BEATRIX

 BY

 HONORE DE BALZAC

 Translated by Katharine Prescott Wormeley

NOTE

 It is somewhat remarkable that Balzac, dealing as he did with traits of character and the minute and daily circumstances of life, has never been accused of representing actual persons in the two or three thousand portraits which he painted of human nature. 

 In "The Great Man of the Provinces in Paris" some likenesses were imagined: Jules Janin in Etienne Lousteau, Armand Carrel in Michel Chrestien, and, possibly, Berryer in Daniel d'Arthez. But in the present volume, "Beatrix, " he used the characteristics of certain persons, which were recognized and admitted at the time of publication. Mademoiselle des Touches (Camille Maupin) is George Sand in character, and the personal description of her, though applied by some to the famous Mademoiselle Georges, is easily recognized from Couture's drawing. Beatrix, Conti, and Claude Vignon are sketches of the Comtesse d'Agoult, Liszt, and the well-known critic Gustave Planche. 

 The opening scene of this volume, representing the manners and customs of the old Breton family, a social state existing no longer except in history, and the transition period of the /vieille roche/ as it passed into the customs and ideas of the present century, is one of Balzac's remarkable and most famous pictures in the "Comedy of Human Life. "

K. P. W. 

 BEATRIX

 I

 A BRETON TOWN AND MANSION

France, especially in Brittany, still possesses certain townscompletely outside of the movement which gives to the nineteenthcentury its peculiar characteristics. For lack of quick and regularcommunication with Paris, scarcely connected by wretched roads withthe sub-prefecture, or the chief city of their own province, thesetowns regard the new civilization as a spectacle to be gazed at; itamazes them, but they never applaud it; and, whether they fear orscoff at it, they continue faithful to the old manners and customswhich have come down to them. Whoso would travel as a moralarchaeologist, observing men instead of stones, would find images ofthe time of Louis XV. In many a village of Provence, of the time ofLouis XIV. In the depths of Pitou, and of still more ancient times inthe towns of Brittany. Most of these towns have fallen from states ofsplendor never mentioned by historians, who are always more concernedwith facts and dates than with the truer history of manners andcustoms. The tradition of this splendor still lives in the memory ofthe people, --as in Brittany, where the native character allows noforgetfulness of things which concern its own land. Many of thesetowns were once the capitals of a little feudal State, --a county orduchy conquered by the crown or divided among many heirs, if the maleline failed. Disinherited from active life, these heads became arms;and arms deprived of nourishment, wither and barely vegetate. 

For the last thirty years, however, these pictures of ancient timesare beginning to fade and disappear. Modern industry, working for themasses, goes on destroying the creations of ancient art, the works ofwhich were once as personal to the consumer as to the artisan. Nowadays we have /products/, we no longer have /works/. Publicbuildings, monuments of the past, count for much in the phenomena ofretrospection; but the monuments of modern industry are freestonequarries, saltpetre mines, cotton factories. A few more years and eventhese old cities will be transformed and seen no more except in thepages of this iconography. 

One of the towns in which may be found the most correct likeness ofthe feudal ages is Guerande. The name alone awakens a thousandmemories in the minds of painters, artists, thinkers who have visitedthe slopes on which this splendid jewel of feudality lies proudlyposed to command the flux and reflux of the tides and the dunes, --thesummit, as it were, of a triangle, at the corners of which are twoother jewels not less curious: Croisic, and the village of Batz. Thereare no towns after Guerande except Vitre in the centre of Brittany, and Avignon in the south of France, which preserve so intact, to thevery middle of our epoch, the type and form of the middle ages. 

Guerande is still encircled with its doughty walls, its moats are fullof water, its battlements entire, its loopholes unencumbered withvegetation; even ivy has never cast its mantle over the towers, squareor round. The town has three gates, where may be seen the rings of theportcullises; it is entered by a drawbridge of iron-clamped wood, nolonger raised but which could be raised at will. The mayoralty wasblamed for having, in 1820, planted poplars along the banks of themoat to shade the promenade. It excused itself on the ground that thelong and beautiful esplanade of the fortifications facing the duneshad been converted one hundred years earlier into a mall where theinhabitants took their pleasure beneath the elms. 

The houses of the old town have suffered no change; and they haveneither increased nor diminished. None have suffered upon theirfrontage from the hammer of the architect, the brush of the plasterer, nor have they staggered under the weight of added stories. All retaintheir primitive characteristics. Some rest on wooden columns whichform arcades under which foot-passengers circulate, the floor planksbending beneath them, but never breaking. The houses of the merchantsare small and low; their fronts are veneered with slate. Wood, nowdecaying, counts for much in the carved material of the window-casingsand the pillars, above which grotesque faces look down, while shapesof fantastic beasts climb up the angles, animated by that greatthought of Art, which in those old days gave life to inanimate nature. These relics, resisting change, present to the eye of painters thosedusky tones and half-blurred features in which the artistic brushdelights. 

The streets are what they were four hundred years ago, --with oneexception; population no longer swarms there; the social movement isnow so dead that a traveller wishing to examine the town (as beautifulas a suit of antique armor) may walk alone, not without sadness, through a deserted street, where the mullioned windows are plasteredup to avoid the window-tax. This street ends at a postern, flankedwith a wall of masonry, beyond which rises a bouquet of trees plantedby the hands of Breton nature, one of the most luxuriant and fertilevegetations in France. A painter, a poet would sit there silently, totaste the quietude which reigns beneath the well-preserved arch of thepostern, where no voice comes from the life of the peaceful city, andwhere the landscape is seen in its rich magnificence through theloop-holes of the casemates once occupied by halberdiers and archers, which are not unlike the sashes of some belvedere arranged for a pointof view. 

It is impossible to walk about the place without thinking at everystep of the habits and usages of long-past times; the very stones tellof them; the ideas of the middle ages are still there with all theirancient superstitions. If, by chance, a gendarme passes you, with hissilver-laced hat, his presence is an anachronism against which yoursense of fitness protests; but nothing is so rare as to meet a beingor an object of the present time. There is even very little of theclothing of the day; and that little the inhabitants adapt in a way totheir immutable customs, their unchangeable physiognomies. The publicsquare is filled with Breton costumes, which artists flock to draw;these stand out in wonderful relief upon the scene around them. Thewhiteness of the linen worn by the /paludiers/ (the name given to menwho gather salt in the salt-marshes) contrasts vigorously with theblues and browns of the peasantry and the original and sacredlypreserved jewelry of the women. These two classes, and that of thesailors in their jerkins and varnished leather caps are as distinctfrom one another as the castes of India, and still recognize thedistance that parts them from the bourgeoisie, the nobility, and theclergy. All lines are clearly marked; there the revolutionary levelfound the masses too rugged and too hard to plane; its instrumentwould have been notched, if not broken. The character of immutabilitywhich science gives to zoological species is found in Breton humannature. Even now, after the Revolution of 1830, Guerande is still atown apart, essentially Breton, fervently Catholic, silent, self-contained, --a place where modern ideas have little access. 

Its geographical position explains this phenomenon. The pretty townoverlooks a salt-marsh, the product of which is called throughoutBrittany the Guerande salt, to which many Bretons attribute theexcellence of their butter and their sardines. It is connected withthe rest of France by two roads only: that coming from Savenay, thearrondissement to which it belongs, which stops at Saint-Nazaire; anda second road, leading from Vannes, which connects it with theMorbihan. The arrondissement road establishes communication by land, and from Saint-Nazaire by water, with Nantes. The land road is usedonly by government; the more rapid and more frequented way being bywater from Saint-Nazaire. Now, between this village and Guerande is adistance of eighteen miles, which the mail-coach does not serve, andfor good reason; not three coach passengers a year would pass over it. 

These, and other obstacles, little fitted to encourage travellers, still exist. In the first place, government is slow in itsproceedings; and next, the inhabitants of the region put up readilyenough with difficulties which separate them from the rest of France. Guerande, therefore, being at the extreme end of the continent, leadsnowhere, and no one comes there. Glad to be ignored, she thinks andcares about herself only. The immense product of her salt-marshes, which pays a tax of not less than a million to the Treasury, ischiefly managed at Croisic, a peninsular village which communicateswith Guerande over quicksands, which efface during the night thetracks made by day, and also by boats which cross the arm of the seathat makes the port of Croisic. 

This fascinating little town is therefore the Herculaneum offeudality, less its winding sheet of lava. It is afoot, but notliving; it has no other ground of existence except that it has notbeen demolished. If you reach Guerande from Croisic, after crossing adreary landscape of salt-marshes, you will experience a strongsensation at sight of that vast fortification, which is still as goodas ever. If you come to it by Saint-Nazaire, the picturesqueness ofits position and the naive grace of its environs will please you noless. The country immediately surrounding it is ravishing; the hedgesare full of flowers, honeysuckles, roses, box, and many enchantingplants. It is like an English garden, designed by some greatarchitect. This rich, coy nature, so untrodden, with all the grace ofa bunch of violets or a lily of the valley in the glade of a forest, is framed by an African desert banked by the ocean, --a desert withouta tree, an herb, a bird; where, on sunny days, the laboring/paludiers/, clothed in white and scattered among those melancholyswamps where the salt is made, remind us of Arabs in their burrows. 

Thus Guerande bears no resemblance to any other place in France. The town produces somewhat the same effect upon the mind as asleeping-draught upon the body. It is silent as Venice. There is noother public conveyance than the springless wagon of a carrier whocarries travellers, merchandise, and occasionally letters fromSaint-Nazaire to Guerande and /vice versa/. Bernus, the carrier, was, in 1829, the factotum of this large community. He went and came whenhe pleased; all the country knew him; and he did the errands of all. The arrival of a carriage in Guerande, that of a lady or some invalidgoing to Croisic for sea-bathing (thought to have greater virtue amongthose rocks than at Boulogne or Dieppe) is still an immense event. The peasants come in on horseback, most of them with commoditiesfor barter in sacks. They are induced to do so (and so are the/paludiers/) by the necessity of purchasing the jewels distinctive oftheir caste which are given to all Breton brides, and the white linen, or cloth for their clothing. 

For a circuit ten miles round, Guerande is always GUERANDE, --theillustrious town where the famous treaty was signed in 1365, the keyof the coast, which may boast, not less than the village of Batz, of asplendor now lost in the night of time. The jewels, linen, cloth, ribbon, and hats are made elsewhere, but to those who buy them theyare from Guerande and nowhere else. All artists, and even certainbourgeois, who come to Guerande feel, as they do at Venice, a desire(soon forgotten) to end their days amid its peace and silence, walkingin fine weather along the beautiful mall which surrounds the town fromgate to gate on the side toward the sea. Sometimes the image of thistown arises in the temple of memory; she enters, crowned with hertowers, clasped with her girdle; her flower-strewn robe floats onward, the golden mantle of her dunes enfolds her, the fragrant breath of herbriony paths, filled with the flowers of each passing season, exhalesat every step; she fills your mind, she calls to you like someenchanting woman whom you have met in other climes and whose presencestill lingers in a fold of your heart. 

Near the church of Guerande stands a mansion which is to the town whatthe town is to the region, an exact image of the past, the symbol of agrand thing destroyed, --a poem, in short. This mansion belongs to thenoblest family of the province; to the du Guaisnics, who, in the timesof the du Guesclins, were as superior to the latter in antiquity andfortune as the Trojans were to the Romans. The Guaisqlains (the nameis also spelled in the olden time du Glaicquin), from which comes duGuesclin, issued from the du Guaisnics. 

Old as the granite of Brittany, the Guaisnics are neither Frenchmennor Gauls, --they are Bretons; or, to be more exact, they are Celts. Formerly, they must have been Druids, gathering mistletoe in thesacred forests and sacrificing men upon their dolmens. Useless to saywhat they were! To-day this race, equal to the Rohans without havingdeigned to make themselves princes, a race which was powerful beforethe ancestors of Hugues Capet were ever heard of, this family, pure ofall alloy, possesses two thousand francs a year, its mansion inGuerande, and the little castle of Guaisnic. All the lands belongingto the barony of Guaisnic, the first in Brittany, are pledged tofarmers, and bring in sixty thousand francs a year, in spite ofignorant culture. The du Gaisnics remain the owners of these landsalthough they receive none of the revenues, for the reason that forthe last two hundred years they have been unable to pay off the moneyadvanced upon them. They are in the position of the crown of Francetowards its /engagistes/ (tenants of crown-lands) before the year1789. Where and when could the barons obtain the million their farmershave advanced to them? Before 1789 the tenure of the fiefs subject tothe castle of Guaisnic was still worth fifty thousand francs a year;but a vote of the National Assembly suppressed the seigneurs' dueslevied on inheritance. 

In such a situation this family--of absolutely no account in France, and which would be a subject of laughter in Paris, were it known there--is to Guerande the whole of Brittany. In Guerande the Baron duGuaisnic is one of the great barons of France, a man above whom thereis but one man, --the King of France, once elected ruler. To-day thename of du Guaisnic, full of Breton significances (the roots of whichwill be found explained in "The Chouans") has been subjected tothe same alteration which disfigures that of du Guaisqlain. Thetax-gatherer now writes the name, as do the rest of the world, duGuenic. 

At the end of a silent, damp, and gloomy lane may be seen the arch ofa door, or rather gate, high enough and wide enough to admit a man onhorseback, --a circumstance which proves of itself that when thisbuilding was erected carriages did not exist. The arch, supported bytwo jambs, is of granite. The gate, of oak, rugged as the bark of thetree itself, is studded with enormous nails placed in geometricfigures. The arch is semicircular. On it are carved the arms of theGuaisnics as clean-cut and clear as though the sculptor had just laiddown his chisel. This escutcheon would delight a lover of the heraldicart by a simplicity which proves the pride and the antiquity of thefamily. It is as it was in the days when the crusaders of theChristian world invented these symbols by which to recognize eachother; the Guaisnics have never had it quartered; it is always itself, like that of the house of France, which connoisseurs findinescutcheoned in the shields of many of the old families. Here it is, such as you may see it still at Guerande: Gules, a hand propergonfaloned ermine, with a sword argent in pale, and the terriblemotto, FAC. Is not that a grand and noble thing? The circlet of abaronial coronet surmounts this simple escutcheon, the vertical linesof which, used in carving to represent gules, are clear as ever. Theartist has given I know not what proud, chivalrous turn to the hand. With what vigor it holds the sword which served but recently thepresent family!

If you go to Guerande after reading this history you cannot fail toquiver when you see that blazon. Yes, the most confirmed republicanwould be moved by the fidelity, the nobleness, the grandeur hidden inthe depths of that dark lane. The du Guaisnics did well yesterday, andthey are ready to do well to-morrow. To DO is the motto of chivalry. "You did well in the battle" was the praise of the Connetable /parexcellence/, the great du Guesclin who drove the English for a timefrom France. The depth of this carving, which has been protected fromthe weather by the projecting edges of the arch, is in keeping withthe moral depth of the motto in the soul of this family. To those whoknow the Guaisnics this fact is touching. 

The gate when open gives a vista into a somewhat vast court-yard, onthe right of which are the stables, on the left the kitchen andoffices. The house is build of freestone from cellar to garret. Thefacade on the court-yard has a portico with a double range of steps, the wall of which is covered with vestiges of carvings now effaced bytime, but in which the eye of an antiquary can still make out in thecentre of the principal mass the Hand bearing the sword. The granitesteps are now disjointed, grasses have forced their way with littleflowers and mosses through the fissures between the stones whichcenturies have displaced without however lessening their solidity. Thedoor of the house must have had a charming character. As far as therelics of the old designs allow us to judge, it was done by an artistof the great Venetian school of the thirteenth century. Here is amixture, still visible, of the Byzantine and the Saracenic. It iscrowned with a circular pediment, now wreathed with vegetation, --abouquet, rose, brown, yellow, or blue, according to the season. Thedoor, of oak, nail-studded, gives entrance to a noble hall, at the endof which is another door, opening upon another portico which leads tothe garden. 

This hall is marvellously well preserved. The panelled wainscot, aboutthree feet high, is of chestnut. A magnificent Spanish leather withfigures in relief, the gilding now peeled off or reddened, covers thewalls. The ceiling is of wooden boards artistically joined and paintedand gilded. The gold is scarcely noticeable; it is in the samecondition as that of the Cordova leather, but a few red flowers andthe green foliage can be distinguished. Perhaps a thorough cleaningmight bring out paintings like those discovered on the plank ceilingsof Tristan's house at Tours. If so, it would prove that those plankswere placed or restored in the reign of Louis XI. The chimney-piece isenormous, of carved stone, and within it are gigantic andirons inwrought-iron of precious workmanship. It could hold a cart-load ofwood. The furniture of this hall is wholly of oak, each articlebearing upon it the arms of the family. Three English guns equallysuitable for chase or war, three sabres, two game-bags, the utensilsof a huntsman and a fisherman hang from nails upon the wall. 

On one side is a dining-room, which connects with the kitchen by adoor cut through a corner tower. This tower corresponds in the designof the facade toward the court-yard with another tower at the oppositecorner, in which is a spiral staircase leading to the two upperstories. 

The dining-room is hung with tapestries of the fourteenth century; thestyle and the orthography of the inscription on the banderols beneatheach figure prove their age, but being, as they are, in the naivelanguage of the /fabliaux/, it is impossible to transcribe them here. These tapestries, well preserved in those parts where light hasscarcely penetrated, are framed in bands of oak now black as ebony. The ceiling has projecting rafters enriched with foliage which isvaried for each rafter; the space between them is filled with plankspainted blue, on which twine garlands of golden flowers. Two oldbuffers face each other; on their shelves, rubbed with Bretonpersistency by Mariotte the cook, can be seen, as in the days whenkings were as poor in 1200 as the du Guaisnics are in 1830, four oldgoblets, an ancient embossed soup-tureen, and two salt-cellars, all ofsilver; also many pewter plates and many pitchers of gray and bluepottery, bearing arabesque designs and the arms of the du Guaisnics, covered by hinged pewter lids. The chimney-piece is modernized. Itscondition proves that the family has lived in this room for the lastcentury. It is of carved stone in the style of the Louis XV. Period, and is ornamented with a mirror, let in to the back with gilt beadedmoulding. This anachronism, to which the family is indifferent, wouldgrieve a poet. On the mantel-shelf, covered with red velvet, is a tallclock of tortoise-shell inlaid with brass, flanked on each side with asilver candelabrum of singular design. A large square table, withsolid legs, fills the centre of this room; the chairs are of turnedwood covered with tapestry. On a round table supported by a single legmade in the shape of a vine-shoot, which stands before a windowlooking into the garden, is a lamp of an odd kind. This lamp has acommon glass globe, about the size of an ostrich egg, which isfastened into a candle-stick by a glass tube. Through a hole at thetop of the globe issues a wick which passes through a sort of reed ofbrass, drawing the nut-oil held in the globe through its own lengthcoiled like a tape-worm in a surgeon's phial. The windows which lookinto the garden, like those that look upon the court-yard, aremullioned in stone with hexagonal leaded panes, and are draped bycurtains, with heavy valances and stout cords, of an ancient stuff ofcrimson silk with gold reflections, called in former days eitherbrocatelle or small brocade. 

On each of the two upper stories of the house there are but two rooms. The first is the bedroom of the head of the family, the second is thatof the children. Guests were lodged in chambers beneath the roof. Theservants slept above the kitchens and stables. The pointed roof, protected with lead at its angles and edges, has a noble pointedwindow on each side, one looking down upon the court-yard, the otheron the garden. These windows, rising almost to the level of the roof, have slender, delicate casings, the carvings of which have crumbledunder the salty vapors of the atmosphere. Above the arch of eachwindow with its crossbars of stone, still grinds, as it turns, thevane of a noble. 

Let us not forget a precious detail, full of naivete, which will be ofvalue in the eyes of an archaeologist. The tower in which the spiralstaircase goes up is placed at the corner of a great gable wall inwhich there is no window. The staircase comes down to a little archeddoor, opening upon a gravelled yard which separates the house from thestables. This tower is repeated on the garden side by another of fivesides, ending in a cupola in which is a bell-turret, instead of beingroofed, like the sister-tower, with a pepper-pot. This is how thosecharming architects varied the symmetry of their sky-lines. Thesetowers are connected on the level of the first floor by a stonegallery, supported by what we must call brackets, each ending in agrotesque human head. This gallery has a balustrade of exquisiteworkmanship. From the gable above depends a stone dais like those thatcrown the statues of saints at the portal of churches. Can you not seea woman walking in the morning along this balcony and gazing overGuerande at the sunshine, where it gilds the sands and shimmers on thebreast of Ocean? Do you not admire that gable wall flanked at itsangles with those varied towers? The opposite gable of the Guaisnicmansion adjoins the next house. The harmony so carefully sought by thearchitects of those days is maintained in the facade looking on thecourt-yard by the tower which communicates between the dining-room andthe kitchen, and is the same as the staircase tower, except that itstops at the first upper story and its summit is a small open dome, beneath which stands a now blackened statue of Saint Calyste. 

The garden is magnificent for so old a place. It covers half an acreof ground, its walls are all espaliered, and the space within isdivided into squares for vegetables, bordered with cordons offruit-trees, which the man-of-all-work, named Gasselin, takes care ofin the intervals of grooming the horses. At the farther end of the gardenis a grotto with a seat in it; in the middle, a sun-dial; the paths aregravelled. The facade on the garden side has no towers correspondingto those on the court-yard; but a slender spiral column rises from theground to the roof, which must in former days have borne the banner ofthe family, for at its summit may still be seen an iron socket, fromwhich a few weak plants are straggling. This detail, in harmony withthe vestiges of sculpture, proves to a practised eye that the mansionwas built by a Venetian architect. The graceful staff is like asignature revealing Venice, chivalry, and the exquisite delicacy ofthe thirteenth century. If any doubts remained on this point, afeature of the ornamentation would dissipate them. The trefoils of thehotel du Guaisnic have four leaves instead of three. This differenceplainly indicates the Venetian school depraved by its commerce withthe East, where the semi-Saracenic architects, careless of the greatCatholic thought, give four leaves to clover, while Christian art isfaithful to the Trinity. In this respect Venetian art becomesheretical. 

If this ancient dwelling attracts your imagination, you may perhapsask yourself why such miracles of art are not renewed in the presentday. Because to-day mansions are sold, pulled down, and the groundthey stood on turned into streets. No one can be sure that the nextgeneration will possess the paternal dwelling; homes are no more thaninns; whereas in former times when a dwelling was built men worked, orthought they worked, for a family in perpetuity. Hence the grandeur ofthese houses. Faith in self, as well as faith in God, did prodigies. 

As for the arrangement of the upper rooms they may be imagined afterthis description of the ground-floor, and after reading an account ofthe manners, customs, and physiognomy of the family. For the lastfifty years the du Guaisnics have received their friends in the tworooms just described, in which, as in the court-yard and the externalaccessories of the building, the spirit, grace, and candor of the oldand noble Brittany still survives. Without the topography anddescription of the town, and without this minute depicting of thehouse, the surprising figures of the family might be less understood. Therefore the frames have preceded the portraits. Every one is awarethat things influence beings. There are public buildings whose effectis visible upon the persons living in their neighborhood. It would bedifficult indeed to be irreligious in the shadow of a cathedral likethat of Bourges. When the soul is everywhere reminded of its destinyby surrounding images, it is less easy to fail of it. Such was thethought of our immediate grandfathers, abandoned by a generation whichwas soon to have no signs and no distinctions, and whose manners andmorals were to change every decade. If you do not now expect to findthe Baron du Guaisnic sword in hand, all here written would befalsehood. 

 II

 THE BARON, HIS WIFE, AND SISTER

Early in the month of May, in the year 1836, the period when thisscene opens, the family of Guenic (we follow henceforth the modernspelling) consisted of Monsieur and Madame du Guenic, Mademoiselle duGuenic the baron's elder sister, and an only son, aged twenty-one, named, after an ancient family usage, Gaudebert-Calyste-Louis. Thefather's name was Gaudebert-Calyste-Charles. Only the last name wasever varied. Saint Gaudebert and Saint Calyste were forever bound toprotect the Guenics. 

The Baron du Guenic had started from Guerande the moment that LaVendee and Brittany took arms; he fought through the war withCharette, with Cathelineau, La Rochejaquelein, d'Elbee, Bonchamps, andthe Prince de Loudon. Before starting he had, with a prudence uniquein revolutionary annals, sold his whole property of every kind to hiselder and only sister, Mademoiselle Zephirine du Guenic. After thedeath of all those heroes of the West, the baron, preserved by amiracle from ending as they did, refused to submit to Napoleon. Hefought on till 1802, when being at last defeated and almost captured, he returned to Guerande, and from Guerande went to Croisic, whence hecrossed to Ireland, faithful to the ancient Breton hatred for England. 

The people of Guerande feigned utter ignorance of the baron'sexistence. In the whole course of twenty years not a single indiscreetword was ever uttered. Mademoiselle du Guenic received the rents andsent them to her brother by fishermen. Monsieur du Guenic returned toGuerande in 1813, as quietly and simply as if he had merely passed aseason at Nantes. During his stay in Dublin the old Breton, despitehis fifty years, had fallen in love with a charming Irish woman, daughter of one of the noblest and poorest families of that unhappykingdom. Fanny O'Brien was then twenty-one years old. The Baron duGuenic came over to France to obtain the documents necessary for hismarriage, returned to Ireland, and, after about ten months (at thebeginning of 1814), brought his wife to Guerande, where she gave himCalyste on the very day that Louis XVIII. Landed at Calais, --acircumstance which explains the young man's final name of Louis. 

The old and loyal Breton was now a man of seventy-three; but hislong-continued guerilla warfare with the Republic, his exile, the perilsof his five crossings through a turbulent sea in open boats, had weighedupon his head, and he looked a hundred; therefore, at no period hadthe chief of the house of Guenic been more in keeping with theworn-out grandeur of their dwelling, built in the days when a courtreigned at Guerande. 

Monsieur du Guenic was a tall, straight, wiry, lean old man. His ovalface was lined with innumerable wrinkles, which formed a net-work overhis cheek-bones and above his eyebrows, giving to his face aresemblance to those choice old men whom Van Ostade, Rembrandt, Mieris, and Gerard Dow so loved to paint, in pictures which need amicroscope to be fully appreciated. His countenance might be said tobe sunken out of sight beneath those innumerable wrinkles, produced bya life in the open air and by the habit of watching his country in thefull light of the sun from the rising of that luminary to the sinkingof it. Nevertheless, to an observer enough remained of theimperishable forms of the human face which appealed to the soul, eventhough the eye could see no more than a lifeless head. The firmoutline of the face, the shape of the brow, the solemnity of thelines, the rigidity of the nose, the form of the bony structure whichwounds alone had slightly altered, --all were signs of intrepiditywithout calculation, faith without reserve, obedience withoutdiscussion, fidelity without compromise, love without inconstancy. Inhim, the Breton granite was made man. 

The baron had no longer any teeth. His lips, once red, now violet, andbacked by hard gums only (with which he ate the bread his wife tookcare to soften by folding it daily in a damp napkin), drew inward tothe mouth with a sort of grin, which gave him an expression boththreatening and proud. His chin seemed to seek his nose; but in thatnose, humped in the middle, lay the signs of his energy and his Bretonresistance. His skin, marbled with red blotches appearing through hiswrinkles, showed a powerfully sanguine temperament, fitted to resistfatigue and to preserve him, as no doubt it did, from apoplexy. Thehead was crowned with abundant hair, as white as silver, which fell incurls upon his shoulders. The face, extinguished, as we have said, inpart, lived through the glitter of the black eyes in their brownorbits, casting thence the last flames of a generous and loyal soul. The eyebrows and lashes had disappeared; the skin, grown hard, couldnot unwrinkle. The difficulty of shaving had obliged the old man tolet his beard grow, and the cut of it was fan-shaped. An artist wouldhave admired beyond all else in this old lion of Brittany with hispowerful shoulders and vigorous chest, the splendid hands of thesoldier, --hands like those du Guesclin must have had, large, broad, hairy; hands that once had clasped the sword never, like Joan of Arc, to relinquish it until the royal standard floated in the cathedral ofRheims; hands that were often bloody from the thorns and furze of theBocage; hands which had pulled an oar in the Marais to surprise theBlues, or in the offing to signal Georges; the hands of a guerilla, acannoneer, a common solder, a leader; hands still white though theBourbons of the Elder branch were again in exile. Looking at thosehands attentively, one might have seen some recent marks attesting thefact that the Baron had recently joined MADAME in La Vendee. To-daythat fact may be admitted. These hands were a living commentary on thenoble motto to which no Guenic had proved recreant: /Fac!/

His forehead attracted attention by the golden tones of the temples, contrasting with the brown tints of the hard and narrow brow, whichthe falling off of the hair had somewhat broadened, giving still moremajesty to that noble ruin. The countenance--a little material, perhaps, but how could it be otherwise?--presented, like all theBreton faces grouped about the baron, a certain savagery, a stolidcalm which resembled the impassibility of the Huguenots; something, one might say, stupid, due perhaps to the utter repose which followsextreme fatigue, in which the animal nature alone is visible. Thoughtwas rare. It seemed to be an effort; its seat was in the heart morethan in the head; it led to acts rather than ideas. But, examiningthat grand old man with sustained observation, one could penetrate themystery of this strange contradiction to the spirit of the century. Hehad faiths, sentiments, inborn so to speak, which allowed him todispense with thought. His duty, life had taught him. Institutions andreligion thought for him. He reserved his mind, he and his kind, foraction, not dissipating it on useless things which occupied the mindsof other persons. He drew his thought from his heart like his swordfrom its scabbard, holding it aloft in his ermined hand, as on hisscutcheon, shining with sincerity. That secret once penetrated, all isclear. We can comprehend the depth of convictions that are notthoughts, but living principles, --clear, distinct, downright, and asimmaculate as the ermine itself. We understand that sale made to hissister before the war; which provided for all, and faced all, death, confiscation, exile. The beauty of the character of these two oldpeople (for the sister lived only for and by the brother) cannot beunderstood to its full extent by the right of the selfish morals, theuncertain aims, and the inconstancy of this our epoch. An archangel, charged with the duty of penetrating to the inmost recesses of theirhearts could not have found one thought of personal interest. In 1814, when the rector of Guerande suggested to the baron that he should goto Paris and claim his recompense from the triumphant Bourbons, theold sister, so saving and miserly for the household, cried out:--

"Oh, fy! does my brother need to hold out his hand like a beggar?"

"It would be thought I served a king from interest, " said the old man. "Besides, it is for him to remember. Poor king! he must be wearyindeed of those who harass him. If he gave them all France in bits, they still would ask. "

This loyal servant, who had spent his life and means on Louis XVIII. , received the rank of colonel, the cross of Saint-Louis, and a stipendof two thousand francs a year. 

"The king did remember!" he said when the news reached him. 

No one undeceived him. The gift was really made by the Duc de Feltre. But, as an act of gratitude to the king, the baron sustained a siegeat Guerande against the forces of General Travot. He refused tosurrender the fortress, and when it was absolutely necessary toevacuate it he escaped into the woods with a band of Chouans, whocontinued armed until the second restoration of the Bourbons. Guerandestill treasures the memory of that siege. 

We must admit that the Baron du Guenic was illiterate as a peasant. Hecould read, write, and do some little ciphering; he knew the militaryart and heraldry, but, excepting always his prayer-book, he had notread three volumes in the course of his life. His clothing, which isnot an insignificant point, was invariably the same; it consisted ofstout shoes, ribbed stockings, breeches of greenish velveteen, a clothwaistcoat, and a loose coat with a collar, from which hung the crossof Saint-Louis. A noble serenity now reigned upon that face where, forthe last year or so, sleep, the forerunner of death, seemed to bepreparing him for rest eternal. This constant somnolence, becomingdaily more and more frequent, did not alarm either his wife, his blindsister, or his friends, whose medical knowledge was of the slightest. To them these solemn pauses of a life without reproach, but veryweary, were naturally explained: the baron had done his duty, that wasall. 

In this ancient mansion the absorbing interests were the fortunes ofthe dispossessed Elder branch. The future of the exiled Bourbons, thatof the Catholic religion, the influence of political innovations onBrittany were the exclusive topics of conversation in the baron'sfamily. There was but one personal interest mingled with these mostabsorbing ones: the attachment of all for the only son, for Calyste, the heir, the sole hope of the great name of the du Guenics. 

The old Vendean, the old Chouan, had, some years previously, a returnof his own youth in order to train his son to those manly exerciseswhich were proper for a gentleman liable to be summoned at any momentto take arms. No sooner was Calyste sixteen years of age than hisfather accompanied him to the marshes and the forest, teaching himthrough the pleasures of the chase the rudiments of war, preaching byexample, indifferent to fatigue, firm in his saddle, sure of his shotwhatever the game might be, --deer, hare, or a bird on the wing, --intrepid in face of obstacles, bidding his son follow him intodanger as though he had ten other sons to take Calyste's place. 

So, when the Duchesse de Berry landed in France to conquer back thekingdom for her son, the father judged it right to take his boy tojoin her, and put in practice the motto of their ancestors. The baronstarted in the dead of night, saying no word to his wife, who mightperhaps have weakened him; taking his son under fire as if to a fete, and Gasselin, his only vassal, who followed him joyfully. The threemen of the family were absent for three months without sending news oftheir whereabouts to the baroness, who never read the "Quotidienne"without trembling from line to line, nor to his old blind sister, heroically erect, whose nerve never faltered for an instance as sheheard that paper read. The three guns hanging to the walls hadtherefore seen service recently. The baron, who considered theenterprise useless, left the region before the affair of LaPenissiere, or the house of Guenic would probably have ended in thathecatomb. 

When, on a stormy night after parting from MADAME, the father, son, and servant returned to the house in Guerande, they took their friendsand the baroness and old Mademoiselle du Guenic by surprise, althoughthe latter, by the exercise of senses with which the blind are gifted, recognized the steps of the three men in the little lane leading tothe house. The baron looked round upon the circle of his anxiousfriends, who were seated beside the little table lighted by theantique lamp, and said in a tremulous voice, while Gasselin replacedthe three guns and the sabres in their places, these words of feudalsimplicity:--

"The barons did not all do their duty. "

Then, having kissed his wife and sister, he sat down in his oldarm-chair and ordered supper to be brought for his son, for Gasselin, and for himself. Gasselin had thrown himself before Calyste on oneoccasion, to protect him, and received the cut of a sabre on hisshoulder; but so simple a matter did it seem that even the womenscarcely thanked him. The baron and his guests uttered neither cursesnor complaints of their conquerors. Such silence is a trait of Bretoncharacter. In forty years no one ever heard a word of contumely fromthe baron's lips about his adversaries. It was for them to do theirduty as he did his. This utter silence is the surest indication of anunalterable will. 

This last effort, the flash of an energy now waning, had caused thepresent weakness and somnolence of the old man. The fresh defeat andexile of the Bourbons, as miraculously driven out as miraculouslyre-established, were to him a source of bitter sadness. 

About six o'clock on the evening of the day on which this historybegins, the baron, who, according to ancient custom, had finisheddining by four o'clock, fell asleep as usual while his wife wasreading to him the "Quotidienne. " His head rested against the back ofthe arm-chair which stood beside the fireplace on the garden side. 

Near this gnarled trunk of an ancient tree, and in front of thefireplace, the baroness, seated on one of the antique chairs, presented the type of those adorable women who exist in England, Scotland, or Ireland only. There alone are born those milk-whitecreatures with golden hair the curls of which are wound by the handsof angels, for the light of heaven seems to ripple in their silkenspirals swaying to the breeze. Fanny O'Brien was one of those sylphs, --strong in tenderness, invincible under misfortune, soft as the musicof her voice, pure as the azure of her eyes, of a delicate, refinedbeauty, blessed with a skin that was silken to the touch and caressingto the eye, which neither painter's brush nor written word canpicture. Beautiful still at forty-two years of age, many a man wouldhave thought it happiness to marry her as she looked at the splendorsof that autumn coloring, redundant in flowers and fruit, refreshed andrefreshing with the dews of heaven. 

The baroness held the paper in the dimpled hand, the fingers of whichcurved slightly backward, their nails cut square like those of anantique statue. Half lying, without ill-grace or affectation, in herchair, her feet stretched out to warm them, she was dressed in a gownof black velvet, for the weather was now becoming chilly. The corsage, rising to the throat, moulded the splendid contour of the shouldersand the rich bosom which the suckling of her son had not deformed. Herhair was worn in /ringlets/, after the English fashion, down hercheeks; the rest was simply twisted to the crown of her head and heldthere with a tortoise-shell comb. The color, not undecided in tone asother blond hair, sparkled to the light like a filagree of burnishedgold. The baroness always braided the short locks curling on the napeof her neck--which are a sign of race. This tiny braid, concealed inthe mass of hair always carefully put up, allowed the eye to followwith delight the undulating line by which her neck was set upon hershoulders. This little detail will show the care which she gave to herperson; it was her pride to rejoice the eyes of the old baron. What acharming, delicate attention! When you see a woman displaying in herown home the coquetry which most women spend on a single sentiment, believe me, that woman is as noble a mother as she is a wife; she isthe joy and the flower of the home; she knows her obligations as awoman; in her soul, in her tenderness, you will find her outwardgraces; she is doing good in secret; she worships, she adores withouta calculation of return; she loves her fellows, as she loves God, --fortheir own sakes. And so one might fancy that the Virgin of paradise, under whose care she lived, had rewarded the chaste girlhood and thesacred life of the old man's wife by surrounding her with a sort ofhalo which preserved her beauty from the wrongs of time. Thealterations of that beauty Plato would have glorified as the coming ofnew graces. Her skin, so milk-white once, had taken the warm andpearly tones which painters adore. Her broad and finely modelled browcaught lovingly the light which played on its polished surface. Hereyes, of a turquoise blue, shone with unequalled sweetness; the softlashes, and the slightly sunken temples inspired the spectator with Iknow now what mute melancholy. The nose, which was aquiline and thin, recalled the royal origin of the high-born woman. The pure lips, finely cut, wore happy smiles, brought there by loving-kindnessinexhaustible. Her teeth were small and white; she had gained of latea slight embonpoint, but her delicate hips and slender waist were nonethe worse for it. The autumn of her beauty presented a few perennialflowers of her springtide among the richer blooms of summer. Her armsbecame more nobly rounded, her lustrous skin took a finer grain; theoutlines of her form gained plenitude. Lastly and best of all, heropen countenance, serene and slightly rosy, the purity of her blueeyes, that a look too eager might have wounded, expressed illimitablesympathy, the tenderness of angels. 

At the other chimney-corner, in an arm-chair, the octogenarian sister, like in all points save clothes to her brother, sat listening to thereading of the newspaper and knitting stockings, a work for whichsight is needless. Both eyes had cataracts; but she obstinatelyrefused to submit to an operation, in spite of the entreaties of hersister-in-law. The secret reason of that obstinacy was known toherself only; she declared it was want of courage; but the truth wasthat she would not let her brother spend twenty-five louis for herbenefit. That sum would have been so much the less for the good of thehousehold. 

These two old persons brought out in fine relief the beauty of thebaroness. Mademoiselle Zephirine, being deprived of sight, was notaware of the changes which eighty years had wrought in her features. Her pale, hollow face, to which the fixedness of the white andsightless eyes gave almost the appearance of death, and three or foursolitary and projecting teeth made menacing, was framed by a littlehood of brown printed cotton, quilted like a petticoat, trimmed with acotton ruche, and tied beneath the chin by strings which were always alittle rusty. She wore a /cotillon/, or short skirt of coarse cloth, over a quilted petticoat (a positive mattress, in which were secreteddouble louis-d'ors), and pockets sewn to a belt which she unfastenedevery night and put on every morning like a garment. Her body wasencased in the /casaquin/ of Brittany, a species of spencer made ofthe same cloth as the /cotillon/, adorned with a collarette of manypleats, the washing of which caused the only dispute she ever had withher sister-in-law, --her habit being to change it only once a week. From the large wadded sleeves of the /casaquin/ issued two witheredbut still vigorous arms, at the ends of which flourished her hands, their brownish-red color making the white arms look like poplar-wood. These hands, hooked or contracted from the habit of knitting, might becalled a stocking-machine incessantly at work; the phenomenon wouldhave been had they stopped. From time to time Mademoiselle du Guenictook a long knitting needle which she kept in the bosom of her gown, and passed it between her hood and her hair to poke or scratch herwhite locks. A stranger would have laughed to see the careless mannerin which she thrust back the needle without the slightest fear ofwounding herself. She was straight as a steeple. Her erect andimposing carriage might pass for one of those coquetries of old agewhich prove that pride is a necessary passion of life. Her smile wasgay. She, too, had done her duty. 

As soon as the baroness saw that her husband was asleep she stoppedreading. A ray of sunshine, stretching from one window to the other, divided by a golden band the atmosphere of that old room and burnishedthe now black furniture. The light touched the carvings of theceiling, danced on the time-worn chests, spread its shining cloth onthe old oak table, enlivening the still, brown room, as Fanny's voicecast into the heart of her octogenarian blind sister a music asluminous and as cheerful as that ray of sunlight. Soon the ray took onthe ruddy colors which, by insensible gradations, sank into themelancholy tones of twilight. The baroness also sank into a deepmeditation, one of those total silences which her sister-in-law hadnoticed for the last two weeks, trying to explain them to herself, butmaking no inquiry. The old woman studied the causes of this unusualpre-occupation, as blind persons, on whose soul sound lingers like adivining echo, read books in which the pages are black and the letterswhite. Mademoiselle Zephirine, to whom the dark hour now meantnothing, continued to knit, and the silence at last became so deepthat the clicking of her knitting-needles was plainly heard. 

"You have dropped the paper, sister, but you are not asleep, " said theold woman, slyly. 

At this moment Mariotte came in to light the lamp, which she placed ona square table in front of the fire; then she fetched her distaff, herball of thread, and a small stool, on which she seated herself in therecess of a window and began as usual to spin. Gasselin was still busyabout the offices; he looked to the horses of the baron and Calyste, saw that the stable was in order for the night, and gave the two finehunting-dogs their daily meal. The joyful barking of the animals wasthe last noise that awakened the echoes slumbering among the darksomewalls of the ancient house. The two dogs and the two horses were theonly remaining vestiges of the splendors of its chivalry. Animaginative man seated on the steps of the portico and letting himselffall into the poesy of the still living images of that dwelling, mighthave quivered as he heard the baying of the hounds and the tramplingof the neighing horses. 

Gasselin was one of those short, thick, squat little Bretons, withblack hair and sun-browned faces, silent, slow, and obstinate asmules, but always following steadily the path marked out for them. Hewas forty-two years old, and had been twenty-five years in thehousehold. Mademoiselle had hired him when he was fifteen, on hearingof the marriage and probable return of the baron. This retainerconsidered himself as part of the family; he had played with Calyste, he loved the horses and dogs of the house, and talked to them andpetted them as though they were his own. He wore a blue linen jacketwith little pockets flapping about his hips, waistcoat and trousers ofthe same material at all seasons, blue stockings, and stout hob-nailedshoes. When it was cold or rainy he put on a goat's-skin, after thefashion of his country. 

