas if he were dying, his hands hanging limp, in a forlorn attitudeworthy of the Magdalen. Tears hung on his long lashes, tears that dimthe eyes, but do not fall; fierce thought drinks them up, the fire ofthe soul consumes them. Alone, he might weep. And then, under thekiosk, he saw a white figure, which reminded him of Francesca. 

"And for three months I have had no letter from her! What has becomeof her? I have not written for two months, but I warned her. Is sheill? Oh, my love! My life! Will you ever know what I have gonethrough? What a wretched constitution is mine! Have I an aneurism?" heasked himself, feeling his heart beat so violently that its pulsesseemed audible in the silence like little grains of sand dropping on abig drum. 

At this moment three distinct taps sounded on his door; Alberthastened to open it, and almost fainted with joy at seeing theVicar-General's cheerful and triumphant mien. Without a word, he threwhis arms round the Abbe de Grancey, held him fast, and clasped himclosely, letting his head fall on the old man's shoulder. He was achild again; he cried as he had cried on hearing that FrancescaSoderini was a married woman. He betrayed his weakness to no one butto this priest, on whose face shone the light of hope. The priest hadbeen sublime, and as shrewd as he was sublime. 

"Forgive me, dear Abbe, but you come at one of those moments when theman vanishes, for you are not to think me vulgarly ambitious. "

"Oh! I know, " replied the Abbe. "You wrote '_Ambition for love'ssake_!'--Ah! my son, it was love in despair that made me a priest in1786, at the age of two-and-twenty. In 1788 I was in charge of aparish. I know life. --I have refused three bishoprics already; I meanto die at Besancon. "

"Come and see her!" cried Savarus, seizing a candle, and leading theAbbe into the handsome room where hung the portrait of the Duchessed'Argaiolo, which he lighted up. 

"She is one of those women who are born to reign!" said theVicar-General, understanding how great an affection Albert showed himby this mark of confidence. "But there is pride on that brow; it isimplacable; she would never forgive an insult! It is the ArchangelMichael, the angel of Execution, the inexorable angel--'All ornothing' is the motto of this type of angel. There is somethingdivinely pitiless in that head. "

"You have guessed well, " cried Savarus. "But, my dear Abbe, for morethan twelve years now she had reigned over my life, and I have not athought for which to blame myself--"

"Ah! if you could only say the same of God!" said the priest withsimplicity. "Now, to talk of your affairs. For ten days I have been atwork for you. If you are a real politician, this time you will followmy advice. You would not be where you are now if you would have goneto the Wattevilles when I first told you. But you must go thereto-morrow; I will take you in the evening. The Rouxey estates are indanger; the case must be defended within three days. The election willnot be over in three days. They will take good care not to appointexaminers the first day. There will be several voting days, and youwill be elected by ballot--"

"How can that be?" asked Savarus. 

"By winning the Rouxey lawsuit you will gain eighty Legitimist votes;add them to the thirty I can command, and you have a hundred and ten. Then, as twenty remain to you of the Boucher committee, you will havea hundred and thirty in all. "

"Well, " said Albert, "we must get seventy-five more. "

"Yes, " said the priest, "since all the rest are Ministerial. But, myson, you have two hundred votes, and the Prefecture no more than ahundred and eighty. "

"I have two hundred votes?" said Albert, standing stupid withamazement, after starting to his feet as if shot up by a spring. 

"You have those of Monsieur de Chavoncourt, " said the Abbe. 

"How?" said Albert. 

"You will marry Mademoiselle Sidonie de Chavoncourt. "

"Never!"

"You will marry Mademoiselle Sidonie de Chavoncourt, " the priestrepeated coldly. 

"But you see--she is inexorable, " said Albert, pointing to Francesca. 

"You will marry Mademoiselle Sidonie de Chavoncourt, " said the Abbecalmly for the third time. 

This time Albert understood. The Vicar-General would not be implicatedin a scheme which at last smiled on the despairing politician. A wordmore would have compromised the priest's dignity and honor. 

"To-morrow evening at the Hotel de Rupt you will meet Madame deChavoncourt and her second daughter. You can thank her beforehand forwhat she is going to do for you, and tell her that your gratitude isunbounded, that you are hers body and soul, that henceforth yourfuture is that of her family. You are quite disinterested, for youhave so much confidence in yourself that you regard the nomination asdeputy as a sufficient fortune. 

"You will have a struggle with Madame de Chavoncourt; she will wantyou to pledge your word. All your future life, my son, lies in thatevening. But, understand clearly, I have nothing to do with it. I amanswerable only for Legitimist voters; I have secured Madame deWatteville, and that means all the aristocracy of Besancon. Amedee deSoulas and Vauchelles, who will both vote for you, have won over theyoung men; Madame de Watteville will get the old ones. As to myelectors, they are infallible. "

"And who on earth has gained over Madame de Chavoncourt?" askedSavarus. 

"Ask me no questions, " replied the Abbe. "Monsieur de Chavoncourt, whohas three daughters to marry, is not capable of increasing his wealth. Though Vauchelles marries the eldest without anything from her father, because her old aunt is to settle something on her, what is to becomeof the two others? Sidonie is sixteen, and your ambition is as good asa gold mine. Some one has told Madame de Chavoncourt that she will dobetter by getting her daughter married than by sending her husband towaste his money in Paris. That some one manages Madame de Chavoncourt, and Madame de Chavoncourt manages her husband. "

"That is enough, my dear Abbe. I understand. When once I am returnedas deputy, I have somebody's fortune to make, and by making it largeenough I shall be released from my promise. In me you have a son, aman who will owe his happiness to you. Great heavens! what have I doneto deserve so true a friend?"

"You won a triumph for the Chapter, " said the Vicar-General, smiling. "Now, as to all this, be as secret as the tomb. We are nothing, wehave done nothing. If we were known to have meddled in electionmatters, we should be eaten up alive by the Puritans of the Left--whodo worse--and blamed by some of our own party, who want everything. Madame de Chavoncourt has no suspicion of my share in all this. I haveconfided in no one but Madame de Watteville, whom we may trust as wetrust ourselves. "

"I will bring the Duchess to you to be blessed!" cried Savarus. 

After seeing out the old priest, Albert went to bed in the swaddlingclothes of power. 

* * * * *

Next evening, as may well be supposed, by nine o'clock Madame laBaronne de Watteville's rooms were crowded by the aristocracy ofBesancon in convocation extraordinary. They were discussing theexceptional step of going to the poll, to oblige the daughter of theRupts. It was known that the former Master of Appeals, the secretaryof one of the most faithful ministers under the Elder Branch, was tobe presented that evening. Madame de Chavoncourt was there with hersecond daughter Sidonie, exquisitely dressed, while her elder sister, secure of her lover, had not indulged in any of the arts of thetoilet. In country towns these little things are remarked. The Abbe deGrancey's fine and clever head was to be seen moving from group togroup, listening to everything, seeming to be apart from it all, bututtering those incisive phrases which sum up a question and direct theissue. 

"If the Elder Branch were to return, " said he to an old statesman ofseventy, "what politicians would they find?"--"Berryer, alone on hisbench, does not know which way to turn; if he had sixty votes, hewould often scotch the wheels of the Government and upset Ministries!"--"The Duc de Fitz-James is to be nominated at Toulouse. "--"You willenable Monsieur de Watteville to win his lawsuit. "--"If you vote forMonsieur Savarus, the Republicans will vote with you rather than withthe Moderates!" etc. , etc. 

At nine o'clock Albert had not arrived. Madame de Watteville wasdisposed to regard such delay as an impertinence. 

"My dear Baroness, " said Madame de Chavoncourt, "do not let suchserious issues turn on such a trifle. The varnish on his boots is notdry--or a consultation, perhaps, detains Monsieur de Savarus. "

Rosalie shot a side glance at Madame de Chavoncourt. 

"She is very lenient to Monsieur de Savarus, " she whispered to hermother. 

"You see, " said the Baroness with a smile, "there is a question of amarriage between Sidonie and Monsieur de Savarus. "

Mademoiselle de Watteville hastily went to a window looking out overthe garden. 

At ten o'clock Albert de Savarus had not yet appeared. The storm thatthreatened now burst. Some of the gentlemen sat down to cards, findingthe thing intolerable. The Abbe de Grancey, who did not know what tothink, went to the window where Rosalie was hidden, and exclaimedaloud in his amazement, "He must be dead!"

The Vicar-General stepped out into the garden, followed by Monsieur deWatteville and his daughter, and they all three went up to the kiosk. In Albert's rooms all was dark; not a light was to be seen. 

"Jerome!" cried Rosalie, seeing the servant in the yard below. TheAbbe looked at her with astonishment. "Where in the world is yourmaster?" she asked the man, who came to the foot of the wall. 

"Gone--in a post-chaise, mademoiselle. "

"He is ruined!" exclaimed the Abbe de Grancey, "or he is happy!"

The joy of triumph was not so effectually concealed on Rosalie's facethat the Vicar-General could not detect it. He affected to seenothing. 

"What can this girl have had to do with this business?" he askedhimself. 

They all three returned to the drawing-room, where Monsieur deWatteville announced the strange, the extraordinary, the prodigiousnews of the lawyer's departure, without any reason assigned for hisevasion. By half-past eleven only fifteen persons remained, among themMadame de Chavoncourt and the Abbe de Godenars, another Vicar-General, a man of about forty, who hoped for a bishopric, the two Chavoncourtgirls, and Monsieur de Vauchelles, the Abbe de Grancey, Rosalie, Amedee de Soulas, and a retired magistrate, one of the mostinfluential members of the upper circle of Besancon, who had been veryeager for Albert's election. The Abbe de Grancey sat down by theBaroness in such a position as to watch Rosalie, whose face, usuallypale, wore a feverish flush. 