Mariotte, who was also over forty, was as a woman what Gasselin was asa man. No team could be better matched, --same complexion, same figure, same little eyes that were lively and black. It is difficult tounderstand why Gasselin and Mariotte had never married; possibly itmight have seemed immoral, they were so like brother and sister. Mariotte's wages were ninety francs a year; Gasselin's, three hundred. But thousands of francs offered to them elsewhere would not haveinduced either to leave the Guenic household. Both were under theorders of Mademoiselle, who, from the time of the war in La Vendee tothe period of her brother's return, had ruled the house. When shelearned that the baron was about to bring home a mistress, she hadbeen moved to great emotion, believing that she must yield the sceptreof the household and abdicate in favor of the Baronne du Guenic, whosesubject she was now compelled to be. 

Mademoiselle Zephirine was therefore agreeably surprised to find inFanny O'Brien a young woman born to the highest rank, to whom thepetty cares of a poor household were extremely distasteful, --one who, like other fine souls, would far have preferred to eat plain breadrather than the choicest food if she had to prepare it for herself; awoman capable of accomplishing all the duties, even the most painful, of humanity, strong under necessary privations, but without couragefor commonplace avocations. When the baron begged his sister in hiswife's name to continue in charge of the household, the old maidkissed the baroness like a sister; she made a daughter of her, sheadored her, overjoyed to be left in control of the household, whichshe managed rigorously on a system of almost inconceivable economy, which was never relaxed except for some great occasion, such as thelying-in of her sister, and her nourishment, and all that concernedCalyste, the worshipped son of the whole household. 

Though the two servants were accustomed to this stern regime, and noorders need ever have been given to them, for the interests of theirmasters were greater in their minds than their own, --/were/ their ownin fact, --Mademoiselle Zephirine insisted on looking after everything. Her attention being never distracted, she knew, without going up toverify her knowledge, how large was the heap of nuts in the barn; andhow many oats remained in the bin without plunging her sinewy arm intothe depths of it. She carried at the end of a string fastened to thebelt of her /casaquin/, a boatswain's whistle, with which she was wontto summon Mariotte by one, and Gasselin by two notes. 

Gasselin's greatest happiness was to cultivate the garden and producefine fruits and vegetables. He had so little work to do that withoutthis occupation he would certainly have felt lost. After he hadgroomed his horses in the morning, he polished the floors and cleanedthe rooms on the ground-floor, then he went to his garden, where weedor damaging insect was never seen. Sometimes Gasselin was observedmotionless, bare-headed, under a burning sun, watching for afield-mouse or the terrible grub of the cockchafer; then, as soon as itwas caught, he would rush with the joy of a child to show his mastersthe noxious beast that had occupied his mind for a week. He tookpleasure in going to Croisic on fast-days, to purchase a fish to be hadfor less money there than at Guerande. 

Thus no household was ever more truly one, more united in interests, more bound together than this noble family sacredly devoted to itsduty. Masters and servants seemed made for one another. Fortwenty-five years there had been neither trouble nor discord. The onlygriefs were the petty ailments of the little boy, the only terrors werecaused by the events of 1814 and those of 1830. If the same thingswere invariably done at the same hours, if the food was subjected tothe regularity of times and seasons, this monotony, like that ofNature varied only by alterations of cloud and rain and sunshine, wassustained by the affection existing in the hearts of all, --the morefruitful, the more beneficent because it emanated from natural causes. 

 III

 THREE BRETON SILHOUETTES

When night had fairly fallen, Gasselin came into the hall and askedhis master respectfully if he had further need of him. 

"You can go out, or go to bed, after prayers, " replied the baron, waking up, "unless Madame or my sister--"

The two ladies here made a sign of consent. Gasselin then knelt down, seeing that his masters rose to kneel upon their chairs; Mariotte alsoknelt before her stool. Mademoiselle du Guenic then said the prayeraloud. After it was over, some one rapped at the door on the lane. Gasselin went to open it. 

"I dare say it is Monsieur le cure; he usually comes first, " saidMariotte. 

Every one now recognized the rector's foot on the resounding steps ofthe portico. He bowed respectfully to the three occupants of the room, and addressed them in phrases of that unctuous civility which priestsare accustomed to use. To the rather absent-minded greeting of themistress of the house, he replied by an ecclesiastically inquisitivelook. 

"Are you anxious or ill, Madame la baronne?" he asked. 

"Thank you, no, " she replied. 

Monsieur Grimont, a man of fifty, of middle height, lost in hiscassock, from which issued two stout shoes with silver buckles, exhibited above his hands a plump visage, and a generally white skinthough yellow in spots. His hands were dimpled. His abbatial face hadsomething of the Dutch burgomaster in the placidity of its complexionand its flesh tones, and of the Breton peasant in the straight blackhair and the vivacity of the brown eyes, which preserved, nevertheless, a priestly decorum. His gaiety, that of a man whoseconscience was calm and pure, admitted a joke. His manner had nothinguneasy or dogged about it, like that of many poor rectors whoseexistence or whose power is contested by their parishioners, and whoinstead of being, as Napoleon sublimely said, the moral leaders of thepopulation and the natural justices of peace, are treated as enemies. Observing Monsieur Grimont as he marched through Guerande, the mostirreligious of travellers would have recognized the sovereign of thatCatholic town; but this same sovereign lowered his spiritualsuperiority before the feudal supremacy of the du Guenics. In theirsalon he was as a chaplain in his seigneur's house. In church, when hegave the benediction, his hand was always first stretched out towardthe chapel belonging to the Guenics, where their mailed hand and theirdevice were carved upon the key-stone of the arch. 

"I thought that Mademoiselle de Pen-Hoel had already arrived, " saidthe rector, sitting down, and taking the hand of the baroness to kissit. "She is getting unpunctual. Can it be that the fashion ofdissipation is contagious? I see that Monsieur le chevalier is againat Les Touches this evening. "

"Don't say anything about those visits before Mademoiselle dePen-Hoel, " cried the old maid, eagerly. 

"Ah! mademoiselle, " remarked Mariotte, "you can't prevent the townfrom gossiping. "

"What do they say?" asked the baroness. 

"The young girls and the old women all say that he is in love withMademoiselle des Touches. "

"A lad of Calyste's make is playing his proper part in making thewomen love him, " said the baron. 

"Here comes Mademoiselle de Pen-Hoel, " said Mariotte. 

The gravel in the court-yard crackled under the discreet footsteps ofthe coming lady, who was accompanied by a page supplied with alantern. Seeing this lad, Mariotte removed her stool to the great hallfor the purpose of talking with him by the gleam of his rush-light, which was burned at the cost of his rich and miserly mistress, thuseconomizing those of her own masters. 

This elderly demoiselle was a thin, dried-up old maid, yellow as theparchment of a Parliament record, wrinkled as a lake ruffled by thewind, with gray eyes, large prominent teeth, and the hands of a man. She was rather short, a little crooked, possibly hump-backed; but noone had ever been inquisitive enough to ascertain the nature of herperfections or her imperfections. Dressed in the same style asMademoiselle du Guenic, she stirred an enormous quantity of petticoatsand linen whenever she wanted to find one or other of the twoapertures of her gown through which she reached her pockets. Thestrangest jingling of keys and money then echoed among her garments. She always wore, dangling from one side, the bunch of keys of a goodhousekeeper, and from the other her silver snuff-box, thimble, knitting-needles, and other implements that were also resonant. Instead of Mademoiselle Zephirine's wadded hood, she wore a greenbonnet, in which she may have visited her melons, for it had passed, like them, from green to yellowish; as for its shape, our presentfashions are just now bringing it back to Paris, after twenty yearsabsence, under the name of Bibi. This bonnet was constructed under herown eye and by the hands of her nieces, out of green Florence silkbought at Guerande, and an old bonnet-shape, renewed every five yearsat Nantes, --for Mademoiselle de Pen-Hoel allowed her bonnets thelongevity of a legislature. Her nieces also made her gowns, cut by animmutable pattern. The old lady still used the cane with the shorthook that all women carried in the early days of Marie-Antoinette. Shebelonged to the very highest nobility of Brittany. Her arms bore theermine of its ancient dukes. In her and in her sister the illustriousBreton house of the Pen-Hoels ended. Her younger sister had married aKergarouet, who, in spite of the deep disapproval of the whole region, added the name of Pen-Hoel to his own and called himself the Vicomtede Kergarouet-Pen-Hoel. 

"Heaven has punished him, " said the old lady; "he has nothing butdaughters, and the Kergarouet-Pen-Hoel name will be wiped out. "

Mademoiselle de Pen-Hoel possessed about seven thousand francs a yearfrom the rental of lands. She had come into her property at thirty-sixyears of age, and managed it herself, inspecting it on horseback, anddisplaying on all points the firmness of character which is noticeablein most deformed persons. Her avarice was admired by the whole countryround, never meeting with the slightest disapproval. She kept onewoman-servant and the page. Her yearly expenses, not including taxes, did not amount to over a thousand francs. Consequently, she was theobject of the cajoleries of the Kergarouet-Pen-Hoels, who passed thewinters at Nantes, and the summers at their estate on the banks of theLoire below l'Indret. She was supposed to be ready to leave herfortune and her savings to whichever of her nieces pleased her best. Every three months one or other of the four demoiselles deKergarouet-Pen-Hoel, (the youngest of whom was twelve, and the eldesttwenty years of age) came to spend a few days with her. 

A friend of Zephirine du Guenic, Jacqueline de Pen-Hoel, brought up toadore the Breton grandeur of the du Guenics, had formed, ever sincethe birth of Calyste, the plan of transmitting her property to thechevalier by marrying him to whichever of her nieces the Vicomtesse deKergarouet-Pen-Hoel, their mother, would bestow upon him. She dreamedof buying back some of the best of the Guenic property from the farmer/engagistes/. When avarice has an object it ceases to be a vice; itbecomes a means of virtue; its privations are a perpetual offering; ithas the grandeur of an intention beneath its meannesses. PerhapsZephirine was in the secret of Jacqueline's intention. Perhaps eventhe baroness, whose whole soul was occupied by love for her son andtenderness for his father, may have guessed it as she saw with whatwily perseverance Mademoiselle de Pen-Hoel brought with her herfavorite niece, Charlotte de Kergarouet, now sixteen years of age. Therector, Monsieur Grimont, was certainly in her confidence; it was hewho helped the old maid to invest her savings. 

But Mademoiselle de Pen-Hoel might have had three hundred thousandfrancs in gold, she might have had ten times the landed property sheactually possessed, and the du Guenics would never have allowedthemselves to pay her the slightest attention that the old woman couldconstrue as looking to her fortune. From a feeling of truly Bretonpride, Jacqueline de Pen-Hoel, glad of the supremacy accorded to herold friend Zephirine and the du Guenics, always showed herself honoredby her relations with Madame du Guenic and her sister-in-law. She evenwent so far as to conceal the sort of sacrifice to which she consentedevery evening in allowing her page to burn in the Guenic hall thatsingular gingerbread-colored candle called an /oribus/ which is stillused in certain parts of western France. 

Thus this rich old maid was nobility, pride, and grandeur personified. At the moment when you are reading this portrait of her, the AbbeGrimont has just indiscreetly revealed that on the evening when theold baron, the young chevalier, and Gasselin secretly departed to joinMADAME (to the terror of the baroness and the great joy of allBretons) Mademoiselle de Pen-Hoel had given the baron ten thousandfrancs in gold, --an immense sacrifice, to which the abbe added anotherten thousand, a tithe collected by him, --charging the old hero tooffer the whole, in the name of the Pen-Hoels and of the parish ofGuerande, to the mother of Henri V. 

Mademoiselle de Pen-Hoel treated Calyste as if she felt that herintentions gave her certain rights over him; her plans seemed toauthorize a supervision. Not that her ideas were strict in the matterof gallantry, for she had, in fact, the usual indulgence of the oldwomen of the old school, but she held in horror the modern ways ofrevolutionary morals. Calyste, who might have gained in her estimationby a few adventures with Breton girls, would have lost it considerablyhad she seen him entangled in what she called innovations. She mighthave disinterred a little gold to pay for the results of alove-affair, but if Calyste had driven a tilbury or talked of a visitto Paris she would have thought him dissipated, and declared him aspendthrift. Impossible to say what she might not have done had shefound him reading novels or an impious newspaper. To her, novel ideasmeant the overthrow of succession of crops, ruin under the name ofimprovements and methods; in short, mortgaged lands as the inevitableresult of experiments. To her, prudence was the true method of makingyour fortune; good management consisted in filling your granaries withwheat, rye, and flax, and waiting for a rise at the risk of beingcalled a monopolist, and clinging to those grain-sacks obstinately. Bysingular chance she had often made lucky sales which confirmed herprinciples. She was thought to be maliciously clever, but in fact shewas not quick-witted; on the other hand, being as methodical as aDutchman, prudent as a cat, and persistent as a priest, thosequalities in a region of routine like Brittany were, practically, theequivalent of intellect. 

"Will Monsieur du Halga join us this evening?" asked Mademoiselle dePen-Hoel, taking off her knitted mittens after the usual exchange ofgreetings. 

"Yes, mademoiselle; I met him taking his dog to walk on the mall, "replied the rector. 

"Ha! then our /mouche/ will be lively to-night. Last evening we wereonly four. "

At the word /mouche/ the rector rose and took from a drawer in one ofthe tall chests a small round basket made of fine osier, a pile ofivory counters yellow as a Turkish pipe after twenty years' usage, anda pack of cards as greasy as those of the custom-house officers atSaint-Nazaire, who change them only once in two weeks. These the abbebrought to the table, arranging the proper number of counters beforeeach player, and putting the basket in the centre of the table besidethe lamp, with infantine eagerness, and the manner of a man accustomedto perform this little service. 

A knock at the outer gate given firmly in military fashion echoedthrough the stillness of the ancient mansion. Mademoiselle dePen-Hoel's page went gravely to open the door, and presently the long, lean, methodically-clothed person of the Chevalier du Halga, formerflag-captain to Admiral de Kergarouet, defined itself in black on thepenumbra of the portico. 

"Welcome, chevalier!" cried Mademoiselle de Pen-Hoel. 

"The altar is raised, " said the abbe. 

The chevalier was a man in poor health, who wore flannel for hisrheumatism, a black-silk skull-cap to protect his head from fog, and aspencer to guard his precious chest from the sudden gusts whichfreshen the atmosphere of Guerande. He always went armed with agold-headed cane to drive away the dogs who paid untimely court to afavorite little bitch who usually accompanied him. This man, fussy asa fine lady, worried by the slightest /contretemps/, speaking low tospare his voice, had been in his early days one of the most intrepidand most competent officers of the old navy. He had won the confidenceof de Suffren in the Indian Ocean, and the friendship of the Comte dePortenduere. His splendid conduct while flag-captain to AdmiralKergarouet was written in visible letters on his scarred face. To seehim now no one would have imagined the voice that ruled the storm, theeye that compassed the sea, the courage, indomitable, of the Bretonsailor. 

The chevalier never smoked, never swore; he was gentle and tranquil asa girl, as much concerned about his little dog Thisbe and her capricesas though he were an elderly dowager. In this way he gave a high ideaof his departed gallantry, but he never so much as alluded to thedeeds of surpassing bravery which had astonished the doughty oldadmiral, Comte d'Estaing. Though his manner was that of an invalid, and he walked as if stepping on eggs and complained about thesharpness of the wind or the heat of the sun, or the dampness of themisty atmosphere, he exhibited a set of the whitest teeth in thereddest of gums, --a fact reassuring as to his maladies, which were, however, rather expensive, consisting as they did of four daily mealsof monastic amplitude. His bodily frame, like that of the baron, wasbony, and indestructibly strong, and covered with a parchment glued tohis bones as the skin of an Arab horse on the muscles which shine inthe sun. His skin retained the tawny color it received in India, whence, however, he did not bring back either facts or ideas. He hademigrated with the rest of his friends, lost his property, and was nowending his days with the cross of Saint-Louis and a pension of twothousand francs, as the legal reward of his services, paid from thefund of the Invalides de la Marine. The slight hypochondria which madehim invent his imaginary ills is easily explained by his actualsuffering during the emigration. He served in the Russian navy untilthe day when the Emperor Alexander ordered him to be employed againstFrance; he then resigned and went to live at Odessa, near the Duc deRichelieu, with whom he returned to France. It was the duke whoobtained for this glorious relic of the old Breton navy the pensionwhich enabled him to live. On the death of Louis XVIII. He returned toGuerande, and became, after a while, mayor of the city. 

The rector, the chevalier, and Mademoiselle de Pen-Hoel had regularlypassed their evenings for the last fifteen years at the hotel deGuenic, where the other noble personages of the neighborhood alsocame. It will be readily understood that the du Guenics were at thehead of the faubourg Saint-Germain of the old Breton province, whereno member of the new administration sent down by the government wasever allowed to penetrate. For the last six years the rector coughedwhen he came to the crucial words, /Domine, salvum fac regem/. Politics were still at that point in Guerande. 

 IV

 A NORMAL EVENING

/Mouche/ is a game played with five cards dealt to each player, andone turned over. The turned-over card is trumps. At each round theplayer is at liberty to run his chances or to abstain from playing hiscard. If he abstains he loses nothing but his own stake, for as longas there are no forfeits in the basket each player puts in a triflingsum. If he plays and wins a trick he is paid /pro rata/ to the stake;that is, if there are five sous in the basket, he wins one sou. Theplayer who fails to win a trick is made /mouche/; he has to pay thewhole stake, which swells the basket for the next game. Those whodecline to play throw down their cards during the game; but their playis held to be null. The players can exchange their cards with theremainder of the pack, as in ecarte, but only by order of sequence, sothat the first and second players may, and sometimes do, absorb theremainder of the pack between them. The turned-over trump card belongsto the dealer, who is always the last; he has the right to exchange itfor any card in his own hand. One powerful card is of more importancethan all the rest; it is called Mistigris. Mistigris is the knave ofclubs. 

This game, simple as it is, is not lacking in interest. The cupiditynatural to mankind develops in it; so does diplomatic wiliness; alsoplay of countenance. At the hotel du Guenic, each of the players tooktwenty counters, representing five sous; which made the sum total ofthe stake for each game five farthings, a large amount in the eyes ofthis company. Supposing some extraordinary luck, fifty sous might bewon, --more capital than any person in Guerande spent in the course ofany one day. Consequently Mademoiselle de Pen-Hoel put into this game(the innocence of which is only surpassed in the nomenclature of theAcademy by that of La Bataille) a passion corresponding to that of thehunters after big game. Mademoiselle Zephirine, who went shares in thegame with the baroness, attached no less importance to it. To put upone farthing for the chance of winning five, game after game, was tothis confirmed hoarder a mighty financial operation, into which sheput as much mental action as the most eager speculator at the Bourseexpends during the rise and fall of consols. 

By a certain diplomatic convention, dating from September, 1825, whenMademoiselle de Pen-Hoel lost thirty-five sous, the game was to ceaseas soon as a person losing ten sous should express the wish to retire. Politeness did not allow the rest to give the retiring player the painof seeing the game go on without him. But, as all passions have theirJesuitism, the chevalier and the baron, those wily politicians, hadfound a means of eluding this charter. When all the players but onewere anxious to continue an exciting game, the daring sailor, duHalga, one of those rich fellows prodigal of costs they do not pay, would offer ten counters to Mademoiselle Zephirine or MademoiselleJacqueline, when either of them, or both of them, had lost their fivesous, on condition of reimbursement in case they won. An old bachelorcould allow himself such gallantries to the sex. The baron alsooffered ten counters to the old maids, but under the honest pretext ofcontinuing the game. The miserly maidens accepted, not, however, without some pressing, as is the use and wont of maidens. But, beforegiving way to this vast prodigality the baron and the chevalier wererequired to have won; otherwise the offer would have been taken as aninsult. 

/Mouche/ became a brilliant affair when a Demoiselle de Kergarouetwas in transit with her aunt. We use the single name, for theKergarouets had never been able to induce any one to call themKergarouet-Pen-Hoel, --not even their servants, although the latterhad strict orders so to do. At these times the aunt held out to theniece as a signal treat the /mouche/ at the du Guenics. The girl wasordered to look amiable, an easy thing to do in the presence of thebeautiful Calyste, whom the four Kergarouet young ladies all adored. Brought up in the midst of modern civilization, these young personscared little for five sous a game, and on such occasions the stakeswent higher. Those were evenings of great emotion to the old blindsister. The baroness would give her sundry hints by pressing her foota certain number of times, according to the size of the stake it wassafe to play. To play or not to play, if the basket were full, involvedan inward struggle, where cupidity fought with fear. If Charlotte deKergarouet, who was usually called giddy, was lucky in her bold throws, her aunt on their return home (if she had not won herself), would be coldand disapproving, and lecture the girl: she had too much decision in hercharacter; a young person should never assert herself in presence ofher betters; her manner of taking the basket and beginning to play wasreally insolent; the proper behavior of a young girl demanded muchmore reserve and greater modesty; etc. 

It can easily be imagined that these games, carried on nightly fortwenty years, were interrupted now and then by narratives of events inthe town, or by discussions on public events. Sometimes the playerswould sit for half an hour, their cards held fan-shape on theirstomachs, engaged in talking. If, as a result of these inattentions, acounter was missing from the basket, every one eagerly declared thathe or she had put in their proper number. Usually the chevalier madeup the deficiency, being accused by the rest of thinking so much ofhis buzzing ears, his chilly chest, and other symptoms of invalidismthat he must have forgotten his stake. But no sooner did he supply themissing counter than Zephirine and Jacqueline were seized withremorse; they imagined that, possibly, they themselves had forgottentheir stake; they believed--they doubted--but, after all, thechevalier was rich enough to bear such a trifling misfortune. Thesedignified and noble personages had the delightful pettiness ofsuspecting each other. Mademoiselle de Pen-Hoel would almostinvariably accuse the rector of cheating when he won the basket. 

"It is singular, " he would reply, "that I never cheat except when Iwin the trick. "

Often the baron would forget where he was when the talk fell on themisfortunes of the royal house. Sometimes the evening ended in amanner that was quite unexpected to the players, who all counted on acertain gain. After a certain number of games and when the hour grewlate, these excellent people would be forced to separate withouteither loss or gain, but not without emotion. On these sad eveningscomplaints were made of /mouche/ itself; it was dull, it was long; theplayers accused their /mouche/ as Negroes stone the moon in the waterwhen the weather is bad. On one occasion, after an arrival of theVicomte and Vicomtesse de Kergarouet, there was talk of whist andboston being games of more interest than /mouche/. The baroness, whowas bored by /mouche/, encouraged the innovation, and all the company--but not without reluctance--adopted it. But it proved impossible tomake them really understand the new games, which, on the departure ofthe Kergarouets, were voted head-splitters, algebraic problems, andintolerably difficult to play. All preferred their /mouche/, theirdear, agreeable /mouche/. /Mouche/ accordingly triumphed over moderngames, as all ancient things have ever triumphed in Brittany overnovelties. 

While the rector was dealing the cards the baroness was asking theChevalier du Halga the same questions which she had asked him theevening before about his health. The chevalier made it a point ofhonor to have new ailments. Inquiries might be alike, but the nauticalhero had singular advantages in the way of replies. To-day it chancedthat his ribs troubled him. But here's a remarkable thing! never didthe worthy chevalier complain of his wounds. The ills that were reallythe matter with him he expected, he knew them and he bore them; buthis fancied ailments, his headaches, the gnawings in his stomach, thebuzzing in his ears, and a thousand other fads and symptoms made himhorribly uneasy; he posed as incurable, --and not without reason, fordoctors up to the present time have found no remedy for diseases thatdon't exist. 

"Yesterday the trouble was, I believe, in your legs, " said the rector. 

"It moves about, " replied the chevalier. 

"Legs to ribs?" asked Mademoiselle Zephirine. 

"Without stopping on the way?" said Mademoiselle de Pen-Hoel, smiling. 

The chevalier bowed gravely, making a negative gesture which was not alittle droll, and proved to an observer that in his youth the sailorhad been witty and loving and beloved. Perhaps his fossil life atGuerande hid many memories. When he stood, solemnly planted on his twoheron-legs in the sunshine on the mall, gazing at the sea or watchingthe gambols of his little dog, perhaps he was living again in someterrestrial paradise of a past that was rich in recollections. 

"So the old Duc de Lenoncourt is dead, " said the baron, rememberingthe paragraph of the "Quotidienne, " where his wife had stoppedreading. "Well, the first gentleman of the Bedchamber followed hismaster soon. I shall go next. "

"My dear, my dear!" said his wife, gently tapping the bony callousedhand of her husband. 

"Let him say what he likes, sister, " said Zephirine; "as long as I amabove ground he can't be under it; I am the elder. "

A gay smile played on the old woman's lips. Whenever the baron madereflections of that kind, the players and the visitors present lookedat each other with emotion, distressed by the sadness of the king ofGuerande; and after they had left the house they would say, as theywalked home: "Monsieur du Guenic was sad to-night. Did you notice howhe slept?" And the next day the whole town would talk of the matter. "The Baron du Guenic fails, " was a phrase that opened the conversationin many houses. 

"How is Thisbe?" asked Mademoiselle de Pen-Hoel of the chevalier, assoon as the cards were dealt. 

"The poor little thing is like her master, " replied the chevalier;"she has some nervous trouble, she goes on three legs constantly. See, like this. "

In raising and crooking his arm to imitate the dog, the chevalierexposed his hand to his cunning neighbor, who wanted to see if he hadMistigris or the trump, --a first wile to which he succumbed. 

"Oh!" said the baroness, "the end of Monsieur le cure's nose isturning white; he has Mistigris. "

The pleasure of having Mistigris was so great to the rector--as it wasto the other players--that the poor priest could not conceal it. Inall human faces there is a spot where the secret emotions of the heartbetray themselves; and these companions, accustomed for years toobserve each other, had ended by finding out that spot on the rector'sface: when he had Mistigris the tip of his nose grew pale. 

"You had company to-day, " said the chevalier to Mademoiselle dePen-Hoel. 

"Yes, a cousin of my brother-in-law. He surprised me by announcing themarriage of the Comtesse de Kergarouet, a Demoiselle de Fontaine. "

"The daughter of 'Grand-Jacques, '" cried the chevalier, who had livedwith the admiral during his stay in Paris. 

"The countess is his heir; she has married an old ambassador. Myvisitor told me the strangest things about our neighbor, Mademoiselledes Touches, --so strange that I can't believe them. If they were true, Calyste would never be so constantly with her; he has too much goodsense not to perceive such monstrosities--"

"Monstrosities?" said the baron, waked up by the word. 

The baroness and the rector exchanged looks. The cards were dealt;Mademoiselle de Pen-Hoel had Mistigris! Impossible to continue theconversation! But she was glad to hide her joy under the excitementcaused by her last word. 

"Your play, monsieur le baron, " she said, with an air of importance. 

"My nephew is not one of those youths who like monstrosities, "remarked Zephirine, taking out her knitting-needle and scratching herhead. 

"Mistigris!" cried Mademoiselle de Pen-Hoel, making no reply to herfriend. 

The rector, who appeared to be well-informed in the matter of Calysteand Mademoiselle des Touches, did not enter the lists. 

"What does she do that is so extraordinary, Mademoiselle des Touches?"asked the baron. 

"She smokes, " replied Mademoiselle de Pen-Hoel. 

"That's very wholesome, " said the chevalier. 

"About her property?" asked the baron. 

"Her property?" continued the old maid. "Oh, she is running throughit. "

"The game is mine!" said the baroness. "See, I have king, queen, knaveof trumps, Mistigris, and a king. We win the basket, sister. "

This victory, gained at one stroke, without playing a card, horrifiedMademoiselle de Pen-Hoel, who ceased to concern herself about Calysteand Mademoiselle des Touches. By nine o'clock no one remained in thesalon but the baroness and the rector. The four old people had gone totheir beds. The chevalier, according to his usual custom, accompaniedMademoiselle de Pen-Hoel to her house in the Place de Guerande, makingremarks as they went along on the cleverness of the last play, on thejoy with which Mademoiselle Zephirine engulfed her gains in thosecapacious pockets of hers, --for the old blind woman no longerrepressed upon her face the visible signs of her feelings. Madame duGuenic's evident preoccupation was the chief topic of conversation, however. The chevalier had remarked the abstraction of the beautifulIrish woman. When they reached Mademoiselle de Pen-Hoel's door-step, and her page had gone in, the old lady answered, confidentially, theremarks of the chevalier on the strangely abstracted air of thebaroness:--

"I know the cause. Calyste is lost unless we marry him promptly. Heloves Mademoiselle des Touches, an actress!"

"In that case, send for Charlotte. "

"I have sent; my sister will receive my letter to-morrow, " repliedMademoiselle de Pen-Hoel, bowing to the chevalier. 

Imagine from this sketch of a normal evening the hubbub excited inGuerande homes by the arrival, the stay, the departure, or even themere passage through the town, of a stranger. 

When no sounds echoed from the baron's chamber nor from that of hissister, the baroness looked at the rector, who was playing pensivelywith the counters. 

"I see that you begin to share my anxiety about Calyste, " she said tohim. 

"Did you notice Mademoiselle de Pen-Hoel's displeased looks to-night?"asked the rector. 

"Yes, " replied the baroness. 

"She has, as I know, the best intentions about our dear Calyste; sheloves him as though he were her son, his conduct in Vendee beside hisfather, the praises that MADAME bestowed upon his devotion, have onlyincreased her affection for him. She intends to execute a deed of giftby which she gives her whole property at her death to whichever of hernieces Calyste marries. I know that you have another and much richermarriage in Ireland for your dear Calyste, but it is well to have twostrings to your bow. In case your family will not take charge ofCalyste's establishment, Mademoiselle de Pen-Hoel's fortune is not tobe despised. You can always find a match of seven thousand francs ayear for the dear boy, but it is not often that you could come acrossthe savings of forty years and landed property as well managed, builtup, and kept in repair as that of Mademoiselle de Pen-Hoel. Thatungodly woman, Mademoiselle des Touches, has come here to ruin manyexcellent things. Her life is now known. "

"And what is it?" asked the mother. 

"Oh! that of a trollop, " replied the rector, --"a woman of questionablemorals, a writer for the stage; frequenting theatres and actors;squandering her fortune among pamphleteers, painters, musicians, adevilish society, in short. She writes books herself, and has taken afalse name by which she is better known, they tell me, than by herown. She seems to be a sort of circus woman who never enters a churchexcept to look at the pictures. She has spent quite a fortune indecorating Les Touches in a most improper fashion, making it aMohammedan paradise where the houris are not women. There is more winedrunk there, they say, during the few weeks of her stay than the wholeyear round in Guerande. The Demoiselles Bougniol let their lodgingslast year to men with beards, who were suspected of being Blues; theysang wicked songs which made those virtuous women blush and weep, andspent their time mostly at Les Touches. And this is the woman our dearCalyste adores! If that creature wanted to-night one of the infamousbooks in which the atheists of the present day scoff at holy things, Calyste would saddle his horse himself and gallop to Nantes for it. Iam not sure that he would do as much for the Church. Moreover, thisBreton woman is not a royalist! If Calyste were again called upon tostrike a blow for the cause, and Mademoiselle des Touches--the SieurCamille Maupin, that is her other name, as I have just remembered--ifshe wanted to keep him with her the chevalier would let his old fathergo to the field without him. "

"Oh, no!" said the baroness. 

"I should not like to put him to the proof; you would suffer toomuch, " replied the rector. "All Guerande is turned upside down aboutCalyste's passion for this amphibious creature, who is neither man norwoman, who smokes like an hussar, writes like a journalist, and has atthis very moment in her house the most venomous of all writers, --sothe postmaster says, and he's a /juste-milieu/ man who reads thepapers. They are even talking about her at Nantes. This morning theKergarouet cousin who wants to marry Charlotte to a man with sixtythousand francs a year, went to see Mademoiselle de Pen-Hoel, andfilled her mind with tales about Mademoiselle des Touches which lastedseven hours. It is now striking a quarter to ten, and Calyste is nothome; he is at Les Touches, --perhaps he won't come in all night. "

The baroness listened to the rector, who was substituting monologuefor dialogue unconsciously as he looked at this lamb of his fold, onwhose face could be read her anxiety. She colored and trembled. Whenthe worthy man saw the tears in the beautiful eyes of the mother, hewas moved to compassion. 

"I will see Mademoiselle de Pen-Hoel to-morrow, " he said. "Don't betoo uneasy. The harm may not be as great as they say it is. I willfind out the truth. Mademoiselle Jacqueline has confidence in me. Besides, Calyste is our child, our pupil, --he will never let the devilinveigle him; neither will he trouble the peace of his family ordestroy the plans we have made for his future. Therefore, don't weep;all is not lost, madame; one fault is not vice. "

"You are only informing me of details, " said the baroness. "Was not Ithe first to notice the change in my Calyste? A mother keenly feelsthe shock of finding herself second in the heart of her son. Shecannot be deceived. This crisis in a man's life is one of the trialsof motherhood. I have prepared myself for it, but I did not think itwould come so soon. I hoped, at least, that Calyste would take intohis heart some noble and beautiful being, --not a stage-player, amasquerader, a theatre woman, an author whose business it is to feignsentiments, a creature who will deceive him and make him unhappy! Shehas had adventures--"

"With several men, " said the rector. "And yet this impious creaturewas born in Brittany! She dishonors her land. I shall preach a sermonupon her next Sunday. "

"Don't do that!" cried the baroness. "The peasants and the /paludiers/would be capable of rushing to Les Touches. Calyste is worthy of hisname; he is Breton; some dreadful thing might happen to him, for hewould surely defend her as he would the Blessed Virgin. "

"It is now ten o'clock; I must bid you good-night, " said the abbe, lighting the wick of his lantern, the glass of which was clear and themetal shining, which testified to the care his housekeeper bestowed onthe household property. "Who could ever have told me, madame, " headded, "that a young man brought up by you, trained by me to Christianideas, a fervent Catholic, a child who has lived as a lamb withoutspot, would plunge into such mire?"

"But is it certain?" said the mother. "How could any woman help lovingCalyste?"

"What other proof is needed than her staying on at Les Touches. In allthe twenty-four years since she came of age she has never stayed thereso long as now; her visits to these parts, happily for us, were fewand short. "

"A woman over forty years old!" exclaimed the baroness. "I have heardsay in Ireland that a woman of this description is the most dangerousmistress a young man can have. "

"As to that, I have no knowledge, " replied the rector, "and I shalldie in my ignorance. "

"And I, too, alas!" said the baroness, naively. "I wish now that I hadloved with love, so as to understand and counsel and comfort Calyste. "

The rector did not cross the clean little court-yard alone; thebaroness accompanied him to the gate, hoping to hear Calyste's stepcoming through the town. But she heard nothing except the heavy treadof the rector's cautious feet, which grew fainter in the distance, andfinally ceased when the closing of the door of the parsonage echoedbehind him. 

 V

 CALYSTE

The poor mother returned to the salon deeply distressed at findingthat the whole town was aware of what she had thought was known to heralone. She sat down, trimmed the wick of the lamp by cutting it with apair of old scissors, took up once more the worsted-work she wasdoing, and awaited Calyste. The baroness fondly hoped to induce herson by this means to come home earlier and spend less time withMademoiselle des Touches. Such calculations of maternal jealousy werewasted. Day after day, Calyste's visits to Les Touches became morefrequent, and every night he came in later. The night before the dayof which we speak it was midnight when he returned. 

The baroness, lost in maternal meditation, was setting her stitcheswith the rapidity of one absorbed in thought while engaged in manuallabor. Whoever had seen her bending to the light of the lamp beneaththe quadruply centennial hangings of that ancient room would haveadmired the sublimity of the picture. Fanny's skin was so transparentthat it was possible to read the thoughts that crossed her browbeneath it. Piqued with a curiosity that often comes to a pure woman, she asked herself what devilish secrets these daughters of Baalpossessed to so charm men as to make them forgetful of mother, family, country, and self-interests. Sometimes she longed to meet this womanand judge her soberly for herself. Her mind measured to its fullextent the evils which the innovative spirit of the age--described toher as so dangerous for young souls by the rector--would have upon heronly child, until then so guileless; as pure as an innocent girl, andbeautiful with the same fresh beauty. 

Calyste, that splendid offspring of the oldest Breton race and thenoblest Irish blood, had been nurtured by his mother with the utmostcare. Until the moment when the baroness made over the training of himto the rector of Guerande, she was certain that no impure word, noevil thought had sullied the ears or entered the mind of her preciousson. After nursing him at her bosom, giving him her own life twice, asit were, after guiding his footsteps as a little child, the mother hadput him with all his virgin innocence into the hands of the pastor, who, out of true reverence for the family, had promised to give him athorough and Christian education. Calyste thenceforth received theinstruction which the abbe himself had received at the Seminary. Thebaroness taught him English, and a teacher of mathematics was found, not without difficulty, among the employes at Saint-Nazaire. Calystewas therefore necessarily ignorant of modern literature, and theadvance and present progress of the sciences. His education had beenlimited to geography and the circumspect history of a young ladies'boarding-school, the Latin and Greek of seminaries, the literature ofthe dead languages, and to a very restricted choice of French writers. When, at sixteen, he began what the Abbe Grimont called hisphilosophy, he was neither more nor less than what he was when Fannyplaced him in the abbe's hands. The Church had proved as maternal asthe mother. Without being over-pious or ridiculous, the idolized younglad was a fervent Catholic. 

For this son, so noble, so innocent, the baroness desired to provide ahappy life in obscurity. She expected to inherit some property, two orthree thousand pounds sterling, from an aunt. This sum, joined to thesmall present fortune of the Guenics, might enable her to find a wifefor Calyste, who would bring him twelve or even fifteen thousandfrancs a year. Charlotte de Kergarouet, with her aunt's fortune, arich Irish girl, or any other good heiress would have suited thebaroness, who seemed indifferent as to choice. She was ignorant oflove, having never known it, and, like all the other persons groupedabout her, she saw nothing in marriage but a means of fortune. Passionwas an unknown thing to these Catholic souls, these old peopleexclusively concerned about salvation, God, the king, and theirproperty. No one should be surprised, therefore, at the forebodingthoughts which accompanied the wounded feelings of the mother, wholived as much for the future interests of her son as by her love forhim. If the young household would only listen to wisdom, she thought, the coming generation of the du Guenics, by enduring privations, andsaving, as people do save in the provinces, would be able to buy backtheir estates and recover, in the end, the lustre of wealth. Thebaroness prayed for a long age that she might see the dawn of thisprosperous era. Mademoiselle du Guenic had understood and fullyadopted this hope which Mademoiselle des Touches now threatened tooverthrow. 

The baroness heard midnight strike, with tears; her mind conceived ofmany horrors during the next hour, for the clock struck one, andCalyste was still not at home. 

"Will he stay there?" she thought. "It would be the first time. Poorchild!"

At that moment Calyste's step resounded in the lane. The poor mother, in whose heart rejoicing drove out anxiety, flew from the house to thegate and opened it for her boy. 

"Oh!" cried Calyste, in a grieved voice, "my darling mother, why didyou sit up for me? I have a pass-key and the tinder-box. "

"You know very well, my child, that I cannot sleep when you are out, "she said, kissing him. 

When the baroness reached the salon, she looked at her son todiscover, if possible, from the expression of his face the events ofthe evening. But he caused her, as usual, an emotion that frequencynever weakened, --an emotion which all loving mothers feel at sight ofa human masterpiece made by them; this sentiment blues their sight andsupersedes all others for the moment. 

Except for the black eyes, full of energy and the heat of the sun, which he derived from his father, Calyste in other respects resembledhis mother; he had her beautiful golden hair, her lovable mouth, thesame curving fingers, the same soft, delicate, and purely white skin. Though slightly resembling a girl disguised as a man, his physicalstrength was Herculean. His muscles had the suppleness and vigor ofsteel springs, and the singularity of his black eyes and faircomplexion was by no means without charm. His beard had not yetsprouted; this delay, it is said, is a promise of longevity. Thechevalier was dressed in a short coat of black velvet like that of hismother's gown, trimmed with silver buttons, a blue foulard necktie, trousers of gray jean, and a becoming pair of gaiters. His white browbore the signs of great fatigue, caused, to an observer's eye, by theweight of painful thoughts; but his mother, incapable of supposingthat troubles could wring his heart, attributed his evident wearinessto passing excitement. Calyste was as handsome as a Greek god, andhandsome without conceit; in the first place, he had his mother'sbeauty constantly before him, and next, he cared very little forpersonal advantages which he found useless. 

"Those beautiful pure cheeks, " thought his mother, "where the richyoung blood is flowing, belong to another woman! she is the mistressof that innocent brow! Ah! passion will lead to many evils; it willtarnish the look of those eyes, moist as the eyes of an infant!"

This bitter thought wrung Fanny's heart and destroyed her pleasure. 

It may seem strange to those who calculate expenses that in a familyof six persons compelled to live on three thousand francs a year theson should have a coat and the mother a gown of velvet; but FannyO'Brien had aunts and rich relations in London who recalled themselvesto her remembrance by many presents. Several of her sisters, marriedto great wealth, took enough interest in Calyste to wish to find himan heiress, knowing that he, like Fanny their exiled favorite, wasnoble and handsome. 

"You stayed at Les Touches longer than you did last night, my dearone, " said the mother at last, in an agitated tone. 

"Yes, dear mother, " he answered, offering no explanation. 

The curtness of this answer brought clouds to his mother's brow, andshe resolved to postpone the explanation till the morrow. When mothersadmit the anxieties which were now torturing the baroness, theytremble before their sons; they feel instinctively the effect of thegreat emancipation that comes with love; they perceive what thatsentiment is about to take from them; but they have, at the same time, a sense of joy in knowing that their sons are happy; conflictingfeelings battle in their hearts. Though the result may be thedevelopment of their sons into superior men, true mothers do not likethis forced abdication; they would rather keep their children smalland still requiring protection. Perhaps that is the secret of theirpredilection for feeble, deformed, or weak-minded offspring. 

"You are tired, dear child; go to bed, " she said, repressing hertears. 

A mother who does not know all that her son is doing thinks the worst;that is, if a mother loves as much and is as much beloved as Fanny. But perhaps all other mothers would have trembled now as she did. Thepatient care of twenty years might be rendered worthless. This humanmasterpiece of virtuous and noble and religious education, Calyste, might be destroyed; the happiness of his life, so long and carefullyprepared for, might be forever ruined by this woman. 

The next day Calyste slept till mid-day, for his mother would not havehim wakened. Mariotte served the spoiled child's breakfast in his bed. The inflexible and semi-conventual rules which regulated the hours formeals yielded to the caprices of the chevalier. If it became desirableto extract from Mademoiselle du Guenic her array of keys in order toobtain some necessary article of food outside of the meal hours, therewas no other means of doing it than to make the pretext of its servingsome fancy of Calyste. 

About one o'clock the baron, his wife, and Mademoiselle were seated inthe salon, for they dined at three o'clock. The baroness was againreading the "Quotidienne" to her husband, who was always more awakebefore the dinner hour. As she finished a paragraph she heard thesteps of her son on the upper floor, and she dropped the paper, saying:--

"Calyste must be going to dine again at Les Touches; he has dressedhimself. "

"He amuses himself, the dear boy, " said the old sister, taking asilver whistle from her pocket and whistling once. 

Mariotte came through the tower and appeared at the door ofcommunication which was hidden by a silken curtain like the otherdoors of the room. 

"What is it?" she said; "anything wanted?"

"The chevalier dines at Les Touches; don't cook the fish. "

"But we are not sure as yet, " said the baroness. 

"You seem annoyed, sister; I know it by the tone of your voice. "

"Monsieur Grimont has heard some very grave charges againstMademoiselle des Touches, who for the last year has so changed ourdear Calyste. "

"Changed him, how?" asked the baron. 

"He reads all sorts of books. "

"Ah! ah!" exclaimed the baron, "so that's why he has given up huntingand riding. "

"Her morals are very reprehensible, and she has taken a man's name, "added Madame du Guenic. 

"A war name, I suppose, " said the old man. "I was called 'l'Intime, 'the Comte de Fontaine 'Grand-Jacques, ' the Marquis de Montauran the'Gars. ' I was the friend of Ferdinand, who never submitted, any morethan I did. Ah! those were the good times; people shot each other, butwhat of that? we amused ourselves all the same, here and there. "

This war memory, pushing aside paternal anxiety, saddened Fanny for amoment. The rector's revelations, the want of confidence shown to herby Calyste, had kept her from sleeping. 

"Suppose Monsieur le chevalier does love Mademoiselle des Touches, where's the harm?" said Mariotte. "She has thirty thousand francs ayear and she is very handsome. "

"What is that you say, Mariotte?" exclaimed the old baron. "A Guenicmarry a des Touches! The des Touches were not even grooms in the dayswhen du Guesclin considered our alliance a signal honor. "

"A woman who takes a man's name, --Camille Maupin!" said the baroness. 

"The Maupins are an old family, " said the baron; "they bear: gules, three--" He stopped. "But she cannot be a Maupin and a des Touchesboth, " he added. 

"She is called Maupin on the stage. "

"A des Touches could hardly be an actress, " said the old man. "Really, Fanny, if I did not know you, I should think you were out of yourhead. "

"She writes plays, and books, " continued the baroness. 

"Books?" said the baron, looking at his wife with an air of as muchsurprise as though she were telling of a miracle. "I have heard thatMademoiselle Scudery and Madame de Sevigne wrote books, but it was notthe best thing they did. "

"Are you going to dine at Les Touches, monsieur?" said Mariotte, whenCalyste entered. 

"Probably, " replied the young man. 

Mariotte was not inquisitive; she was part of the family; and she leftthe room without waiting to hear what the baroness would say to herson. 

"Are you going again to Les Touches, my Calyste?" The baronessemphasized the /my/. "Les Touches is not a respectable or decenthouse. Its mistress leads an irregular life; she will corrupt ourCalyste. Already Camille Maupin has made him read many books; he hashad adventures--You knew all that, my naughty child, and you neversaid one word to your best friends!"

"The chevalier is discreet, " said his father, --"a virtue of the oldentime. "

"Too discreet, " said the jealous mother, observing the red flush onher son's forehead. 

"My dear mother, " said Calyste, kneeling down beside the baroness, "Ididn't think it necessary to publish my defeat. Mademoiselle desTouches, or, if you choose to call her so, Camille Maupin, rejected mylove more than eighteen months ago, during her last stay at LesTouches. She laughed at me, gently; saying she might very well be mymother; that a woman of forty committed a sort of crime against naturein loving a minor, and that she herself was incapable of suchdepravity. She made a thousand little jokes, which hurt me--for she iswitty as an angel; but when she saw me weep hot tears she tried tocomfort me, and offered me her friendship in the noblest manner. Shehas more heart than even talent; she is as generous as you areyourself. I am now her child. On her return here lately, hearing fromher that she loves another, I have resigned myself. Do not repeat thecalumnies that have been said of her. Camille is an artist, she hasgenius, she leads one of those exceptional existences which cannot bejudged like ordinary lives. "

"My child, " said the religious Fanny, "nothing can excuse a woman fornot conducting herself as the Church requires. She fails in her dutyto God and to society by abjuring the gentle tenets of her sex. Awoman commits a sin in even going to a theatre; but to write theimpieties that actors repeat, to roam about the world, first with anenemy to the Pope, and then with a musician, ah! Calyste, you cannever persuade me that such acts are deeds of faith, hope, or charity. Her fortune was given her by God to do good, and what good does she dowith hers?"

Calyste sprang up suddenly, and looked at his mother. 

"Mother, " he said, "Camille is my friend; I cannot hear her spoken ofin this way; I would give my very life for her. "

"Your life!" said the baroness, looking at her son, with startledeyes. "Your life is our life, the life of all of us. "

"My nephew has just said many things I do not understand, " said theold woman, turning toward him. 

"Where did he learn them?" said the mother; "at Les Touches. "

"Yes, my darling mother; she found me ignorant as a carp, and she hastaught me. "

"You knew the essential things when you learned the duties taught usby religion, " replied the baroness. "Ah! this woman is fated todestroy your noble and sacred beliefs. "

The old maid rose, and solemnly stretched forth her hands toward herbrother, who was dozing in his chair. 

"Calyste, " she said, in a voice that came from her heart, "your fatherhas never opened books, he speaks Breton, he fought for God and forthe king. Educated people did the evil, educated noblemen desertedtheir land, --be educated if you choose!"

So saying, she sat down and began to knit with a rapidity whichbetrayed her inward emotion. 

"My angel, " said the mother, weeping, "I foresee some evil coming downupon you in that house. "

"Who is making Fanny weep?" cried the old man, waking with a start atthe sound of his wife's voice. He looked round upon his sister, hisson, and the baroness. "What is the matter?" he asked. 

"Nothing, my friend, " replied his wife. 

"Mamma, " said Calyste, whispering in his mother's ear, "it isimpossible for me to explain myself just now; but to-night you and Iwill talk of this. When you know all, you will bless Mademoiselle desTouches. "

"Mothers do not like to curse, " replied the baroness. "I could notcurse a woman who truly loved my Calyste. "

The young man bade adieu to his father and went out. The baron and hiswife rose to see him pass through the court-yard, open the gate, anddisappear. The baroness did not again take up the newspaper; she wastoo agitated. In this tranquil, untroubled life such a discussion wasthe equivalent of a quarrel in other homes. Though somewhat calmed, her motherly uneasiness was not dispersed. Whither would such afriendship, which might claim the life of Calyste and destroy it, leadher boy? Bless Mademoiselle des Touches? how could that be? Thesequestions were as momentous to her simple soul as the fury ofrevolutions to a statesman. Camille Maupin was Revolution itself inthat calm and placid home. 

"I fear that woman will ruin him, " she said, picking up the paper. 

"My dear Fanny, " said the old baron, with a jaunty air, "you are toomuch of an angel to understand these things. Mademoiselle des Touchesis, they say, as black as a crow, as strong as a Turk, and forty yearsold. Our dear Calyste was certain to fall in love with her. Of coursehe will tell certain honorable little lies to conceal his happiness. Let him alone to amuse himself with his first illusions. "

"If it had been any other woman--" began the baroness. 

"But, my dear Fanny, if the woman were a saint she would not acceptyour son. " The baroness again picked up the paper. "I will go and seeher myself, " added the baron, "and tell you all about her. "

This speech has no savor at the present moment. But after reading thebiography of Camille Maupin you can then imagine the old baronentering the lists against that illustrious woman. 

 VI

 BIOGRAPHY OF CAMILLE MAUPIN

The town of Guerande, which for two months past had seen Calyste, itsflower and pride, going, morning or evening, often morning andevening, to Les Touches, concluded that Mademoiselle Felicite desTouches was passionately in love with the beautiful youth, and thatshe practised upon him all kinds of sorceries. More than one younggirl and wife asked herself by what right an old woman exercised soabsolute an empire over that angel. When Calyste passed along theGrand Rue to the Croisic gate many a regretful eye was fastened onhim. 

It now became necessary to explain the rumors which hovered about theperson whom Calyste was on his way to see. These rumors, swelled byBreton gossip, envenomed by public ignorance, had reached the rector. The receiver of taxes, the /juge de paix/, the head of theSaint-Nazaire custom-house and other lettered persons had not reassuredthe abbe by relating to him the strange and fantastic life of thefemale writer who concealed herself under the masculine name of CamilleMaupin. She did not as yet eat little children, nor kill her slaveslike Cleopatra, nor throw men into the river as the heroine of theTour de Nesle was falsely accused of doing; but to the Abbe Grimontthis monstrous creature, a cross between a siren and an atheist, wasan immoral combination of woman and philosopher who violated everysocial law invented to restrain or utilize the infirmities ofwomankind. 

Just as Clara Gazul is the female pseudonym of a distinguished malewriter, George Sand the masculine pseudonym of a woman of genius, soCamille Maupin was the mask behind which was long hidden a charmingyoung woman, very well-born, a Breton, named Felicite des Touches, theperson who was now causing such lively anxiety to the Baronne duGuenic and the excellent rector of Guerande. The Breton des Touchesfamily has no connection with the family of the same name in Touraine, to which belongs the ambassador of the Regent, even more famous to-dayfor his writings than for his diplomatic talents. 

Camille Maupin, one of the few celebrated women of the nineteenthcentury, was long supposed to be a man, on account of the virility ofher first writings. All the world now knows the two volumes of plays, not intended for representation on the stage, written after the mannerof Shakespeare or Lopez de Vega, published in 1822, which made a sortof literary revolution when the great question of the classics and theromanticists palpitated on all sides, --in the newspapers, at theclubs, at the Academy, everywhere. Since then, Camille Maupin haswritten several plays and a novel, which have not belied the successobtained by her first publication--now, perhaps, too much forgotten. To explain by what net-work of circumstances the masculine incarnationof a young girl was brought about, why Felicite des Touches became aman and an author, and why, more fortunate than Madame de Stael, shekept her freedom and was thus more excusable for her celebrity, wouldbe to satisfy many curiosities and do justice to one of those abnormalbeings who rise in humanity like monuments, and whose fame is promotedby its rarity, --for in twenty centuries we can count, at most, twentyfamous women. Therefore, although in these pages she stands as asecondary character, in consideration of the fact that she plays agreat part in the literary history of our epoch, and that herinfluence over Calyste was great, no one, we think, will regret beingmade to pause before that figure rather longer than modern artpermits. 

Mademoiselle Felicite des Touches became an orphan in 1793. Herproperty escaped confiscation by reason of the deaths of her fatherand brother. The first was killed on the 10th of August, at thethreshold of the palace, among the defenders of the king, near whoseperson his rank as major of the guards of the gate had placed him. Herbrother, one of the body-guard, was massacred at Les Carmes. Mademoiselle des Touches was two years old when her mother died, killed by grief, a few days after this second catastrophe. When dying, Madame des Touches confided her daughter to her sister, a nun ofChelles. Madame de Faucombe, the nun, prudently took the orphan toFaucombe, a good-sized estate near Nantes, belonging to Madame desTouches, and there she settled with the little girl and three sistersof her convent. The populace of Nantes, during the last days of theTerror, tore down the chateau, seized the nuns and Mademoiselle desTouches, and threw them into prison on a false charge of receivingemissaries of Pitt and Coburg. The 9th Thermidor released them. Felicite's aunt died of fear. Two of the sisters left France, and thethird confided the little girl to her nearest relation, Monsieur deFaucombe, her maternal great-uncle, who lived in Nantes. 

Monsieur de Faucombe, an old man sixty years of age, had married ayoung woman to whom he left the management of his affairs. He busiedhimself in archaeology, --a passion, or to speak more correctly, one ofthose manias which enable old men to fancy themselves still living. The education of his ward was therefore left to chance. Littlecared-for by her uncle's wife, a young woman given over to the socialpleasures of the imperial epoch, Felicite brought herself up as a boy. She kept company with Monsieur de Faucombe in his library; where sheread everything it pleased her to read. She thus obtained a knowledgeof life in theory, and had no innocence of mind, though virginpersonally. Her intellect floated on the impurities of knowledge whileher heart was pure. Her learning became extraordinary, the result of apassion for reading, sustained by a powerful memory. At eighteen yearsof age she was as well-informed on all topics as a young man enteringa literary career has need to be in our day. Her prodigious readingcontrolled her passions far more than conventual life would have done;for there the imaginations of young girls run riot. A brain crammedwith knowledge that was neither digested nor classed governed theheart and soul of the child. This depravity of the intellect, withoutaction upon the chastity of the body, would have amazed philosophersand observers, had any one in Nantes even suspected the powers ofMademoiselle des Touches. 

The result of all this was in a contrary direction to the cause. Felicite had no inclinations toward evil; she conceived everything bythought, but abstained from deed. Old Faucombe was enchanted with her, and she helped him in his work, --writing three of his books, which theworthy old gentleman believed were his own; for his spiritualpaternity was blind. Such mental labor, not agreeing with thedevelopments of girlhood, had its effect. Felicite fell ill; her bloodwas overheated, and her chest seemed threatened with inflammation. Thedoctors ordered horseback exercise and the amusements of society. Mademoiselle des Touches became, in consequence, an admirablehorsewoman, and recovered her health in a few months. 

At the age of eighteen she appeared in the world, where she producedso great a sensation that no one in Nantes called her anything elsethan "the beautiful Mademoiselle des Touches. " Led to enter society byone of the imperishable sentiments in the heart of a woman, howeversuperior she may be, the worship she inspired found her cold andunresponsive. Hurt by her aunt and her cousins, who ridiculed herstudies and teased her about her unwillingness for society, which theyattributed to a lack of the power of pleasing, Felicite resolved onmaking herself coquettish, gay, volatile, --a woman, in short. But sheexpected in return an exchange of ideas, seductions, and pleasures inharmony with the elevation of her own mind and the extent of itsknowledge. Instead of that, she was filled with disgust for thecommonplaces of conversation, the silliness of gallantry; and moreespecially was she shocked by the supremacy of military men, to whomsociety made obeisance at that period. She had, not unnaturally, neglected the minor accomplishments. Finding herself inferior to thepretty dolls who played on the piano and made themselves agreeable bysinging ballads, she determined to be a musician. Retiring into herformer solitude she set to work resolvedly, under the direction of thebest master in the town. She was rich, and she sent for Steibelt whenthe time came to perfect herself. The astonished town still talks ofthis princely conduct. The stay of that master cost her twelvethousand francs. Later, when she went to Paris, she studied harmonyand thorough-bass, and composed the music of two operas which have hadgreat success, though the public has never been admitted to the secretof their authorship. Ostensibly these operas are by Conti, one of themost eminent musicians of our day; but this circumstance belongs tothe history of her heart, and will be mentioned later on. 

The mediocrity of the society of a provincial town wearied her soexcessively, her imagination was so filled with grandiose ideas thatalthough she returned to the salons to eclipse other women once moreby her beauty, and enjoy her new triumph as a musician, she againdeserted them; and having proved her power to her cousins, and driventwo lovers to despair, she returned to her books, her piano, the worksof Beethoven, and her old friend Faucombe. In 1812, when she wastwenty-one years of age, the old archaeologist handed over to her hisguardianship accounts. From that year, she took control of herfortune, which consisted of fifteen thousand francs a year, derivedfrom Les Touches, the property of her father; twelve thousand a yearfrom Faucombe (which, however, she increased one-third on renewing theleases); and a capital of three hundred thousand francs laid by duringher minority by her guardians. 

Felicite acquired from her experience of provincial life, anunderstanding of money, and that strong tendency to administrativewisdom which enables the provinces to hold their own under theascensional movement of capital towards Paris. She drew her threehundred thousand francs from the house of business where her guardianhad placed them, and invested them on the Grand-livre at the verymoment of the disasters of the retreat from Moscow. In this way, sheincreased her income by thirty thousand francs. All expenses paid, shefound herself with fifty thousand francs a year to invest. Attwenty-one years of age a girl with such force of will is the equal ofa man of thirty. Her mind had taken a wide range; habits of criticismenabled her to judge soberly of men, and art, and things, and publicquestions. Henceforth she resolved to leave Nantes; but old Faucombefalling ill with his last illness, she, who had been both wife anddaughter to him, remained to nurse him, with the devotion of an angel, for eighteen months, closing his eyes at the moment when Napoleon wasstruggling with all Europe on the corpse of France. Her removal toParis was therefore still further postponed until the close of thatcrisis. 

As a Royalist, she hastened to be present at the return of theBourbons to Paris. There the Grandlieus, to whom she was related, received her as their guest; but the catastrophes of March 20intervened, and her future was vague and uncertain. She was thusenabled to see with her own eyes that last image of the Empire, andbehold the Grand Army when it came to the Champ de Mars, as to a Romancircus, to salute its Caesar before it went to its death at Waterloo. The great and noble soul of Felicite was stirred by that magicspectacle. The political commotions, the glamour of that theatricalplay of three months which history has called the Hundred Days, occupied her mind and preserved her from all personal emotions in themidst of a convulsion which dispersed the royalist society among whomshe had intended to reside. The Grandlieus followed the Bourbons toGhent, leaving their house to Mademoiselle des Touches. Felicite, whodid not choose to take a subordinate position, purchased for onehundred and thirty thousand francs one of the finest houses in the rueMont Blanc, where she installed herself on the return of the Bourbonsin 1815. The garden of this house is to-day worth two millions. 

Accustomed to control her own life, Felicite soon familiarized herselfwith the ways of thought and action which are held to be exclusivelythe province of man. In 1816 she was twenty-five years old. She knewnothing of marriage; her conception of it was wholly that of thought;she judged it in its causes instead of its effect, and saw only itsobjectionable side. Her superior mind refused to make the abdicationby which a married woman begins that life; she keenly felt the valueof independence, and was conscious of disgust for the duties ofmaternity. 

It is necessary to give these details to explain the anomaliespresented by the life of Camille Maupin. She had known neither fathernor mother; she had been her own mistress from childhood; her guardianwas an old archaeologist. Chance had flung her into the regions ofknowledge and of imagination, into the world of literature, instead ofholding her within the rigid circle defined by the futile educationgiven to women, and by maternal instructions as to dress, hypocriticalpropriety, and the hunting graces of their sex. Thus, long before shebecame celebrated, a glance might have told an observer that she hadnever played with dolls. 

Toward the close of the year 1817 Felicite des Touches began toperceive, not the fading of her beauty, but the beginning of a certainlassitude of body. She saw that a change would presently take place inher person as the result of her obstinate celibacy. She wanted toretain her youth and beauty, to which at that time she clung. Sciencewarned her of the sentence pronounced by Nature upon all hercreations, which perish as much by the misconception of her laws as bythe abuse of them. The macerated face of her aunt returned to hermemory and made her shudder. Placed between marriage and love, herdesire was to keep her freedom; but she was now no longer indifferentto homage and the admiration that surrounded her. She was, at themoment when this history begins, almost exactly what she was in 1817. Eighteen years had passed over her head and respected it. At forty shemight have been thought no more than twenty-five. 

Therefore to describe her in 1836 is to picture her as she was in1817. Women who know the conditions of temperament and happiness inwhich a woman should live to resist the ravages of time willunderstand how and why Felicite des Touches enjoyed this greatprivilege as they study a portrait for which were reserved thebrightest tints of Nature's palette, and the richest setting. 

Brittany presents a curious problem to be solved in the predominanceof dark hair, brown eyes, and swarthy complexions in a region so nearEngland that the atmospheric effects are almost identical. Does thisproblem belong to the great question of races? to hitherto unobservedphysical influences? Science may some day find the reason of thispeculiarity, which ceases in the adjoining province of Normandy. Waiting its solution, this odd fact is there before our eyes; faircomplexions are rare in Brittany, where the women's eyes are as blackand lively as those of Southern women; but instead of possessing thetall figures and swaying lines of Italy and Spain, they are usuallyshort, close-knit, well set-up and firm, except in the higher classeswhich are crossed by their alliances. 

Mademoiselle des Touches, a true Breton, is of medium height, thoughshe looks taller than she really is. This effect is produced by thecharacter of her face, which gives height to her form. She has thatskin, olive by day and dazzling by candlelight, which distinguishes abeautiful Italian; you might, if you pleased, call it animated ivory. The light glides along a skin of that texture as on a polishedsurface; it shines; a violent emotion is necessary to bring thefaintest color to the centre of the cheeks, where it goes away almostimmediately. This peculiarity gives to her face the calm impassibilityof the savage. The face, more long than oval, resembles that of somebeautiful Isis in the Egyptian bas-reliefs; it has the purity of theheads of sphinxes, polished by the fire of the desert, kissed by aCoptic sun. The tones of the skin are in harmony with the faultlessmodelling of the head. The black and abundant hair descends in heavymasses beside the throat, like the coif of the statues at Memphis, andcarries out magnificently the general severity of form. The foreheadis full, broad, and swelling about the temples, illuminated bysurfaces which catch the light, and modelled like the brow of thehunting Diana, a powerful and determined brow, silent andself-contained. The arch of the eye-brows, vigorously drawn, surmountsa pair of eyes whose flame scintillates at times like that of a fixedstar. The white of the eye is neither bluish, nor strewn with scarletthreads, nor is it purely white; it has the texture of horn, but thetone is warm. The pupil is surrounded by an orange circle; it is ofbronze set in gold, but vivid gold and animated bronze. This pupilhas depth; it is not underlaid, as in certain eyes, by a species offoil, which sends back the light and makes such eyes resemble those ofcats or tigers; it has not that terrible inflexibility which makes asensitive person shudder; but this depth has in it something of theinfinite, just as the external radiance of the eyes suggests theabsolute. The glance of an observer may be lost in that soul, whichgathers itself up and retires with as much rapidity as it gushed for asecond into those velvet eyes. In moments of passion the eyes ofCamille Maupin are sublime; the gold of her glance illuminates themand they flame. But in repose they are dull; the torpor of meditationoften lends them an appearance of stupidity[*]; in like manner, whenthe glow of the soul is absent the lines of the face are sad. 

[*] George Sand says of herself, in "L'Histoire de Ma Vie, " published long after the above was written: "The habit of meditation gave me /l'air bete/ (a stupid air). I say the word frankly, for all my life I have been told this, and therefore it must be true. "--TR. 

The lashes of the eyelids are short, but thick and black as the tip ofan ermine's tail; the eyelids are brown and strewn with red fibrils, which give them grace and strength, --two qualities which are seldomunited in a woman. The circle round the eyes shows not the slightestblemish nor the smallest wrinkle. There, again, we find the graniteof an Egyptian statue softened by the ages. But the line of thecheek-bones, though soft, is more pronounced than in other women andcompletes the character of strength which the face expresses. Thenose, thin and straight, parts into two oblique nostrils, passionatelydilated at times, and showing the transparent pink of their delicatelining. This nose is an admirable continuation of the forehead, withwhich it blends in a most delicious line. It is perfectly white fromits spring to its tip, and the tip is endowed with a sort of mobilitywhich does marvels if Camille is indignant, or angry, or rebellious. There, above all, as Talma once remarked, is seen depicted the angeror the irony of great minds. The immobility of the human nostrilindicates a certain narrowness of soul; never did the nose of a miseroscillate; it contracts like the lips; he locks up his face as he doeshis money. 

Camille's mouth, arching at the corners, is of a vivid red; bloodabounds there, and supplies the living, thinking oxide which givessuch seduction to the lips, reassuring the lover whom the gravity ofthat majestic face may have dismayed. The upper lip is thin, thefurrow which unites it with the nose comes low, giving it a centrecurve which emphasizes its natural disdain. Camille has little to doto express anger. This beautiful lip is supported by the strong redbreadth of its lower mate, adorable in kindness, swelling with love, alip like the outer petal of a pomegranate such as Phidias might havecarved, and the color of which it has. The chin is firm and ratherfull; but it expresses resolution and fitly ends this profile, royalif not divine. It is necessary to add that the upper lip beneath thenose is lightly shaded by a charming down. Nature would have made ablunder had she not cast that tender mist upon the face. The ears aredelicately convoluted, --a sign of secret refinement. The bust islarge, the waist slim and sufficiently rounded. The hips are notprominent, but very graceful; the line of the thighs is magnificent, recalling Bacchus rather than the Venus Callipyge. There we may seethe shadowy line of demarcation which separates nearly every woman ofgenius from her sex; there such women are found to have a certainvague similitude to man; they have neither the suppleness nor the softabandonment of those whom Nature destines for maternity; their gait isnot broken by faltering motions. This observation may be calledbi-lateral; it has its counterpart in men, whose thighs are those ofwomen when they are sly, cunning, false, and cowardly. Camille's neck, instead of curving inward at the nape, curves out in a line thatunites the head to the shoulders without sinuosity, a most signalcharacteristic of force. The neck itself presents at certain momentsan athletic magnificence. The spring of the arms from the shoulders, superb in outline, seems to belong to a colossal woman. The arms arevigorously modelled, ending in wrists of English delicacy and charminghands, plump, dimpled, and adorned with rosy, almond-shaped nails;these hands are of a whiteness which reveals that the body, so round, so firm, so well set-up, is of another complexion altogether than theface. The firm, cold carriage of the head is corrected by the mobilityof the lips, their changing expression, and the artistic play of thenostrils. 

And yet, in spite of all these promises--hidden, perhaps, from theprofane--the calm of that countenance has something, I know not what, that is vexatious. More sad, more serious than gracious, that face ismarked by the melancholy of constant meditation. For this reasonMademoiselle des Touches listens more than she talks. She startles byher silence and by that deep-reaching glance of intense fixity. Noeducated person could see her without thinking of Cleopatra, that darklittle woman who almost changed the face of the world. But in Camillethe natural animal is so complete, so self-sufficing, of a nature soleonine, that a man, however little of a Turk he may be, regrets thepresence of so great a mind in such a body, and could wish that shewere wholly woman. He fears to find the strange distortion of anabnormal soul. Do not cold analysis and matter-of-fact theory point topassions in such a woman? Does she judge, and not feel? Or, phenomenonmore terrible, does she not feel and judge at one and the same time?Able for all things through her brain, ought her course to becircumscribed by the limitations of other women? Has that intellectualstrength weakened her heart? Has she no charm? Can she descend tothose tender nothings by which a woman occupies, and soothes andinterests the man she loves? Will she not cast aside a sentiment whenit no longer responds to some vision of infinitude which she graspsand contemplates in her soul? Who can scale the heights to which hereyes have risen? Yes, a man fears to find in such a woman somethingunattainable, unpossessable, unconquerable. The woman of strong mindshould remain a symbol; as a reality she must be feared. CamilleMaupin is in some ways the living image of Schiller's Isis, seated inthe darkness of the temple, at whose feet her priests find the deadbodies of the daring men who have consulted her. 

The adventures of her life declared to be true by the world, and whichCamille has never disavowed, enforce the questions suggested by herpersonal appearance. Perhaps she likes those calumnies. 

The nature of her beauty has not been without its influence on herfame; it has served it, just as her fortune and position havemaintained her in society. If a sculptor desires to make a statue ofBrittany let him take Mademoiselle des Touches for his model. Thatfull-blooded, powerful temperament is the only nature capable ofrepelling the action of time. The constant nourishment of the pulp, soto speak, of that polished skin is an arm given to women by Nature toresist the invasion of wrinkles; in Camille's case it was aided by thecalm impassibility of her features. 

In 1817 this charming young woman opened her house to artists, authorsof renown, learned and scientific men, and publicists, --a societytoward which her tastes led her. Her salon resembled that of BaronGerard, where men of rank mingled with men of distinction of allkinds, and the elite of Parisian women came. The parentage ofMademoiselle des Touches, and her fortune, increased by that of heraunt the nun, protected her in the attempt, always very difficult inParis, to create a society. Her worldly independence was one reason ofher success. Various ambitious mothers indulged in the hope ofinducing her to marry their sons, whose fortunes were out ofproportion to the age of their escutcheons. Several peers of France, allured by the prospect of eighty thousand francs a year and a housemagnificently appointed, took their womenkind, even the mostfastidious and intractable, to visit her. The diplomatic world, alwaysin search of amusements of the intellect, came there and foundenjoyment. Thus Mademoiselle des Touches, surrounded by so many formsof individual interests, was able to study the different comedieswhich passion, covetousness, and ambition make the generality of menperform, --even those who are highest in the social scale. She saw, early in life, the world as it is; and she was fortunate enough not tofall early into absorbing love, which warps the mind and faculties ofa woman and prevents her from judging soberly. 

Ordinarily a woman feels, enjoys, and judges, successively; hencethree distinct ages, the last of which coincides with the mournfulperiod of old age. In Mademoiselle des Touches this order wasreversed. Her youth was wrapped in the snows of knowledge and the iceof reflection. This transposition is, in truth, an additionalexplanation of the strangeness of her life and the nature of hertalent. She observed men at an age when most women can only see oneman; she despised what other women admired; she detected falsehood inthe flatteries they accept as truths; she laughed at things that madethem serious. This contradiction of her life with that of otherslasted long; but it came to a terrible end; she was destined to findin her soul a first love, young and fresh, at an age when women aresummoned by Nature to renounce all love. 

Meantime, a first affair in which she was involved has always remaineda secret from the world. Felicite, like other women, was induced tobelieve that beauty of body was that of soul. She fell in love with aface, and learned, to her cost, the folly of a man of gallantry, whosaw nothing in her but a mere woman. It was some time before sherecovered from the disgust she felt at this episode. Her distress wasperceived by a friend, a man, who consoled her without personalafter-thought, or, at any rate, he concealed any such motive if he hadit. In him Felicite believed she found the heart and mind which werelacking to her former lover. He did, in truth, possess one of the mostoriginal minds of our age. He, too, wrote under a pseudonym, and hisfirst publications were those of an adorer of Italy. Travel was theone form of education which Felicite lacked. A man of genius, a poetand a critic, he took Felicite to Italy in order to make known to herthat country of all Art. This celebrated man, who is nameless, may beregarded as the master and maker of "Camille Maupin. " He bought intoorder and shape the vast amount of knowledge already acquired byFelicite; increased it by study of the masterpieces with which Italyteems; gave her the frankness, freedom, and grace, epigrammatic, andintense, which is the character of his own talent (always ratherfanciful as to form) which Camille Maupin modified by delicacy ofsentiment and the softer terms of thought that are natural to a woman. He also roused in her a taste for German and English literature andmade her learn both languages while travelling. In Rome, in 1820, Felicite was deserted for an Italian. Without that misery she mightnever have been celebrated. Napoleon called misfortune the midwife ofgenius. This event filled Mademoiselle des Touches, and forever, withthat contempt for men which later was to make her so strong. Felicitedied, Camille Maupin was born. 

She returned to Paris with Conti, the great musician, for whom shewrote the librettos of two operas. But she had no more illusions, andshe became, at heart, unknown to the world, a sort of female Don Juan, without debts and without conquests. Encouraged by success, shepublished the two volumes of plays which at once placed the name ofCamille Maupin in the list of illustrious anonymas. Next, she relatedher betrayed and deluded love in a short novel, one of themasterpieces of that period. This book, of a dangerous example, wasclassed with "Adolphe, " a dreadful lamentation, the counterpart ofwhich is found in Camille's work. The true secret of her literarymetamorphosis and pseudonym has never been fully understood. Somedelicate minds have thought it lay in a feminine desire to escape fameand remain obscure, while offering a man's name and work to criticism. 

In spite of any such desire, if she had it, her celebrity increaseddaily, partly through the influence of her salon, partly from her ownwit, the correctness of her judgments, and the solid worth of heracquirements. She became an authority; her sayings were quoted; shecould no longer lay aside at will the functions with which Parisiansociety invested her. She came to be an acknowledged exception. Theworld bowed before the genius and position of this strange woman; itrecognized and sanctioned her independence; women admired her mind, men her beauty. Her conduct was regulated by all social conventions. Her friendships seemed purely platonic. There was, moreover, nothingof the female author about her. Mademoiselle des Touches is charmingas a woman of the world, --languid when she pleases, indolent, coquettish, concerned about her toilet, pleased with the airy nothingsso seductive to women and to poets. She understands very well thatafter Madame de Stael there is no place in this century for a Sappho, and that Ninon could not exist in Paris without /grands seigneurs/ anda voluptuous court. She is the Ninon of the intellect; she adores Artand artists; she goes from the poet to the musician, from the sculptorto the prose-writer. Her heart is noble, endowed with a generositythat makes her a dupe; so filled is she with pity for sorrow, --filledalso with contempt for the prosperous. She has lived since 1830, thecentre of a choice circle, surrounded by tried friends who love hertenderly and esteem each other. Far from the noisy fuss of Madame deStael, far from political strifes, she jokes about Camille Maupin, that junior of George Sand (whom she calls her brother Cain), whoserecent fame has now eclipsed her own. Mademoiselle des Touches admiresher fortunate rival with angelic composure, feeling no jealousy and nosecret vexation. 

Until the period when this history begins, she had led as happy a lifeas a woman strong enough to protect herself can be supposed to live. From 1817 to 1834 she had come some five or six times to Les Touches. Her first stay was after her first disillusion in 1818. The house wasuninhabitable, and she sent her man of business to Guerande and took alodging for herself in the village. At that time she had no suspicionof her coming fame; she was sad, she saw no one; she wanted, as itwere, to contemplate herself after her great disaster. She wrote toParis to have the furniture necessary for a residence at Les Touchessent down to her. It came by a vessel to Nantes, thence by small boatsto Croisic, from which little place it was transported, not withoutdifficulty, over the sands to Les Touches. Workmen came down fromParis, and before long she occupied Les Touches, which pleased herimmensely. She wanted to meditate over the events of her life, like acloistered nun. 

At the beginning of the winter she returned to Paris. The little townof Guerande was by this time roused to diabolical curiosity; its wholetalk was of the Asiatic luxury displayed at Les Touches. Her man ofbusiness gave orders after her departure that visitors should beadmitted to view the house. They flocked from the village of Batz, from Croisic, and from Savenay, as well as from Guerande. This publiccuriosity brought in an enormous sum to the family of the porter andgardener, not less, in two years, than seventeen francs. 

After this, Mademoiselle des Touches did not revisit Les Touches fortwo years, not until her return from Italy. On that occasion she cameby way of Croisic and was accompanied by Conti. It was some timebefore Guerande became aware of her presence. Her subsequentapparitions at Les Touches excited comparatively little interest. HerParisian fame did not precede her; her man of business alone knew thesecret of her writings and of her connection with the celebrity ofCamille Maupin. But at the period of which we are now writing thecontagion of the new ideas had made some progress in Guerande, andseveral persons knew of the dual form of Mademoiselle des Touches'existence. Letters came to the post-office, directed to Camille Maupinat Les Touches. In short, the veil was rent away. In a region soessentially Catholic, archaic, and full of prejudice, the singularlife of this illustrious woman would of course cause rumors, some ofwhich, as we have seen, had reached the ears of the Abbe Grimont andalarmed him; such a life could never be comprehended in Guerande; infact, to every mind, it seemed unnatural and improper. 

Felicite, during her present stay, was not alone in Les Touches. Shehad a guest. That guest was Claude Vignon, a scornful and powerfulwriter who, though doing criticism only, has found means to give thepublic and literature the impression of a certain superiority. Mademoiselle des Touches had received this writer for the last sevenyears, as she had so many other authors, journalists, artists, and menof the world. She knew his nerveless nature, his laziness, his utterpenury, his indifference and disgust for all things, and yet by theway she was now conducting herself she seemed inclined to marry him. She explained her conduct, incomprehensible to her friends, in variousways, --by ambition, by the dread she felt of a lonely old age; shewanted to confide her future to a superior man, to whom her fortunewould be a stepping-stone, and thus increase her own importance in theliterary world. 

With these apparent intentions she had brought Claude Vignon fromParis to Les Touches, as an eagle bears away a kid in its talons, --tostudy him, and decide upon some positive course. But, in truth, shewas misleading both Calyste and Claude; she was not even thinking ofmarriage; her heart was in the throes of the most violent convulsionthat could agitate a soul as strong as hers. She found herself thedupe of her own mind; too late she saw life lighted by the sun oflove, shining as love shines in a heart of twenty. 

Let us now see Camille's convent where this was happening. 

 VII

 LES TOUCHES

A few hundred yards from Guerande the soil of Brittany comes to anend; the salt-marshes and the sandy dunes begin. We descend into adesert of sand, which the sea has left for a margin between herselfand earth, by a rugged road through a ravine that has never seen acarriage. This desert contains waste tracts, ponds of unequal size, round the shores of which the salt is made on muddy banks, and alittle arm of the sea which separates the mainland from the island ofCroisic. Geographically, Croisic is really a peninsula; but as itholds to Brittany only by the beaches which connect it with thevillage of Batz (barren quicksands very difficult to cross), it may bemore correct to call it an island. 

At the point where the road from Croisic to Guerande turns off fromthe main road of /terra firma/, stands a country-house, surrounded bya large garden, remarkable for its trimmed and twisted pine-trees, some being trained to the shape of sun-shades, others, stripped oftheir branches, showing their reddened trunks in spots where the barkhas peeled. These trees, victims of hurricanes, growing against windand tide (for them the saying is literally true), prepare the mind forthe strange and depressing sight of the marshes and dunes, whichresemble a stiffened ocean. The house, fairly well built of a speciesof slaty stone with granite courses, has no architecture; it presentsto the eye a plain wall with windows at regular intervals. Thesewindows have small leaded panes on the ground-floor and large panes onthe upper floor. Above are the attics, which stretch the whole lengthof an enormously high pointed roof, with two gables and two largedormer windows on each side of it. Under the triangular point of eachgable a circular window opens its cyclopic eye, westerly to the sea, easterly on Guerande. One facade of the house looks on the road toGuerande, the other on the desert at the end of which is Croisic;beyond that little town is the open sea. A brook escapes through anopening in the park wall which skirts the road to Croisic, crosses theroad, and is lost in the sands beyond it. 

The grayish tones of the house harmonize admirably with the scene itoverlooks. The park is an oasis in the surrounding desert, at theentrance of which the traveller comes upon a mud-hut, where thecustom-house officials lie in wait for him. This house without land(for the bulk of the estate is really in Guerande) derives an incomefrom the marshes and a few outlying farms of over ten thousand francsa year. Such is the fief of Les Touches, from which the Revolutionlopped its feudal rights. The /paludiers/, however, continue to callit "the chateau, " and they would still say "seigneur" if the fief werenot now in the female line. When Felicite set about restoring LesTouches, she was careful, artist that she is, not to change thedesolate exterior which gives the look of a prison to the isolatedstructure. The sole change was at the gate, which she enlivened by twobrick columns supporting an arch, beneath which carriages pass intothe court-yard where she planted trees. 

The arrangement of the ground-floor is that of nearly all countryhouses built a hundred years ago. It was, evidently, erected on theruins of some old castle formerly perched there. A large panelledentrance-hall has been turned by Felicite into a billiard-room; fromit opens an immense salon with six windows, and the dining-room. Thekitchen communicates with the dining-room through an office. Camillehas displayed a noble simplicity in the arrangement of this floor, carefully avoiding all splendid decoration. The salon, painted gray, is furnished in old mahogany with green silk coverings. The furnitureof the dining-room comprises four great buffets, also of mahogany, chairs covered with horsehair, and superb engravings by Audran inmahogany frames. The old staircase, of wood with heavy balusters, iscovered all over with a green carpet. 

On the floor above are two suites of rooms separated by the staircase. Mademoiselle des Touches has taken for herself the one that lookstoward the sea and the marshes, and arranged it with a small salon, alarge chamber, and two cabinets, one for a dressing-room, the otherfor a study and writing-room. The other suite, she has made into twoseparate apartments for guests, each with a bedroom, an antechamber, and a cabinet. The servants have rooms in the attic. The rooms forguests are furnished with what is strictly necessary, and no more. Acertain fantastic luxury has been reserved for her own apartment. Inthat sombre and melancholy habitation, looking out upon the sombre andmelancholy landscape, she wanted the most fantastic creations of artthat she could find. The little salon is hung with Gobelin tapestry, framed in marvellously carved oak. The windows are draped with theheavy silken hangings of a past age, a brocade shot with crimson andgold against green and yellow, gathered into mighty pleats and trimmedwith fringes and cords and tassels worthy of a church. This saloncontains a chest or cabinet worth in these days seven or eightthousand francs, a carved ebony table, a secretary with many drawers, inlaid with arabesques of ivory and bought in Venice, with other nobleGothic furniture. Here too are pictures and articles of choiceworkmanship bought in 1818, at a time when no one suspected theultimate value of such treasures. Her bedroom is of the period ofLouis XV. And strictly exact to it. Here we see the carved woodenbedstead painted white, with the arched head-board surmounted byCupids scattering flowers, and the canopy above it adorned withplumes; the hangings of blue silk; the Pompadour dressing-table withits laces and mirror; together with bits of furniture of singularshape, --a "duchesse, " a chaise-longue, a stiff little sofa, --withwindow-curtains of silk, like that of the furniture, lined with pinksatin, and caught back with silken ropes, and a carpet of Savonnerie;in short, we find here all those elegant, rich, sumptuous, and daintythings in the midst of which the women of the eighteenth century livedand made love. 

The study, entirely of the present day, presents, in contrast with theLouis XV. Gallantries, a charming collection of mahogany furniture; itresembles a boudoir; the bookshelves are full, but the fascinatingtrivialities of a woman's existence encumber it; in the midst of whichan inquisitive eye perceives with uneasy surprise pistols, a narghile, a riding-whip, a hammock, a rifle, a man's blouse, tobacco, pipes, aknapsack, --a bizarre combination which paints Felicite. 

Every great soul, entering that room, would be struck with thepeculiar beauty of the landscape which spreads its broad savannabeyond the park, the last vegetation on the continent. The melancholysquares of water, divided by little paths of white salt crust, alongwhich the salt-makers pass (dressed in white) to rake up and gatherthe salt into /mulons/; a space which the saline exhalations preventall birds from crossing, stifling thus the efforts of botanic nature;those sands where the eye is soothed only by one little hardypersistent plant bearing rosy flowers and the Chartreux pansy; thatlake of salt water, the sandy dunes, the view of Croisic, a miniaturetown afloat like Venice on the sea; and, finally the mighty oceantossing its foaming fringe upon the granite rocks as if the better tobring out their weird formations--that sight uplifts the mind althoughit saddens it; an effect produced at last by all that is sublime, creating a regretful yearning for things unknown and yet perceived bythe soul on far-off heights. These wild and savage harmonies are forgreat spirits and great sorrows only. 

This desert scene, where at times the sun rays, reflected by thewater, by the sands, whitened the village of Batz and rippled on theroofs of Croisic with pitiless brilliancy, filled Camille's dreamingmind for days together. She seldom looked to the cool, refreshingscenes, the groves, the flowery meadows around Guerande. Her soul wasstruggling to endure a horrible inward anguish. 

No sooner did Calyste see the vanes of the two gables shooting upbeyond the furze of the roadside and the distorted heads of the pines, than the air seemed lighter; Guerande was a prison to him; his lifewas at Les Touches. Who will not understand the attraction itpresented to a youth in his position. A love like that of Cherubin, had flung him at the feet of a person who was a great and grand thingto him before he thought of her as a woman, and it had survived therepeated and inexplicable refusals of Felicite. This sentiment, whichwas more the need of loving than love itself, had not escaped theterrible power of Camille for analysis; hence, possibly, herrejection, --a generosity unperceived, of course, by Calyste. 