"What can have happened to Monsieur de Savarus?" said Madame deChavoncourt. 

At this moment a servant in livery brought in a letter for the Abbe deGrancey on a silver tray. 

"Pray read it, " said the Baroness. 

The Vicar-General read the letter; he saw Rosalie suddenly turn aswhite as her kerchief. 

"She recognizes the writing, " said he to himself, after glancing atthe girl over his spectacles. He folded up the letter, and calmly putit in his pocket without a word. In three minutes he had met threelooks from Rosalie which were enough to make him guess everything. 

"She is in love with Albert Savarus!" thought the Vicar-General. 

He rose and took leave. He was going towards the door when, in thenext room, he was overtaken by Rosalie, who said:

"Monsieur de Grancey, it was from Albert!"

"How do you know that it was his writing, to recognize it from sofar?"

The girl's reply, caught as she was in the toils of her impatience andrage, seemed to the Abbe sublime. 

"I love him!--What is the matter?" she said after a pause. 

"He gives up the election. "

Rosalie put her finger to her lip. 

"I ask you to be as secret as if it were a confession, " said shebefore returning to the drawing-room. "If there is an end of theelection, there is an end of the marriage with Sidonie. "

* * * * *

In the morning, on her way to Mass, Mademoiselle de Watteville heardfrom Mariette some of the circumstances which had prompted Albert'sdisappearance at the most critical moment of his life. 

"Mademoiselle, an old gentleman from Paris arrived yesterday morningat the Hotel National; he came in his own carriage with four horses, and a courier in front, and a servant. Indeed, Jerome, who saw thecarriage returning, declares he could only be a prince or a _milord_. "

"Was there a coronet on the carriage?" asked Rosalie. 

"I do not know, " said Mariette. "Just as two was striking he came tocall on Monsieur Savarus, and sent in his card; and when he saw it, Jerome says Monsieur turned as pale as a sheet, and said he was to beshown in. As he himself locked the door, it is impossible to tell whatthe old gentleman and the lawyer said to each other; but they weretogether above an hour, and then the old gentleman, with the lawyer, called up his servant. Jerome saw the servant go out again with animmense package, four feet long, which looked like a great painting oncanvas. The old gentleman had in his hand a large parcel of papers. Monsieur Savaron was paler than death, and he, so proud, so dignified, was in a state to be pitied. But he treated the old gentleman sorespectfully that he could not have been politer to the King himself. Jerome and Monsieur Albert Savaron escorted the gentleman to hiscarriage, which was standing with the horses in. The courier startedon the stroke of three. 

"Monsieur Savaron went straight to the Prefecture, and from that toMonsieur Gentillet, who sold him the old traveling carriage that usedto belong to Madame de Saint-Vier before she died; then he orderedpost horses for six o'clock. He went home to pack; no doubt he wrote alot of letters; finally, he settled everything with Monsieur Girardet, who went to him and stayed till seven. Jerome carried a note toMonsieur Boucher, with whom his master was to have dined; and then, athalf-past seven, the lawyer set out, leaving Jerome with three months'wages, and telling him to find another place. 

"He left his keys with Monsieur Girardet, whom he took home, and athis house, Jerome says, he took a plate of soup, for at half-pastseven Monsieur Girardet had not yet dined. When Monsieur Savaron gotinto the carriage he looked like death. Jerome, who, of course, sawhis master off, heard him tell the postilion 'The Geneva Road!'"

"Did Jerome ask the name of the stranger at the Hotel National?"

"As the old gentleman did not mean to stay, he was not asked for it. The servant, by his orders no doubt, pretended not to speak French. "

"And the letter which came so late to Abbe de Grancey?" said Rosalie. 

"It was Monsieur Girardet, no doubt, who ought to have delivered it;but Jerome says that poor Monsieur Girardet, who was much attached tolawyer Savaron, was as much upset as he was. So he who came somysteriously, as Mademoiselle Galard says, is gone away just asmysteriously. "

After hearing this narrative, Mademoiselle de Watteville fell into abrooding and absent mood, which everybody could see. It is useless tosay anything of the commotion that arose in Besancon on thedisappearance of Monsieur Savaron. It was understood that the Prefecthad obliged him with the greatest readiness by giving him at once apassport across the frontier, for he was thus quit of his onlyopponent. Next day Monsieur de Chavoncourt was carried to the top by amajority of a hundred and forty votes. 

"Jack is gone by the way he came, " said an elector on hearing ofAlbert Savaron's flight. 

This event lent weight to the prevailing prejudice at Besancon againststrangers; indeed, two years previously they had received confirmationfrom the affair of the Republican newspaper. Ten days later Albert deSavarus was never spoken of again. Only three persons--Girardet theattorney, the Vicar-General, and Rosalie--were seriously affected byhis disappearance. Girardet knew that the white-haired stranger wasPrince Soderini, for he had seen his card, and he told theVicar-General; but Rosalie, better informed than either of them, hadknown for three months past that the Duc d'Argaiolo was dead. 

In the month of April 1836 no one had had any news from or of Albertde Savarus. Jerome and Mariette were to be married, but the Baronessconfidentially desired her maid to wait till her daughter was married, saying that the two weddings might take place at the same time. 

"It is time that Rosalie should be married, " said the Baroness one dayto Monsieur de Watteville. "She is nineteen, and she is fearfullyaltered in these last months. "

"I do not know what ails her, " said the Baron. 

"When fathers do not know what ails their daughters, mothers canguess, " said the Baroness; "we must get her married. "

"I am quite willing, " said the Baron. "I shall give her les Rouxey nowthat the Court has settled our quarrel with the authorities of Riceysby fixing the boundary line at three hundred feet up the side of theDent de Vilard. I am having a trench made to collect all the water andcarry it into the lake. The village did not appeal, so the decision isfinal. "

"It has never occurred to you, " said Madame de Watteville, "that thisdecision cost me thirty thousand francs handed over to Chantonnit. That peasant would take nothing else; he sold us peace. --If you giveaway les Rouxey, you will have nothing left, " said the Baroness. 

"I do not need much, " said the Baron; "I am breaking up. "

"You eat like an ogre!"

"Just so. But however much I may eat, I feel my legs get weaker andweaker--"

"It is from working the lathe, " said his wife. 

"I do not know, " said he. 

"We will marry Rosalie to Monsieur de Soulas; if you give her lesRouxey, keep the life interest. I will give them fifteen thousandfrancs a year in the funds. Our children can live here; I do not seethat they are much to be pitied. "

"No. I shall give them les Rouxey out and out. Rosalie is fond of lesRouxey. "

"You are a queer man with your daughter! It does not occur to you toask me if I am fond of les Rouxey. "

Rosalie, at once sent for, was informed that she was to marry Monsieurde Soulas one day early in the month of May. 

"I am very much obliged to you, mother, and to you too, father, forhaving thought of settling me; but I do not mean to marry; I am veryhappy with you. "

"Mere speeches!" said the Baroness. "You are not in love with Monsieurde Soulas, that is all. "

"If you insist on the plain truth, I will never marry Monsieur deSoulas--"

"Oh! the _never_ of a girl of nineteen!" retorted her mother, with abitter smile. 

"The _never_ of Mademoiselle de Watteville, " said Rosalie with firmdecision. "My father, I imagine, has no intention of making me marryagainst my wishes?"

"No, indeed no!" said the poor Baron, looking affectionately at hisdaughter. 

"Very well!" said the Baroness, sternly controlling the rage of abigot startled at finding herself unexpectedly defied, "you yourself, Monsieur de Watteville, may take the responsibility of settling yourdaughter. Consider well, mademoiselle, for if you do not marry to mymind you will get nothing out of me!"

The quarrel thus begun between Madame de Watteville and her husband, who took his daughter's part, went so far that Rosalie and her fatherwere obliged to spend the summer at les Rouxey; life at the Hotel deRupt was unendurable. It thus became known in Besancon thatMademoiselle de Watteville had positively refused the Comte de Soulas. 

After their marriage Mariette and Jerome came to les Rouxey to succeedto Modinier in due time. The Baron restored and repaired the house tosuit his daughter's taste. When she heard that these improvements hadcost about sixty thousand francs, and that Rosalie and her father werebuilding a conservatory, the Baroness understood that there was aleaven of spite in her daughter. The Baron purchased various outlyingplots, and a little estate worth thirty thousand francs. Madame deWatteville was told that, away from her, Rosalie showed masterlyqualities, that she was taking steps to improve the value of lesRouxey, that she had treated herself to a riding habit and rode about;her father, whom she made very happy, who no longer complained of hishealth, and who was growing fat, accompanied her in her expeditions. As the Baroness' name-day grew near--her name was Louise--theVicar-General came one day to les Rouxey, deputed, no doubt, by Madamede Watteville and Monsieur de Soulas, to negotiate a peace betweenmother and daughter. 

"That little Rosalie has a head on her shoulders, " said the folk ofBesancon. 

After handsomely paying up the ninety thousand francs spent on lesRouxey, the Baroness allowed her husband a thousand francs a month tolive on; she would not put herself in the wrong. The father anddaughter were perfectly willing to return to Besancon for the 15th ofAugust, and to remain there till the end of the month. 