At Les Touches were displayed to the ravished eyes of the ignorantyoung countryman, the riches of a new world; he heard, as it were, another language, hitherto unknown to him and sonorous. He listened tothe poetic sounds of the finest music, that surpassing music of thenineteenth century, in which melody and harmony blend or struggle onequal terms, --a music in which song and instrumentation have reached ahitherto unknown perfection. He saw before his eyes the works ofmodern painters, those of the French school, to-day the heir of Italy, Spain, and Flanders, in which talent has become so common that hearts, weary of talent, are calling aloud for genius. He read there thoseworks of imagination, those amazing creations of modern literaturewhich produced their full effect upon his unused heart. In short, thegreat Nineteenth Century appeared to him, in all its collectivemagnificence, its criticising spirit, its desires for renovation inall directions, and its vast efforts, nearly all of them on the scaleof the giant who cradled the infancy of the century in his banners andsang to it hymns with the lullaby of cannon. 

Initiated by Felicite into the grandeur of all these things, whichmay, perhaps, escape the eyes of those who work them, Calystegratified at Les Touches the taste for the glorious, powerful at hisage, and that artless admiration, the first love of adolescence, whichis always irritated by criticism. It is so natural that flame shouldrise! He listened to that charming Parisian raillery, that gracefulsatire which revealed to him French wit and the qualities of theFrench mind, and awakened in him a thousand ideas, which might haveslumbered forever in the soft torpor of his family life. For him, Mademoiselle des Touches was the mother of his intellect. She was sokind to him; a woman is always adorable to a man in whom she inspireslove, even when she seems not to share it. 

At the present time Felicite was giving him music-lessons. To him thegrand apartments on the lower floor, and her private rooms above, socoquettish, so artistic, were vivified, were animated by a light, aspirit, a supernatural atmosphere, strange and undefinable. The modernworld with its poesy was sharply contrasted with the dull andpatriarchal world of Guerande, in the two systems brought face to facebefore him. On one side all the thousand developments of Art, on theother the sameness of uncivilized Brittany. No one will therefore askwhy the poor lad, bored like his mother with the pleasures of/mouche/, quivered as he approached the house, and rang the bell, andcrossed the court-yard. Such emotions, we may remark, do not assail amature man, trained to the ups and downs of life, whom nothingsurprises, being prepared for all. 

As the door opened, Calyste, hearing the sound of the piano, supposedthat Camille was in the salon; but when he entered the billiard-hallhe no longer heard it. Camille, he thought, must be playing on a smallupright piano brought by Conti from England and placed by her in herown little salon. He began to run up the stairs, where the thickcarpet smothered the sound of his steps; but he went more slowly as heneared the top, perceiving something unusual and extraordinary aboutthe music. Felicite was playing for herself only; she was communingwith her own being. 

Instead of entering the room, the young man sat down upon a Gothicseat covered with green velvet, which stood on the landing beneath awindow artistically framed in carved woods stained and varnished. Nothing was ever more mysteriously melancholy than Camille'simprovisation; it seemed like the cry of a soul /de profundis/ to God--from the depths of a grave! The heart of the young lover recognizedthe cry of despairing love, the prayer of a hidden plaint, the groanof repressed affliction. Camille had varied, modified, and lengthenedthe introduction to the cavatina: "Mercy for thee, mercy for me!"which is nearly the whole of the fourth act of "Robert le Diable. " Shenow suddenly sang the words in a heart-rending manner, and then assuddenly interrupted herself. Calyste entered, and saw the reason. Poor Camille Maupin! poor Felicite! She turned to him a face bathedwith tears, took out her handkerchief and dried them, and said, simply, without affectation, "Good-morning. " She was beautiful as shesat there in her morning gown. On her head was one of those redchenille nets, much worn in those days, through which the coils of herblack hair shone, escaping here and there. A short upper garment madelike a Greek peplum gave to view a pair of cambric trousers withembroidered frills, and the prettiest of Turkish slippers, red andgold. 

"What is the matter?" cried Calyste. 

"He has not returned, " she replied, going to a window and looking outupon the sands, the sea and the marshes. 

This answer explained all. Camille was awaiting Claude Vignon. 

"You are anxious about him?" asked Calyste. 

"Yes, " she answered, with a sadness the lad was too ignorant toanalyze. 

He started to leave the room. 

"Where are you going?" she asked. 

"To find him, " he replied. 

"Dear child!" she said, taking his hand and drawing him toward herwith one of those moist glances which are to a youthful soul the bestof recompenses. "You are distracted! Where could you find him on thatwide shore?"

"I will find him. "

"Your mother would be in mortal terror. Stay. Besides, I choose it, "she said, making him sit down upon the sofa. "Don't pity me. The tearsyou see are the tears a woman likes to shed. We have a faculty that isnot in man, --that of abandoning ourselves to our nervous nature anddriving our feelings to an extreme. By imagining certain situationsand encouraging the imagination we end in tears, and sometimes inserious states of illness or disorder. The fancies of women are notthe action of the mind; they are of the heart. You have come just intime; solitude is bad for me. I am not the dupe of his professeddesire to go to Croisic and see the rocks and the dunes and thesalt-marshes without me. He meant to leave us alone together; he isjealous, or, rather, he pretends jealousy, and you are young, you arehandsome. "

"Why not have told me this before? What must I do? must I stay away?"asked Calyste, with difficulty restraining his tears, one of whichrolled down his cheek and touched Felicite deeply. 

"You are an angel!" she cried. Then she gaily sang the "Stay! stay!"of Matilde in "Guillaume Tell, " taking all gravity from thatmagnificent answer of the princess to her subject. "He only wants tomake me think he loves me better than he really does, " she said. "Heknows how much I desire his happiness, " she went on, lookingattentively at Calyste. "Perhaps he feels humiliated to be inferior tome there. Perhaps he has suspicions about you and means to surpriseus. But even if his only crime is to take his pleasure without me, andnot to associate me with the ideas this new place gives him, is notthat enough? Ah! I am no more loved by that great brain than I was bythe musician, by the poet, by the soldier! Sterne is right; namessignify much; mine is a bitter sarcasm. I shall die without finding inany man the love which fills my heart, the poesy that I have in mysoul--"

She stopped, her arms pendant, her head lying back on the cushions, her eyes, stupid with thought, fixed on a pattern of the carpet. Thepain of great minds has something grandiose and imposing about it; itreveals a vast extent of soul which the thought of the spectatorextends still further. Such souls share the privileges of royaltywhose affections belong to a people and so affect a world. 

"Why did you reject my--" said Calyste; but he could not end hissentence. Camille's beautiful hand laid upon his eloquentlyinterrupted him. 

"Nature changed her laws in granting me a dozen years of youth beyondmy due, " she said. "I rejected your love from egotism. Sooner or laterthe difference in our ages must have parted us. I am thirteen yearsolder than /he/, and even that is too much. "

"You will be beautiful at sixty, " cried Calyste, heroically. 

"God grant it, " she answered, smiling. "Besides, dear child, I /want/to love. In spite of his cold heart, his lack of imagination, hiscowardly indifference, and the envy which consumes him, I believethere is greatness behind those tatters; I hope to galvanize thatheart, to save him from himself, to attach him to me. Alas! alas! Ihave a clear-seeing mind, but a blind heart. "

She was terrible in her knowledge of herself. She suffered andanalyzed her feelings as Cuvier and Dupuytren explained to friends thefatal advance of their disease and the progress that death was makingin their bodies. Camille Maupin knew the passion within her as thosemen of science knew their own anatomy. 

"I have brought him here to judge him, and he is already bored, " shecontinued. "He pines for Paris, I tell him; the nostalgia of criticismis on him; he has no author to pluck, no system to undermine, no poetto drive to despair, and he dares not commit some debauch in thishouse which might lift for a moment the burden of his ennui. Alas! mylove is not real enough, perhaps, to soothe his brain; I don'tintoxicate him! Make him drunk at dinner to-night and I shall know ifI am right. I will say I am ill, and stay in my own room. "

Calyste turned scarlet from his neck to his forehead; even his earswere on fire. 

"Oh! forgive me, " she cried. "How can I heedlessly deprave yourgirlish innocence! Forgive me, Calyste--" She paused. "There are somesuperb, consistent natures who say at a certain age: 'If I had my lifeto live over again, I would so the same things. ' I who do not thinkmyself weak, I say, 'I would be a woman like your mother, Calyste. ' Tohave a Calyste, oh! what happiness! I could be a humble and submissivewoman--And yet, I have done no harm except to myself. But alas! dearchild, a woman cannot stand alone in society except it be in what iscalled a primitive state. Affections which are not in harmony withsocial or with natural laws, affections that are not obligatory, inshort, escape us. Suffering for suffering, as well be useful where wecan. What care I for those children of my cousin Faucombe? I have notseen them these twenty years, and they are married to merchants. Youare my son, who have never cost me the miseries of motherhood; I shallleave you my fortune and make you happy--at least, so far as money cando so, dear treasure of beauty and grace that nothing should everchange or blast. "

"You would not take my love, " said Calyste, "and I shall return yourfortune to your heirs. "

"Child!" answered Camille, in a guttural voice, letting the tears rolldown her cheeks. "Will nothing save me from myself?" she added, presently. 

"You said you had a history to tell me, and a letter to--" said thegenerous youth, wishing to divert her thoughts from her grief; but shedid not let him finish. 

"You are right to remind me of that. I will be an honest woman beforeall else. I will sacrifice no one--Yes, it was too late, yesterday, but to-day we have time, " she said, in a cheerful tone. "I will keepmy promise; and while I tell you that history I will sit by the windowand watch the road to the marshes. "

Calyste arranged a great Gothic chair for her near the window, andopened one of the sashes. Camille Maupin, who shared the orientaltaste of her illustrious sister-author, took a magnificent Persiannarghile, given to her by an ambassador. She filled the nipple withpatchouli, cleaned the /bochettino/, perfumed the goose-quill, whichshe attached to the mouthpiece and used only once, set fire to theyellow leaves, placing the vase with its long neck enamelled in blueand gold at some distance from her, and rang the bell for tea. 

"Will you have cigarettes?--Ah! I am always forgetting that you do notsmoke. Purity such as yours is so rare! The hand of Eve herself, freshfrom the hand of her Maker, is alone innocent enough to stroke yourcheek. "

Calyste colored; sitting down on a stool at Camille's feet, he did notsee the deep emotion that seemed for a moment to overcome her. 

 VIII

 LA MARQUISE BEATRIX

"I promised you this tale of the past, and here it is, " said Camille. "The person from whom I received that letter yesterday, and who may behere to-morrow, is the Marquise de Rochefide. The old marquis (whosefamily is not as old as yours), after marrying his eldest daughter toa Portuguese grandee, was anxious to find an alliance among the highernobility for his son, in order to obtain for him the peerage he hadnever been able to get for himself. The Comtesse de Montcornet toldhim of a young lady in the department of the Orne, a MademoiselleBeatrix-Maximilienne-Rose de Casteran, the youngest daughter of theMarquis de Casteran, who wished to marry his two daughters withoutdowries in order to reserve his whole fortune for the Comte deCasteran, his son. The Casterans are, it seems, of the bluest blood. Beatrix, born and brought up at the chateau de Casteran, was twentyyears old at the time of her marriage in 1828. She was remarkable forwhat you provincials call originality, which is simply independence ofideas, enthusiasm, a feeling for the beautiful, and a certain impulseand ardor toward the things of Art. You may believe a poor woman whohas allowed herself to be drawn along the same lines, there is nothingmore dangerous for a woman. If she follows them, they lead her whereyou see me, and where the marquise came, --to the verge of abysses. Menalone have the staff on which to lean as they skirt those precipices, --a force which is lacking to most women, but which, if we do possessit, makes abnormal beings of us. Her old grandmother, the dowager deCasteran, was well pleased to see her marry a man to whom she wassuperior in every way. The Rochefides were equally satisfied with theCasterans, who connected them with the Verneuils, the d'Esgrignons, the Troisvilles, and gave them a peerage for their son in that lastbig batch of peers made by Charles X. , but revoked by the revolutionof July. The first days of marriage are perilous for little minds aswell as for great loves. Rochefide, being a fool, mistook his wife'signorance for coldness; he classed her among frigid, lymphatic women, and made that an excuse to return to his bachelor life, relying on thecoldness of the marquise, her pride, and the thousand barriers thatthe life of a great lady sets up about a woman in Paris. You'll knowwhat I mean when you go there. People said to Rochefide: 'You are verylucky to possess a cold wife who will never have any but headpassions. She will always be content if she can shine; her fancies arepurely artistic, her desires will be satisfied if she can make asalon, and collect about her distinguished minds; her debauches willbe in music and her orgies literary. ' Rochefide, however, is not anordinary fool; he has as much conceit and vanity as a clever man, which gives him a mean and squinting jealousy, brutal when it comes tothe surface, lurking and cowardly for six months, and murderous theseventh. He thought he was deceiving his wife, and yet he feared her, --two causes for tyranny when the day came on which the marquise lethim see that she was charitably assuming indifference to hisunfaithfulness. I analyze all this in order to explain her conduct. Beatrix had the keenest admiration for me; there is but one step, however, from admiration to jealousy. I have one of the mostremarkable salons in Paris; she wished to make herself another; and inorder to do so she attempted to draw away my circle. I don't know howto keep those who wish to leave me. She obtained the superficialpeople who are friends with every one from mere want of occupation, and whose object is to get out of a salon as soon as they have enteredit; but she did not have time to make herself a real society. In thosedays I thought her consumed with a desire for celebrity of one kind oranother. Nevertheless, she has really much grandeur of soul, a regalpride, distinct ideas, and a marvellous facility for apprehending andunderstanding all things; she can talk metaphysics and music, theologyand painting. You will see her, as a mature woman, what the rest of ussaw her as a bride. And yet there is something of affectation abouther in all this. She has too much the air of knowing abstruse things, --Chinese, Hebrew, hieroglyphics perhaps, or the papyrus that theywrapped round mummies. Personally, Beatrix is one of those blondesbeside whom Eve the fair would seem a Negress. She is slender andstraight and white as a church taper; her face is long and pointed;the skin is capricious, to-day like cambric, to-morrow darkened withlittle speckles beneath its surface, as if her blood had left adeposit of dust there during the night. Her forehead is magnificent, though rather daring. The pupils of her eyes are pale sea-green, floating on their white balls under thin lashes and lazy eyelids. Hereyes have dark rings around them often; her nose, which describesone-quarter of a circle, is pinched about the nostrils; very shrewd andclever, but supercilious. She has an Austrian mouth; the upper lip hasmore character than the lower, which drops disdainfully. Her palecheeks have no color unless some very keen emotion moves her. Her chinis rather fat; mine is not thin, and perhaps I do wrong to tell youthat women with fat chins are exacting in love. She has one of themost exquisite waists I ever saw; the shoulders are beautiful, but thebust has not developed as well, and the arms are thin. She has, however, an easy carriage and manner, which redeems all such defectsand sets her beauties in full relief. Nature has given her thatprincess air which can never be acquired; it becomes her, and revealsat sudden moments the woman of high birth. Without being faultlesslybeautiful, or prettily pretty, she produces, when she chooses, ineffaceable impressions. She has only to put on a gown of cherryvelvet with clouds of lace, and wreathe with roses that angelic hairof hers, which resembles floods of light, and she becomes divine. If, on some excuse or other, she could wear the costume of the time whenwomen had long, pointed bodices, rising, slim and slender, fromvoluminous brocaded skirts with folds so heavy that they stood alone, and could hide her arms in those wadded sleeves with ruffles, fromwhich the hand comes out like a pistil from a calyx, and could flingback the curls of her head into the jewelled knot behind her head, Beatrix would hold her own victoriously with ideal beauties like/that/--"

And Felicite showed Calyste a fine copy of a picture by Mieris, inwhich was a woman robed in white satin, standing with a paper in herhand, and singing with a Brabancon seigneur, while a Negro beside thempoured golden Spanish wine into a goblet, and the old housekeeper inthe background arranged some biscuits. 

"Fair women, blonds, " said Camille, "have the advantage over us poorbrown things of a precious diversity; there are a hundred ways for ablonde to charm, and only one for a brunette. Besides, blondes aremore womanly; we are too like men, we French brunettes--Well, well!"she cried, "pray don't fall in love with Beatrix from the portrait Iam making of her, like that prince, I forget his name, in the ArabianNights. You would be too late, my dear boy. "

These words were said pointedly. The admiration depicted on the youngman's face was more for the picture than for the painter whose /faire/was failing of its purpose. As she spoke, Felicite was employing allthe resources of her eloquent physiognomy. 

"Blond as she is, however, " she went on, "Beatrix has not the grace ofher color; her lines are severe; she is elegant, but hard; her facehas a harsh contour, though at times it reveals a soul with Southernpassions; an angel flashes out and then expires. Her eyes are thirsty. She looks best when seen full face; the profile has an air of beingsqueezed between two doors. You will see if I am mistaken. I will tellyou now what made us intimate friends. For three years, from 1828 to1831, Beatrix, while enjoying the last fetes of the Restoration, making the round of the salons, going to court, taking part in thefancy-balls of the Elysee-Bourbon, was all the while judging men, andthings, events, and life itself, from the height of her own thought. Her mind was busy. These first years of the bewilderment the worldcaused her prevented her heart from waking up. From 1830 to 1831 shespent the time of the revolutionary disturbance at her husband'scountry-place, where she was bored like a saint in paradise. On herreturn to Paris she became convinced, perhaps justly, that therevolution of July, in the minds of some persons purely political, would prove to be a moral revolution. The social class to which shebelonged, not being able, during its unhoped-for triumph in thefifteen years of the Restoration to reconstruct itself, was about togo to pieces, bit by bit, under the battering-ram of the bourgeoisie. She heard the famous words of Monsieur Laine: 'Kings are departing!'This conviction, I believe was not without its influence on herconduct. She took an intellectual part in the new doctrines, whichswarmed, during the three years succeeding July, 1830, like gnats inthe sunshine, and turned some female heads. But, like all nobles, Beatrix, while thinking these novel ideals superb, wanted always toprotect the nobility. Finding before long that there was no place inthis new regime for individual superiority, seeing that the highernobility were beginning once more the mute opposition it had formerlymade to Napoleon, --which was, in truth, its wisest course under anempire of deeds and facts, but which in an epoch of moral causes wasequivalent to abdication, --she chose personal happiness rather thansuch eclipse. About the time we were all beginning to breathe again, Beatrix met at my house a man with whom I had expected to end my days, --Gennaro Conti, the great composer, a man of Neapolitan origin, though born in Marseilles. Conti has a brilliant mind; as a composerhe has talent, though he will never attain to the first rank. WithoutRossini, without Meyerbeer, he might perhaps have been taken for a manof genius. He has one advantage over those men, --he is in vocal musicwhat Paganini is on the violin, Liszt on the piano, Taglioni in theballet, and what the famous Garat was; at any rate he recalls thatgreat singer to those who knew him. His is not a voice, my friend, itis a soul. When its song replies to certain ideas, certain states offeeling difficult to describe in which a woman sometimes findsherself, that woman is lost. The marquise conceived the maddestpassion for him, and took him from me. The act was provincial, Iallow, but it was all fair play. She won my esteem and friendship bythe way she behaved to me. She thought me a woman who was likely todefend her own; she did not know that to me the most ridiculous thingin the world is such a struggle. She came to see me. That woman, proudas she is, was so in love that she told me her secret and made me thearbiter of her destiny. She was really adorable, and she kept herplace as woman and as marquise in my eyes. I must tell you, dearfriend, that while women are sometimes bad, they have hidden grandeursin their souls that men can never appreciate. Well, as I seem to bemaking my last will and testament like a woman on the verge of oldage, I shall tell you that I was ever faithful to Conti, and shouldhave been till death, and yet I /know him/. His nature is charming, apparently, and detestable beneath its surface. He is a charlatan inmatters of the heart. There are some men, like Nathan, of whom I havealready spoken to you, who are charlatans externally, and yet honest. Such men lie to themselves. Mounted on their stilts, they think theyare on their feet, and perform their jugglery with a sort ofinnocence; their humbuggery is in their blood; they are borncomedians, braggarts; extravagant in form as a Chinese vase; perhapsthey even laugh at themselves. Their personality is generous; likeMurat's kingly garments, it attracts danger. But Conti's duplicitywill be known only to the women who love him. In his art he has thatdeep Italian jealousy which led the Carlone to murder Piola, and stucka stiletto into Paesiello. That terrible envy lurks beneath thewarmest comradeship. Conti has not the courage of his vice; he smilesat Meyerbeer and flatters him, when he fain would tear him to bits. Heknows his weakness, and cultivates an appearance of sincerity; hisvanity still further leads him to play at sentiments which are farindeed from his real heart. He represents himself as an artist whoreceives his inspirations from heaven; Art is something saintly andsacred to him; he is fanatic; he is sublime in his contempt forworldliness; his eloquence seems to come from the deepest convictions. He is a seer, a demon, a god, an angel. Calyste, although I warn youabout him, you will be his dupe. That Southern nature, thatimpassioned artist is cold as a well-rope. Listen to him: the artistis a missionary. Art is a religion, which has its priests and ought tohave its martyrs. Once started on that theme, Gennaro reaches the mostdishevelled pathos that any German professor of philosophy everspluttered to his audience. You admire his convictions, but he hasn'tany. Bearing his hearers to heaven on a song which seems a mysteriousfluid shedding love, he casts an ecstatic glance upon them; he isexamining their enthusiasm; he is asking himself: 'Am I really a godto them?' and he is also thinking: 'I ate too much macaroni to-day. 'He is insatiable of applause, and he wins it. He delights, he isbeloved; he is admired whensoever he will. He owes his success more tohis voice than to his talent as a composer, though he would rather bea man of genius like Rossini than a performer like Rubini. I hadcommitted the folly of attaching myself to him, and I was determinedand resigned to deck this idol to the end. Conti, like a great manyartists, is dainty in all his ways; he likes his ease, his enjoyments;he is always carefully, even elegantly dressed. I do respect hiscourage; he is brave; bravery, they say, is the only virtue into whichhypocrisy cannot enter. While we were travelling I saw his couragetested; he risked the life he loved; and yet, strange contradiction! Ihave seen him, in Paris, commit what I call the cowardice of thought. My friend, all this was known to me. I said to the poor marquise: 'Youdon't know into what a gulf you are plunging. You are the Perseus of apoor Andromeda; you release me from my rock. If he loves you, so muchthe better! but I doubt it; he loves no one but himself. ' Gennaro wastransported to the seventh heaven of pride. I was not a marquise, Iwas not born a Casteran, and he forgot me in a day. I then gave myselfthe savage pleasure of probing that nature to the bottom. Certain ofthe result, I wanted to see the twistings and turnings Conti wouldperform. My dear child, I saw in one week actual horrors of shamsentiment, infamous buffooneries of feeling. I will not tell you aboutthem; you shall see the man here in a day or two. He now knows that Iknow him, and he hates me accordingly. If he could stab me with safetyto himself I shouldn't be alive two seconds. I have never said oneword of all this to Beatrix. The last and constant insult Gerannooffers me is to suppose that I am capable of communicating my sadknowledge of him to her; but he has no belief in the good feeling ofany human being. Even now he is playing a part with me; he is posingas a man who is wretched at having left me. You will find what I maycall the most penetrating cordiality about him; he is winning; he ischivalrous. To him, all women are madonnas. One must live with himlong before we get behind the veil of this false chivalry and learnthe invisible signs of his humbug. His tone of conviction abouthimself might almost deceive the Deity. You will be entrapped, my dearchild, by his catlike manners, and you will never believe in theprofound and rapid arithmetic of his inmost thought. But enough; letus leave him. I pushed indifference so far as to receive them togetherin my house. This circumstance kept that most perspicacious of allsocieties, the great world of Paris, ignorant of the affair. Thoughintoxicated with pride, Gennaro was compelled to dissimulate; and hedid it admirably. But violent passions will have their freedom at anycost. Before the end of the year, Beatrix whispered in my ear oneevening: 'My dear Felicite, I start to-morrow for Italy with Conti. ' Iwas not surprised; she regarded herself as united for life to Gennaro, and she suffered from the restraints imposed upon her; she escaped oneevil by rushing into a greater. Conti was wild with happiness, --thehappiness of vanity alone. 'That's what it is to love truly, ' he saidto me. 'How many women are there who would sacrifice their lives, their fortune, their reputation?'--'Yes, she loves you, ' I replied, 'but you do not love her. ' He was furious, and made me a scene; hestormed, he declaimed, he depicted his love, declaring that he hadnever supposed it possible to love as much. I remained impassible, andlent him money for his journey, which, being unexpected, found himunprepared. Beatrix left a letter for her husband and started the nextday for Italy. There she has remained two years; she has written to meseveral times, and her letters are enchanting. The poor child attachesherself to me as the only woman who will comprehend her. She says sheadores me. Want of money has compelled Gennaro to accept an offer towrite a French opera; he does not find in Italy the pecuniary gainswhich composers obtain in Paris. Here's the letter I receivedyesterday from Beatrix. Take it and read it; you can now understandit, --that is, if it is possible, at your age, to analyze the things ofthe heart. "

So saying, she held out the letter to him. 

At this moment Claude Vignon entered the room. At his unexpectedapparition Calyste and Felicite were both silent for a moment, --shefrom surprise, he from a vague uneasiness. The vast forehead, broadand high, of the new-comer, who was bald at the age of thirty-seven, now seemed darkened by annoyance. His firm, judicial mouth expressed ahabit of chilling sarcasm. Claude Vignon is imposing, in spite of theprecocious deteriorations of a face once magnificent, and now grownhaggard. Between the ages of eighteen and twenty-five he stronglyresembled the divine Raffaelle. But his nose, that feature of thehuman face that changes most, is growing to a point; the countenanceis sinking into mysterious depressions, the outlines are thickening;leaden tones predominate in the complexion, giving tokens ofweariness, although the fatigues of this young man are not apparent;perhaps some bitter solitude has aged him, or the abuse of his gift ofcomprehension. He scrutinizes the thought of every one, yet withoutdefinite aim or system. The pickaxe of his criticism demolishes, itnever constructs. Thus his lassitude is that of a mechanic, not of anarchitect. The eyes, of a pale blue, once brilliant, are clouded nowby some hidden pain, or dulled by gloomy sadness. Excesses have laiddark tints above the eyelids; the temples have lost their freshness. The chin, of incomparable distinction, is getting doubled, but withoutdignity. His voice, never sonorous, is weakening; without being eitherhoarse or extinct, it touches the confines of hoarseness andextinction. The impassibility of that fine head, the fixity of thatglance, cover irresolution and weakness, which the keenly intelligentand sarcastic smile belies. The weakness lies wholly in action, not inthought; there are traces of an encyclopedic comprehension on thatbrow, and in the habitual movement of a face that is childlike andsplendid both. The man is tall, slightly bent already, like all thosewho bear the weight of a world of thought. Such long, tall bodies arenever remarkable for continuous effort or creative activity. Charlemagne, Belisarious, and Constantine are noted exceptions to thisrule. 

Certainly Claude Vignon presents a variety of mysteries to be solved. In the first place, he is very simple and very wily. Though he fallsinto excesses with the readiness of a courtesan, his powers of thoughtremain untouched. Yet his intellect, which is competent to criticiseart, science, literature, and politics, is incompetent to guide hisexternal life. Claude contemplates himself within the domain of hisintellectual kingdom, and abandons his outer man with Diogenicindifference. Satisfied to penetrate all, to comprehend all bythought, he despises materialities; and yet, if it becomes a questionof creating, doubt assails him; he sees obstacles, he is not inspiredby beauties, and while he is debating means, he sits with his armspendant, accomplishing nothing. He is the Turk of the intellect madesomnolent by meditation. Criticism is his opium; his harem of books toread disgusts him with real work. Indifferent to small things as wellas great things, he is sometimes compelled, by the very weight of hishead, to fall into a debauch, and abdicate for a few hours the fatalpower of omnipotent analysis. He is far too preoccupied with the wrongside of genius, and Camille Maupin's desire to put him back on theright side is easily conceivable. The task was an attractive one. Claude Vignon thinks himself a great politician as well as a greatwriter; but this unpublished Machiavelli laughs within himself at allambitions; he knows what he can do; he has instinctively taken themeasure of his future on his faculties; he sees his greatness, but healso sees obstacles, grows alarmed or disgusted, lets the time rollby, and does not go to work. Like Etienne Lousteau the feuilletonist, like Nathan the dramatic author, like Blondet, another journalist, hecame from the ranks of the bourgeoisie, to which we owe the greaternumber of our writers. 

"Which way did you come?" asked Mademoiselle des Touches, coloringwith either pleasure or surprise. '

"By the door, " replied Claude Vignon, dryly. 

"Oh, " she cried, shrugging her shoulders, "I am aware that you are nota man to climb in by a window. "

"Scaling a window is a badge of honor for a beloved woman. "

"Enough!" said Felicite. 

"Am I in the way?" asked Claude. 

"Monsieur, " said Calyste, artlessly, "this letter--"

"Pray keep it; I ask no questions; at our age we understand suchaffairs, " he answered, interrupting Calyste with a sardonic air. 

"But, monsieur, " began Calyste, much provoked. 

"Calm yourself, young man; I have the utmost indulgence forsentiments. "

"My dear Calyste, " said Camille, wishing to speak. 

"'Dear'?" said Vignon, interrupting her. 

"Claude is joking, " said Camille, continuing her remarks to Calyste. "He is wrong to do it with you, who know nothing of Parisian ways. "

"I did not know that I was joking, " said Claude Vignon, very gravely. 

"Which way did you come?" asked Felicite again. "I have been watchingthe road to Croisic for the last two hours. "

"Not all the time, " replied Vignon. 

"You are too bad to jest in this way. "

"Am I jesting?"

Calyste rose. 

"Why should you go so soon? You are certainly at your ease here, " saidVignon. 

"Quite the contrary, " replied the angry young Breton, to whom CamilleMaupin stretched out a hand, which he took and kissed, dropping a tearupon it, after which he took his leave. 

"I should like to be that little young man, " said the critic, sittingdown, and taking one end of the hookah. "How he will love!"

"Too much; for then he will not be loved in return, " repliedMademoiselle des Touches. "Madame de Rochefide is coming here, " sheadded. 

"You don't say so!" exclaimed Claude. "With Conti?"

"She will stay here alone, but he accompanies her. "

"Have they quarrelled?"

"No. "

"Play me a sonata of Beethoven's; I know nothing of the music he wrotefor the piano. "

Claude began to fill the tube of the hookah with Turkish tobacco, allthe while examining Camille much more attentively than she observed. Adreadful thought oppressed him; he fancied he was being used for ablind by this woman. The situation was a novel one. 

Calyste went home thinking no longer of Beatrix de Rochefide and herletter; he was furious against Claude Vignon for what he consideredthe utmost indelicacy, and he pitied poor Felicite. How was itpossible to be beloved by that sublime creature and not adore her onhis knees, not believe her on the faith of a glance or a smile? Hefelt a desire to turn and rend that cold, pale spectre of a man. Ignorant he might be, as Felicite had told him, of the tricks ofthought of the jesters of the press, but one thing he knew--Love wasthe human religion. 

When his mother saw him entering the court-yard she uttered anexclamation of joy, and Zephirine whistled for Mariotte. 

"Mariotte, the boy is coming! cook the fish!"

"I see him, mademoiselle, " replied the woman. 

Fanny, uneasy at the sadness she saw on her son's brow, picked up herworsted-work; the old aunt took out her knitting. The baron gave hisarm-chair to his son and walked about the room, as if to stretch hislegs before going out to take a turn in the garden. No Flemish orDutch picture ever presented an interior in tones more mellow, peopledwith faces and forms so harmoniously blending. The handsome young manin his black velvet coat, the mother, still so beautiful, and the agedbrother and sister framed by that ancient hall, were a moving domesticharmony. 

Fanny would fain have questioned Calyste, but he had already pulled aletter from his pocket, --that letter of the Marquise Beatrix, whichwas, perhaps, destined to destroy the happiness of this noble family. As he unfolded it, Calyste's awakened imagination showed him themarquise dressed as Camille Maupin had fancifully depicted her. 

 From the Marquise de Rochefide to Mademoiselle des Touches. 

Genoa, July 2. 

 I have not written to you since our stay in Florence, my dear friend, for Venice and Rome have absorbed my time, and, as you know, happiness occupies a large part of life; so far, we have neither of us dropped from its first level. I am a little fatigued; for when one has a soul not easy to /blaser/, the constant succession of enjoyments naturally causes lassitude. 

 Our friend has had a magnificent triumph at the Scala and the Fenice, and now at the San Carlo. Three Italian operas in two years! You cannot say that love has made him idle. We have been warmly received everywhere, --though I myself would have preferred solitude and silence. Surely that is the only suitable manner of life for women who have placed themselves in direct opposition to society? I expected such a life; but love, my dear friend, is a more exacting master than marriage, --however, it is sweet to obey him; though I did not think I should have to see the world again, even by snatches, and the attentions I receive are so many stabs. I am no longer on a footing of equality with the highest rank of women; and the more attentions are paid to me, the more my inferiority is made apparent. 

 Gennaro could not comprehend this sensitiveness; but he has been so happy that it would ill become me not to have sacrificed my petty vanity to that great and noble thing, --the life of an artist. We women live by love, whereas men live by love and action; otherwise they would not be men. Still, there are great disadvantages for a woman in the position in which I have put myself. You have escaped them; you continue to be a person in the eyes of the world, which has no rights over you; you have your own free will, and I have lost mine. I am speaking now of the things of the heart, not those of social life, which I have utterly renounced. You can be coquettish and self-willed, and have all the graces of a woman who loves, a woman who can give or refuse her love as she pleases; you have kept the right to have caprices, in the interests even of your love. In short, to-day you still possess your right of feeling, while I, I have no longer any liberty of heart, which I think precious to exercise in love, even though the love itself may be eternal. I have no right now to that privilege of quarrelling in jest to which so many women cling, and justly; for is it not the plummet line with which to sound the hearts of men? I have no threat at my command. I must draw my power henceforth from obedience, from unlimited gentleness; I must make myself imposing by the greatness of my love. I would rather die than leave Gennaro, and my pardon lies in the sanctity of my love. Between social dignity and my petty personal dignity, I did right not to hesitate. If at times I have a few melancholy feelings, like clouds that pass through a clear blue sky, and to which all women like to yield themselves, I keep silence about them; they might seem like regrets. Ah me! I have so fully understood the obligations of my position that I have armed myself with the utmost indulgence; but so far, Gennaro has not alarmed my susceptible jealousy. I don't as yet see where that dear great genius may fail. 

 Dear angel, I am like those pious souls who argue with their God, for are not you my Providence? do I not owe my happiness to you? You must never doubt, therefore, that you are constantly in my thoughts. 

 I have seen Italy at last; seen it as you saw it, and as it ought to be seen, --lighted to our souls by love, as it is by its own bright sun and its masterpieces. I pity those who, being moved to adoration at every step, have no hand to press, no heart in which to shed the exuberance of emotions which calm themselves when shared. These two years have been to me a lifetime, in which my memory has stored rich harvests. Have you made plans, as I do, to stay forever at Chiavari, to buy a palazzo in Venice, a summer-house at Sorrento, a villa in Florence? All loving women dread society; but I, who am cast forever outside of it, ought I not to bury myself in some beautiful landscape, on flowery slopes, facing the sea, or in a valley that equals a sea, like that of Fiesole?

 But alas! we are only poor artists, and want of money is bringing these two bohemians back to Paris. Gennaro does not want me to feel that I have lost my luxury, and he wishes to put his new work, a grand opera, into rehearsal at once. You will understand, of course, my dearest, that I cannot set foot in Paris. I could not, I would not, even if it costs me my love, meet one of those glances of women, or of men, which would make me think of murder or suicide. Yes, I could hack in pieces whoever insulted me with pity; like Chateauneuf, who, in the time of Henri III. , I think, rode his horse at the Provost of Paris for a wrong of that kind, and trampled him under hoof. 

 I write, therefore, to say that I shall soon pay you a visit at Les Touches. I want to stay there, in that Chartreuse, while awaiting the success of our Gennaro's opera. You will see that I am bold with my benefactress, my sister; but I prove, at any rate, that the greatness of obligations laid upon me has not led me, as it does so many people, to ingratitude. You have told me so much of the difficulties of the land journey that I shall go to Croisic by water. This idea came to me on finding that there is a little Danish vessel now here, laden with marble, which is to touch at Croisic for a cargo of salt on its way back to the Baltic. I shall thus escape the fatigue and the cost of the land journey. Dear Felicite, you are the only person with whom I could be alone without Conti. Will it not be some pleasure to have a woman with you who understands your heart as fully as you do hers?

 Adieu, /a bientot/. The wind is favorable, and I set sail, wafting you a kiss. 

Beatrix. 

"Ah! she loves, too!" thought Calyste, folding the letter sadly. 

That sadness flowed to the heart of the mother as if some gleam hadlighted up a gulf to her. The baron had gone out; Fanny went to thedoor of the tower and pushed the bolt, then she returned, and leanedupon the back of her boy's chair, like the sister of Dido in Guerin'spicture, and said, --

"What is it, my Calyste? what makes you so sad? You promised toexplain to me these visits to Les Touches; I am to bless its mistress, --at least, you said so. "

"Yes, indeed you will, dear mother, " he replied. "She has shown me theinsufficiency of my education at an epoch when the nobles ought topossess a personal value in order to give life to their rank. I was asfar from the age we live in as Guerande is from Paris. She has been, as it were, the mother of my intellect. "

"I cannot bless her for that, " said the baroness, with tears in hereyes. 

"Mamma!" cried Calyste, on whose forehead those hot tears fell, twopearls of sorrowful motherhood, "mamma, don't weep! Just now, when Iwanted to do her a service, and search the country round, she said, 'It will make your mother so uneasy. '"

"Did she say that? Then I can forgive her many things, " replied Fanny. 

"Felicite thinks only of my good, " continued Calyste. "She oftenchecks the lively, venturesome language of artists so as not to shakeme in a faith which is, though she knows it not, unshakable. She hastold me of the life in Paris of several young men of the highestnobility coming from their provinces, as I might do, --leaving familieswithout fortune, but obtaining in Paris, by the power of their willand their intellect, a great career. I can do what the Baron deRastignac, now a minister of State, has done. Felicite has taught me;I read with her; she gives me lessons on the piano; she is teaching meItalian; she has initiated me into a thousand social secrets, aboutwhich no one in Guerande knows anything at all. She could not give methe treasures of her love, but she has given me those of her vastintellect, her mind, her genius. She does not want to be a pleasure, but a light to me; she lessens not one of my faiths; she herself hasfaith in the nobility, she loves Brittany, she--"

"She has changed our Calyste, " said his blind old aunt, interruptinghim. "I do not understand one word he has been saying. You have asolid roof over your head, my good nephew; you have parents andrelations who adore you, and faithful servants; you can marry somegood little Breton girl, religious and accomplished, who will make youhappy. Reserve your ambitions for your eldest son, who may be fourtimes as rich as you, if you choose to live tranquilly, thriftily, inobscurity, --but in the peace of God, --in order to release the burdenson your estate. It is all as simple as a Breton heart. You will be, not so rapidly perhaps, but more solidly, a rich nobleman. "

"Your aunt is right, my darling; she plans for your happiness with asmuch anxiety as I do myself. If I do not succeed in marrying you to myniece, Margaret, the daughter of your uncle, Lord Fitzwilliam, it isalmost certain that Mademoiselle de Pen-Hoel will leave her fortune towhichever of her nieces you may choose. "

"And besides, there's a little gold to be found here, " added the oldaunt in a low voice, with a mysterious glance about her. 

"Marry! at my age!" he said, casting on his mother one of those lookswhich melt the arguments of mothers. "Am I to live without mybeautiful fond loves? Must I never tremble or throb or fear or gasp, or lie beneath implacable looks and soften them? Am I never to knowbeauty in its freedom, the fantasy of the soul, the clouds that coursethrough the azure of happiness, which the breath of pleasuredissipates? Ah! shall I never wander in those sweet by-paths moistwith dew; never stand beneath the drenching of a gutter and not knowit rains, like those lovers seen by Diderot; never take, like the Ducde Lorraine, a live coal in my hand? Are there no silken ladders forme, no rotten trellises to cling to and not fall? Shall I know nothingof woman but conjugal submission; nothing of love but the flame of itslamp-wick? Are my longings to be satisfied before they are roused?Must I live out my days deprived of that madness of the heart thatmakes a man and his power? Would you make me a married monk? No! Ihave eaten of the fruit of Parisian civilization. Do you not see thatyou have, by the ignorant morals of this family, prepared the firethat consumes me, that /will/ consume me utterly, unless I can adorethe divineness I see everywhere, --in those sands gleaming in the sun, in the green foliage, in all the women, beautiful, noble, elegant, pictured in the books and in the poems I have read with Camille? Alas!there is but one such woman in Guerande, and it is you, my mother! Thebirds of my beautiful dream, they come from Paris, they fly from thepages of Scott, of Byron, --Parisina, Effie, Minna! yes, and that royalduchess, whom I saw on the moors among the furze and the ferns, whosevery aspect sent the blood to my heart. "

The baroness saw these thoughts flaming in the eyes of her son, clearer, more beautiful, more living than art can tell to those whoread them. She grasped them rapidly, flung to her as they were inglances like arrows from an upset quiver. Without having readBeaumarchais, she felt, as other women would have felt, that it wouldbe a crime to marry Calyste. 

"Oh! my child!" she said, taking him in her arms, and kissing thebeautiful hair that was still hers, "marry whom you will, and when youwill, but be happy! My part in life is not to hamper you. "

Mariotte came to lay the table. Gasselin was out exercising Calyste'shorse, which the youth had not mounted for two months. The threewomen, mother, aunt, and Mariotte, shared in the tender femininewiliness, which taught them to make much of Calyste when he dined athome. Breton plainness fought against Parisian luxury, now brought tothe very doors of Guerande. Mariotte endeavored to wean her youngmaster from the accomplished service of Camille Maupin's kitchen, justas his mother and aunt strove to hold him in the net of theirtenderness and render all comparison impossible. 

"There's a salmon-trout for dinner, Monsieur Calyste, and snipe, andpancakes such as I know you can't get anywhere but here, " saidMariotte, with a sly, triumphant look as she smoothed the cloth, acascade of snow. 

After dinner, when the old aunt had taken up her knitting, and therector and Monsieur du Halga had arrived, allured by their precious/mouche/, Calyste went back to Les Touches on the pretext of returningthe letter. 

Claude Vignon and Felicite were still at table. The great critic wassomething of a gourmand, and Felicite pampered the vice, knowing howindispensable a woman makes herself by such compliance. Thedinner-table presented that rich and brilliant aspect which modernluxury, aided by the perfecting of handicrafts, now gives to its service. The poor and noble house of Guenic little knew with what an adversary itwas attempting to compete, or what amount of fortune was necessary toenter the lists against the silverware, the delicate porcelain, thebeautiful linen, the silver-gilt service brought from Paris byMademoiselle des Touches, and the science of her cook. Calystedeclined the liqueurs contained in one of those superb cases ofprecious woods, which are something like tabernacles. 

"Here's the letter, " he said, with innocent ostentation, looking atClaude, who was slowly sipping a glass of /liqueur-des-iles/. 