When, after dinner, the Vicar-General took Mademoiselle de Wattevilleapart, to open the question of the marriage, by explaining to her thatit was vain to think any more of Albert, of whom they had had no newsfor a year past, he was stopped at once by a sign from Rosalie. Thestrange girl took Monsieur de Grancey by the arm, and led him to aseat under a clump of rhododendrons, whence there was a view of thelake. 

"Listen, dear Abbe, " said she. "You whom I love as much as my father, for you had an affection for my Albert, I must at last confess that Icommitted crimes to become his wife, and he must be my husband. --Here;read this. "

She held out to him a number of the _Gazette_ which she had in herapron pocket, pointing out the following paragraph under the date ofFlorence, May 25th:--

 "The wedding of Monsieur le Duc de Rhetore, eldest son of the Duc de Chaulieu, the former Ambassador, to Madame la Duchesse d'Argaiolo, _nee_ Princess Soderini, was solemnized with great splendor. Numerous entertainments given in honor of the marriage are making Florence gay. The Duchess' fortune is one of the finest in Italy, for the late Duke left her everything. "

"The woman he loved is married, " said she. "I divided them. "

"You? How?" asked the Abbe. 

Rosalie was about to reply, when she was interrupted by a loud cryfrom two of the gardeners, following on the sound of a body fallinginto the water; she started, and ran off screaming, "Oh! father!"--TheBaron had disappeared. 

In trying to reach a piece of granite on which he fancied he saw theimpression of a shell, a circumstance which would have contradictedsome system of geology, Monsieur de Watteville had gone down theslope, lost his balance, and slipped into the lake, which, of course, was deepest close under the roadway. The men had the greatestdifficulty in enabling the Baron to catch hold of a pole pushed downat the place where the water was bubbling, but at last they pulled himout, covered with mud, in which he had sunk; he was getting deeper anddeeper in, by dint of struggling. Monsieur de Watteville had dinedheavily, digestion was in progress, and was thus checked. 

When he had been undressed, washed, and put to bed, he was in suchevident danger that two servants at once set out on horseback: one toride to Besancon, and the other to fetch the nearest doctor andsurgeon. When Madame de Watteville arrived, eight hours later, withthe first medical aid from Besancon, they found Monsieur de Wattevillepast all hope, in spite of the intelligent treatment of the Rouxeydoctor. The fright had produced serious effusion on the brain, and theshock to the digestion was helping to kill the poor man. 

This death, which would never have happened, said Madame deWatteville, if her husband had stayed at Besancon, was ascribed by herto her daughter's obstinacy. She took an aversion for Rosalie, abandoning herself to grief and regrets that were evidentlyexaggerated. She spoke of the Baron as "her dear lamb!"

The last of the Wattevilles was buried on an island in the lake at lesRouxey, where the Baroness had a little Gothic monument erected ofwhite marble, like that called the tomb of Heloise at Pere-Lachaise. 

A month after this catastrophe the mother and daughter had settled inthe Hotel de Rupt, where they lived in savage silence. Rosalie wassuffering from real sorrow, which had no visible outlet; she accusedherself of her father's death, and she feared another disaster, muchgreater in her eyes, and very certainly her own work; neither Girardetthe attorney nor the Abbe de Grancey could obtain any informationconcerning Albert. This silence was appalling. In a paroxysm ofrepentance she felt that she must confess to the Vicar-General thehorrible machinations by which she had separated Francesca and Albert. They had been simple, but formidable. Mademoiselle de Watteville hadintercepted Albert's letters to the Duchess as well as that in whichFrancesca announced her husband's illness, warning her lover that shecould write to him no more during the time while she was devoted, aswas her duty, to the care of the dying man. Thus, while Albert waswholly occupied with election matters, the Duchess had written himonly two letters; one in which she told him that the Duc d'Argaiolowas in danger, and one announcing her widowhood--two noble andbeautiful letters which Rosalie kept back. 

After several nights' labor she succeeded in imitating Albert'swriting very perfectly. She had substituted three letters of her ownwriting for three of Albert's, and the rough copies which she showedto the old priest made him shudder--the genius of evil was revealed inthem to such perfection. Rosalie, writing in Albert's name, hadprepared the Duchess for a change in the Frenchman's feelings, falselyrepresenting him as faithless, and she had answered the news of theDuc d'Argaiolo's death by announcing the marriage ere long of Albertand Mademoiselle de Watteville. The two letters, intended to cross onthe road, had, in fact, done so. The infernal cleverness with whichthe letters were written so much astonished the Vicar-General that heread them a second time. Francesca, stabbed to the heart by a girl whowanted to kill love in her rival, had answered the last in these fourwords: "You are free. Farewell. "

"Purely moral crimes, which give no hold to human justice, are themost atrocious and detestable, " said the Abbe severely. "God oftenpunishes them on earth; herein lies the reason of the terriblecatastrophes which to us seem inexplicable. Of all secret crimesburied in the mystery of private life, the most disgraceful is that ofbreaking the seal of a letter, or of reading it surreptitiously. Everyone, whoever it may be, and urged by whatever reason, who is guilty ofsuch an act has stained his honor beyond retrieving. 

"Do you not feel all that is touching, that is heavenly in the storyof the youthful page, falsely accused, and carrying the lettercontaining the order for his execution, who sets out without a thoughtof ill, and whom Providence protects and saves--miraculously, we say!But do you know wherein the miracle lies? Virtue has a glory as potentas that of innocent childhood. 

"I say these things not meaning to admonish you, " said the old priest, with deep grief. "I, alas! am not your spiritual director; you are notkneeling at the feet of God; I am your friend, appalled by dread ofwhat your punishment may be. What has become of that unhappy Albert?Has he, perhaps, killed himself? There was tremendous passion underhis assumption of calm. I understand now that old Prince Soderini, thefather of the Duchess d'Argaiolo, came here to take back hisdaughter's letters and portraits. This was the thunderbolt that fellon Albert's head, and he went off, no doubt, to try to justifyhimself. But how is it that in fourteen months he has given us no newsof himself?"

"Oh! if I marry him, he will be so happy!"

"Happy?--He does not love you. Besides, you have no great fortune togive him. Your mother detests you; you made her a fierce reply whichrankles, and which will be your ruin. When she told you yesterday thatobedience was the only way to repair your errors, and reminded you ofthe need for marrying, mentioning Amedee--'If you are so fond of him, marry him yourself, mother!'--Did you, or did you not, fling thesewords in her teeth?"

"Yes, " said Rosalie. 

"Well, I know her, " Monsieur de Grancey went on. "In a few months shewill be Comtesse de Soulas! She will be sure to have children; shewill give Monsieur de Soulas forty thousand francs a year; she willbenefit him in other ways, and reduce your share of her fortune asmuch as possible. You will be poor as long as she lives, and she isbut eight-and-thirty! Your whole estate will be the land of lesRouxey, and the small share left to you after your father's legaldebts are settled, if, indeed, your mother should consent to foregoher claims on les Rouxey. From the point of view of materialadvantages, you have done badly for yourself; from the point of viewof feeling, I imagine you have wrecked your life. Instead of going toyour mother--" Rosalie shook her head fiercely. 

"To your mother, " the priest went on, "and to religion, where youwould, at the first impulse of your heart, have found enlightenment, counsel, and guidance, you chose to act in your own way, knowingnothing of life, and listening only to passion!"

These words of wisdom terrified Mademoiselle de Watteville. 

"And what ought I to do now?" she asked after a pause. 

"To repair your wrong-doing, you must ascertain its extent, " said theAbbe. 

"Well, I will write to the only man who can know anything of Albert'sfate, Monsieur Leopold Hannequin, a notary in Paris, his friend sincechildhood. "

"Write no more, unless to do honor to truth, " said the Vicar-General. "Place the real and the false letters in my hands, confess everythingin detail as though I were the keeper of your conscience, asking mehow you may expiate your sins, and doing as I bid you. I shall see--for, above all things, restore this unfortunate man to his innocencein the eyes of the woman he had made his divinity on earth. Though hehas lost his happiness, Albert must still hope for justification. "

Rosalie promised to obey the Abbe, hoping that the steps he might takewould perhaps end in bringing Albert back to her. 

Not long after Mademoiselle de Watteville's confession a clerk came toBesancon from Monsieur Leopold Hannequin, armed with a power ofattorney from Albert; he called first on Monsieur Girardet, begginghis assistance in selling the house belonging to Monsieur Savaron. Theattorney undertook to do this out of friendship for Albert. The clerkfrom Paris sold the furniture, and with the proceeds could repay somemoney owed by Savaron to Girardet, who on the occasion of hisinexplicable departure had lent him five thousand francs whileundertaking to collect his assets. When Girardet asked what had becomeof the handsome and noble pleader, to whom he had been so muchattached, the clerk replied that no one knew but his master, and thatthe notary had seemed greatly distressed by the contents of the lastletter he had received from Monsieur Albert de Savarus. 

On hearing this, the Vicar-General wrote to Leopold. This was theworthy notary's reply:--

 "To Monsieur l'Abbe de Grancey, Vicar-General of the Diocese of Besancon. 

 "PARIS. 

 "Alas, monsieur, it is in nobody's power to restore Albert to the life of the world; he has renounced it. He is a novice in the monastery of the Grand Chartreuse near Grenoble. You know, better than I who have but just learned it, that on the threshold of that cloister everything dies. Albert, foreseeing that I should go to him, placed the General of the Order between my utmost efforts and himself. I know his noble soul well enough to be sure that he is the victim of some odious plot unknown to us; but everything is at an end. The Duchesse d'Argaiolo, now Duchesse de Rhetore, seems to me to have carried severity to an extreme. At Belgirate, which she had left when Albert flew thither, she had left instructions leading him to believe that she was living in London. From London Albert went in search of her to Naples, and from Naples to Rome, where she was now engaged to the Duc de Rhetore. When Albert succeeded in seeing Madame d'Argaiolo, at Florence, it was at the ceremony of her marriage. 