"Well, what did you think of it?" asked Mademoiselle des Touches, throwing the letter across the table to Vignon, who began to read it, taking up and putting down at intervals his little glass. 

"I thought--well, that Parisian women were very fortunate to have menof genius to adore who adore them. "

"Ah! you are still in your village, " said Felicite, laughing. "What!did you not see that she loves him less, and--"

"That is evident, " said Claude Vignon, who had only read the firstpage. "Do people reason on their situation when they really love; arethey as shrewd as the marquise, as observing, as discriminating? Yourdear Beatrix is held to Conti now by pride only; she is condemned tolove him /quand meme/. "

"Poor woman!" said Camille. 

Calyste's eyes were fixed on the table; he saw nothing about him. Thebeautiful woman in the fanciful dress described that morning byFelicite appeared to him crowned with light; she smiled to him, shewaved her fan; the other hand, issuing from its ruffle of lace, fellwhite and pure on the heavy folds of her crimson velvet robe. 

"She is just the thing for you, " said Claude Vignon, smilingsardonically at Calyste. 

The young man was deeply wounded by the words, and by the manner inwhich they were said. 

"Don't put such ideas into Calyste's mind; you don't know howdangerous such jokes may prove to be, " said Mademoiselle des Touches, hastily. "I know Beatrix, and there is something too grandiose in hernature to allow her to change. Besides, Conti will be here. "

"Ha!" said Claude Vignon, satirically, "a slight touch of jealousy, eh?"

"Can you really think so?" said Camille, haughtily. 

"You are more perspicacious than a mother, " replied Claude Vignon, still sarcastically. 

"But it would be impossible, " said Camille, looking at Calyste. 

"They are very well matched, " remarked Vignon. "She is ten years olderthan he; and it is he who appears to be the girl--"

"A girl, monsieur, " said Calyste, waking from his reverie, "who hasbeen twice under fire in La Vendee! If the Cause had had twentythousand more such girls--"

"I was giving you some well-deserved praise, and that is easier thanto give you a beard, " remarked Vignon. 

"I have a sword for those who wear their beards too long, " criedCalyste. 

"And I am very good at an epigram, " said the other, smiling. "We areFrenchmen; the affair can easily be arranged. "

Mademoiselle des Touches cast a supplicating look on Calyste, whichcalmed him instantly. 

"Why, " said Felicite, as if to break up the discussion, "do young menlike my Calyste, begin by loving women of a certain age?"

"I don't know any sentiment more artless or more generous, " repliedVignon. "It is the natural consequence of the adorable qualities ofyouth. Besides, how would old women end if it were not for such love?You are young and beautiful, and will be for twenty years to come, soI can speak of this matter before you, " he added, with a keen look atMademoiselle des Touches. "In the first place the semi-dowagers, towhom young men pay their first court, know much better how to makelove than younger women. An adolescent youth is too like a young womanhimself for a young woman to please him. Such a passion trenches onthe fable of Narcissus. Besides that feeling of repugnance, there is, as I think, a mutual sense of inexperience which separates them. Thereason why the hearts of young women are only understood by maturemen, who conceal their cleverness under a passion real or feigned, isprecisely the same (allowing for the difference of minds) as thatwhich renders a woman of a certain age more adroit in attractingyouth. A young man feels that he is sure to succeed with her, and thevanities of the woman are flattered by his suit. Besides, isn't itnatural for youth to fling itself on fruits? The autumn of a woman'slife offers many that are very toothsome, --those looks, for instance, bold, and yet reserved, bathed with the last rays of love, so warm, sosweet; that all-wise elegance of speech, those magnificent shoulders, so nobly developed, the full and undulating outline, the dimpledhands, the hair so well arranged, so cared for, that charming nape ofthe neck, where all the resources of art are displayed to exhibit thecontrast between the hair and the flesh-tones, and to set in fullrelief the exuberance of life and love. Brunettes themselves are fairat such times, with the amber colors of maturity. Besides, such womenreveal in their smiles and display in their words a knowledge of theworld; they know how to converse; they can call up the whole of sociallife to make a lover laugh; their dignity and their pride arestupendous; or, in other moods, they can utter despairing cries whichtouch his soul, farewells of love which they take care to renderuseless, and only make to intensify his passion. Their devotions areabsolute; they listen to us; they love us; they catch, they cling tolove as a man condemned to death clings to the veriest trifles ofexistence, --in short, love, absolute love, is known only through them. I think such women can never be forgotten by a man, any more than hecan forget what is grand and sublime. A young woman has a thousanddistractions; these women have none. No longer have they self-love, pettiness, or vanity; their love--it is the Loire at its mouth, it isvast, it is swelled by all the illusions, all the affluents of life, and this is why--but my muse is dumb, " he added, observing theecstatic attitude of Mademoiselle des Touches, who was pressingCalyste's hand with all her strength, perhaps to thank him for havingbeen the occasion of such a moment, of such an eulogy, so lofty thatshe did not see the trap that it laid for her. 

During the rest of the evening Claude Vignon and Felicite sparkledwith wit and happy sayings; they told anecdotes, and describedParisian life to Calyste, who was charmed with Claude, for mind hasimmense seductions for persons who are all heart. 

"I shouldn't be surprised to see the Marquise de Rochefide and Conti, who, of course, will accompany her, at the landing-place to-morrow, "said Claude Vignon, as the evening ended. "When I was at Croisic thisafternoon, the fishermen were saying that they had seen a littlevessel, Danish, Swedish, or Norwegian, in the offing. "

This speech brought a flush to the cheeks of the impassible Camille. 

Again Madame du Guenic sat up till one o'clock that night, waiting forher son, unable to imagine why he should stay so late if Mademoiselledes Touches did not love him. 

"He must be in their way, " said this adorable mother. "What were youtalking about?" she asked, when at last he came in. 

"Oh, mother, I have never before spent such a delightful evening. Genius is a great, a sublime thing! Why didn't you give me genius?With genius we can make our lives, we can choose among all women thewoman to love, and she must be ours. "

"How handsome you are, my Calyste!"

"Claude Vignon is handsome. Men of genius have luminous foreheads andeyes, through which the lightnings flash--but I, alas! I know nothing--only to love. "

"They say that suffices, my angel, " she said, kissing him on theforehead. 

"Do you believe it?"

"They say so, but I have never known it. "

Calyste kissed his mother's hand as if it was a sacred thing. 

"I will love you for all those that would have adored you, " he said. 

"Dear child! perhaps it is a little bit your duty to do so, for youinherit my nature. But, Calyste, do not be unwise, imprudent; try tolove only noble women, if love you must. "

 IX

 A FIRST MEETING

What young man full of abounding but restrained life and emotion wouldnot have had the glorious idea of going to Croisic to see Madame deRochefide land, and examine her incognito? Calyste greatly surprisedhis father and mother by going off in the morning without waiting forthe mid-day breakfast. Heaven knows with what agility the youngBreton's feet sped along. Some unknown vigor seemed lent to him; hewalked on air, gliding along by the walls of Les Touches that he mightnot be seen from the house. The adorable boy was ashamed of his ardor, and afraid of being laughed at; Felicite and Vignon were soperspicacious! besides, in such cases young fellows fancy that theirforeheads are transparent. 

He reached the shore, strengthened by a stone embankment, at the footof which is a house where travellers can take shelter in storms ofwind or rain. It is not always possible to cross the little arm of thesea which separates the landing-place of Guerande from Croisic; theweather may be bad, or the boats not ready; and during this time ofwaiting, it is necessary to put not only the passengers but theirhorses, donkeys, baggages, and merchandise under cover. 

Calyste presently saw two boats coming over from Croisic, laden withbaggage, --trunks, packages, bags, and chests, --the shape andappearance of which proved to a native of these parts that suchextraordinary articles must belong to travellers of distinction. Inone of the boats was a young woman in a straw bonnet with a greenveil, accompanied by a man. This boat was the first to arrive. Calystetrembled until on closer view he saw they were a maid and aman-servant. 

"Are you going over to Croisic, Monsieur Calyste?" said one of theboatmen; to whom he replied with a shake of the head, annoyed at beingcalled by his name. 

He was captivated by the sight of a chest covered with tarred cloth onwhich were painted the words, MME. LA MARQUISE DE ROCHEFIDE. The nameshone before him like a talisman; he fancied there was somethingfateful in it. He knew in some mysterious way, which he could notdoubt, that he should love that woman. Why? In the burning desert ofhis new and infinite desires, still vague and without an object, hisfancy fastened with all its strength on the first woman that presentedherself. Beatrix necessarily inherited the love which Camille hadrejected. 

Calyste watched the landing of the luggage, casting from time to timea glance at Croisic, from which he hoped to see another boat put outto cross to the little promontory, and show him Beatrix, already tohis eyes what Beatrice was to Dante, a marble statue on which to hanghis garlands and his flowers. He stood with arms folded, lost inmeditation. Here is a fact worthy of remark, which, nevertheless, hasnever been remarked: we often subject ourselves to sentiments by ourown volition, --deliberately bind ourselves, and create our own fate;chance has not as much to do with it as we believe. 

"I don't see any horses, " said the maid, sitting on a trunk. 

"And I don't see any road, " said the footman. 

"Horses have been here, though, " replied the woman, pointing to theproofs of their presence. "Monsieur, " she said, addressing Calyste, "is this really the way to Guerande?"

"Yes, " he replied, "are you expecting some one to meet you?"

"We were told that they would fetch us from Les Touches. If they don'tcome, " she added to the footman, "I don't know how Madame la marquisewill manage to dress for dinner. You had better go and findMademoiselle des Touches. Oh! what a land of savages!"

Calyste had a vague idea of having blundered. 

"Is your mistress going to Les Touches?" he inquired. 

"She is there; Mademoiselle came for her this morning at seveno'clock. Ah! here come the horses. "

Calyste started toward Guerande with the lightness and agility of achamois, doubling like a hare that he might not return upon his tracksor meet any of the servants of Les Touches. He did, however, meet twoof them on the narrow causeway of the marsh along which he went. 

"Shall I go in, or shall I not?" he thought when the pines of LesTouches came in sight. He was afraid; and continued his way rathersulkily to Guerande, where he finished his excursion on the mall andcontinued his reflections. 

"She has no idea of my agitation, " he said to himself. 

His capricious thoughts were so many grapnels which fastened his heartto the marquise. He had known none of these mysterious terrors andjoys in his intercourse with Camille. Such vague emotions rise likepoems in the untutored soul. Warmed by the first fires of imagination, souls like his have been known to pass through all phases ofpreparation and to reach in silence and solitude the very heights oflove, without having met the object of so many efforts. 

Presently Calyste saw, coming toward him, the Chevalier du Halga andMademoiselle de Pen-Hoel, who were walking together on the mall. Heheard them say his name, and he slipped aside out of sight, but notout of hearing. The chevalier and the old maid, believing themselvesalone, were talking aloud. 

"If Charlotte de Kergarouet comes, " said the chevalier, "keep her fouror five months. How can you expect her to coquette with Calyste? Sheis never here long enough to undertake it. Whereas, if they see eachother every day, those two children will fall in love, and you canmarry them next winter. If you say two words about it to Charlotteshe'll say four to Calyste, and a girl of sixteen can certainly carryoff the prize from a woman of forty. "

Here the old people turned to retrace their steps and Calyste heard nomore. But remembering what his mother had told him, he sawMademoiselle de Pen-Hoel's intention, and, in the mood in which hethen was, nothing could have been more fatal. The mere idea of a girlthus imposed upon him sent him with greater ardor into his imaginarylove. He had never had a fancy for Charlotte de Kergarouet, and he nowfelt repugnance at the very thought of her. Calyste was quiteunaffected by questions of fortune; from infancy he had accustomed hislife to the poverty and the restricted means of his father's house. Ayoung man brought up as he had been, and now partially emancipated, was likely to consider sentiments only, and all his sentiments, allhis thought now belonged to the marquise. In presence of the portraitwhich Camille had drawn for him of her friend, what was that littleCharlotte? the companion of his childhood, whom he thought of as asister. 

He did not go home till five in the afternoon. As he entered the hallhis mother gave him, with a rather sad smile, the following letterfrom Mademoiselle des Touches:--

 My dear Calyste, --The beautiful marquise has come; we count on you to help us celebrate her arrival. Claude, always sarcastic, declares that you will play Bice and that she will be Dante. It is for our honor as Bretons, and yours as a du Guenic to welcome a Casteran. Come soon. Your friend, Camille Maupin. 

 Come as you are, without ceremony; otherwise you will put us to the blush. 

Calyste gave the letter to his mother and departed. 

"Who are the Casterans?" said Fanny to the baron. 

"An old Norman family, allied to William the Conqueror, " he replied. "They bear on a shield tierce fessed azure, gules and sable, a horserearing argent, shod with gold. That beautiful creature for whom theGars was killed at Fougeres in 1800 was the daughter of a Casteran whomade herself a nun, and became an abbess after the Duc de Verneuildeserted her. "

"And the Rochefides?"

"I don't know that name. I should have to see the blazon, " he replied. 

The baroness was somewhat reassured on hearing that the Marquise deRochefide was born of a noble family, but she felt that her son wasnow exposed to new seductions. 

Calyste as he walked along felt all sorts of violent and yet softinward movements; his throat was tight, his heart swelled, his brainwas full, a fever possessed him. He tried to walk slowly, but somesuperior power hurried him. This impetuosity of the several sensesexcited by vague expectation is known to all young men. A subtle fireflames within their breasts and darts outwardly about them, like therays of a nimbus around the heads of divine personages in works ofreligious art; through it they see all Nature glorious, and womanradiant. Are they not then like those haloed saints, full of faith, hope, ardor, purity?

The young Breton found the company assembled in the little salon ofCamille's suite of rooms. It was then about six o'clock; the sun, insetting, cast through the windows its ruddy light chequered by thetrees; the air was still; twilight, beloved of women, was spreadingthrough the room. 

"Here comes the future deputy of Brittany, " said Camille Maupin, smiling, as Calyste raised the tapestry portiere, --"punctual as aking. "

"You recognized his step just now, " said Claude to Felicite in a lowvoice. 

Calyste bowed low to the marquise, who returned the salutation with aninclination of her head; he did not look at her; but he took the handClaude Vignon held out to him and pressed it. 

"This is the celebrated man of whom we have talked so much, GennaroConti, " said Camille, not replying to Claude Vignon's remark. 

She presented to Calyste a man of medium height, thin and slender, with chestnut hair, eyes that were almost red, and a white skin, freckled here and there, whose head was so precisely the well-knownhead of Lord Byron (though rather better carried on his shoulders)that description is superfluous. Conti was rather proud of thisresemblance. 

"I am fortunate, " he said, "to meet Monsieur du Guenic during the oneday that I spend at Les Touches. "

"It was for me to say that to you, " replied Calyste, with a certainease. 

"He is handsome as an angel, " said the marquise in an under tone toFelicite. 

Standing between the sofa and the two ladies, Calyste heard the wordsconfusedly. He seated himself in an arm-chair and looked furtivelytoward the marquise. In the soft half-light he saw, reclining on adivan, as if a sculptor had placed it there, a white and serpentineshape which thrilled him. Without being aware of it, Felicite had doneher friend a service; the marquise was much superior to theunflattered portrait Camille had drawn of her the night before. Was itto do honor to the guest that Beatrix had wound into her hair thosetufts of blue-bells that gave value to the pale tints of her crepedcurls, so arranged as to fall around her face and play upon thecheeks? The circle of her eyes, which showed fatigue, was of thepurest mother-of-pearl, her skin was as dazzling as the eyes, andbeneath its whiteness, delicate as the satiny lining of an egg, lifeabounded in the beautiful blue veins. The delicacy of the features wasextreme; the forehead seemed diaphanous. The head, so sweet andfragrant, admirably joined to a long neck of exquisite moulding, lentitself to many and most diverse expressions. The waist, which could bespanned by the hands, had a charming willowy ease; the bare shoulderssparkled in the twilight like a white camellia. The throat, visible tothe eye though covered with a transparent fichu, allowed the gracefuloutlines of the bosom to be seen with charming roguishness. A gown ofwhite muslin, strewn with blue flowers, made with very large sleeves, a pointed body and no belt, shoes with strings crossed on the instepover Scotch thread stockings, showed a charming knowledge of the artof dress. Ear-rings of silver filagree, miracles of Genoese jewelry, destined no doubt to become the fashion, were in perfect harmony withthe delightful flow of the soft curls starred with blue-bells. 

Calyste's eager eye took in these beauties at a glance, and carvedthem on his soul. The fair Beatrix and the dark Felicite might havesat for those contrasting portraits in "keepsakes" which Englishdesigners and engravers seek so persistently. Here were the force andthe feebleness of womanhood in full development, a perfect antithesis. These two women could never be rivals; each had her own empire. Herewas the delicate campanula, or the lily, beside the scarlet poppy; aturquoise near a ruby. In a moment, as it were, --at first sight, asthe saying is, --Calyste was seized with a love which crowned thesecret work of his hopes, his fears, his uncertainties. Mademoiselledes Touches had awakened his nature; Beatrix inflamed both his heartand thoughts. The young Breton suddenly felt within him a power toconquer all things, and yield to nothing that stood in his way. Helooked at Conti with an envious, gloomy, savage rivalry he had neverfelt for Claude Vignon. He employed all his strength to controlhimself; but the inward tempest went down as soon as the eyes ofBeatrix turned to him, and her soft voice sounded in his ear. Dinnerwas announced. 

"Calyste, give your arm to the marquise, " said Mademoiselle desTouches, taking Conti with her right hand, and Claude Vignon with herleft, and drawing back to let the marquise pass. 

The descent of that ancient staircase was to Calyste like the momentof going into battle for the first time. His heart failed him, he hadnothing to say; a slight sweat pearled upon his forehead and wet hisback; his arm trembled so much that as they reached the lowest stepthe marquise said to him: "Is anything the matter?"

"Oh!" he replied, in a muffled tone, "I have never seen any woman sobeautiful as you, except my mother, and I am not master of myemotions. "

"But you have Camille Maupin before your eyes. "

"Ah! what a difference!" said Calyste, ingenuously. 

"Calyste, " whispered Felicite, who was just behind him, "did I nottell you that you would forget me as if I had never existed? Sitthere, " she said aloud, "beside the marquise, on her right, and you, Claude, on her left. As for you, Gennaro, I retain you by me; we willkeep a mutual eye on their coquetries. "

The peculiar accept which Camille gave to the last word struck ClaudeVignon's ear, and he cast that sly but half-abstracted look uponCamille which always denoted in him the closest observation. He neverceased to examine Mademoiselle des Touches throughout the dinner. 

"Coquetries!" replied the marquis, taking off her gloves, and showingher beautiful hands; "the opportunity is good, with a poet, " and shemotioned to Claude, "on one side, and poesy the other. "

At these words Conti turned and gave Calyste a look that was full offlattery. 

By artificial light, Beatrix seemed more beautiful than before. Thewhite gleam of the candles laid a satiny lustre on her forehead, lighted the spangles of her eyes, and ran through her swaying curls, touching them here and there into gold. She threw back the thin gauzescarf she was wearing and disclosed her neck. Calyste then saw itsbeautiful nape, white as milk, and hollowed near the head, until itslines were lost toward the shoulders with soft and flowing symmetry. This neck, so dissimilar to that of Camille, was the sign of a totallydifferent character in Beatrix. 

Calyste found much trouble in pretending to eat; nervous motionswithin him deprived him of appetite. Like other young men, his naturewas in the throes and convulsions which precede love, and carve itindelibly on the soul. At his age, the ardor of the heart, restrainedby moral ardor, leads to an inward conflict, which explains the longand respectful hesitations, the tender debatings, the absence of allcalculation, characteristic of young men whose hearts and lives arepure. Studying, though furtively, so as not to attract the notice ofConti, the various details which made the marquise so purelybeautiful, Calyste became, before long, oppressed by a sense of hermajesty; he felt himself dwarfed by the hauteur of certain of herglances, by the imposing expression of a face that was whollyaristocratic, by a sort of pride which women know how to express inslight motions, turns of the head, and slow gestures, effects lessplastic and less studied than we think. The false situation in whichBeatrix had placed herself compelled her to watch her own behavior, and to keep herself imposing without being ridiculously so. Women ofthe great world know how to succeed in this, which proves a fatal reefto vulgar women. 

The expression of Felicite's eyes made Beatrix aware of the inwardadoration she inspired in the youth beside her, and also that it wouldbe most unworthy on her part to encourage it. She therefore tookoccasion now and then to give him a few repressive glances, which fellupon his heart like an avalanche of snow. The unfortunate young fellowturned on Felicite a look in which she could read the tears he wassuppressing by superhuman efforts. She asked him in a friendly tonewhy he was eating nothing. The question piqued him, and he began toforce himself to eat and to take part in the conversation. 

But whatever he did, Madame de Rochefide paid little attention to him. Mademoiselle des Touches having started the topic of her journey toItaly she related, very wittily, many of its incidents, which madeClaude Vignon, Conti, and Felicite laugh. 

"Ah!" thought Calyste, "how far such a woman is from me! Will she everdeign to notice me?"

Mademoiselle des Touches was struck with the expression she now saw onCalyste's face, and tried to console him with a look of sympathy. Claude Vignon intercepted that look. From that moment the great criticexpanded into gaiety that overflowed in sarcasm. He maintained toBeatrix that love existed only by desire; that most women deceivedthemselves in loving; that they loved for reasons unknown to men andto themselves; that they wanted to deceive themselves, and that thebest among them were artful. 

"Keep to books, and don't criticise our lives, " said Camille, glancingat him imperiously. 

The dinner ceased to be gay. Claude Vignon's sarcasm had made the twowomen pensive. Calyste was conscious of pain in the midst of thehappiness he found in looking at Beatrix. Conti looked into the eyesof the marquise to guess her thoughts. When dinner was overMademoiselle des Touches took Calyste's arm, gave the other two men tothe marquise, and let them pass before her, that she might be alonewith the young Breton for a moment. 

"My dear Calyste, " she said, "you are acting in a manner thatembarrasses the marquise; she may be delighted with your admiration, but she cannot accept it. Pray control yourself. "

"She was hard to me, she will never care for me, " said Calyste, "andif she does not I shall die. "

"Die! you! My dear Calyste, you are a child. Would you have died forme?"

"You have made yourself my friend, " he answered. 

After the talk that follows coffee, Vignon asked Conti to singsomething. Mademoiselle des Touches sat down to the piano. Togethershe and Gennaro sang the /Dunque il mio bene tu mia sarai/, the lastduet of Zingarelli's "Romeo e Giulietta, " one of the most patheticpages of modern music. The passage /Di tanti palpiti/ expresses lovein all its grandeur. Calyste, sitting in the same arm-chair in whichFelicite had told him the history of the marquise, listened in raptdevotion. Beatrix and Vignon were on either side of the piano. Conti'ssublime voice knew well how to blend with that of Felicite. Both hadoften sung this piece; they knew its resources, and they put theirwhole marvellous gift into bringing them out. The music was at thismoment what its creator intended, a poem of divine melancholy, thefarewell of two swans to life. When it was over, all present wereunder the influence of feelings such as cannot express themselves byvulgar applause. 

"Ah! music is the first of arts!" exclaimed the marquise. 

"Camille thinks youth and beauty the first of poesies, " said ClaudeVignon. 

Mademoiselle des Touches looked at Claude with vague uneasiness. Beatrix, not seeing Calyste, turned her head as if to know what effectthe music had produced upon him, less by way of interest in him thanfor the gratification of Conti; she saw a white face bathed in tears. At the sight, and as if some sudden pain had seized her, she turnedback quickly and looked at Gennaro. Not only had Music arisen beforethe eyes of Calyste, touching him with her divine wand until he stoodin presence of Creation from which she rent the veil, but he wasdumfounded by Conti's genius. In spite of what Camille had told him ofthe musician's character, he now believed in the beauty of the soul, in the heart that expressed such love. How could he, Calyste, rivalsuch as an artist? What woman could ever cease to adore such genius?That voice entered the soul like another soul. The poor lad wasoverwhelmed by poesy, and his own despair. He felt himself of noaccount. This ingenuous admission of his nothingness could be readupon his face mingled with his admiration. He did not observe thegesture with which Beatrix, attracted to Calyste by the contagion of atrue feeling, called Felicite's attention to him. 

"Oh! the adorable heart!" cried Camille. "Conti, you will never obtainapplause of one-half the value of that child's homage. Let us sing thistrio. Beatrix, my dear, come. "

When the marquise, Camille, and Conti had arranged themselves at thepiano, Calyste rose softly, without attracting their attention, andflung himself on one of the sofas in the bedroom, the door of whichstood open, where he sat with his head in his hands, plunged inmeditation. 

 X

 DRAMA

"What is it, my child?" said Claude Vignon, who had slipped silentlyinto the bedroom after Calyste, and now took him by the hand. "Youlove; you think you are disdained; but it is not so. The field will befree to you in a few days and you will reign--beloved by more thanone. "

"Loved!" cried Calyste, springing up, and beckoning Claude into thelibrary, "Who loves me here?"

"Camille, " replied Claude. 

"Camille loves me? And you!--what of you?"

"I?" answered Claude, "I--" He stopped; sat down on a sofa and restedhis head with weary sadness on a cushion. "I am tired of life, but Ihave not the courage to quit it, " he went on, after a short silence. "I wish I were mistaken in what I have just told you; but for the lastfew days more than one vivid light has come into my mind. I did notwander about the marshes for my pleasure; no, upon my soul I did not!The bitterness of my words when I returned and found you with Camillewere the result of wounded feeling. I intend to have an explanationwith her soon. Two minds as clear-sighted as hers and mine cannotdeceive each other. Between two such professional duellists the combatcannot last long. Therefore I may as well tell you now that I shallleave Les Touches; yes, to-morrow perhaps, with Conti. After we aregone strange things will happen here. I shall regret not witnessingconflicts of passion of a kind so rare in France, and so dramatic. Youare very young to enter such dangerous lists; you interest me; were itnot for the profound disgust I feel for women, I would stay and helpyou play this game. It is difficult; you may lose it; you have to dowith two extraordinary women, and you feel too much for one to use theother judiciously. Beatrix is dogged by nature; Camille has grandeur. Probably you will be wrecked between those reefs, drawn upon them bythe waves of passion. Beware!"

Calyste's stupefaction on hearing these words enabled Claude to saythem without interruption and leave the young Breton, who remainedlike a traveller among the Alps to whom a guide has shown the depth ofsome abyss by flinging a stone into it. To hear from the lips ofClaude himself that Camille loved him, at the very moment when he feltthat he loved Beatrix for life, was a weight too heavy for his untriedsoul to bear. Goaded by an immense regret which now filled all thepast, overwhelmed with a sight of his position between Beatrix whom heloved and Camille whom he had ceased to love, the poor boy satdespairing and undecided, lost in thought. He sought in vain for thereasons which had made Felicite reject his love and bring ClaudeVignon from Paris to oppose it. Every now and then the voice ofBeatrix came fresh and pure to his ears from the little salon; asavage desire to rush in and carry her off seized him at such moments. What would become of him? What must he do? Could he come to LesTouches? If Camille loved him how could he come there to adoreBeatrix? He saw no solution to these difficulties. 

Insensibly to him silence now reigned in the house; he heard, butwithout noticing, the opening and shutting of doors. Then suddenlymidnight sounded on the clock of the adjoining bedroom, and the voicesof Claude and Camille roused him fully from his torpid contemplationof the future. Before he could rise and show himself, he heard thefollowing terrible words in the voice of Claude Vignon. 

"You came to Paris last year desperately in love with Calyste, " Claudewas saying to Felicite, "but you were horrified at the thought of theconsequences of such a passion at your age; it would lead you to agulf, to hell, to suicide perhaps. Love cannot exist unless it thinksitself eternal, and you saw not far before you a horrible parting; oldage you knew would end the glorious poem soon. You thought of'Adolphe, ' that dreadful finale of the loves of Madame de Stael andBenjamin Constant, who, however, were nearer of an age than you andCalyste. Then you took me, as soldiers use fascines to buildentrenchments between the enemy and themselves. You brought me to LesTouches to mask your real feelings and leave you safe to follow yourown secret adoration. The scheme was grand and ignoble both; but tocarry it out you should have chosen either a common man or one sopreoccupied by noble thoughts that you could easily deceive him. Youthought me simple and easy to mislead as a man of genius. I am not aman of genius, I am a man of talent, and as such I have divined you. When I made that eulogy yesterday on women of your age, explaining toyou why Calyste had loved you, do you suppose I took to myself yourravished, fascinated, fazzling glance? Had I not read into your soul?The eyes were turned on me, but the heart was throbbing for Calyste. You have never been loved, my poor Maupin, and you never will be afterrejecting the beautiful fruit which chance has offered to you at theportals of that hell of woman, the lock of which is the numeral 50!"

"Why has love fled me?" she said in a low voice. "Tell me, you whoknow all. "

"Because you are not lovable, " he answered. "You do not bend to love;love must bend to you. You may perhaps have yielded to some follies ofyouth, but there was no youth in your heart; your mind has too muchdepth; you have never been naive and artless, and you cannot begin tobe so now. Your charm comes from mystery; it is abstract, not active. Your strength repulses men of strength who fear a struggle. Your powermay please young souls, like that of Calyste, which like to beprotected; though, even them it wearies in the long run. You aregrand, and you are sublime; bear with the consequence of those twoqualities--they fatigue. "

"What a sentence!" cried Camille. "Am I not a woman? Do you think mean anomaly?"

"Possibly, " said Claude. 

"We will see!" said the woman, stung to the quick. 

"Farewell, my dear Camille; I leave to-morrow. I am not angry withyou, my dear; I think you the greatest of women, but if I continued toserve you as a screen, or a shield, " said Claude, with two significantinflections of his voice, "you would despise me. We can part nowwithout pain or remorse; we have neither happiness to regret nor hopesbetrayed. To you, as with some few but rare men of genius, love is notwhat Nature made it, --an imperious need, to the satisfaction of whichshe attaches great and passing joys, which die. You see love such asChristianity has created it, --an ideal kingdom, full of noblesentiments, of grand weaknesses, poesies, spiritual sensations, devotions of moral fragrance, entrancing harmonies, placed high aboveall vulgar coarseness, to which two creatures as one angel fly on thewings of pleasure. This is what I hoped to share; I thought I held inyou a key to that door, closed to so many, by which we may advancetoward the infinite. You were there already. In this you have misledme. I return to my misery, --to my vast prison of Paris. Such adeception as this, had it come to me earlier in life, would have mademe flee from existence; to-day it puts into my soul a disenchantmentwhich will plunge me forever into an awful solitude. I am without thefaith which helped the Fathers to people theirs with sacred images. Itis to this, my dear Camille, to this that the superiority of our mindhas brought us; we may, both of us, sing that dreadful hymn which apoet has put into the mouth of Moses speaking to the Almighty: 'LordGod, Thou hast made me powerful and solitary. '"

At this moment Calyste appeared. 

"I ought not to leave you ignorant that I am here, " he said. 

Mademoiselle des Touches showed the utmost fear; a sudden flushcolored her impassible face with tints of fire. During this strangescene she was more beautiful than at any other moment of her life. 

"We thought you gone, Calyste, " said Claude. "But this involuntarydiscretion on both sides will do no harm; perhaps, indeed, you may bemore at your ease at Les Touches by knowing Felicite as she is. Hersilence shows me I am not mistaken as to the part she meant me toplay. As I told you before, she loves you, but it is for yourself, notfor herself, --a sentiment that few women are able to conceive andpractise; few among them know the voluptuous pleasure of sufferingsborn of longing, --that is one of the magnificent passions reserved forman. But she is in some sense a man, " he added, sardonically. "Yourlove for Beatrix will make her suffer and make her happy too. "

Tears were in the eyes of Mademoiselle des Touches, who was unable tolook either at the terrible Vignon or the ingenuous Calyste. She wasfrightened at being understood; she had supposed to impossible fora man, however keen his perception, to perceive a delicacy soself-immolating, a heroism so lofty as her own. Her evident humiliationat this unveiling of her grandeur made Calyste share the emotion of thewoman he had held so high, and now beheld so stricken down. He threwhimself, from an irresistible impulse, at her feet, and kissed herhands, laying his face, covered with tears, upon them. 

"Claude, " she said, "do not abandon me, or what will become of me?"

"What have you to fear?" replied the critic. "Calyste has fallen inlove at first sight with the marquise; you cannot find a betterbarrier between you than that. This passion of his is worth more toyou than I. Yesterday there might have been some danger for you andfor him; to-day you can take a maternal interest in him, " he said, with a mocking smile, "and be proud of his triumphs. "

Mademoiselle des Touches looked at Calyste, who had raised his headabruptly at these words. Claude Vignon enjoyed, for his solevengeance, the sight of their confusion. 

"You yourself have driven him to Madame de Rochefide, " continuedClaude, "and he is now under the spell. You have dug your own grave. Had you confided in me, you would have escaped the sufferings thatawait you. "

"Sufferings!" cried Camille Maupin, taking Calyste's head in herhands, and kissing his hair, on which her tears fell plentifully. "No, Calyste; forget what you have heard; I count for nothing in all this. "

She rose and stood erect before the two men, subduing both with thelightning of her eyes, from which her soul shone out. 

"While Claude was speaking, " she said, "I conceived the beauty and thegrandeur of love without hope; it is the sentiment that brings usnearest God. Do not love me, Calyste; but I will love you as no womanwill!"

It was the cry of a wounded eagle seeking its eyrie. Claude himselfknelt down, took Camille's hand, and kissed it. 

"Leave us now, Calyste, " she said, "it is late, and your mother willbe uneasy. "

Calyste returned to Guerande with lagging steps, turning again andagain, to see the light from the windows of the room in which wasBeatrix. He was surprised himself to find how little pity he felt forCamille. But presently he felt once more the agitations of that scene, the tears she had left upon his hair; he suffered with her suffering;he fancied he heard the moans of that noble woman, so beloved, sodesired but a few short days before. 

When he opened the door of his paternal home, where total silencereigned, he saw his mother through the window, as she sat sewing bythe light of the curiously constructed lamp while she awaited him. Tears moistened the lad's eyes as he looked at her. 

"What has happened?" cried Fanny, seeing his emotion, which filled herwith horrible anxiety. 

For all answer, Calyste took his mother in his arms, and kissed her onher cheeks, her forehead and hair, with one of those passionateeffusions of feeling that comfort mothers, and fill them with thesubtle flames of the life they have given. 

"It is you I love, you!" cried Calyste, --"you, who live for me; you, whom I long to render happy!"

"But you are not yourself, my child, " said the baroness, looking athim attentively. "What has happened to you?"

"Camille loves me, but I love her no longer, " he answered. 

The next day, Calyste told Gasselin to watch the road toSaint-Nazaire, and let him know if the carriage of Mademoiselle desTouches passed over it. Gasselin brought word that the carriage hadpassed. 

"How many persons were in it?" asked Calyste. 

"Four, --two ladies and two gentlemen. "

"Then saddle my horse and my father's. "

Gasselin departed. 

"My, nephew, what mischief is in you now?" said his Aunt Zephirine. 

"Let the boy amuse himself, sister, " cried the baron. "Yesterday hewas dull as an owl; to-day he is gay as a lark. "

"Did you tell him that our dear Charlotte was to arrive to-day?" saidZephirine, turning to her sister-in-law. 

"No, " replied the baroness. 

"I thought perhaps he was going to meet her, " said Mademoiselle duGuenic, slyly. 

"If Charlotte is to stay three months with her aunt, he will haveplenty of opportunities to see her, " said his mother. 

"Mademoiselle de Pen-Hoel wants me to marry Charlotte, to save me fromperdition, " said Calyste, laughing. "I was on the mall when she andthe Chevalier du Halga were talking about it. She can't see that itwould be greater perdition for me to marry at my age--"

"It is written above, " said the old maid, interrupting Calyste, "thatI shall not die tranquil or happy. I wanted to see our familycontinued, and some, at least, of the estates brought back; but it isnot to be. What can you, my fine nephew, put in the scale against suchduties? Is it that actress at Les Touches?"

"What?" said the baron; "how can Mademoiselle des Touches hinderCalyste's marriage, when it becomes necessary for us to make it? Ishall go and see her. "

"I assure you, father, " said Calyste, "that Felicite will never be anobstacle to my marriage. "

Gasselin appeared with the horses. 

"Where are you going, chevalier?" said his father. 

"To Saint-Nazaire. "

"Ha, ha! and when is the marriage to be?" said the baron, believingthat Calyste was really in a hurry to see Charlotte de Kergarouet. "Itis high time I was a grandfather. Spare the horses, " he continued, ashe went on the portico with Fanny to see Calyste mount; "remember thatthey have more than thirty miles to go. "

Calyste started with a tender farewell to his mother. 

"Dear treasure!" she said, as she saw him lower his head to ridethrough the gateway. 

"God keep him!" replied the baron; "for we cannot replace him. "

The words made the baroness shudder. 

"My nephew does not love Charlotte enough to ride to Saint-Nazaireafter her, " said the old blind woman to Mariotte, who was clearing thebreakfast-table. 

"No; but a fine lady, a marquise, has come to Les Touches, and I'llwarrant he's after her; that's the way at his age, " said Mariotte. 

"They'll kill him, " said Mademoiselle du Guenic. 

"That won't kill him, mademoiselle; quite the contrary, " repliedMariotte, who seemed to be pleased with Calyste's behavior. 

The young fellow started at a great pace, until Gasselin asked him ifhe was trying to catch the boat, which, of course, was not at all hisdesire. He had no wish to see either Conti or Claude again; but he didexpect to be invited to drive back with the ladies, leaving Gasselinto lead his horse. He was gay as a bird, thinking to himself, --

"/She/ has just passed here; /her/ eyes saw those trees!--What alovely road!" he said to Gasselin. 

"Ah! monsieur, Brittany is the most beautiful country in all theworld, " replied the Breton. "Where could you find such flowers in thehedges, and nice cool roads that wind about like these?"

"Nowhere, Gasselin. "

"/Tiens/! here comes the coach from Nazaire, " cried Gasselinpresently. 

"Mademoiselle de Pen-Hoel and her niece will be in it. Let us hide, "said Calyste. 

"Hide! are you crazy, monsieur? Why, we are on the moor!"

The coach, which was coming up the sandy hill above Saint-Nazaire, wasfull, and, much to the astonishment of Calyste, there were no signs ofCharlotte. 

"We had to leave Mademoiselle de Pen-Hoel, her sister and niece; theyare dreadfully worried; but all my seats were engaged by thecustom-house, " said the conductor to Gasselin. 

"I am lost!" thought Calyste; "they will meet me down there. "

When Calyste reached the little esplanade which surrounds the churchof Saint-Nazaire, and from which is seen Paimboeuf and the magnificentMouths of the Loire as they struggle with the sea, he found Camilleand the marquise waving their handkerchiefs as a last adieu to twopassengers on the deck of the departing steamer. Beatrix was charmingas she stood there, her features softened by the shadow of arice-straw hat, on which were tufts and knots of scarlet ribbon. Shewore a muslin gown with a pattern of flowers, and was leaning with onewell-gloved hand on a slender parasol. Nothing is finer to the eyes thana woman poised on a rock like a statue on its pedestal. Conti could seeCalyste from the vessel as he approached Camille. 

"I thought, " said the young man, "that you would probably come backalone. "

"You have done right, Calyste, " she replied, pressing his hand. 

Beatrix turned round, saw her young lover, and gave him the mostimperious look in her repertory. A smile, which the marquise detectedon the eloquent lips of Mademoiselle des Touches, made her aware ofthe vulgarity of such conduct, worthy only of a bourgeoise. She thensaid to Calyste, smiling, --

"Are you not guilty of a slight impertinence in supposing that Ishould bore Camille, if left alone with her?"

"My dear, one man to two widows is none too much, " said Mademoiselledes Touches, taking Calyste's arm, and leaving Beatrix to watch thevessel till it disappeared. 

At this moment Calyste heard the approaching voices of Mademoiselle dePen-Hoel, the Vicomtesse de Kergarouet, Charlotte, and Gasselin, whowere all talking at once, like so many magpies. The old maid wasquestioning Gasselin as to what had brought him and his master toSaint-Nazaire; the carriage of Mademoiselle des Touches had alreadycaught her eye. Before the young Breton could get out of sight, Charlotte had seen him. 

"Why, there's Calyste!" she exclaimed eagerly. 

"Go and offer them seats in my carriage, " said Camille to Calyste;"the maid can sit with the coachman. I saw those ladies lose theirplaces in the mail-coach. "

Calyste, who could not help himself, carried the message. As soon asMadame de Kergarouet learned that the offer came from the celebratedCamille Maupin, and that the Marquise de Rochefide was of the party, she was much surprised at the objections raised by her elder sister, who refused positively to profit by what she called the devil'scarryall. At Nantes, which boasted of more civilization than Guerande, Camille was read and admired; she was thought to be the muse ofBrittany and an honor to the region. The absolution granted to her inParis by society, by fashion, was there justified by her great fortuneand her early successes in Nantes, which claimed the honor of havingbeen, if not her birthplace, at least her cradle. The viscountess, therefore, eager to see her, dragged her old sister forward, paying noattention to her jeremiads. 

"Good-morning, Calyste, " said Charlotte. 

"Oh! good-morning, Charlotte, " replied Calyste, not offering his arm. 

Both were confused; she by his coldness, he by his cruelty, as theywalked up the sort of ravine, which is called in Saint-Nazaire astreet, following the two sisters in silence. In a moment the littlegirl of sixteen saw her castle in Spain, built and furnished withromantic hopes, a heap of ruins. She and Calyste had played togetherso much in childhood, she was so bound up with him, as it were, thatshe had quietly supposed her future unassailable; she arrived now, swept along by thoughtless happiness, like a circling bird dartingdown upon a wheat-field, and lo! she was stopped in her flight, unableto imagine the obstacle. 

"What is the matter, Calyste?" she said, taking his hand. 

"Nothing, " replied the young man, releasing himself with cruel hasteas he remembered the projects of his aunt and her friend. 

Tears came into Charlotte's eyes. She looked at the handsome Calystewithout ill-humor; but a first spasm of jealousy seized her, and shefelt the dreadful madness of rivalry when she came in sight of the twoParisian women, and suspected the cause of his coldness. 

Charlotte de Kergarouet was a girl of ordinary height, and commonplacecoloring; she had a little round face, made lively by a pair of blackeyes which sparkled with cleverness, abundant brown hair, a roundwaist, a flat back, thin arms, and the curt, decided manner of aprovincial girl, who did not want to be taken for a little goose. Shewas the petted child of the family on account of the preference heraunt showed for her. At this moment she was wrapped in a mantle ofScotch merino in large plaids, lined with green silk, which she hadworn on the boat. Her travelling-dress, of some common stuff, chastelymade with a chemisette body and a pleated collar, was fated to appear, even to her own eyes, horrible in comparison with the fresh toilets ofBeatrix and Camille. She was painfully aware of the stockings soiledamong the rocks as she had jumped from the boat, of shabby leathershoes, chosen for the purpose of not spoiling better ones on thejourney, --a fixed principle in the manners and customs of provincials. 