 "Our poor friend swooned in the church, and even when he was in danger of death he could never obtain any explanation from this woman, who must have had I know not what in her heart. For seven months Albert had traveled in pursuit of a cruel creature who thought it sport to escape him; he knew not where or how to catch her. 

 "I saw him on his way through Paris; and if you had seen him, as I did, you would have felt that not a word might be spoken about the Duchess, at the risk of bringing on an attack which might have wrecked his reason. If he had known what his crime was, he might have found means to justify himself; but being falsely accused of being married!--what could he do? Albert is dead, quite dead to the world. He longed for rest; let us hope that the deep silence and prayer into which he has thrown himself may give him happiness in another guise. You, monsieur, who have known him, must greatly pity him; and pity his friends also. 

"Yours, etc. "

As soon as he received this letter the good Vicar-General wrote to theGeneral of the Carthusian order, and this was the letter he receivedfrom Albert Savarus:--

 "Brother Albert to Monsieur l'Abbe de Grancey, Vicar-General of the Diocese of Besancon. 

 "LA GRANDE CHARTREUSE. 

 "I recognized your tender soul, dear and well-beloved Vicar-General, and your still youthful heart, in all that the Reverend Father General of our Order has just told me. You have understood the only wish that lurks in the depths of my heart so far as the things of the world are concerned--to get justice done to my feelings by her who has treated me so badly! But before leaving me at liberty to avail myself of your offer, the General wanted to know that my vocation was sincere; he was so kind as to tell me his idea, on finding that I was determined to preserve absolute silence on this point. If I had yielded to the temptation to rehabilitate the man of the world, the friar would have been rejected by this monastery. Grace has certainly done her work, but, though short, the struggle was not the less keen or the less painful. Is not this enough to show you that I could never return to the world?

 "Hence my forgiveness, which you ask for the author of so much woe, is entire and without a thought of vindictiveness. I will pray to God to forgive that young lady as I forgive her, and as I shall beseech Him to give Madame de Rhetore a life of happiness. Ah! whether it be death, or the obstinate hand of a young girl madly bent on being loved, or one of the blows ascribed to chance, must we not all obey God? Sorrow in some souls makes a vast void through which the Divine Voice rings. I learned too late the bearings of this life on that which awaits us; all in me is worn out; I could not serve in the ranks of the Church Militant, and I lay the remains of an almost extinct life at the foot of the altar. 

 "This is the last time I shall ever write. You alone, who loved me, and whom I loved so well, could make me break the law of oblivion I imposed on myself when I entered these headquarters of Saint Bruno, but you are always especially named in the prayers of

"BROTHER ALBERT. 

 "November 1836. "

"Everything is for the best perhaps, " thought the Abbe de Grancey. 

When he showed this letter to Rosalie, who, with a pious impulse, kissed the lines which contained her forgiveness, he said to her:

"Well, now that he is lost to you, will you not be reconciled to yourmother and marry the Comte de Soulas?"

"Only if Albert should order it, " said she. 

"But you see it is impossible to consult him. The General of the Orderwould not allow it. "

"If I were to go to see him?"

"No Carthusian sees any visitor. Besides, no woman but the Queen ofFrance may enter a Carthusian monastery, " said the Abbe. "So you haveno longer any excuse for not marrying young Monsieur de Soulas. "

"I do not wish to destroy my mother's happiness, " retorted Rosalie. 

"Satan!" exclaimed the Vicar-General. 

Towards the end of that winter the worthy Abbe de Grancey died. Thisgood friend no longer stood between Madame de Watteville and herdaughter, to soften the impact of those two iron wills. 

The event he had foretold took place. In the month of August 1837Madame de Watteville was married to Monsieur de Soulas in Paris, whither she went by Rosalie's advice, the girl making a show ofkindness and sweetness to her mother. Madame de Watteville believed inthis affection on the part of her daughter, who simply desired to goto Paris to give herself the luxury of a bitter revenge; she thoughtof nothing but avenging Savarus by torturing her rival. 

Mademoiselle de Watteville had been declared legally of age; she was, in fact, not far from one-and-twenty. Her mother, to settle with herfinally, had resigned her claims on les Rouxey, and the daughter hadsigned a release for all the inheritance of the Baron de Watteville. Rosalie encouraged her mother to marry the Comte de Soulas and settleall her own fortune on him. 

"Let us each be perfectly free, " she said. 

Madame de Soulas, who had been uneasy as to her daughter's intentions, was touched by this liberality, and made her a present of six thousandfrancs a year in the funds as conscience money. As the Comtesse deSoulas had an income of forty-eight thousand francs from her ownlands, and was quite incapable of alienating them in order to diminishRosalie's share, Mademoiselle de Watteville was still a fortune tomarry, of eighteen hundred thousand francs; les Rouxey, with theBaron's additions, and certain improvements, might yield twentythousand francs a year, besides the value of the house, rents, andpreserves. So Rosalie and her mother, who soon adopted the Paris styleand fashions, easily obtained introductions to the best society. Thegolden key--eighteen hundred thousand francs--embroidered onMademoiselle de Watteville's stomacher, did more for the Comtesse deSoulas than her pretensions _a la_ de Rupt, her inappropriate pride, or even her rather distant great connections. 

In the month of February 1838 Rosalie, who was eagerly courted by manyyoung men, achieved the purpose which had brought her to Paris. Thiswas to meet the Duchesse de Rhetore, to see this wonderful woman, andto overwhelm her with perennial remorse. Rosalie gave herself up tothe most bewildering elegance and vanities in order to face theDuchess on an equal footing. 

They first met at a ball given annually after 1830 for the benefit ofthe pensioners on the old Civil List. A young man, prompted byRosalie, pointed her out to the Duchess, saying:

"There is a very remarkable young person, a strong-minded young ladytoo! She drove a clever man into a monastery--the Grand Chartreuse--aman of immense capabilities, Albert de Savarus, whose career shewrecked. She is Mademoiselle de Watteville, the famous Besanconheiress----"

The Duchess turned pale. Rosalie's eyes met hers with one of thoseflashes which, between woman and woman, are more fatal than the pistolshots of a duel. Francesca Soderini, who had suspected that Albertmight be innocent, hastily quitted the ballroom, leaving the speakerat his wits' end to guess what terrible blow he had inflicted on thebeautiful Duchesse de Rhetore. 

"If you want to hear more about Albert, come to the Opera ball onTuesday with a marigold in your hand. "

This anonymous note, sent by Rosalie to the Duchess, brought theunhappy Italian to the ball, where Mademoiselle de Watteville placedin her hand all Albert's letters, with that written to LeopoldHannequin by the Vicar-General, and the notary's reply, and even thatin which she had written her confession to the Abbe de Grancey. 

"I do not choose to be the only sufferer, " she said to her rival, "forone has been as ruthless as the other. "

After enjoying the dismay stamped on the Duchess' beautiful face, Rosalie went away; she went out no more, and returned to Besancon withher mother. 

* * * * *

Mademoiselle de Watteville, who lived alone on her estate of lesRouxey, riding, hunting, refusing two or three offers a year, going toBesancon four or five times in the course of the winter, and busyingherself with improving her land, was regarded as a very eccentricpersonage. She was one of the celebrities of the Eastern provinces. 

Madame de Soulas has two children, a boy and a girl, and she has grownyounger; but Monsieur de Soulas has aged a good deal. 

"My fortune has cost me dear, " said he to young Chavoncourt. "Reallyto know a bigot it is unfortunately necessary to marry her!"

Mademoiselle de Watteville behaves in the most extraordinary manner. "She has vagaries, " people say. Every year she goes to gaze at thewalls of the Grande Chartreuse. Perhaps she dreams of imitating hergrand-uncle by forcing the walls of the monastery to find a husband, as Watteville broke through those of his monastery to recover hisliberty. 

She left Besancon in 1841, intending, it was said, to get married; butthe real reason of this expedition is still unknown, for she returnedhome in a state which forbids her ever appearing in society again. Byone of those chances of which the Abbe de Grancey had spoken, shehappened to be on the Loire in a steamboat of which the boiler burst. Mademoiselle de Watteville was so severely injured that she lost herright arm and her left leg; her face is marked with fearful scars, which have bereft her of her beauty; her health, cruelly upset, leavesher few days free from suffering. In short, she now never leaves theChartreuse of les Rouxey, where she leads a life wholly devoted toreligious practices. 

PARIS, May 1842. 

ADDENDUM

The following personages appear in other stories of the Human Comedy. 

Beauseant, Vicomtesse de Father Goriot The Deserted Woman

Genovese Massimilla Doni

Hannequin, Leopold Beatrix Cousin Betty Cousin Pons

Jeanrenaud The Commission in Lunacy

Nueil, Gaston de The Deserted Woman

Rhetore, Duc Alphonse de A Bachelor's Establishment A Distinguished Provincial at Paris Scenes from a Courtesan's Life Letters of Two Brides The Member for Arcis

Savaron de Savarus The Quest of the Absolute

Savarus, Albert Savaron de The Quest of the Absolute

Schinner, Hippolyte The Purse A Bachelor's Establishment Pierre Grassou A Start in Life The Government Clerks Modeste Mignon The Imaginary Mistress The Unconscious Humorists

Tinti, Clarina Massimilla Doni