As for the Vicomtesse de Kergarouet, she might stand as the type of aprovincial woman. Tall, hard, withered, full of pretensions, which didnot show themselves until they were mortified, talking much, andcatching, by dint of talking (as one cannons at billiards), a fewideas, which gave her the reputation of wit, endeavoring to humiliateParisians, whenever she met them, with an assumption of country wisdomand patronage, humbling herself to be exalted and furious at beingleft upon her knees; fishing, as the English say, for compliments, which she never caught; dressed in clothes that were exaggerated instyle, and yet ill cared for; mistaking want of good manners fordignity, and trying to embarrass others by paying no attention tothem; refusing what she desired in order to have it offered again, andto seem to yield only to entreaty; concerned about matters that othershave done with, and surprised at not being in the fashion; andfinally, unable to get through an hour without reference to Nantes, matters of social life in Nantes, complaints of Nantes, criticism ofNantes, and taking as personalities the remarks she forced out ofabsent-minded or wearied listeners. 

Her manners, language, and ideas had, more or less, descended to herfour daughters. To know Camille Maupin and Madame de Rochefide wouldbe for her a future, and the topic of a hundred conversations. Consequently, she advanced toward the church as if she meant to takeit by assault, waving her handkerchief, unfolded for the purpose ofdisplaying the heavy corners of domestic embroidery, and trimmed withflimsy lace. Her gait was tolerably bold and cavalier, which, however, was of no consequence in a woman forty-seven years of age. 

"Monsieur le chevalier, " she said to Camille and Beatrix, pointing toCalyste, who was mournfully following with Charlotte, "has conveyed tome your friendly proposal, but we fear--my sister, my daughter, andmyself--to inconvenience you. "

"Sister, I shall not put these ladies to inconvenience, " saidMademoiselle de Pen-Hoel, sharply; "I can very well find a horse inSaint-Nazaire to take me home. "

Camille and Beatrix exchanged an oblique glance, which Calysteintercepted, and that glance sufficed to annihilate all the memoriesof his childhood, all his beliefs in the Kergarouets and Pen-Hoels, and to put an end forever to the projects of the three families. 

"We can very well put five in the carriage, " replied Mademoiselle desTouches, on whom Jacqueline turned her back, "even if we wereinconvenienced, which cannot be the case, with your slender figures. Besides, I should enjoy the pleasure of doing a little service toCalyste's friends. Your maid, madame, will find a seat by thecoachman, and your luggage, if you have any, can go behind thecarriage; I have no footman with me. "

The viscountess was overwhelming in thanks, and complained that hersister Jacqueline had been in such a hurry to see her niece that shewould not give her time to come properly in her own carriage withpost-horses, though, to be sure, the post-road was not only longer, but more expensive; she herself was obliged to return almostimmediately to Nantes, where she had left three other little kittens, who were anxiously awaiting her. Here she put her arm roundCharlotte's neck. Charlotte, in reply, raised her eyes to her motherwith the air of a little victim, which gave an impression to onlookersthat the viscountess bored her four daughters prodigiously by draggingthem on the scene very much as Corporal Trim produces his cap in"Tristram Shandy. "

"You are a fortunate mother and--" began Camille, stopping short asshe remembered that Beatrix must have parted from her son when sheleft her husband's house. 

"Oh, yes!" said the viscountess; "if I have the misfortune of spendingmy life in the country, and, above all, at Nantes, I have at least theconsolation of being adored by my children. Have you children?" shesaid to Camille. 

"I am Mademoiselle des Touches, " replied Camille. "Madame is theMarquise de Rochefide. "

"Then I must pity you for not knowing the greatest happiness thatthere is for us poor, simple women--is not that so, madame?" said theviscountess, turning to Beatrix. "But you, mademoiselle, have so manycompensations. "

The tears came into Madame de Rochefide's eyes, and she turned awaytoward the parapet to hide them. Calyste followed her. 

"Madame, " said Camille, in a low voice to the viscountess, "are younot aware that the marquise is separated from her husband? She has notseen her son for two years, and does not know when she will see him. "

"You don't say so!" said Madame de Kergarouet. "Poor lady! is shelegally separated?"

"No, by mutual consent, " replied Camille. 

"Ah, well! I understand that, " said the viscountess boldly. 

Old Mademoiselle de Pen-Hoel, furious at being thus dragged into theenemy's camp, had retreated to a short distance with her dearCharlotte. Calyste, after looking about him to make sure that no onecould see him, seized the hand of the marquise, kissed it, and left atear upon it. Beatrix turned round, her tears dried by anger; she wasabout to utter some terrible word, but it died upon her lips as shesaw the grief on the angelic face of the youth, as deeply touched byher present sorrow as she was herself. 

"Good heavens, Calyste!" said Camille in his ear, as he returned withMadame de Rochefide, "are you to have /that/ for a mother-in-law, andthe little one for a wife?"

"Because her aunt is rich, " replied Calyste, sarcastically. 

The whole party now moved toward the inn, and the viscountess feltherself obliged to make Camille a speech on the savages ofSaint-Nazaire. 

"I love Brittany, madame, " replied Camille, gravely. "I was born atGuerande. "

Calyste could not help admiring Mademoiselle des Touches, who, by thetone of her voice, the tranquillity of her look, and her quiet manner, put him at his ease, in spite of the terrible declarations of thepreceding night. She seemed, however, a little fatigued; her eyes wereenlarged by dark circles round them, showing that he had not slept;but the brow dominated the inward storm with cold placidity. 

"What queens!" he said to Charlotte, calling her attention to themarquise and Camille as he gave the girl his arm, to Mademoiselle dePen-Hoel's great satisfaction. 

"What an idea your mother has had, " said the old maid, taking herniece's other arm, "to put herself in the company of that reprobatewoman!"

"Oh, aunt, a woman who is the glory of Brittany!"

"The shame, my dear. Mind that you don't fawn upon her in that way. "

"Mademoiselle Charlotte is right, " said Calyste; "you are not just. "

"Oh, you!" replied Mademoiselle de Pen-Hoel, "she has bewitched you. "

"I regard her, " said Calyste, "with the same friendship that I feelfor you. "

"Since when have the du Guenics taken to telling lies?" asked the oldmaid. 

"Since the Pen-Hoels have grown deaf, " replied Calyste. 

"Are you not in love with her?" demanded the old maid. 

"I have been, but I am so no longer, " he said. 

"Bad boy! then why have you given us such anxiety? I know very wellthat love is only foolishness; there is nothing solid but marriage, "she remarked, looking at Charlotte. 

Charlotte, somewhat reassured, hoped to recover her advantages byrecalling the memories of childhood. She leaned affectionately onCalyste's arm, who resolved in his own mind to have a clearexplanation with the little heiress. 

"Ah! what fun we shall have at /mouche/, Calyste!" she said; "whatgood laughs we used to have over it!"

The horses were now put in; Camille placed Madame de Kergarouet andCharlotte on the back seat. Jacqueline having disappeared, sheherself, with the marquise, sat forward. Calyste was, of course, obliged to relinquish the pleasure on which he had counted, of drivingback with Camille and Beatrix, but he rode beside the carriage all theway; the horses, being tired with the journey, went slowly enough toallow him to keep his eyes on Beatrix. 

History must lose the curious conversations that went on between thesefour persons whom accident had so strangely united in this carriage, for it is impossible to report the hundred and more versions whichwent the round of Nantes on the remarks, replies, and witticisms whichthe viscountess heard from the lips of the celebrated Camille Maupin/herself/. She was, however, very careful not to repeat, not even tocomprehend, the actual replies made by Mademoiselle des Touches to herabsurd questions about Camille's authorship, --a penance to which allauthors are subjected, and which often make them expiate the few andrare pleasures that they win. 

"How do you write your books?" she began. 

"Much as you do your worsted-work or knitting, " replied Camille. 

"But where do you find those deep reflections, those seductivepictures?"

"Where you find the witty things you say, madame; there is nothing soeasy as to write books, provided you will--"

"Ah! does it depend wholly on the will? I shouldn't have thought it. Which of your compositions do you prefer?"

"I find it difficult to prefer any of my little kittens. "

"I see you are /blasee/ on compliments; there is really nothing newthat one can say. "

"I assure you, madame, that I am very sensible to the form which yougive to yours. "

The viscountess, anxious not to seem to neglect the marquise, remarked, looking at Beatrix with a meaning air, --

"I shall never forget this journey made between Wit and Beauty. "

"You flatter me, madame, " said the marquise, laughing. "I assure youthat my wit is but a small matter, not to be mentioned by the side ofgenius; besides, I think I have not said much as yet. "

Charlotte, who keenly felt her mother's absurdity, looked at her, endeavoring to stop its course; but Madame de Kergarouet went bravelyon in her tilt with the satirical Parisians. 

Calyste, who was trotting slowly beside the carriage, could only seethe faces of the two ladies on the front seat, and his eyes expressed, from time to time, rather painful thoughts. Forced, by her position, to let herself be looked at, Beatrix constantly avoided meeting theyoung man's eyes, and practised a manoeuvre most exasperating tolovers; she held her shawl crossed and her hands crossed over it, apparently plunged in the deepest meditation. 

At a part of the road which is shaded, dewy, and verdant as a forestglade, where the wheels of the carriage scarcely sounded, and thebreeze brought down balsamic odors and waved the branches above theirheads, Camille called Madame de Rochefide's attention to the harmoniesof the place, and pressed her knee to make her look at Calyste. 

"How well he rides!" she said. 

"Oh! Calyste does everything well, " said Charlotte. 

"He rides like an Englishman, " said the marquise, indifferently. 

"His mother is Irish, --an O'Brien, " continued Charlotte, who thoughtherself insulted by such indifference. 

Camille and the marquise drove through Guerande with the viscountessand her daughter, to the great astonishment of the inhabitants of thetown. They left the mother and daughter at the end of the lane leadingto the Guenic mansion, where a crowd came near gathering, attracted byso unusual a sight. Calyste had ridden on to announce the arrival ofthe company to his mother and aunt, who expected them to dinner, thatmeal having been postponed till four o'clock. Then he returned to thegate to give his arm to the two ladies, and bid Camille and Beatrixadieu. 

He kissed the hand of Felicite, hoping thereby to be able to do thesame to that of the marquise; but she still kept her arms crossedresolutely, and he cast moist glances of entreaty at her uselessly. 

"You little ninny!" whispered Camille, lightly touching his ear with akiss that was full of friendship. 

"Quite true, " thought Calyste to himself as the carriage drove away. "I am forgetting her advice--but I shall always forget it, I'mafraid. "

Mademoiselle de Pen-Hoel (who had intrepidly returned to Guerande onthe back of a hired horse), the Vicomtesse de Kergarouet, andCharlotte found dinner ready, and were treated with the utmostcordiality, if luxury were lacking, by the du Guenics. MademoiselleZephirine had ordered the best wine to be brought from the cellar, andMariotte had surpassed herself in her Breton dishes. 

The viscountess, proud of her trip with the illustrious CamilleMaupin, endeavored to explain to the assembled company the presentcondition of modern literature, and Camille's place in it. But theliterary topic met the fate of whist; neither the du Guenics, nor theabbe, nor the Chevalier du Halga understood one word of it. The rectorand the chevalier had arrived in time for the liqueurs at dessert. 

As soon as Mariotte, assisted by Gasselin and Madame de Kergarouet'smaid, had cleared the table, there was a general and enthusiastic cryfor /mouche/. Joy appeared to reign in the household. All supposedCalyste to be free of his late entanglement, and almost as good asmarried to the little Charlotte. The young man alone kept silence. Forthe first time in his life he had instituted comparisons between hislife-long friends and the two elegant women, witty, accomplished, andtasteful, who, at the present moment, must be laughing heartily at theprovincial mother and daughter, judging by the look he interceptedbetween them. 

He was seeking in vain for some excuse to leave his family on thisoccasion, and go up as usual to Les Touches, when Madame de Kergarouetmentioned that she regretted not having accepted Mademoiselle desTouches' offer of her carriage for the return journey toSaint-Nazaire, which for the sake of her three other "dear kittens, "she felt compelled to make on the following day. 

Fanny, who alone saw her son's uneasiness, and the little hold whichCharlotte's coquetries and her mother's attentions were gaining onhim, came to his aid. 

"Madame, " she said to the viscountess, "you will, I think, be veryuncomfortable in the carrier's vehicle, and especially at having tostart so early in the morning. You would certainly have done better totake the offer made to you by Mademoiselle des Touches. But it is nottoo late to do so now. Calyste, go up to Les Touches and arrange thematter; but don't be long; return to us soon. "

"It won't take me ten minutes, " cried Calyste, kissing his motherviolently as she followed him to the door. 

 XI

 FEMALE DIPLOMACY

Calyste ran with the lightness of a young fawn to Les Touches andreached the portico just as Camille and Beatrix were leaving the grandsalon after their dinner. He had the sense to offer his arm toFelicite. 

"So you have abandoned your viscountess and her daughter for us, " shesaid, pressing his arm; "we are able now to understand the full meritof that sacrifice. "

"Are these Kergarouets related to the Portendueres, and to old Admiralde Kergarouet, whose widow married Charles de Vandenesse?" askedMadame de Rochefide. 

"The viscountess is the admiral's great-niece, " replied Camille. 

"Well, she's a charming girl, " said Beatrix, placing herselfgracefully in a Gothic chair. "She will just do for you, Monsieur duGuenic. "

"The marriage will never take place, " said Camille hastily. 

Mortified by the cold, calm air with which the marquise seemed toconsider the Breton girl as the only creature fit to mate him, Calysteremained speechless and even mindless. 

"Why so, Camille?" asked Madame de Rochefide. 

"Really, my dear, " said Camille, seeing Calyste's despair, "you arenot generous; did I advise Conti to marry?"

Beatrix looked at her friend with a surprise that was mingled withindefinable suspicions. 

Calyste, unable to understand Camille's motive, but feeling that shecame to his assistance and seeing in her cheeks that faint spot ofcolor which he knew to mean the presence of some violent emotion, wentup to her rather awkwardly and took her hand. But she left him andseated herself carelessly at the piano, like a woman so sure of herfriend and lover that she can afford to leave him with another woman. She played variations, improvising them as she played, on certainthemes chosen, unconsciously to herself, by the impulse of her mind;they were melancholy in the extreme. 

Beatrix seemed to listen to the music, but she was really observingCalyste, who, much too young and artless for the part which Camillewas intending him to play, remained in rapt adoration before his realidol. 

After about an hour, during which time Camille continued to play, Beatrix rose and retired to her apartments. Camille at once tookCalyste into her chamber and closed the door, fearing to be overheard;for women have an amazing instinct of distrust. 

"My child, " she said, "if you want to succeed with Beatrix, you mustseem to love me still, or you will fail. You are a child; you knownothing of women; all you know is how to love. Now loving and makingone's self beloved are two very different things. If you go your ownway you will fall into horrible suffering, and I wish to see youhappy. If you rouse, not the pride, but the self-will, the obstinacywhich is a strong feature in her character, she is capable of goingoff at any moment to Paris and rejoining Conti; and what will you dothen?"

"I shall love her. "

"You won't see her again. "

"Oh! yes, I shall, " he said. 

"How?"

"I shall follow her. "

"Why, you are as poor as Job, my dear boy. "

"My father, Gasselin, and I lived for three months in Vendee on onehundred and fifty francs, marching night and day. "

"Calyste, " said Mademoiselle des Touches, "now listen to me. I knowthat you have too much candor to play a part, too much honesty todeceive; and I don't want to corrupt such a nature as yours. Yetdeception is the only way by which you can win Beatrix; I take ittherefore upon myself. In a week from now she shall love you. "

"Is it possible?" he said clasping his hands. 

"Yes, " replied Camille, "but it will be necessary to overcome certainpledges which she has made to herself. I will do that for you. Youmust not interfere in the rather arduous task I shall undertake. Themarquise has a true aristocratic delicacy of perception; she is keenlydistrustful; no hunter could meet with game more wary or moredifficult to capture. You are wholly unable to cope with her; will youpromise me a blind obedience?"

"What must I do?" replied the youth. 

"Very little, " said Camille. "Come here every day and devote yourselfto me. Come to my rooms; avoid Beatrix if you meet her. We will staytogether till four o'clock; you shall employ the time in study, and Iin smoking. It will be hard for you not to see her, but I will findyou a number of interesting books. You have read nothing as yet ofGeorge Sand. I will send one of my people this very evening to Nantesto buy her works and those of other authors whom you ought to know. The evenings we will spend together, and I permit you to make love tome if you can--it will be for the best. "

"I know, Camille, that your affection for me is great and so rare thatit makes me wish I had never met Beatrix, " he replied with simple goodfaith; "but I don't see what you hope from all this. "

"I hope to make her love you. "

"Good heavens! it cannot be possible!" he cried, again clasping hishands toward Camille, who was greatly moved on seeing the joy that shegave him at her own expense. 

"Now listen to me carefully, " she said. "If you break the agreementbetween us, if you have--not a long conversation--but a mere exchangeof words with the marquise in private, if you let her question you, ifyou fail in the silent part I ask you to play, which is certainly nota very difficult one, I do assure you, " she said in a serious tone, "you will lose her forever. "

"I don't understand the meaning of what you are saying to me, " criedCalyste, looking at Camille with adorable naivete. 

"If you did understand it, you wouldn't be the noble and beautifulCalyste that you are, " she replied, taking his hand and kissing it. 

Calyste then did what he had never before done; he took Camille roundthe waist and kissed her gently, not with love but with tenderness, ashe kissed his mother. Mademoiselle des Touches did not restrain hertears. 

"Go now, " she said, "my child; and tell your viscountess that mycarriage is at her command. "

Calyste wanted to stay longer, but he was forced to obey her imperiousand imperative gesture. 

He went home gaily; he believed that in a week the beautiful Beatrixwould love him. The players at /mouche/ found him once more theCalyste they had missed for the last two months. Charlotte attributedthis change to herself. Mademoiselle de Pen-Hoel was charming to him. The Abbe Grimont endeavored to make out what was passing in themother's mind. The Chevalier du Halga rubbed his hands. The two oldmaids were as lively as lizards. The viscountess lost one hundred sousby accumulated /mouches/, which so excited the cupidity of Zephirinethat she regretted not being able to see the cards, and even spokesharply to her sister-in-law, who acted as the proxy of her eyes. 

The party lasted till eleven o'clock. There were two defections, thebaron and the chevalier, who went to sleep in their respective chairs. Mariotte had made galettes of buckwheat, the baroness produced atea-caddy. The illustrious house of du Guenic served a little supperbefore the departure of its guests, consisting of fresh butter, fruits, and cream, in addition to Mariotte's cakes; for which festalevent issued from their wrappings a silver teapot and some beautifulold English china sent to the baroness by her aunts. This appearanceof modern splendor in the ancient hall, together with the exquisitegrace of its mistress, brought up like a true Irish lady to make andpour out tea (that mighty affair to Englishwomen), had somethingcharming about them. The most exquisite luxury could never haveattained to the simple, modest, noble effect produced by thissentiment of joyful hospitality. 

A few moments after Calyste's departure from Les Touches, Beatrix, whohad heard him go, returned to Camille, whom she found with humid eyeslying back on her sofa. 

"What is it, Felicite?" asked the marquise. 

"I am forty years old, and I love him!" said Mademoiselle des Touches, with dreadful tones of agony in her voice, her eyes becoming hard andbrilliant. "If you knew, Beatrix, the tears I have shed over the lostyears of my youth! To be loved out of pity! to know that one owesone's happiness only to perpetual care, to the slyness of cats, totraps laid for innocence and all the youthful virtues--oh, it isinfamous! If it were not that one finds absolution in the magnitude oflove, in the power of happiness, in the certainty of being foreverabove all other women in his memory, the first to carve on that youngheart the ineffaceable happiness of an absolute devotion, I would--yes, if he asked it, --I would fling myself into the sea. Sometimes Ifind myself wishing that he would ask it; it would then be anoblation, not a suicide. Ah, Beatrix, by coming here you have, unconsciously, set me a hard task. I know it will be difficult to keephim against you; but you love Conti, you are noble and generous, youwill not deceive me; on the contrary, you will help me to retain myCalyste's love. I expected the impression you would make upon him, butI have not committed the mistake of seeming jealous; that would onlyhave added fuel to the flame. On the contrary, before you came, Idescribed you in such glowing colors that you hardly realize theportrait, although you are, it seems to me, more beautiful than ever. "

This vehement elegy, in which truth was mingled with deception, completely duped the marquise. Claude Vignon had told Conti thereasons for his departure, and Beatrix was, of course, informed ofthem. She determined therefore to behave with generosity and give thecold shoulder to Calyste; but at the same instant there came into hersoul that quiver of joy which vibrates in the heart of every womanwhen she finds herself beloved. The love a woman inspires in any man'sheart is flattery without hypocrisy, and it is impossible for somewomen to forego it; but when that man belongs to a friend, his homagegives more than pleasure, --it gives delight. Beatrix sat down besideher friend and began to coax her prettily. 

"You have not a white hair, " she said; "you haven't even a wrinkle;your temples are just as fresh as ever; whereas I know more than onewoman of thirty who is obliged to cover hers. Look, dear, " she added, lifting her curls, "see what that journey to Italy has cost me. "

Her temples showed an almost imperceptible withering of the texture ofthe delicate skin. She raised her sleeves and showed Camille the sameslight withering of the wrists, where the transparent tissue sufferedthe blue network of swollen veins to be visible, and three deep linesmade a bracelet of wrinkles. 

"There, my dear, are two spots which--as a certain writer ferretingfor the miseries of women, has said--never lie, " she continued. "Onemust needs have suffered to know the truth of his observation. Happilyfor us, most men know nothing about it; they don't read us like thatdreadful author. "

"Your letter told me all, " replied Camille; "happiness ignoreseverything but itself. You boasted too much of yours to be reallyhappy. Truth is deaf, dumb, and blind where love really is. Consequently, seeing very plainly that you have your reasons forabandoning Conti, I have feared to have you here. My dear, Calyste isan angel; he is as good as he is beautiful; his innocent heart willnot resist your eyes; already he admires you too much not to love youat the first encouragement; your coldness can alone preserve him tome. I confess to you, with the cowardice of true passion, that if hewere taken from me I should die. That dreadful book of BenjaminConstant, 'Adolphe, ' tells us only of Adolphe's sorrows; but whatabout those of the woman, hey? The man did not observe them enough todescribe them; and what woman would have dared to reveal them? Theywould dishonor her sex, humiliate its virtues, and pass into vice. Ah!I measure the abyss before me by my fears, by these sufferings thatare those of hell. But, Beatrix, I will tell you this: in case I amabandoned, my choice is made. "

"What is it?" cried Beatrix, with an eagerness that made Camilleshudder. 

The two friends looked at each other with the keen attention ofVenetian inquisitors; their souls clashed in that rapid glance, andstruck fire like flints. The marquise lowered her eyes. 

"After man, there is nought but God, " said the celebrated woman. "Godis the Unknown. I shall fling myself into that as into some vastabyss. Calyste has sworn to me that he admires you only as he would apicture; but alas! you are but twenty-eight, in the full magnificenceof your beauty. The struggle thus begins between him and me byfalsehood. But I have one support; happily I know a means to keep himtrue to me, and I shall triumph. "

"What means?"

"That is my secret, dear. Let me have the benefits of my age. IfClaude Vignon, as Conti has doubtless told you, flings me back intothe gulf, I, who had climbed to a rock which I thought inaccessible, --I will at least gather the pale and fragile, but delightful flowersthat grow in its depths. "

Madame de Rochefide was moulded like wax in those able hands. Camillefelt an almost savage pleasure in thus entrapping her rival in hertoils. She sent her to bed that night piqued by curiosity, floatingbetween jealousy and generosity, but most assuredly with her mind fullof the beautiful Calyste. 

"She will be enchanted to deceive me, " thought Camille, as she kissedher good-night. 

Then, when she was alone, the author, the constructor of dramas, gaveplace to the woman, and she burst into tears. Filling her hookah withtobacco soaked in opium, she spent the greater part of the night insmoking, dulling thus the sufferings of her soul, and seeing throughthe clouds about her the beautiful young head of her late lover. 

"What a glorious book to write, if I were only to express my pain!"she said to herself. "But it is written already; Sappho lived beforeme. And Sappho was young. A fine and touching heroine truly, a womanof forty! Ah! my poor Camille, smoke your hookah; you haven't even theresource of making a poem of your misery--that's the last drop ofanguish in your cup!"

The next morning Calyste came before mid-day and slipped upstairs, ashe was told, into Camille's own room, where he found the books. Felicite sat before the window, smoking, contemplating in turn themarshes, the sea, and Calyste, to whom she now and then said a fewwords about Beatrix. At one time, seeing the marquise strolling aboutthe garden, she raised a curtain in a way to attract her attention, and also to throw a band of light across Calyste's book. 

"To-day, my child, I shall ask you to stay to dinner; but you mustrefuse, with a glance at the marquise, which will show her how muchyou regret not staying. "

When the three actors met in the salon, and this comedy was played, Calyste felt for a moment his equivocal position, and the glance thathe cast on Beatrix was far more expressive than Felicite expected. Beatrix had dressed herself charmingly. 

"What a bewitching toilet, my dearest!" said Camille, when Calyste haddeparted. 

These manoeuvres lasted six days, during which time many conversations, into which Camille Maupin put all her ability, took place, unknown toCalyste, between herself and the marquise. They were like thepreliminaries of a duel between two women, --a duel without truce, inwhich the assault was made on both sides with snares, feints, falsegenerosities, deceitful confessions, crafty confidences, by which onehid and the other bared her love; and in which the sharp steel ofCamille's treacherous words entered the heart of her friend, and leftits poison there. Beatrix at last took offence at what she thoughtCamille's distrust; she considered it out of place between them. Atthe same time she was enchanted to find the great writer a victim tothe pettiness of her sex, and she resolved to enjoy the pleasure ofshowing her where her greatness ended, and how even she could behumiliated. 

"My dear, what is to be the excuse to-day for Monsieur du Guenic's notdining with us?" she asked, looking maliciously at her friend. "Mondayyou said we had engagements; Tuesday the dinner was poor; Wednesdayyou were afraid his mother would be angry; Thursday you wanted to takea walk with me; and yesterday you simply dismissed him without areason. To-day I shall have my way, and I mean that he shall stay. "

"Already, my dear!" said Camille, with cutting irony. The marquiseblushed. "Stay, Monsieur du Guenic, " said Camille, in the tone of aqueen. 

Beatrix became cold and hard, contradictory in tone, epigrammatic, andalmost rude to Calyste, whom Felicite sent home to play /mouche/ withCharlotte de Kergarouet. 

"/She/ is not dangerous at any rate, " said Beatrix, sarcastically. 

Young lovers are like hungry men; kitchen odors will not appease theirhunger; they think too much of what is coming to care for the meansthat bring it. As Calyste walked back to Guerande, his soul was fullof Beatrix; he paid no heed to the profound feminine cleverness whichFelicite was displaying on his behalf. During this week the marquisehad only written once to Conti, a symptom of indifference which hadnot escaped the watchful eyes of Camille, who imparted it to Calyste. All Calyste's life was concentrated in the short moment of the dayduring which he was allowed to see the marquise. This drop of water, far from allaying his thirst, only redoubled it. The magic promise, "Beatrix shall love you, " made by Camille, was the talisman with whichhe strove to restrain the fiery ardor of his passion. But he knew nothow to consume the time; he could not sleep, and spent the hours ofthe night in reading; every evening he brought back with him, asMariotte remarked, cartloads of books. 

His aunt called down maledictions on the head of Mademoiselle desTouches; but his mother, who had gone on several occasions to his roomon seeing his light burning far into the night, knew by this time thesecret of his conduct. Though for her love was a sealed book, and shewas even unaware of her own ignorance, Fanny rose through maternaltenderness into certain ideas of it; but the depths of such sentimentbeing dark and obscured by clouds to her mind, she was shocked at thestate in which she saw him; the solitary uncomprehended desire of hissoul, which was evidently consuming him, simply terrified her. Calystehad but one thought; Beatrix was always before him. In the evenings, while cards were being played, his abstraction resembled his father'ssomnolence. Finding him so different from what he was when he lovedCamille, the baroness became aware, with a sort of horror, of thesymptoms of real love, --a species of possession which had seized uponher son, --a love unknown within the walls of that old mansion. 

Feverish irritability, a constant absorption in thought, made Calystealmost doltish. Often he would sit for hours with his eyes fixed onsome figure in the tapestry. One morning his mother implored him togive up Les Touches, and leave the two women forever. 

"Not go to Les Touches!" he cried. 

"Oh! yes, yes, go! do not look so, my darling!" she cried, kissing himon the eyes that had flashed such flames. 

Under these circumstances Calyste often came near losing the fruit ofCamille's plot through the Breton fury of his love, of which he wasceasing to be the master. Finally, he swore to himself, in spite ofhis promise to Felicite, to see Beatrix, and speak to her. He wantedto read her eyes, to bathe in their light, to examine every detail ofher dress, breathe its perfume, listen to the music of her voice, watch the graceful composition of her movements, embrace at a glancethe whole figure, and study her as a general studies the field wherehe means to win a decisive battle. He willed as lovers will; he wasgrasped by desires which closed his ears and darkened his intellect, and threw him into an unnatural state in which he was conscious ofneither obstacles, nor distances, nor the existence even of his ownbody. 

One morning he resolved to go to Les Touches at an earlier hour thanthat agreed upon, and endeavor to meet Beatrix in the garden. He knewshe walked there daily before breakfast. 

Mademoiselle des Touches and the marquise had gone, as it happened, tosee the marshes and the little bay with its margin of fine sand, wherethe sea penetrates and lies like a lake in the midst of the dunes. They had just returned, and were walking up a garden path beside thelawn, conversing as they walked. 

"If the scenery pleases you, " said Camille, "we must take Calyste andmake a trip to Croisic. There are splendid rocks there, cascades ofgranite, little bays with natural basins, charmingly unexpected andcapricious things, besides the sea itself, with its store of marblefragments, --a world of amusement. Also you will see women making fuelwith cow-dung, which they nail against the walls of their houses todry in the sun, after which they pile it up as we do peat in Paris. "

"What! will you really risk Calyste?" cried the marquise, laughing, ina tone which proved that Camille's ruse had answered its purpose. 

"Ah, my dear, " she replied, "if you did but know the angelic soul ofthat dear child, you would understand me. In him, mere beauty isnothing; one must enter that pure heart, which is amazed at every stepit takes into the kingdom of love. What faith! what grace! whatinnocence! The ancients were right enough in the worship they paid tosacred beauty. Some traveller, I forget who, relates that when wildhorses lose their leader they choose the handsomest horse in the herdfor his successor. Beauty, my dear, is the genius of things; it is theensign which Nature hoists over her most precious creations; it is thetrust of symbols as it is the greatest of accidents. Did any one eversuppose that angels could be deformed? are they not necessarily acombination of grace and strength? What is it that makes us stand forhours before some picture in Italy, where genius has striven throughyears of toil to realize but one of those accidents of Nature? Come, call up your sense of the truth of things and answer me; is it not theIdea of Beauty which our souls associate with moral grandeur? Well, Calyste is one of those dreams, those visions, realized. He has theregal power of a lion, tranquilly unsuspicious of its royalty. When hefeels at his ease, he is witty; and I love his girlish timidity. Mysoul rests in his heart away from all corruptions, all ideas ofknowledge, literature, the world, society, politics, --those uselessaccessories under which we stifle happiness. I am what I have neverbeen, --a child! I am sure of him, but I like to play at jealousy; helikes it too. Besides, that is part of my secret. "

Beatrix walked on pensively, in silence. Camille endured unspeakablemartyrdom, and she cast a sidelong look at her companion which lookedlike flame. 

"Ah, my dear; but /you/ are happy, " said Beatrix presently, laying herhand on Camille's arm like a woman wearied out with some inwardstruggle. 

"Yes, happy indeed!" replied Felicite, with savage bitterness. 

The two women dropped upon a bench from a sense of exhaustion. Nocreature of her sex was ever played upon like an instrument with moreMachiavellian penetration than the marquise throughout this week. 

"Yes, you are happy, but I!" she said, --"to know of Conti'sinfidelities, and have to bear them!"

"Why not leave him?" said Camille, seeing the hour had come to strikea decisive blow. 

"Can I?"

"Oh! poor boy!"

Both were gazing into a clump of trees with a stupefied air. 

Camille rose. 

"I will go and hasten breakfast; my walk has given me an appetite, "she said. 

"Our conversation has taken away mine, " remarked Beatrix. 

The marquise in her morning dress was outlined in white against thedark greens of the foliage. Calyste, who had slipped through the saloninto the garden, took a path, along which he sauntered as though hewere meeting her by accident. Beatrix could not restrain a quiver ashe approached her. 

"Madame, in what way did I displease you yesterday?" he said, afterthe first commonplace sentences had been exchanged. 

"But you have neither pleased me nor displeased me, " she said, in agentle voice. 

The tone, air, and manner in which the marquise said these wordsencouraged Calyste. 

"Am I so indifferent to you?" he said in a troubled voice, as thetears came into his eyes. 

"Ought we not to be indifferent to each other?" replied the marquise. "Have we not, each of us, another, and a binding attachment?"

"Oh!" cried Calyste, "if you mean Camille, I did love her, but I loveher no longer. "

"Then why are you shut up together every morning?" she said, with atreacherous smile. "I don't suppose that Camille, in spite of herpassion for tobacco, prefers her cigar to you, or that you, in youradmiration for female authors, spend four hours a day in reading theirromances. "

"So then you know--" began the guileless young Breton, his faceglowing with the happiness of being face to face with his idol. 

"Calyste!" cried Camille, angrily, suddenly appearing and interruptinghim. She took his arm and drew him away to some distance. "Calyste, isthis what you promised me?"

Beatrix heard these words of reproach as Mademoiselle des Touchesdisappeared toward the house, taking Calyste with her. She wasstupefied by the young man's assertion, and could not comprehend it;she was not as strong as Claude Vignon. In truth, the part beingplayed by Camille Maupin, as shocking as it was grand, is one of thosewicked grandeurs which women only practise when driven to extremity. By it their hearts are broken; in it the feelings of their sex arelost to them; it begins an abnegation which ends by either plungingthem to hell, or lifting them to heaven. 

During breakfast, which Calyste was invited to share, the marquise, whose sentiments could be noble and generous, made a sudden returnupon herself, resolving to stifle the germs of love which were risingin her heart. She was neither cold nor hard to Calyste, but gentlyindifferent, --a course which tortured him. Felicite brought forward aproposition that they should make, on the next day but one, anexcursion into the curious and interesting country lying between LesTouches, Croisic, and the village of Batz. She begged Calyste toemploy himself on the morrow in hiring a boat and sailors to take themacross the little bay, undertaking herself to provide horses andprovisions, and all else that was necessary for a party of pleasure, in which there was to be no fatigue. Beatrix stopped the matter short, however, by saying that she did not wish to make excursions round thecountry. Calyste's face, which had beamed with delight at theprospect, was suddenly overclouded. 

"What are you afraid of, my dear?" asked Camille. 

"My position is so delicate I do not wish to compromise--I will notsay my reputation, but my happiness, " she said, meaningly, with aglance at the young Breton. "You know very well how suspicious Contican be; if he knew--"

"Who will tell him?"

"He is coming back here to fetch me, " said Beatrix. 

Calyste turned pale. In spite of all that Camille could urge, in spiteof Calyste's entreaties, Madame de Rochefide remained inflexible, andshowed what Camille had called her obstinacy. Calyste left Les Touchesthe victim of one of those depressions of love which threaten, incertain men, to turn into madness. He began to revolve in his mindsome decided means of coming to an explanation with Beatrix. 

 XII

 CORRESPONDENCE

When Calyste reached home, he did not leave his room until dinnertime; and after dinner he went back to it. At ten o'clock his mother, uneasy at his absence, went to look for him, and found him writing inthe midst of a pile of blotted and half-torn paper. He was writing toBeatrix, for distrust of Camille had come into his mind. The air andmanner of the marquise during their brief interview in the garden hadsingularly encouraged him. 

No first love-letter ever was or ever will be, as may readily besupposed, a brilliant effort of the mind. In all young men not taintedby corruption such a letter is written with gushings from the heart, too overflowing, too multifarious not to be the essence, the elixir ofmany other letters begun, rejected, and rewritten. 

Here is the one that Calyste finally composed and which he read aloudto his poor, astonished mother. To her the old mansion seemed to havetaken fire; this love of her son flamed up in it like the glare of aconflagration. 

 Calyste to Madame la Marquise de Rochefide. 

 Madame, --I loved you when you were to me but a dream; judge, therefore, of the force my love acquired when I saw you. The dream was far surpassed by the reality. It is my grief and my misfortune to have nothing to say to you that you do not know already of your beauty and your charms; and yet, perhaps, they have awakened in no other heart so deep a sentiment as they have in me. 

 In so many ways you are beautiful; I have studied you so much while thinking of you day and night that I have penetrated the mysteries of your being, the secrets of your heart, and your delicacy, so little appreciated. Have you ever been loved, understood, adored as you deserve to be?

 Let me tell you now that there is not a trait in your nature which my heart does not interpret; your pride is understood by mine; the grandeur of your glance, the grace of your bearing, the distinction of your movements, --all things about your person are in harmony with the thoughts, the hopes, the desires hidden in the depths of your soul; it is because I have divined them all that I think myself worthy of your notice. If I had not become, within the last few days, another yourself, I could not speak to you of myself; this letter, indeed, relates far more to you than it does to me. 

 Beatrix, in order to write to you, I have silenced my youth, I have laid aside myself, I have aged my thoughts, --or, rather, it is you who have aged them, by this week of dreadful sufferings caused, innocently indeed, by you. 

 Do not think me one of those common lovers at whom I have heard you laugh so justly. What merit is there in loving a young and beautiful and wise and noble woman. Alas! I have no merit! What can I be to you? A child, attracted by effulgence of beauty and by moral grandeur, as the insects are attracted to the light. You cannot do otherwise than tread upon the flowers of my soul; they are there at your feet, and all my happiness consists in your stepping on them. 

 Absolute devotion, unbounded faith, love unquenchable, --all these treasures of a true and tender heart are nothing, nothing! they serve only to love with, they cannot win the love we crave. Sometimes I do not understand why a worship so ardent does not warm its idol; and when I meet your eye, so cold, so stern, I turn to ice within me. Your disdain, /that/ is the acting force between us, not my worship. Why? You cannot hate me as much as I love you; why, then, does the weaker feeling rule the stronger? I loved Felicite with all the powers of my heart; yet I forgot her in a day, in a moment, when I saw you. She was my error; you are my truth. 

 You have, unknowingly, destroyed my happiness, and yet you owe me nothing in return. I loved Camille without hope, and I have no hope from you; nothing is changed but my divinity. I was a pagan; I am now a Christian, that is all--

 Except this: you have taught me that to love is the greatest of all joys; the joy of being loved comes later. According to Camille, it is not loving to love for a short time only; the love that does not grow from day to day, from hour to hour, is a mere wretched passion. In order to grow, love must not see its end; and she saw the end of ours, the setting of our sun of love. When I beheld you, I understood her words, which, until then, I had disputed with all my youth, with all the ardor of my desires, with the despotic sternness of twenty years. That grand and noble Camille mingled her tears with mine, and yet she firmly rejected the love she saw must end. Therefore I am free to love you here on earth and in the heaven above us, as we love God. If you loved me, you would have no such arguments as Camille used to overthrow my love. We are both young; we could fly on equal wing across our sunny heaven, not fearing storms as that grand eagle feared them. 

 But ha! what am I saying? my thoughts have carried me beyond the humility of my real hopes. Believe me, believe in the submission, the patience, the mute adoration which I only ask you not to wound uselessly. I know, Beatrix, that you cannot love me without the loss of your self-esteem; therefore I ask for no return. Camille once said there was some hidden fatality in names, /a propos/ of hers. That fatality I felt for myself on the jetty of Guerande, when I read on the shores of the ocean your name. Yes, you will pass through my life as Beatrice passed through that of Dante. My heart will be a pedestal for that white statue, cold, distant, jealous, and oppressive. 

 It is forbidden to you to love me; I know that. You will suffer a thousand deaths, you will be betrayed, humiliated, unhappy; but you have in you a devil's pride, which binds you to that column you have once embraced, --you are like Samson, you will perish by holding to it. But this I have not divined; my love is too blind for that; Camille has told it to me. It is not my mind that speaks to you of this, it is hers. I have no mind with which to reason when I think of you; blood gushes from my heart, and its hot wave darkens my intellect, weakens my strength, paralyzes my tongue, and bends my knees. I can only adore you, whatever you may do to me. 

 Camille calls your resolution obstinacy; I defend you, and I call it virtue. You are only the more beautiful because of it. I know my destiny, and the pride of a Breton can rise to the height of the woman who makes her pride a virtue. 

 Therefore, dear Beatrix, be kind, be consoling to me. When victims were selected, they crowned them with flowers; so do you to me; you owe me the flowers of pity, the music of my sacrifice. Am I not a proof of your grandeur? Will you not rise to the level of my disdained love, --disdained in spite of its sincerity, in spite of its immortal passion?

 Ask Camille how I behaved to her after the day she told me, on her return to Les Touches, that she loved Claude Vignon. I was mute; I suffered in silence. Well, for you I will show even greater strength, --I will bury my feelings in my heart, if you will not drive me to despair, if you will only understand my heroism. A single word of praise from you is enough to make me bear the pains of martyrdom. 

 But if you persist in this cold silence, this deadly disdain, you will make me think you fear me. Ah, Beatrix, be with me what you are, --charming, witty, gay, and tender. Talk to me of Conti, as Camille has talked to me of Claude. I have no other spirit in my soul, no other genius but that of love; nothing is there that can make you fear me; I will be in your presence as if I loved you not. 

 Can you reject so humble a prayer?--the prayer of a child who only asks that his Light shall lighten him, that his Sun may warm him. 

 He whom you love can be with you at all times, but I, poor Calyste! have so few days in which to see you; you will soon be freed from me. Therefore I may return to Les Touches to-morrow, may I not? You will not refuse my arm for that excursion? We shall go together to Croisic and to Batz? If you do not go I shall take it for an answer, --Calyste will understand it!

There were four more pages of the same sort in close, fine writing, wherein Calyste explained the sort of threat conveyed in the lastwords, and related his youth and life; but the tale was chiefly toldin exclamatory phrases, with many of those points and dashes of whichmodern literature is so prodigal when it comes to crucial passages, --as though they were planks offered to the reader's imagination, tohelp him across crevasses. The rest of this artless letter was merelyrepetition. But if it was not likely to touch Madame de Rochefide, andwould very slightly interest the admirers of strong emotions, it madethe mother weep, as she said to her son, in her tender voice, --

"My child, you are not happy. "

This tumultuous poem of sentiments which had arisen like a storm inCalyste's heart, terrified the baroness; for the first time in herlife she read a love-letter. 

Calyste was standing in deep perplexity; how could he send thatletter? He followed his mother back into the salon with the letter inhis pocket and burning in his heart like fire. The Chevalier du Halgawas still there, and the last deal of a lively /mouche/ was going on. Charlotte de Kergarouet, in despair at Calyste's indifference, waspaying attention to his father as a means of promoting her marriage. Calyste wandered hither and thither like a butterfly which had flowninto the room by mistake. At last, when /mouche/ was over, he drew theChevalier du Halga into the great salon, from which he sent awayMademoiselle de Pen-Hoel's page and Mariotte. 

"What does he want of the chevalier?" said old Zephirine, addressingher friend Jacqueline. 

"Calyste strikes me as half-crazy, " replied Mademoiselle de Pen-Hoel. "He pays Charlotte no more attention than if she were a /paludiere/. "

Remembering that the Chevalier du Halga had the reputation of havingnavigated in his youth the waters of gallantry, it came into Calyste'shead to consult him. 

"What is the best way to send a letter secretly to one's mistress, " hesaid to the old gentleman in a whisper. 

"Well, you can slip it into the hand of her maid with a louis or twounderneath it; for sooner or later the maid will find out the secret, and it is just as well to let her into it at once, " replied thechevalier, on whose face was the gleam of a smile. "But, on the whole, it is best to give the letter yourself. "

"A louis or two!" exclaimed Calyste. 

He snatched up his hat and ran to Les Touches, where he appeared likean apparition in the little salon, guided thither by the voices ofCamille and Beatrix. They were sitting on the sofa together, apparently on the best of terms. Calyste, with the headlong impulse oflove, flung himself heedlessly on the sofa beside the marquise, tookher hand, and slipped the letter within it. He did this so rapidlythat Felicite, watchful as she was, did not perceive it. Calyste'sheart was tingling with an emotion half sweet, half painful, as hefelt the hand of Beatrix press his own, and saw her, withoutinterrupting her words, or seeming in the least disconcerted, slip theletter into her glove. 

"You fling yourself on a woman's dress without mercy, " she said, laughing. 

"Calyste is a boy who is wanting in common-sense, " said Felicite, notsparing him an open rebuke. 

Calyste rose, took Camille's hand, and kissed it. Then he went to thepiano and ran his finger-nail over the notes, making them all sound atonce, like a rapid scale. This exuberance of joy surprised Camille, and made her thoughtful; she signed to Calyste to come to her. 

"What is the matter with you?" she whispered in his ear. 

"Nothing, " he replied. 

"There is something between them, " thought Mademoiselle des Touches. 

The marquise was impenetrable. Camille tried to make Calyste talk, hoping that his artless mind would betray itself; but the youthexcused himself on the ground that his mother expected him, and heleft Les Touches at eleven o'clock, --not, however, without havingfaced the fire of a piercing glance from Camille, to whom that excusewas made for the first time. 

After the agitations of a wakeful night filled with visions ofBeatrix, and after going a score of times through the chief street ofGuerande for the purpose of meeting the answer to his letter, whichdid not come, Calyste finally received the following reply, which themarquise's waiting-woman, entering the hotel du Guenic, presented tohim. He carried it to the garden, and there, in the grotto, he read asfollows:--

 Madame de Rochefide to Calyste. 

 You are a noble child, but you are only a child. You are bound to Camille, who adores you. You would not find in me either the perfections that distinguish her or the happiness that she can give you. Whatever you may think, she is young and I am old; her heart is full of treasures, mine is empty; she has for you a devotion you ill appreciate; she is unselfish; she lives only for you and in you. I, on the other hand, am full of doubts; I should drag you down to a wearisome life, without grandeur of any kind, --a life ruined by my own conduct. Camille is free; she can go and come as she will; I am a slave. 

 You forget that I love and am beloved. The situation in which I have placed myself forbids my accepting homage. That a man should love me, or say he loves me, is an insult. To turn to another would be to place myself at the level of the lowest of my sex. 

 You, who are young and full of delicacy, how can you oblige me to say these things, which rend my heart as they issue from it?

 I preferred the scandal of an irreparable deed to the shame of constant deception; my own loss of station to a loss of honesty. In the eyes of many persons whose esteem I value, I am still worthy; but if I permitted another man to love me, I should fall indeed. The world is indulgent to those whose constancy covers, as with a mantle, the irregularity of their happiness; but it is pitiless to vice. 

 You see I feel neither disdain nor anger; I am answering your letter frankly and with simplicity. You are young; you are ignorant of the world; you are carried away by fancy; you are incapable, like all whose lives are pure, of making the reflections which evil suggests. But I will go still further. 

 Were I destined to be the most humiliated of women, were I forced to hide fearful sorrows, were I betrayed, abandoned, --which, thank God, is wholly impossible, --no one in this world would see me more. Yes, I believe I should find courage to kill a man who, seeing me in that situation, should talk to me of love. 

 You now know my mind to its depths. Perhaps I ought to thank you for having written to me. After receiving your letter, and, above all, after making you this reply, I could be at my ease with you in Camille's house, I could act out my natural self, and be what you ask of me; but I hardly need speak to you of the bitter ridicule that would overwhelm me if my eyes or my manner ceased to express the sentiments of which you complain. A second robbery from Camille would be a proof of her want of power which no woman could twice forgive. Even if I loved you, if I were blind to all else, if I forgot all else, I should still see Camille! Her love for you is a barrier too high to be o'erleaped by any power, even by the wings of an angel; none but a devil would fail to recoil before such treachery. In this, my dear Calyste, are many motives which delicate and noble women keep to themselves, of which you men know nothing; nor could you understand them, even though you were all as like our sex as you yourself appear to be at this moment. 

 My child, you have a mother who has shown you what you ought to be in life. She is pure and spotless; she fulfils her destiny nobly; what I have heard of her has filled my eyes with tears, and in the depths of my heart I envy her. I, too, might have been what she is! Calyste, that is the woman your wife should be, and such should be her life. I will never send you back, in jest, as I have done, to that little Charlotte, who would weary you to death; but I do commend you to some divine young girl who is worthy of your love. 

 If I were yours, your life would be blighted. You would have given me your whole existence, and I--you see, I am frank--I should have taken it; I should have gone with you, Heaven knows where, far from the world! But I should have made you most unhappy; for I am jealous. I see lions lurking in the path, and monsters in drops of water. I am made wretched by trifles that most women put up with; inexorable thoughts--from my heart, not yours--would poison our existence and destroy my life. If a man, after ten years' happiness, were not as respectful and as delicate as he was to me at first, I should resent the change; it would abase me in my own eyes! Such a lover could not believe in the Amadis and the Cyrus of my dreams. To-day true love is but a dream, not a reality. I see in yours only the joy of a desire the end of which is, as yet, unperceived by you. 

 For myself, I am not forty years old; I have not bent my pride beneath the yoke of experience, --in short, I am a woman too young to be anything but odious. I will not answer for my temper; my grace and charm are all external. Perhaps I have not yet suffered enough to have the indulgent manners and the absolute tenderness which come to us from cruel disappointments. Happiness has its insolence, and I, I fear, am insolent. Camille will be always your devoted slave; I should be an unreasonable tyrant. Besides, Camille was brought to you by your guardian angel, at the turning point of your life, to show you the career you ought to follow, --a career in which you cannot fail. 

 I know Felicite! her tenderness is inexhaustible; she may ignore the graces of our sex, but she possesses that fruitful strength, that genius for constancy, that noble intrepidity which makes us willing to accept the rest. She will marry you to some young girl, no matter what she suffers. She will find you a free Beatrix--if it is a Beatrix indeed who answers to your desires in a wife, and to your dreams; she will smooth all the difficulties in your way. The sale of a single acre of her ground in Paris would free your property in Brittany; she will make you her heir; are you not already her son by adoption?

 Alas! what could I do for your happiness? Nothing. Do not betray that infinite love which contents itself with the duties of motherhood. Ah! I think her very fortunate, my Camille! She can well afford to forgive your feeling for poor Beatrix; women of her age are indulgent to such fancies. When they are sure of being loved, they will pardon a passing infidelity; in fact, it is often one of their keenest pleasures to triumph over a younger rival. Camille is above such women, and that remark does not refer to her; but I make it to ease your mind. 

 I have studied Camille closely; she is, to my eyes, one of the greatest women of our age. She has mind and she has goodness, --two qualities almost irreconcilable in woman; she is generous and simple, --two other grandeurs seldom found together in our sex. I have seen in the depths of her soul such treasures that the beautiful line of Dante on eternal happiness, which I heard her interpreting to you the other day, "Senza brama sicura ricchezza, " seems as if made for her. She has talked to me of her career; she has related her life, showing me how love, that object of our prayers, our dreams, has ever eluded her. I replied that she seemed to me an instance of the difficulty, if not the impossibility, of uniting in one person two great glories. 

 You, Calyste, are one of the angelic souls whose mate it seems impossible to find; but Camille will obtain for you, even if she dies in doing so, the hand of some young girl with whom you can make a happy home. 

 For myself, I hold out to you a friendly hand, and I count, not on your heart, but on your mind, to make you in future a brother to me, as I shall be a sister to you; and I desire that this letter may terminate a correspondence which, between Les Touches and Guerande, is rather absurd. 

Beatrix de Casteran. 

The baroness, stirred to the depths of her soul by the strangeexhibitions and the rapid changes of her boy's emotions, could nolonger sit quietly at her work in the ancient hall. After looking atCalyste from time to time, she finally rose and came to him in amanner that was humble, and yet bold; she wanted him to grant a favorwhich she felt she had a right to demand. 

"Well, " she said, trembling, and looking at the letter, but notdirectly asking for it. 

Calyste read it aloud to her. And these two noble souls, so simple, soguileless, saw nothing in that wily and treacherous epistle of themalice or the snares which the marquise had written into it. 

"She is a noble woman, a grand woman!" said the baroness, withmoistened eyes. "I will pray to God for her. I did not know that awoman could abandon her husband and child, and yet preserve a soul sovirtuous. She is indeed worthy of pardon. "

"Have I not every reason to adore her?" cried Calyste. 

"But where will this love lead you?" said the baroness. "Ah, my child, how dangerous are women with noble sentiments! There is less to fearin those who are bad! Marry Charlotte de Kergarouet and releasetwo-thirds of the estate. By selling a few farms, Mademoiselle dePen-Hoel can bestow that grand result upon you in the marriage contract, and she will also help you, with her experience, to make the most of yourproperty. You will be able to leave your children a great name, and afine estate. "

"Forget Beatrix!" said Calyste, in a muffled voice, with his eyes onthe ground. 

He left the baroness, and went up to his own room to write an answerto the marquise. 

Madame du Guenic, whose heart retained every word of Madame deRochefide's letter, felt the need of some help in comprehending itmore clearly, and also the grounds of Calyste's hope. At this hour theChevalier du Halga was always to be seen taking his dog for a walk onthe mall. The baroness, certain of finding him there, put on herbonnet and shawl and went out. 

The sight of the Baronne du Guenic walking in Guerande elsewhere thanto church, or on the two pretty roads selected as promenades on /fete/days, accompanied by the baron and Mademoiselle de Pen-Hoel, was anevent so remarkable that two hours later, throughout the whole town, people accosted each other with the remark, --

"Madame du Guenic went out to-day; did you meet her?"

As soon as this amazing news reached the ears of Mademoiselle dePen-Hoel, she said to her niece, --

"Something very extraordinary is happening at the du Guenics. "

"Calyste is madly in love with that beautiful Marquise de Rochefide, "said Charlotte. "I ought to leave Guerande and return to Nantes. "

The Chevalier du Halga, much surprised at being sought by thebaroness, released the chain of his little dog, aware that he couldnot divide himself between the two interests. 

"Chevalier, " began the baroness, "you used to practise gallantry?"

Here the Chevalier du Halga straightened himself up with an air thatwas not a little vain. Madame du Guenic, without naming her son or themarquise, repeated, as nearly as possible, the love-letter, and askedthe chevalier to explain to her the meaning of such an answer. DuHalga snuffed the air and stroked his chin; he listened attentively;he made grimaces; and finally, he looked fixedly at the baroness witha knowing air, as he said, --

"When thoroughbred horses want to leap a barrier, they go up toreconnoitre it, and smell it over. Calyste is a lucky dog!"

"Oh, hush!" she cried. 

"I'm mute. Ah! in the olden time I knew all about it, " said the oldchevalier, striking an attitude. "The weather was fine, the breezenor'east. /Tudieu/! how the 'Belle-Poule' kept close to the wind thatday when--Oh!" he cried, interrupting himself, "we shall have a changeof weather; my ears are buzzing, and I feel the pain in my ribs! Youknow, don't you, that the battle of the 'Belle-Poule' was so famousthat women wore head-dresses '/a la/ Belle-Poule. ' Madame deKergarouet was the first to come to the opera in that head-dress, andI said to her: 'Madame, you are dressed for conquest. ' The speech wasrepeated from box to box all through the house. "

The baroness listened pleasantly to the old hero, who, faithful to thelaws of gallantry, escorted her to the alley of her house, neglectingThisbe. The secret of Thisbe's existence had once escaped him. Thisbewas the granddaughter of a delightful Thisbe, the pet of Madamel'Amirale de Kergarouet, first wife of the Comte de Kergarouet, thechevalier's commanding officer. The present Thisbe was eighteen yearsold. 

The baroness ran up to Calyste's room. He was absent; she saw aletter, not sealed, but addressed to Madame de Rochefide, lying on thetable. An invincible curiosity compelled the anxious mother to readit. This act of indiscretion was cruelly punished. The letter revealedto her the depths of the gulf into which his passion was hurlingCalyste. 

 Calyste to Madame la Marquise de Rochefide. 

 What care I for the race of the du Guenics in these days, Beatrix? what is their name to me? My name is Beatrix; the happiness of Beatrix is my happiness; her life is my life, and all my fortune is in her heart. Our estates have been mortgaged these two hundred years, and so they may remain for two hundred more; our farmers have charge of them; no one can take them from us. To see you, to love you, --that is my property, my object, my religion!

 You talk to me of marrying! the very thought convulses my heart. Is there another Beatrix? I will marry no one but you; I will wait for you twenty years, if need be. I am young, and you will be ever beautiful. My mother is a saint. I do not blame her, but she has never loved. I know now what she has lost, and what sacrifices she has made. You have taught me, Beatrix, to love her better; she is in my heart with you, and no other can ever be there; she is your only rival, --is not this to say that you reign in that heart supreme? Therefore your arguments have no force upon my mind. 

 As for Camille, you need only say the word, or give me a mere sign, and I will ask her to tell you herself that I do not love her. She is the mother of my intellect; nothing more, nothing less. From the moment that I first saw you she became to me a sister, a friend, a comrade, what you will of that kind; but we have no rights other than those of friendship upon each other. I took her for a woman until I saw you. You have proved to me that Camille is a man; she swims, hunts, smokes, drinks, rides on horseback, writes and analyzes hearts and books; she has no weaknesses; she marches on in all her strength; her motions even have no resemblance to your graceful movements, to your step, airy as the flight of a bird. Neither has she your voice of love, your tender eyes, your gracious manner; she is Camille Maupin; there is nothing of the woman about her, whereas in you are all the things of womanhood that I love. It has seemed to me, from the first moment when I saw you, that you were mine. 

 You will laugh at that fancy, but it has grown and is growing. It seems to me unnatural, anomalous that we should be apart. You are my soul, my life; I cannot live where you are not!

 Let me love you! Let us fly! let us go into some country where you know no one, where only God and I can reach your heart! My mother, who loves you, might some day follow us. Ireland is full of castles; my mother's family will lend us one. Ah, Beatrix, let us go! A boat, a few sailors, and we are there, before any one can know we have fled this world you fear so much. 

 You have never been loved. I feel it as I re-read your letter, in which I fancy I can see that if the reasons you bring forward did not exist, you would let yourself be loved by me. Beatrix, a sacred love wipes out the past. Yes, I love you so truly that I could wish you doubly shamed if so my love might prove itself by holding you a saint!

 You call my love an insult. Oh, Beatrix, you do not think it so! The love of noble youth--and you have called me that--would honor a queen. Therefore, to-morrow let us walk as lovers, hand in hand, among the rocks and beside the sea; your step upon the sands of my old Brittany will bless them anew to me! Give me this day of happiness; and that passing alms, unremembered, alas! by you, will be eternal riches to your

Calyste. 

The baroness let fall the letter, without reading all of it. She kneltupon a chair, and made a mental prayer to God to save her Calyste'sreason, to put his madness, his error far away from him; to lead himfrom the path in which she now beheld him. 

"What are you doing, mother?" said Calyste, entering the room. 

"I am praying to God for you, " she answered, simply, turning hertearful eyes upon him. "I have committed the sin of reading thatletter. My Calyste is mad!"

"A sweet madness!" said the young man, kissing her. 

"I wish I could see that woman, " she sighed. 

"Mamma, " said Calyste, "we shall take a boat to-morrow and cross toCroisic. If you are on the jetty you can see her. "

So saying, he sealed his letter and departed for Les Touches. 

That which, above all, terrified the baroness was to see a sentimentattaining, by the force of its own instinct, to the clear-sightednessof practised experience. Calyste's letter to Beatrix was such as theChevalier du Halga, with his knowledge of the world, might havedictated. 

 XIII

 DUEL BETWEEN WOMEN

Perhaps one of the greatest enjoyments that small minds or inferiorminds can obtain is that of deceiving a great soul, and laying snaresfor it. Beatrix knew herself far beneath Camille Maupin. Thisinferiority lay not only in the collection of mental and moralqualities which we call /talent/, but in the things of the heartcalled /passion/. 

At the moment when Calyste was hurrying to Les Touches with theimpetuosity of a first love borne on the wings of hope, the marquisewas feeling a keen delight in knowing herself the object of the firstlove of so charming a young man. She did not go so far as to wishherself a sharer in the sentiment, but she thought it heroism on herpart to repress the /capriccio/, as the Italians say. She thought shewas equalling Camille's devotion, and told herself, moreover, that shewas sacrificing herself to her friend. The vanities peculiar toFrenchwomen, which constitute the celebrated coquetry of which she wasso signal an instance, were flattered and deeply satisfied byCalyste's love. Assailed by such powerful seduction, she was resistingit, and her virtues sang in her soul a concert of praise andself-approval. 

The two women were half-sitting, half lying, in apparent indolence onthe divan of the little salon, so filled with harmony and thefragrance of flowers. The windows were open, for the north wind hadceased to blow. A soothing southerly breeze was ruffling the surfaceof the salt lake before them, and the sun was glittering on the sandsof the shore. Their souls were as deeply agitated as the nature beforethem was tranquil, and the heat within was not less ardent. 

Bruised by the working of the machinery which she herself had set inmotion, Camille was compelled to keep watch for her safety, fearingthe amazing cleverness of the friendly enemy, or, rather, the inimicalfriend she had allowed within her borders. To guard her own secretsand maintain herself aloof, she had taken of late to contemplations ofnature; she cheated the aching of her own heart by seeking a meaningin the world around her, finding God in that desert of heaven andearth. When an unbeliever once perceives the presence of God, heflings himself unreservedly into Catholicism, which, viewed as asystem, is complete. 

That morning Camille's brow had worn the halo of thoughts born ofthese researches during a night-time of painful struggle. Calyste wasever before her like a celestial image. The beautiful youth, to whomshe had secretly devoted herself, had become to her a guardian angel. Was it not he who led her into those loftier regions, where sufferingceased beneath the weight of incommensurable infinity? and now acertain air of triumph about Beatrix disturbed her. No woman gains anadvantage over another without allowing it to be felt, however muchshe may deny having taken it. Nothing was ever more strange in itscourse than the dumb, moral struggle which was going on between thesetwo women, each hiding from the other a secret, --each believingherself generous through hidden sacrifices. 

Calyste arrived, holding the letter between his hand and his glove, ready to slip it at some convenient moment into the hand of Beatrix. Camille, whom the subtle change in the manner of her friend had notescaped, seemed not to watch her, but did watch her in a mirror at themoment when Calyste was just entering the room. That is always acrucial moment for women. The cleverest as well as the silliest ofthem, the frankest as the shrewdest, are seldom able to keep theirsecret; it bursts from them, at any rate, to the eyes of anotherwoman. Too much reserve or too little; a free and luminous look; themysterious lowering of eyelids, --all betray, at that sudden moment, the sentiment which is the most difficult of all to hide; for realindifference has something so radically cold about it that it cannever be simulated. Women have a genius for shades, --shades of detail, shades of character; they know them all. There are times when theireyes take in a rival from head to foot; they can guess the slightestmovement of a foot beneath a gown, the almost imperceptible motion ofthe waist; they know the significance of things which, to a man, seeminsignificant. Two women observing each other play one of the choicestscenes of comedy that the world can show. 

"Calyste has committed some folly, " thought Camille, perceiving ineach of her guests an indefinable air of persons who have a mutualunderstanding. 

There was no longer either stiffness or pretended indifference on thepart of Beatrix; she now regarded Calyste as her own property. Calystewas even more transparent; he colored, as guilty people, or happypeople color. He announced that he had come to make arrangements forthe excursion on the following day. 

"Then you really intend to go, my dear?" said Camille, interrogatively. 

"Yes, " said Beatrix. 

"How did you know it, Calyste?" asked Mademoiselle des Touches. 

"I came here to find out, " replied Calyste, on a look flashed at himby Madame de Rochefide, who did not wish Camille to gain the slightestinkling of their correspondence. 

"They have an agreement together, " thought Camille, who caught thelook in the powerful sweep of her eye. 

Under the pressure of that thought a horrible discomposure overspreadher face and frightened Beatrix. 

"What is the matter, my dear?" she cried. 

"Nothing. Well, then, Calyste, send my horses and yours across toCroisic, so that we may drive home by way of Batz. We will breakfastat Croisic, and get home in time for dinner. You must take charge ofthe boat arrangements. Let us start by half-past eight. You will seesome fine sights, Beatrix, and one very strange one; you will seeCambremer, a man who does penance on a rock for having wilfully killedhis son. Oh! you are in a primitive land, among a primitive race ofpeople, where men are moved by other sentiments than those of ordinarymortals. Calyste shall tell you the tale; it is a drama of theseashore. "

She went into her bedroom, for she was stifling. Calyste gave hisletter to Beatrix and followed Camille. 

"Calyste, you are loved, I think; but you are hiding something fromme; you have done some foolish thing. "

"Loved!" he exclaimed, dropping into a chair. 

Camille looked into the next room; Beatrix had disappeared. The factwas odd. Women do not usually leave a room which contains the man theyadmire, unless they have either the certainty of seeing him again, orsomething better still. Mademoiselle des Touches said to herself:--

"Can he have given her a letter?"

But she thought the innocent Breton incapable of such boldness. 

"If you have disobeyed me, all will be lost, through your own fault, "she said to him very gravely. "Go, now, and make your preparations forto-morrow. "

She made a gesture which Calyste did not venture to resist. 

As he walked toward Croisic, to engage the boatmen, fears came intoCalyste's mind. Camille's speech foreshadowed something fatal, and hebelieved in the second sight of her maternal affection. When hereturned, four hours later, very tired, and expecting to dine at LesTouches, he found Camille's maid keeping watch over the door, to tellhim that neither her mistress nor the marquise could receive him thatevening. Calyste, much surprised, wished to question her, but she badehim hastily good-night and closed the door. 

Six o'clock was striking on the steeple of Guerande as Calyste enteredhis own house, where Mariotte gave him his belated dinner; afterwhich, he played /mouche/ in gloomy meditation. These alternations ofjoy and gloom, happiness and unhappiness, the extinction of hopessucceeding the apparent certainty of being loved, bruised and woundedthe young soul which had flown so high on outstretched wings that thefall was dreadful. 

"Does anything trouble you, my Calyste?" said his mother. 

"Nothing, " he replied, looking at her with eyes from which the lightof the soul and the fire of love were withdrawn. 

It is not hope, but despair, which gives the measure of our ambitions. The finest poems of hope are sung in secret, but grief appears withouta veil. 

"Calyste, you are not nice, " said Charlotte, after vainly attemptingon him those little provincial witcheries which degenerate usuallyinto teasing. 

"I am tired, " he said, rising, and bidding the company good-night. 

"Calyste is much changed, " remarked Mademoiselle de Pen-Hoel. 

"We haven't beautiful dresses trimmed with lace; we don't shake oursleeves like this, or twist our bodies like that; we don't know how togive sidelong glances, and turn our eyes, " said Charlotte, mimickingthe air, and attitude, and glances of the marquise. "/We/ haven't thathead voice, nor the interesting little cough, /heu! heu!/ which soundslike the sigh of a spook; /we/ have the misfortune of being healthyand robust, and of loving our friends without coquetry; and when welook at them, we don't pretend to stick a dart into them, or to watchthem slyly; /we/ can't bend our heads like a weeping willow, just tolook the more interesting when we raise them--this way. "

Mademoiselle de Pen-Hoel could not help laughing at her niece'sgesture; but neither the chevalier nor the baron paid any heed to thistruly provincial satire against Paris. 

"But the Marquise de Rochefide is a very handsome woman, " said the oldmaid. 

"My dear, " said the baroness to her husband, "I happen to know thatshe is going over to Croisic to-morrow. Let us walk on the jetty; Ishould like to see her. "

While Calyste was racking his brains to imagine what could have closedthe doors of Les Touches to him, a scene was passing between Camilleand Beatrix which was to have its influence on the events of themorrow. 

Calyste's last letter had stirred in Madame de Rochefide's heartemotions hitherto unknown to it. Women are not often the subject of alove so young, guileless, sincere, and unconditional as that of thisyouth, this child. Beatrix had loved more than she had been loved. After being all her life a slave, she suddenly felt an inexplicabledesire to be a tyrant. But, in the midst of her pleasure, as she readand re-read the letter, she was pierced through and through with acruel idea. 

What were Calyste and Camille doing together ever since ClaudeVignon's departure? If, as Calyste said, he did not love Camille, andif Camille knew it, how did they employ their mornings, and why werethey alone together? Memory suddenly flashed into her mind, in answerto these questions, certain speeches of Camille; a grinning devilseemed to show her, as in a magic mirror, the portrait of that heroicwoman, with certain gestures, certain aspects, which suddenlyenlightened her. What! instead of being her equal, was she crushed byFelicite? instead of over-reaching her, was she being over-reachedherself? was she only a toy, a pleasure, which Camille was giving toher child, whom she loved with an extraordinary passion that was freefrom all vulgarity?

To a woman like Beatrix this thought came like a thunder-clap. Shewent over in her mind minutely the history of the past week. In amoment the part which Camille was playing, and her own, unrolledthemselves to their fullest extent before her eyes; she felt horriblybelittled. In her fury of jealous anger, she fancied she could see inCamille's conduct an intention of vengeance against Conti. Was thehidden wrath of the past two years really acting upon the presentmoment?

Once on the path of these doubts and superstitions, Beatrix did notpause. She walked up and down her room, driven to rapid motion by theimpetuous movements of her soul, sitting down now and then, and tryingto decide upon a course, but unable to do so. And thus she remained, aprey to indecision until the dinner hour, when she rose hastily, andwent downstairs without dressing. No sooner did Camille see her, thanshe felt that a crisis had come. Beatrix, in her morning gown, with achilling air and a taciturn manner, indicated to an observer as keenas Maupin the coming hostilities of an embittered heart. 

Camille instantly left the room and gave the order which so astonishedCalyste; she feared that he might arrive in the midst of the quarrel, and she determined to be alone, without witnesses, in fighting thisduel of deception on both sides. Beatrix, without an auxiliary, wouldinfallibly succumb. Camille well knew the barrenness of that soul, thepettiness of that pride, to which she had justly applied the epithetof obstinate. 

The dinner was gloomy. Camille was gentle and kind; she felt herselfthe superior being. Beatrix was hard and cutting; she felt she wasbeing managed like a child. During dinner the battle began withglances, gestures, half-spoken sentences, --not enough to enlighten theservants, but enough to prepare an observer for the coming storm. Whenthe time to go upstairs came, Camille offered her arm maliciously toBeatrix, who pretended not to see it, and sprang up the stairwayalone. When coffee had been served Mademoiselle des Touches said tothe footman, "You may go, "--a brief sentence, which served as a signalfor the combat. 

"The novels you make, my dear, are more dangerous than those youwrite, " said the marquise. 

"They have one advantage, however, " replied Camille, lighting acigarette. 

"What is that?" asked Beatrix. 

"They are unpublished, my angel. "

"Is the one in which you are putting me to be turned into a book?"

"I've no fancy for the role of OEdipus; I know you have the wit andbeauty of a sphinx, but don't propound conundrums. Speak out, plainly, my dear Beatrix. "

"When, in order to make a man happy, amuse him, please him, and savehim from ennui, we allow the devil to help us--"

"That man would reproach us later for our efforts on his behalf, andwould think them prompted by the genius of depravity, " said Camille, taking the cigarette from her lips to interrupt her friend. 

"He forgets the love which carried us away, and is our solejustification--but that's the way of men, they are all unjust andungrateful, " continued Beatrix. "Women among themselves know eachother; they know how proud and noble their own minds are, and, let usfrankly say so, how virtuous! But, Camille, I have just recognized thetruth of certain criticisms upon your nature, of which you havesometimes complained. My dear, you have something of the man aboutyou; you behave like a man; nothing restrains you; if you haven't alla man's advantages, you have a man's spirit in all your ways; and youshare his contempt for women. I have no reason, my dear, to besatisfied with you, and I am too frank to hide my dissatisfaction. Noone has ever given or ever will give, perhaps, so cruel a wound to myheart as that from which I am now suffering. If you are not a woman inlove, you are one in vengeance. It takes a /woman/ of genius todiscover the most sensitive spot of all in another woman's delicacy. Iam talking now of Calyste, and the trickery, my dear, --that is theword, --/trickery/, --you have employed against me. To what depths haveyou descended, Camille Maupin! and why?"

"More and more sphinx-like!" said Camille, smiling. 

"You want me to fling myself at Calyste's head; but I am still tooyoung for that sort of thing. To me, love is sacred; love is love withall its emotions, jealousies, and despotisms. I am not an author; itis impossible for me to see ideas where the heart feels sentiments. "

"You think yourself capable of loving foolishly!" said Camille. "Makeyourself easy on that score; you still have plenty of sense. My dear, you calumniate yourself; I assure you that your nature is cold enoughto enable your head to judge of every action of your heart. "

The marquise colored high; she darted a look of hatred, a venomouslook, at Camille, and found, without searching, the sharpest arrows inher quiver. Camille smoked composedly as she listened to a furioustirade, which rang with such cutting insults that we do not reproduceit here. Beatrix, irritated by the calmness of her adversary, condescended even to personalities on Camille's age. 

"Is that all?" said Felicite, when Beatrix paused, letting a cloud ofsmoke exhale from her lips. "Do you love Calyste?"

"No; of course not. "

"So much the better, " replied Camille. "I do love him--far too muchfor my own peace of mind. He may, perhaps, have had a passing fancyfor you; for you are, you know, enchantingly fair, while I am as blackas a crow; you are slim and willowy, while I have a portly dignity; inshort, you are /young/!--that's the final word, and you have notspared it to me. You have abused your advantages as a woman againstme. I have done my best to prevent what has now happened. Howeverlittle of a woman you may think me, I am woman enough, my dear, not toallow a rival to triumph over me unless I choose to help her. " (Thisremark, made in apparently the most innocent manner, cut the marquiseto the heart). "You take me for a very silly person if you believe allthat Calyste tries to make you think of me. I am neither so great norso small; I am a woman, and very much of a woman. Come, put off yourgrand airs, and give me your hand!" continued Camille, taking Madamede Rochefide's hand. "You do not love Calyste, you say; that is true, is it not? Don't be angry, therefore; be hard, and cold, and stern tohim to-morrow; he will end by submitting to his fate, especially aftercertain little reproaches which I mean to make to him. Still, Calysteis a Breton, and very persistent; if he should continue to pay courtto you, tell me frankly, and I will lend you my little country housenear Paris, where you will find all the comforts of life, and whereConti can come out and see you. You said just now that Calystecalumniated me. Good heavens! what of that? The purest love liestwenty times a day; its deceptions only prove its strength. "

Camille's face wore an air of such superb disdain that the marquisegrew fearful and anxious. She knew not how to answer. Camille dealther a last blow. 

"I am more confiding and less bitter than you, " she said. "I don'tsuspect you of attempting to cover by a quarrel a secret injury, whichwould compromise my very life. You know me; I shall never survive theloss of Calyste, but I must lose him sooner or later. Still, Calysteloves me now; of that I am sure. "

"Here is what he answered to a letter of mine, urging him to be trueto you, " said Beatrix, holding out Calyste's last letter. 

Camille took it and read it; but as she read it, her eyes filled withtears; and presently she wept as women weep in their bitterestsorrows. 

"My God!" she said, "how he loves her! I shall die without beingunderstood--or loved, " she added. 

She sat for a few moments with her head leaning against the shoulderof her companion; her grief was genuine; she felt to the very core ofher being the same terrible blow which the Baronne du Guenic hadreceived in reading that letter. 

"Do you love him?" she said, straightening herself up, and lookingfixedly at Beatrix. "Have you that infinite worship for him whichtriumphs over all pains, survives contempt, betrayal, the certaintythat he will never love you? Do you love him for himself, and for thevery joy of loving him?"

"Dear friend, " said the marquise, tenderly, "be happy, be at peace; Iwill leave this place to-morrow. "

"No, do not go; he loves you, I see that. Well, I love him so muchthat I could not endure to see him wretched and unhappy. Still, I hadformed plans for him, projects; but if he loves you, all is over. "

"And I love him, Camille, " said the marquise, with a sort of/naivete/, and coloring. 

"You love him, and yet you cast him off!" cried Camille. "Ah! that isnot loving; you do not love him. "

"I don't know what fresh virtue he has roused in me, but certainly hehas made me ashamed of my own self, " said Beatrix. "I would I werevirtuous and free, that I might give him something better than thedregs of a heart and the weight of my chains. I do not want a hampereddestiny either for him or for myself. "

"Cold brain!" exclaimed Camille, with a sort of horror. "To love andcalculate!"

"Call it what you like, " said Beatrix, "but I will not spoil his life, or hang like a millstone round his neck, to become an eternal regretto him. If I cannot be his wife, I shall not be his mistress. He has--you will laugh at me? No? Well, then, he has purified me. "

Camille cast on Beatrix the most sullen, savage look that femalejealousy ever cast upon a rival. 

"On that ground, I believed I stood alone, " she said. "Beatrix, thosewords of yours must separate us forever; we are no longer friends. Here begins a terrible conflict between us. I tell you now; you willeither succumb or fly. "

So saying, Camille bounded into her room, after showing her face, which was that of a maddened lioness, to the astonished Beatrix. Thenshe raised the portiere and looked in again. 

"Do you intend to go to Croisic to-morrow, " she asked. 

"Certainly, " replied the marquise, proudly. "I shall not fly, and Ishall not succumb. "

"I play above board, " replied Camille; "I shall write to Conti. "

Beatrix became as white as the gauze of her scarf. 

"We are staking our lives on this game, " she replied, not knowing whatto say or do. 

The violent passions roused by this scene between the two women calmeddown during the night. Both argued with their own minds and returnedto those treacherously temporizing courses which are so attractive tothe majority of women, --an excellent system between men and women, butfatally unsafe among women alone. In the midst of this tumult of theirsouls Mademoiselle des Touches had listened to that great Voice whosecounsels subdue the strongest will; Beatrix heard only the promptingsof worldly wisdom; she feared the contempt of society. 

Thus Felicite's last deception succeeded; Calyste's blunder wasrepaired, but a fresh indiscretion might be fatal to him. 

 XIV

 AN EXCURSION TO CROISIC

It was now the end of August, and the sky was magnificently clear. Near the horizon the sea had taken, as it is wont to do in southernclimes, a tint of molten silver; on the shore it rippled in tinywaves. A sort of glowing vapor, an effect of the rays of the sunfalling plumb upon the sands, produced an atmosphere like that of thetropics. The salt shone up like bunches of white violets on thesurface of the marsh. The patient /paludiers/, dressed in white toresist the action of the sun, had been from early morning at theirposts, armed with long rakes. Some were leaning on the low mud-wallsthat divided the different holdings, whence they watched the processof this natural chemistry, known to them from childhood. Others wereplaying with their wives and children. Those green dragons, otherwisecalled custom-house officers, were tranquilly smoking their pipes. 

There was something foreign, perhaps oriental, about the scene; at anyrate a Parisian suddenly transported thither would never have supposedhimself in France. The baron and baroness, who had made a pretext ofcoming to see how the salt harvest throve, were on the jetty, admiringthe silent landscape, where the sea alone sounded the moan of herwaves at regular intervals, where boats and vessels tracked a vastexpanse, and the girdle of green earth richly cultivated, produced aneffect that was all the more charming because so rare on the desolateshores of ocean. 

"Well, my friends, I wanted to see the marshes of Guerande once morebefore I die, " said the baron to the /paludiers/, who had gatheredabout the entrance of the marshes to salute him. 

"Can a Guenic die?" said one of them. 

Just then the party from Les Touches arrived through the narrowpathway. The marquise walked first alone; Calyste and Camille followedarm-in-arm. Gasselin brought up the rear. 

"There are my father and mother, " said the young man to Camille. 

The marquise stopped short. Madame du Guenic felt the most violentrepulsion at the appearance of Beatrix, although the latter wasdressed to much advantage. A Leghorn hat with wide brims and a wreathof blue-bells, her crimped hair fluffy beneath it, a gown of some graywoollen stuff, and a blue sash with floating ends gave her the air ofa princess disguised as a milkmaid. 

"She has no heart, " thought the baroness. 

"Mademoiselle, " said Calyste to Camille, "this is Madame du Guenic, and this is my father. " Then he said turning to the baron andbaroness, "Mademoiselle des Touches, and Madame la Marquise deRochefide, /nee/ de Casteran, father. "

The baron bowed to Mademoiselle des Touches, who made a respectfulbow, full of gratitude, to the baroness. 

"That one, " thought Fanny, "really loves my boy; she seems to thank mefor bringing him into the world. "

"I suppose you have come to see, as I have, whether the harvest is agood one. But I believe you have better reasons for doing so than I, "said the baron to Camille. "You have property here, I think, mademoiselle. "

"Mademoiselle is the largest of all the owners, " said one of the/paludiers/ who were grouped about them, "and may God preserve her tous, for she's a /good/ lady. "

The two parties bowed and separated. 

"No one would suppose Mademoiselle des Touches to be more thanthirty, " said the baron to his wife. "She is very handsome. AndCalyste prefers that haggard Parisian marquise to a sound Bretongirl!"

"I fear he does, " replied the baroness. 

A boat was waiting at the steps of the jetty, where the party embarkedwithout a smile. The marquise was cold and dignified. Camille hadlectured Calyste on his disobedience, explaining to him clearly howmatters stood. Calyste, a prey to black despair, was casting glancesat Beatrix in which anger and love struggled for the mastery. Not aword was said by any of them during the short passage from the jettyof Guerande to the extreme end of the port of Croisic, the point wherethe boats discharge the salt, which the peasant-women then bear awayon their heads in huge earthen jars after the fashion of caryatides. These women go barefooted with very short petticoats. Many of them letthe kerchiefs which cover their bosoms fly carelessly open. Some wearonly shifts, and are the more dignified; for the less clothing a womanwears, the more nobly modest is her bearing. 

The little Danish vessel had just finished lading, therefore thelanding of the two handsome ladies excited much curiosity among thefemale salt-carriers; and as much to avoid their remarks as to serveCalyste, Camille sprang forward toward the rocks, leaving him tofollow with Beatrix, while Gasselin put a distance of some two hundredsteps between himself and his master. 

The peninsula of Croisic is flanked on the sea side by granite rocksthe shapes of which are so strangely fantastic that they can only beappreciated by travellers who are in a position to compare them withother great spectacles of primeval Nature. Perhaps the rocks ofCroisic have the same advantage over sights of that kind as thataccorded to the road to the Grande Chartreuse over all other narrowvalleys. Neither the coasts of Croisic, where the granite bulwark issplit into strange reefs, nor those of Sardinia, where Nature isdedicated to grandiose and terrible effects, nor even the basalticrocks of the northern seas can show a character so unique and socomplete. Fancy has here amused itself by composing interminablearabesques where the most fantastic figures wind and twine. All formsare here. The imagination is at last fatigued by this vast gallery ofabnormal shapes, where in stormy weather the sea makes rough assaultswhich have ended in polishing all ruggedness. 

You will find under a naturally vaulted roof, of a boldness imitatedfrom afar by Brunelleschi (for the greatest efforts of art are alwaysthe timid copying of effects of nature), a rocky hollow polished likea marble bath-tub and floored with fine white sand, in which is fourfeet of tepid water where you can bathe without danger. You walk on, admiring the cool little covers sheltered by great portals; roughlycarved, it is true, but majestic, like the Pitti palace, that otherimitation of the whims of Nature. Curious features are innumerable;nothing is lacking that the wildest imagination could invent ordesire. 

There even exists a thing so rare on the rocky shores of ocean thatthis may be the solitary instance of it, --a large bush of box. Thisbush, the greatest curiosity of Croisic, where trees have never grown, is three miles distant from the harbor, on the point of rocks thatruns farthest into the sea. On this granite promontory, which rises toa height that neither the waves nor the spray can touch, even in thewildest weather, and faces southerly, diluvian caprice has constructeda hollow basin, which projects about four feet. Into this basin, orcleft, chance, possibly man, has conveyed enough vegetable earth forthe growth of a box-plant, compact, well-nourished, and sown, nodoubt, by birds. The shape of the roots would indicate to a botanistan existence of at least three hundred years. Above it the rock hasbeen broken off abruptly. The natural convulsion which did this, thetraces of which are ineffaceably written here, must have carried awaythe broken fragments of the granite I know not where. 

The sea rushes in, meeting no reefs, to the foot of this cliff, whichrises to a height of some four or five hundred feet; at its base lieseveral scattered rocks, just reaching the surface at high water, anddescribing a semi-circle. It requires some nerve and resolution toclimb to the summit of this little Gibraltar, the shape of which isnearly round, and from which a sudden gust of wind might precipitatethe rash gazer into the sea, or, still more to be feared, upon therocks. 

This gigantic sentinel resembles the look-out towers of old castles, from which the inhabitants could look the country over and foreseeattacks. Thence we see the clock towers and the arid fields ofCroisic, with the sandy dunes, which injure cultivation, and stretchas far as Batz. A few old men declare that in days long past afortress occupied the spot. The sardine-fishers have given the rock, which can be seen far out at sea, a name; but it is useless to writeit here, its Breton consonants being as difficult to pronounce as toremember. 

Calyste led Beatrix to this point, whence the view is magnificent, andwhere the natural sculpture of the granite is even more imposing tothe spectator than the mass of the huge breastwork when seen from thesandy road which skirts the shore. 

Is it necessary to explain why Camille had rushed away alone? Likesome wounded wild animal, she longed for solitude, and went on and on, threading her way among the fissures and caves and little peaks ofnature's fortress. Not to be hampered in climbing by women's clothing, she wore trousers with frilled edges, a short blouse, a peaked cap, and, by way of staff, she carried a riding-whip, for Camille hasalways had a certain vanity in her strength and her agility. Thusarrayed, she looked far handsomer than Beatrix. She wore also a littleshawl of crimson China crape, crossed on her bosom and tied behind, asthey dress a child. For some time Beatrix and Calyste saw her flittingbefore them over the peaks and chasms like a ghost or vision; she wastrying to still her inward sufferings by confronting some imaginaryperil. 

She was the first to reach the rock in which the box-bush grew. Thereshe sat down in the shade of a granite projection, and was lost inthought. What could a woman like herself do with old age, havingalready drunk the cup of fame which all great talents, too eager tosip slowly the stupid pleasures of vanity, quaff at a single draught?She has since admitted that it was here--at this moment, and on thisspot--that one of those singular reflections suggested by a merenothing, by one of those chance accidents that seem nonsense to commonminds, but which, to noble souls, do sometimes open vast depths ofthought, decided her to take the extraordinary step by which she wasto part forever from social life. 

She drew from her pocket a little box, in which she had put, in caseof thirst, some strawberry lozenges; she now ate several; and as shedid so, the thought crossed her mind that the strawberries, whichexisted no longer, lived nevertheless in their qualities. Was it notso with ourselves? The ocean before her was an image of the infinite. No great spirit can face the infinite, admitting the immortality ofthe soul, without the conviction of a future of holiness. The thoughtfilled her mind. How petty then seemed the part that she was playing!there was no real greatness in giving Beatrix to Calyste! So thinking, she felt the earthly woman die within her, and the true woman, thenoble and angelic being, veiled until now by flesh, arose in herplace. Her great mind, her knowledge, her attainments, her false loveshad brought her face to face with what? Ah! who would have thought it?--with the bounteous mother, the comforter of troubled spirits, withthe Roman Church, ever kind to repentance, poetic to poets, childlikewith children, and yet so profound, so full of mystery to anxious, restless minds that they can burrow there and satisfy all longings, all questionings, all hopes. She cast her eyes, as it were, upon thestrangely devious way--like the tortuous rocky path before her--overwhich her love for Calyste had led her. Ah! Calyste was indeed amessenger from heaven, her divine conductor! She had stifled earthlylove, and a divine love had come from it. 

After walking for some distance in silence, Calyste could not refrain, on a remark of Beatrix about the grandeur of the ocean, so unlike thesmiling beauty of the Mediterranean, from comparing in depth, purity, extent, unchanging and eternal duration, that ocean with his love. 

"It is met by a rock!" said Beatrix, laughing. 

"When you speak thus, " he answered, with a sublime look, "I hear you, I see you, and I can summon to my aid the patience of the angels; butwhen I am alone, you would pity me if you could see me then. My motherweeps for my suffering. "

"Listen to me, Calyste; we must put an end to all this, " said themarquise, gazing down upon the sandy road. "Perhaps we have nowreached the only propitious place to say these things, for never in mylife did I see nature more in keeping with my thoughts. I have seenItaly, where all things tell of love; I have seen Switzerland, whereall is cool and fresh, and tells of happiness, --the happiness oflabor; where the verdure, the tranquil waters, the smiling slopes, areoppressed by the snow-topped Alps; but I have never seen anything thatso depicts the burning barrenness of my life as that little arid plaindown there, dried by the salt sea winds, corroded by the spray, wherea fruitless agriculture tries to struggle against the will of thatgreat ocean. There, Calyste, you have an image of this Beatrix. Don'tcling to it. I love you, but I will never be yours in any waywhatever, for I have the sense of my inward desolation. Ah! you do notknow how cruel I am to myself in speaking thus to you. No, you shallnever see your idol diminished; she shall never fall from the heightat which you have placed her. I now have a horror of any love whichdisregards the world and religion. I shall remain in my present bonds;I shall be that sandy plain we see before us, without fruit or flowersor verdure. "

"But if you are abandoned?" said Calyste. 

"Then I should beg my pardon of the man I have offended. I will neverrun the risk of taking a happiness I know would quickly end. "

"End!" cried Calyste. 

The marquise stopped the passionate speech into which her lover wasabout to launch, by repeating the word "End!" in a tone that silencedhim. 

This opposition roused in the young man one of those mute inwardfuries known only to those who love without hope. They walked onseveral hundred steps in total silence, looking neither at the sea, nor the rocks, nor the plain of Croisic. 

"I would make you happy, " said Calyste. 

"All men begin by promising that, " she answered, "and they end byabandonment and disgust. I have no reproach to cast on him to whom Ishall be faithful. He made me no promises; I went to him; but my onlymeans of lessening my fault is to make it eternal. "

"Say rather, madame, that you feel no love for me. I, who love you, Iknow that love cannot argue; it is itself; it sees nothing else. Thereis no sacrifice I will not make to you; command it, and I will do theimpossible. He who despised his mistress for flinging her glove amongthe lions, and ordering him to bring it back to her, did not /love!/He denied your right to test our hearts, and to yield yourselves onlyto our utmost devotion. I will sacrifice to you my family, my name, myfuture. "

"But what an insult in that word 'sacrifice'!" she said, inreproachful tones, which made poor Calyste feel the folly of hisspeech. 

None but women who truly love, or inborn coquettes, know how to use aword as a point from which to make a spring. 

"You are right, " said Calyste, letting fall a tear; "that word canonly be said of the cruel struggles which you ask of me. "

"Hush!" said Beatrix, struck by an answer in which, for the firsttime, Calyste had really made her feel his love. "I have done wrongenough; tempt me no more. "

At this moment they had reached the base of the rock on which grew theplant of box. Calyste felt a thrill of delight as he helped themarquise to climb the steep ascent to the summit, which she wished toreach. To the poor lad it was a precious privilege to hold her up, tomake her lean upon him, to feel her tremble; she had need of him. Thisunlooked-for pleasure turned his head; he saw nought else but Beatrix, and he clasped her round the waist. 

"What!" she said, with an imposing air. 

"Will you never be mine?" he demanded, in a voice that was choked bythe tumult of his blood. 

"Never, my friend, " she replied. "I can only be to you a Beatrix, --adream. But is not that a sweet and tender thing? We shall have nobitterness, no grief, no repentance. "

"Will you return to Conti?"

"I must. "

"You shall never belong to any man!" cried Calyste, pushing her fromhim with frenzied violence. 

He listened for her fall, intending to spring after her, but he heardonly a muffled sound, the tearing of some stuff, and then the thud ofa body falling on the ground. Instead of being flung head foremostdown the precipice, Beatrix had only slipped some eight or ten feetinto the cavity where the box-bush grew; but she might from there haverolled down into the sea if her gown had not caught upon a point ofrock, and by tearing slowly lowered the weight of her body upon thebush. 

Mademoiselle des Touches, who saw the scene, was unable in her horrorto cry out, but she signed to Gasselin to come. Calyste was leaningforward with an expression of savage curiosity; he saw the position inwhich Beatrix lay, and he shuddered. Her lips moved, --she seemed to bepraying; in fact, she thought she was about to die, for she felt thebush beginning to give way. With the agility which danger gives toyouth, Calyste slid down to the ledge below the bush, where he wasable to grasp the marquise and hold her, although at the risk of theirboth sliding down into the sea. As he held her, he saw that she hadfainted; but in that aerial spot he could fancy her all his, and hisfirst emotion was that of pleasure. 

"Open your eyes, " he said, "and forgive me; we will die together. "

"Die?" she said, opening her eyes and unclosing her pallid lips. 

Calyste welcomed that word with a kiss, and felt the marquise trembleunder it convulsively, with passionate joy. At that instant Gasselin'shob-nailed shoes sounded on the rock above them. The old Breton wasfollowed by Camille, and together they sought for some means of savingthe lovers. 

"There's but one way, mademoiselle, " said Gasselin. "I must slide downthere, and they can climb on my shoulders, and you must pull them up. "

"And you?" said Camille. 

The man seemed surprised that he should be considered in presence ofthe danger to his young master. 

"You must go to Croisic and fetch a ladder, " said Camille. 

Beatrix asked in a feeble voice to be laid down, and Calyste placedher on the narrow space between the bush and its background of rock. 

"I saw you, Calyste, " said Camille from above. "Whether Beatrix livesor dies, remember that this must be an accident. "

"She will hate me, " he said, with moistened eyes. 

"She will adore you, " replied Camille. "But this puts an end to ourexcursion. We must get her back to Les Touches. Had she been killed, Calyste, what would have become of you?"

"I should have followed her. "

"And your mother?" Then, after a pause, she added, feebly, "and me?"

Calyste was deadly pale; he stood with his back against the granitemotionless and silent. Gasselin soon returned from one of the littlefarms scattered through the neighborhood, bearing a ladder which hehad borrowed. By this time Beatrix had recovered a little strength. The ladder being placed, she was able, by the help of Gasselin, wholowered Camille's red shawl till he could grasp it, to reach the roundtop of the rock, where the Breton took her in his arms and carried herto the shore as though she were an infant. 

"I should not have said no to death--but suffering!" she murmured toFelicite, in a feeble voice. 

The weakness, in fact the complete prostration, of the marquiseobliged Camille to have her taken to the farmhouse from which theladder had been borrowed. Calyste, Gasselin, and Camille took off whatclothes they could spare and laid them on the ladder, making a sort oflitter on which they carried Beatrix. The farmers gave her a bed. Gasselin then went to the place where the carriage was awaiting them, and, taking one of the horses, rode to Croisic to obtain a doctor, telling the boatman to row to the landing-place that was nearest tothe farmhouse. 

Calyste, sitting on a stool, answered only by motions of the head, andrare monosyllables when spoken to; Camille's uneasiness, roused forBeatrix, was still further excited by Calyste's unnatural condition. When the physician arrived, and Beatrix was bled, she felt better, began to talk, and consented to embark; so that by five o'clock theyreached the jetty at Guerande, whence she was carried to Les Touches. The news of the accident had already spread through that lonely andalmost uninhabited region with incredible rapidity. 

Calyste passed the night at Les Touches, sitting at the foot ofBeatrix's bed, in company with Camille. The doctor from Guerande hadassured them that on the following day a little stiffness would be allthat remained of the accident. Across the despair of Calyste's heartthere came a gleam of joy. He was there, at her feet; he could watchher sleeping or waking; he might study her pallid face and all itsexpressions. Camille smiled bitterly as her keen mind recognized inCalyste the symptoms of a passion such as man can feel but once, --apassion which dyes his soul and his faculties by mingling with thefountain of his life at a period when neither thoughts nor caresdistract or oppose the inward working of this emotion. She saw thatCalyste would never, could never see the real woman that was inBeatrix. 

And with what guileless innocence the young Breton allowed histhoughts to be read! When he saw the beautiful green eyes of the sickwoman turned to him, expressing a mixture of love, confusion, and evenmischief, he colored, and turned away his head. 

"Did I not say truly, Calyste, that you men promised happiness, andended by flinging us down a precipice?"

When he heard this little jest, said in sweet, caressing tones whichbetrayed a change of heart in Beatrix, Calyste knelt down, took hermoist hand which she yielded to him, and kissed it humbly. 

"You have the right to reject my love forever, " he said, "and I, Ihave no right to say one word to you. "

"Ah!" cried Camille, seeing the expression on Beatrix's face andcomparing it with that obtained by her diplomacy, "love has awit of its own, wiser than that of all the world! Take yourcomposing-draught, my dear friend, and go to sleep. "

That night, spent by Calyste beside Mademoiselle des Touches, who reada book of theological mysticism while Calyste read "Indiana, "--thefirst work of Camille's celebrated rival, in which is the captivatingimage of a young man loving with idolatry and devotion, withmysterious tranquillity and for all his life, a woman placed in thesame false position as Beatrix (a book which had a fatal influenceupon him), --that night left ineffaceable marks upon the heart of thepoor young fellow, whom Felicite soothed with the assurance thatunless a woman were a monster she must be flattered in all hervanities by being the object of such a crime. 

"You would never have flung /me/ into the water, " said Camille, brushing away a tear. 

Toward morning, Calyste, worn-out with emotion, fell asleep in hisarm-chair; and the marquise in her turn, watched his charming face, paled by his feelings and his vigil of love. She heard him murmur hername as he slept. 

"He loves while sleeping, " she said to Camille. 

"We must send him home, " said Felicite, waking him. 

No one was anxious at the hotel du Guenic, for Mademoiselle desTouches had written a line to the baroness telling her of theaccident. 

Calyste returned to dinner at Les Touches and found Beatrix up anddressed, but pale, feeble, and languid. No longer was there anyharshness in her words or any coldness in her looks. After thisevening, filled with music by Camille, who went to her piano to leaveCalyste free to take and press the hands of Beatrix (though both wereunable to speak), no storms occurred at Les Touches. Felicitecompletely effaced herself. 

Cold, fragile, thin, hard women like Madame de Rochefide, women whosenecks turn in a manner to give them a vague resemblance to the felinerace, have souls of the same pale tint as their light eyes, green orgray; and to melt them, to fuse those blocks of stone it needs athunderbolt. To Beatrix, Calyste's fury of love and his mad actioncame as the thunderbolt that nought resists, which changes allnatures, even the most stubborn. She felt herself inwardly humbled; atrue, pure love bathed her heart with its soft and limpid warmth. Shebreathed a sweet and genial atmosphere of feelings hitherto unknown toher, by which she felt herself magnified, elevated; in fact, she roseinto that heaven where Bretons throughout all time have placed theWoman. She relished with delight the respectful adoration of theyouth, whose happiness cost her little, for a gesture, a look, a wordwas enough to satisfy him. The value which Calyste's heart gave tothese trifles touched her exceedingly; to hold her gloved hand wasmore to that young angel than the possession of her whole person tothe man who ought to have been faithful to her. What a contrastbetween them!

Few women could resist such constant deification. Beatrix felt herselfsure of being obeyed and understood. She might have asked Calyste torisk his life for the slightest of her caprices, and he would neverhave reflected for a moment. This consciousness gave her a certainnoble and imposing air. She saw love on the side of its grandeur; andher heart sought for some foothold on which she might remain foreverthe loftiest of women in the eyes of her young lover, over whom shenow wished her power to be eternal. 

Her coquetries became the more persistent because she felt withinherself a certain weakness. She played the invalid for a whole weekwith charming hypocrisy. Again and again she walked about the velvetturf which lay between the house and garden leaning on Calyste's armin languid dependence. 

"Ah! my dear, you are taking him a long journey in a small space, "said Mademoiselle des Touches one day. 

Before the excursion to Croisic, the two women were discoursing oneevening about love, and laughing at the different ways that menadopted to declare it; admitting to themselves that the cleverest men, and naturally the least loving, did not like to wander in thelabyrinths of sentimentality and went straight to the point, --in whichperhaps they were right; for the result was that those who loved mostdeeply and reservedly were, for a time at least, ill-treated. 

"They go to work like La Fontaine, when he wanted to enter theAcademy, " said Camille. 

Madame de Rochefide had unbounded power to restrain Calyste within thelimits where she meant to keep him; it sufficed her to remind him by alook or gesture of his horrible violence on the rocks. The eyes of herpoor victim would fill with tears, he was silent, swallowing down hisprayers, his arguments, his sufferings with a heroism that wouldcertainly have touched any other woman. She finally brought him by herinfernal coquetry to such a pass that he went one day to Camilleimploring her advice. 

Beatrix, armed with Calyste's own letter, quoted the passage in whichhe said that to love was the first happiness, that of being loved camelater; and she used that axiom to restrain his passion to the limitsof respectful idolatry, which pleased her well. She liked to feel hersoul caressed by those sweet hymns of praise and adoration whichnature suggests to youth; in them is so much artless art; suchinnocent seduction is in their cries, their prayers, theirexclamations, their pledges of themselves in the promissory noteswhich they offer on the future; to all of which Beatrix was verycareful to give no definite answer. Yes, she heard him; but shedoubted! Love was not yet the question; what he asked of her waspermission to love. In fact, that was all the poor lad really askedfor; his mind still clung to the strongest side of love, the spiritualside. But the woman who is firmest in words is often the feeblest inaction. It is strange that Calyste, having seen the progress his suithad made by pushing Beatrix into the sea, did not continue to urge itviolently. But love in young men is so ecstatic and religious thattheir inmost desire is to win its fruition through moral conviction. In that is the sublimity of their love. 

Nevertheless the day came when the Breton, driven to desperation, complained to Camille of Beatrix's conduct. 

"I meant to cure you by making you quickly understand her, " repliedMademoiselle des Touches; "but you have spoiled all. Ten days ago youwere her master; to-day, my poor boy, you are her slave. You willnever have the strength now to do as I advise. "

"What ought I to do?"

"Quarrel with her on the ground of her hardness. A woman is alwaysover-excited when she discusses; let her be angry and ill-treat you, and then stay away; do not return to Les Touches till she herselfrecalls you. "

In all extreme illness there is a moment when the patient is willingto accept the cruellest remedy and submits to the most horribleoperation. Calyste had reached that point. He listened to Camille'sadvice and stayed at home two whole days; but on the third he wasscratching at Beatrix's door to let her know that he and Camille werewaiting breakfast for her. 

"Another chance lost!" Camille said to him when she saw him re-appearso weakly. 

During his two days' absence, Beatrix had frequently looked throughthe window which opens on the road to Guerande. When Camille found herdoing so, she talked of the effect produced by the gorse along theroadway, the golden blooms of which were dazzling in the Septembersunshine. 

The marquise kept Camille and Calyste waiting long for breakfast; andthe delay would have been significant to any eyes but those ofCalyste, for when she did appear, her dress showed an evidentintention to fascinate him and prevent another absence. Afterbreakfast she went to walk with him in the garden and filled hissimple heart with joy by expressing a wish to go again to that rockwhere she had so nearly perished. 

"Will you go with me alone?" asked Calyste, in a troubled voice. 

"If I refused to do so, " she replied, "I should give you reason tosuppose I thought you dangerous. Alas! as I have told you again andagain I belong to another, and I must be his only; I chose him knowingnothing of love. The fault was great, and bitter is my punishment. "

When she talked thus, her eyes moist with the scanty tears shed bythat class of woman, Calyste was filled with a compassion that reducedhis fiery ardor; he adored her then as he did a Madonna. We have nomore right to require different characters to be alike in theexpression of feelings than we have to expect the same fruits fromdifferent trees. Beatrix was at this moment undergoing an inwardstruggle; she hesitated between herself and Calyste, --between theworld she still hoped to re-enter, and the young happiness offered toher; between a second and an unpardonable love, and socialrehabilitation. She began, therefore, to listen, without even acteddispleasure, to the talk of the youth's blind passion; she allowed hissoft pity to soothe her. Several times she had been moved to tears asshe listened to Calyste's promises; and she suffered him tocommiserate her for being bound to an evil genius, a man as false asConti. More than once she related to him the misery and anguish shehad gone through in Italy, when she first became aware that she wasnot alone in Conti's heart. On this subject Camille had fully informedCalyste and given him several lectures on it, by which he profited. 

"I, " he said, "will love you only, you absolutely. I have no triumphsof art, no applause of crowds stirred by my genius to offer you; myonly talent is to love you; my honor, my pride are in yourperfections. No other woman can have merit in my eyes; you have noodious rivalry to fear. You are misconceived and wronged, but I knowyou, and for every misconception, for every wrong, I will make youfeel my comprehension day by day. "

She listened to such speeches with bowed head, allowing him to kissher hands, and admitting silently but gracefully that she was indeedan angel misunderstood. 

"I am too humiliated, " she would say; "my past has robbed the futureof all security. "

It was a glorious day for Calyste when, arriving at Les Touches atseven in the morning, he saw from afar Beatrix at a window watchingfor him, and wearing the same straw hat she had worn on the memorableday of their first excursion. For a moment he was dazzled and giddy. These little things of passion magnify the world itself. It may bethat only Frenchwomen possess the art of such scenic effects; they oweit to the grace of their minds; they know how to put into sentiment asmuch of the picturesque as the particular sentiment can bear without aloss of vigor or of force. 

Ah! how lightly she rested on Calyste's arm! Together they left LesTouches by the garden-gate which opens on the dunes. Beatrix thoughtthe sands delightful; she spied the hardy little plants withrose-colored flowers that grew there, and she gathered a quantity tomix with the Chartreux pansies which also grow in that arid desert, dividing them significantly with Calyste, to whom those flowers andtheir foliage were to be henceforth an eternal and dreadful relic. 

"We'll add a bit of box, " she said smiling. 

They sat some time together on the jetty, and Calyste, while waitingfor the boat to come over, told her of his juvenile act on the day ofher arrival. 

"I knew of your little escapade, " she said, "and it was the cause ofmy sternness to you that first night. "

During their walk Madame de Rochefide had the lightly jesting tone ofa woman who loves, together with a certain tenderness and abandonmentof manner. Calyste had reason to think himself beloved. But when, wandering along the shore beneath the rocks, they came upon one ofthose charming creeks where the waves deposit the most extraordinarymosaic of brilliant pebbles, and they played there like childrengathering the prettiest, when Calyste at the summit of happiness askedher plainly to fly with him to Ireland, she resumed her dignified anddistant air, asked for his arm, and continued their walk in silence towhat she called her Tarpeian rock. 

"My friend, " she said, mounting with slow steps the magnificent blockof granite of which she was making for herself a pedestal, "I have notthe courage to conceal what you are to me. For ten years I have had nohappiness comparable to that which we have just enjoyed together, searching for shells among those rocks, exchanging pebbles of which Ishall make a necklace more precious far to me than if it were made ofthe finest diamonds. I have been once more a little girl, a child, such as I was at fourteen or sixteen--when I was worthy of you. Thelove I have had the happiness to inspire in your heart has raised mein my own eyes. Understand these words to their magical extent. Youhave made me the proudest and happiest of my sex, and you will livelonger in my remembrance, perhaps, than I in yours. "

At this moment they reached the summit of the rock, whence they sawthe vast ocean on one side and Brittany on the other, with its goldenisles, its feudal towers, and its gorse. Never did any woman stand ona finer scene to make a great avowal. 

"But, " she continued, "I do not belong to myself; I am more bound bymy own will than I was by the law. You must be punished for mymisdeed, but be satisfied to know that we suffer together. Dante neversaw his Beatrice again; Petrarch never possessed his Laura. Suchdisasters fall on none but noble souls. But, if I should be abandoned, if I fall lower yet into shame and ignominy, if your Beatrix iscruelly misjudged by the world she loathes, if indeed she is thelowest of women, --then, my child, my adored child, " she said, takinghis hand, "to you she will still be first of all; you will know thatshe rises to heaven as she leans on you; but then, my friend, " sheadded, giving him an intoxicating look, "then if you wish to cast herdown do not fail of your blow; after your love, death!"

Calyste clasped her round the waist and pressed her to his heart. Asif to confirm her words Madame de Rochefide laid a tender, timid kissupon his brow. When they turned and walked slowly back; talkingtogether like those who have a perfect comprehension of each other, --she, thinking she had gained a truce, he not doubting of hishappiness; and both deceived. Calyste, from what Camille had told him, was confident that Conti would be enchanted to find an opportunity topart from Beatrix; Beatrix, yielding herself up to the vagueness ofher position, looked to chance to arrange the future. 

They reached Les Touches in the most delightful of all states of mind, entering by the garden gate, the key of which Calyste had taken withhim. It was nearly six o'clock. The luscious odors, the warmatmosphere, the burnished rays of the evening sun were all in harmonywith their feelings and their tender talk. Their steps were taken inunison, --the gait of all lovers, --their movements told of the union oftheir thoughts. The silence that reigned about Les Touches was soprofound that the noise which Calyste made in opening and shutting thegate must have echoed through the garden. As the two had said all toeach other that could be said, and as their day's excursion, so filledwith emotion, had physically tired them, they walked slowly, sayingnothing. 

Suddenly, at the turn of a path, Beatrix was seized with a horribletrembling, with that contagious horror which is caused by the sight ofa snake, and which Calyste felt before he saw the cause of it. On abench, beneath the branches of a weeping ash, sat Conti, talking withCamille Maupin. 

 XV

 CONTI

The inward and convulsive trembling of the marquise was more apparentthan she wished it to be; a tragic drama developed at that moment inthe souls of all present. 

"You did not expect me so soon, I fancy, " said Conti, offering his armto Beatrix. 

The marquise could not avoid dropping Calyste's arm and taking that ofConti. This ignoble transit, imperiously demanded, so dishonoring tothe new love, overwhelmed Calyste who threw himself on the benchbeside Camille, after exchanging the coldest of salutations with hisrival. He was torn by conflicting emotions. Strong in the thought thatBeatrix loved him, he wanted at first to fling himself upon Conti andtell him that Beatrix was his; but the violent trembling of the womanbetraying how she suffered--for she had really paid the penalty of herfaults in that one moment--affected him so deeply that he was dumb, struck like her with a sense of some implacable necessity. 

Madame de Rochefide and Conti passed in front of the seat whereCalyste had dropped beside Camille, and as she passed, the marquiselooked at Camille, giving her one of those terrible glances in whichwomen have the art of saying all things. She avoided the eyes ofCalyste and turned her attention to Conti, who appeared to be jestingwith her. 

"What will they say to each other?" Calyste asked of Camille. 

"Dear child, you don't know as yet the terrible rights which anextinguished love still gives to a man over a woman. Beatrix could notrefuse to take his arm. He is, no doubt, joking her about her newlove; he must have guessed it from your attitudes and the manner inwhich you approached us. "

"Joking her!" cried the impetuous youth, starting up. 

"Be calm, " said Camille, "or you will lose the last chances thatremain to you. If he wounds her self-love, she will crush him like aworm under her foot. But he is too astute for that; he will manage herwith greater cleverness. He will seem not even to suppose that theproud Madame de Rochefide could betray him; /she/ could never beguilty of such depravity as loving a man for the sake of his beauty. He will represent you to her as a child ambitious to have a marquisein love with him, and to make himself the arbiter of the fate of twowomen. In short, he will fire a broadside of malicious insinuations. Beatrix will then be forced to parry with false assertions anddenials, which he will simply make use of to become once more hermaster. "

"Ah!" cried Calyste, "he does not love her. I would leave her free. True love means a choice made anew at every moment, confirmed from dayto day. The morrow justifies the past, and swells the treasury of ourpleasures. Ah! why did he not stay away a little longer? A few daysmore and he would not have found her. What brought him back?"

"The jest of a journalist, " replied Camille. "His opera, on thesuccess of which he counted, has fallen flat. Some journalist, probably Claude Vignon, remarked in the foyer: 'It is hard to losefame and mistress at the same moment, ' and the speech cut him in allhis vanities. Love based on petty sentiments is always pitiless. Ihave questioned him; but who can fathom a nature so false anddeceiving? He appeared to be weary of his troubles and his love, --inshort, disgusted with life. He regrets having allied himself sopublicly with the marquise, and made me, in speaking of his pasthappiness, a melancholy poem, which was somewhat too clever to betrue. I think he hoped to worm out of me the secret of your love, inthe midst of the joy he expected his flatteries to cause me. "

"What else?" said Calyste, watching Beatrix and Conti, who were nowcoming towards them; but he listened no longer to Camille's words. 

In talking with Conti, Camille had held herself prudently on thedefensive; she had betrayed neither Calyste's secret nor that ofBeatrix. The great artist was capable of treachery to every one, andMademoiselle des Touches warned Calyste to distrust him. 

"My dear friend, " she said, "this is by far the most critical momentfor you. You need caution and a sort of cleverness you do not possess;I am afraid you will let yourself be tricked by the most wily man Ihave ever known, and I can do nothing to help you. "

The bell announced dinner. Conti offered his arm to Camille; Calystegave his to Beatrix. Camille drew back to let the marquise pass, butthe latter had found a moment in which to look at Calyste, and impressupon him, by putting her finger on her lips, the absolute necessity ofdiscretion. 

Conti was extremely gay during the dinner; perhaps this was only oneway of probing Madame de Rochefide, who played her part extremely ill. If her conduct had been mere coquetry, she might have deceived evenConti; but her new love was real, and it betrayed her. The wilymusician, far from adding to her embarrassment, pretended not to haveperceived it. At dessert, he brought the conversation round to women, and lauded the nobility of their sentiments. Many a woman, he said, who might have been willing to abandon a man in prosperity, wouldsacrifice all to him in misfortune. Women had the advantage over menin constancy; nothing ever detached them from their first lover, towhom they clung as a matter of honor, unless he wounded them; theyfelt that a second love was unworthy of them, and so forth. His ethicswere of the highest order; shedding incense on the altar where he knewthat one heart at least, pierced by many a blow, was bleeding. Camilleand Beatrix alone understood the bitterness of the sarcasms shot forthin the guise of eulogy. At times they both flushed scarlet, but theywere forced to control themselves. When dinner was over, they tookeach other by the arm to return to Camille's salon, and, as if bymutual consent, they turned aside into the great salon, where theycould be alone for an instant in the darkness. 

"It is dreadful to let Conti ride over me roughshod; and yet I can'tdefend myself, " said Beatrix, in a low voice. "The galley-slave isalways a slave to his chain-companion. I am lost; I must needs returnto my galleys! And it is you, Camille, who have cast me there! Ah! youbrought him back a day too soon, or a day too late. I recognize yourinfernal talent as author. Well, your revenge is complete, the finaleperfect!"

"I may have told you that I would write to Conti, but to do it wasanother matter, " cried Camille. "I am incapable of such baseness. Butyou are unhappy, and I will forgive the suspicion. "

"What will become of Calyste?" said the marquise, with naiveself-conceit. 

"Then Conti carries you off, does he?" asked Camille. 

"Ah! you think you triumph!" cried Beatrix. 

Anger distorted her handsome face as she said those bitter words toCamille, who was trying to hide her satisfaction under a falseexpression of sympathy. Unfortunately, the sparkle in her eyes beliedthe sadness of her face, and Beatrix was learned in such deceptions. When, a few moments later, the two women were seated under a stronglight on that divan where the first three weeks so many comedies hadbeen played, and where the secret tragedy of many thwarted passionshad begun, they examined each other for the last time, and felt theywere forever parted by an undying hatred. 

"Calyste remains to you, " said Beatrix, looking into Camille's eyes;"but I am fixed in his heart, and no woman can ever drive me out ofit. "

Camille replied, with an inimitable tone of irony that struck themarquise to the heart, in the famous words of Mazarin's niece to LouisXIV. , --

"You reign, you love, and you depart!"

Neither Camille nor Beatrix was conscious during this sharp and bitterscene of the absence of Conti and Calyste. The composer had remainedat table with his rival, begging him to keep him company in finishinga bottle of champagne. 

"We have something to say to each other, " added Conti, to prevent allrefusal on the part of Calyste. 

Placed as they both were, it was impossible for the young Breton torefuse this challenge. 

"My dear friend, " said the composer, in his most caressing voice, assoon as the poor lad had drunk a couple of glasses of champagne, "weare both good fellows, and we can speak to each other frankly. I havenot come here suspiciously. Beatrix loves me, "--this with a gesture ofthe utmost self-conceit--"but the truth is, I have ceased to love her. I am not here to carry her away with me, but to break off ourrelations, and to leave her the honors of the rupture. You are young;you don't yet know how useful it is to appear to be the victim whenyou are really the executioner. Young men spit fire and flame; theyleave a woman with noise and fury; they often despise her, and theymake her hate them. But wise men do as I am doing; they get themselvesdismissed, assuming a mortified air, which leaves regret in thewoman's heart and also a sense of her superiority. You don't yet know, luckily for you, how hampered men often are in their careers by therash promises which women are silly enough to accept when gallantryobliges us to make nooses to catch our happiness. We swear eternalfaithfulness, and declare that we desire to pass our lives with them, and seem to await a husband's death impatiently. Let him die, andthere are some provincial women obtuse or silly or malicious enough tosay: 'Here am I, free at last. ' The spent ball suddenly comes to lifeagain, and falls plumb in the midst of our finest triumphs or our mostcarefully planned happiness. I have seen that you love Beatrix. Ileave her therefore in a position where she loses nothing of herprecious majesty; she will certainly coquet with you, if only to teaseand annoy that angel of a Camille Maupin. Well, my dear fellow, takeher, love her, you'll do me a great service; I want her to turnagainst me. I have been afraid of her pride and her virtue. Perhaps, in spite of my approval of the matter, it may take some time to effectthis /chassez-croissez/. On such occasions the wisest plan is to takeno step at all. I did, just now, as we walked about the lawn, attemptto let her see that I knew all, and was ready to congratulate her onher new happiness. Well, she was furious! At this moment I amdesperately in love with the youngest and handsomest of ourprima-donnas, Mademoiselle Falcon of the Grand Opera. I think ofmarrying her; yes, I have got as far as that. When you come to Parisyou will see that I have changed a marquise for a queen. "

Calyste, whose candid face revealed his satisfaction, admitted hislove for Beatrix, which was all that Conti wanted to discover. Thereis no man in the world, however /blase/ or depraved he may be, whoselove will not flame up again the moment he sees it threatened by arival. He may wish to leave a woman, but he will never willingly lether leave him. When a pair of lovers get to this extremity, both theman and the woman strive for priority of action, so deep is the woundto their vanity. Questioned by the composer, Calyste related all thathad happened during the last three weeks at Les Touches, delighted tofind that Conti, who concealed his fury under an appearance ofcharming good-humor, took it all in good part. 

"Come, let us go upstairs, " said the latter. "Women are sodistrustful; those two will wonder how we can sit here togetherwithout tearing each other's hair out; they are even capable of comingdown to listen. I'll serve you faithfully, my dear boy. You'll see merough and jealous with the marquise; I shall seem to suspect her;there's no better way to drive a woman to betray you. You will behappy, and I shall be free. Seem to pity that angel for belonging to aman without delicacy; show her a tear--for you can weep, you are stillyoung. I, alas! can weep no more; and that's a great advantage lost. "

Calyste and Conti went up to Camille's salon. The composer, begged byhis young rival to sing, gave them that greatest of musicalmasterpieces viewed as execution, the famous "/Pria che spuntil'aurora/, " which Rubini himself never attempted without trembling, and which had often been Conti's triumph. Never was his singing moreextraordinary than on this occasion, when so many feelings werecontending in his breast. Calyste was in ecstasy. As Conti sang thefirst words of the cavatina, he looked intently at the marquise, giving to those words a cruel signification which was fullyunderstood. Camille, who accompanied him, guessed the order thusconveyed, which bowed the head of the luckless Beatrix. She looked atCalyste, and felt sure that the youth had fallen into some trap inspite of her advice. This conviction became certainty when theevidently happy Breton came up to bid Beatrix good-night, kissing herhand, and pressing it with a little air of happy confidence. 

By the time Calyste had reached Guerande, the servants were packingConti's travelling-carriage, and "by dawn, " as the song had said, thecomposer was carrying Beatrix away with Camille's horses to the firstrelay. The morning twilight enabled Madame de Rochefide to seeGuerande, its towers, whitened by the dawn, shining out upon the stilldark sky. Melancholy thoughts possessed her; she was leaving there oneof the sweetest flowers of all her life, --a pure love, such as a younggirl dreams of; the only true love she had ever known or was ever toconceive of. The woman of the world obeyed the laws of the world; shesacrificed love to their demands just as many women sacrifice it toreligion or to duty. Sometimes mere pride can rise in acts as high asvirtue. Read thus, this history is that of many women. 

The next morning Calyste went to Les Touches about mid-day. When hereached the spot from which, the day before, he had seen Beatrixwatching for him at the window, he saw Camille, who instantly ran downto him. She met him at the foot of the staircase and told the crueltruth in one word, --

"Gone!"

"Beatrix?" asked Calyste, thunderstruck. 

"You have been duped by Conti; you told me nothing, and I could donothing for you. "

She led the poor fellow to her little salon, where he flung himself onthe divan where he had so often seen the marquise, and burst intotears. Felicite smoked her hookah and said nothing, knowing well thatno words or thoughts are capable of arresting the first anguish ofsuch pain, which is always deaf and dumb. Calyste, unable even tothink, much less to choose a course, sat there all day in a state ofcomplete torpidity. Just before dinner was served, Camille tried tosay a few words, after begging him, very earnestly, to listen to her. 

"Friend, " she said, "you caused me the bitterest suffering, and I hadnot, like you, a beautiful young life before me in which to healmyself. For me, life has no longer any spring, nor my soul a love. So, to find consolation, I have had to look above. Here, in this room, theday before Beatrix came here, I drew you her portrait; I did not doher injustice, or you might have thought me jealous. I wanted you toknow her as she is, for that would have kept you safe. Listen now tothe full truth. Madame de Rochefide is wholly unworthy of you. Thescandal of her fall was not necessary; she did the thing deliberatelyin order to play a part in the eyes of society. She is one of thosewomen who prefer the celebrity of a scandal to tranquil happiness;they fly in the face of society to obtain the fatal alms of a rebuke;they desire to be talked about at any cost. Beatrix was eaten up withvanity. Her fortune and her wit had not given her the feminine royaltythat she craved; they had not enabled her to reign supreme over asalon. She then bethought herself of seeking the celebrity of theDuchesse de Langeais and the Vicomtesse de Beauseant. But the world, after all, is just; it gives the homage of its interest to realfeelings only. Beatrix playing comedy was judged to be a second-rateactress. There was no reason whatever for her flight; the sword ofDamocles was not suspended over her head; she is neither sincere, norloving, nor tender; if she were, would she have gone away with Contithis morning?"

Camille talked long and eloquently; but this last effort to openCalyste's eyes was useless, and she said no more when he expressed toher by a gesture his absolute belief in Beatrix. 

She forced him to come down into the dining-room and sit there whileshe dined; though he himself was unable to swallow food. It is onlyduring extreme youth that these contractions of the bodily functionsoccur. Later, the organs have acquired, as it were, fixed habits, andare hardened. The reaction of the mental and moral system upon thephysical is not enough to produce a mortal illness unless the physicalsystem retains its primitive purity. A man resists the violent griefthat kills a youth, less by the greater weakness of his affection thanby the greater strength of his organs. 

Therefore Mademoiselle des Touches was greatly alarmed by the calm, resigned attitude which Calyste took after his burst of tears hadsubsided. Before he left her, he asked permission to go into Beatrix'sbedroom, where he had seen her on the night of her illness, and therehe laid his head on the pillow where hers had lain. 

"I am committing follies, " he said, grasping Camille's hand, andbidding her good-night in deep dejection. 

He returned home, found the usual company at /mouche/, and passed theremainder of the evening sitting beside his mother. The rector, theChevalier du Halga, and Mademoiselle de Pen-Hoel all knew of Madame deRochefide's departure, and were rejoicing in it. Calyste would nowreturn to them; and all three watched him cautiously. No one in thatold manor-house was capable of imagining the result of a first love, the love of youth in a heart so simple and so true as that of Calyste. 

 XVI

 SICKNESS UNTO DEATH

For several days Calyste went regularly to Les Touches. He paced roundand round the lawn, where he had sometimes walked with Beatrix on hisarm. He often went to Croisic to stand upon that fateful rock, or liefor hours in the bush of box; for, by studying the footholds on thesides of the fissure, he had found a means of getting up and down. 

These solitary trips, his silence, his gravity, made his mother veryanxious. After about two weeks, during which time this conduct, likethat of a caged animal, lasted, this poor lover, caged in his despair, ceased to cross the bay; he had scarcely strength to drag himselfalong the road from Guerande to the spot where he had seen Beatrixwatching from her window. The family, delighted at the departure of"those Parisians, " to use a term of the provinces, saw nothing fatalor diseased about the lad. The two old maids and the rector, pursuingtheir scheme, had kept Charlotte de Kergarouet, who nightly played offher little coquetries on Calyste, obtaining in return nothing betterthan advice in playing /mouche/. During these long evenings, Calystesat between his mother and the little Breton girl, observed by therector and Charlotte's aunt, who discussed his greater or lessdepression as they walked home together. Their simple minds mistookthe lethargic indifference of the hapless youth for submission totheir plans. One evening when Calyste, wearied out, went off suddenlyto bed, the players dropped their cards upon the table and looked ateach other as the young man closed the door of his chamber. One andall had listened to the sound of his receding steps with anxiety. 

"Something is the matter with Calyste, " said the baroness, wiping hereyes. 

"Nothing is the matter, " replied Mademoiselle de Pen-Hoel; "but youshould marry him at once. "

"Do you believe that marriage would divert his mind?" asked thechevalier. 

Charlotte looked reprovingly at Monsieur du Halga, whom she now beganto think ill-mannered, depraved, immoral, without religion, and veryridiculous about his dog, --opinions which her aunt, defending the oldsailor, combated. 

"I shall lecture Calyste to-morrow morning, " said the baron, whom theothers had thought asleep. "I do not wish to go out of this worldwithout seeing my grandson, a little pink and white Guenic with aBreton cap on his head. "

"Calyste doesn't say a word, " said old Zephirine, "and there's nomaking out what's the matter with him. He doesn't eat; I don't seewhat he lives on. If he gets his meals at Les Touches, the devil'skitchen doesn't nourish him. "

"He is in love, " said the chevalier, risking that opinion verytimidly. 

"Come, come, old gray-beard, you've forgotten to put in your stake!"cried Mademoiselle de Pen-Hoel. "When you begin to think of your youngdays you forget everything. "

"Come to breakfast to-morrow, " said old Zephirine to her friendJacqueline; "my brother will have had a talk with his son, and we cansettle the matter finally. One nail, you know, drives out another. "

"Not among Bretons, " said the chevalier. 

The next day Calyste saw Charlotte, as she arrived dressed withunusual care, just after the baron had given him, in the dining-room, a discourse on matrimony, to which he could make no answer. He nowknew the ignorance of his father and mother and all their friends; hehad gathered the fruits of the tree of knowledge, and knew himself tobe as much isolated as if he did not speak the family language. Hemerely requested his father to give him a few days' grace. The oldbaron rubbed his hands with joy, and gave fresh life to the baronessby whispering in her ear what he called the good news. 

Breakfast was gay; Charlotte, to whom the baron had given a hint, wassparkling. After the meal was over, Calyste went out upon the porticoleading to the garden, followed by Charlotte; he gave her his arm andled her to the grotto. Their parents and friends were at the window, looking at them with a species of tenderness. Presently Charlotte, uneasy at her suitor's silence, looked back and saw them, which gaveher an opportunity of beginning the conversation by saying toCalyste, --

"They are watching us. "

"They cannot hear us, " he replied. 

"True; but they see us. "

"Let us sit down, Charlotte, " replied Calyste, gently taking her hand. 

"Is it true that your banner used formerly to float from that twistedcolumn?" asked Charlotte, with a sense that the house was alreadyhers; how comfortable she should be there! what a happy sort of life!"You will make some changes inside the house, won't you, Calyste?" shesaid. 

"I shall not have time, my dear Charlotte, " said the young man, takingher hands and kissing them. "I am going now to tell you my secret. Ilove too well a person whom you have seen, and who loves me, to beable to make the happiness of any other woman; though I know that fromour childhood you and I have been destined for each other by ourfriends. "

"But she is married, Calyste. "

"I shall wait, " replied the young man. 

"And I, too, " said Charlotte, her eyes filling with tears. "You cannotlong love a woman like that, who, they say, has gone off with asinger--"

"Marry, my dear Charlotte, " said Calyste, interrupting her. "With thefortune your aunt intends to give you, which is enormous for Brittany, you can choose some better man than I. You could marry a titled man. Ihave brought you here, not to tell you what you already knew, but toentreat you, in the name of our childish friendship, to take thisrupture upon yourself, and say that you have rejected me. Say that youdo not wish to marry a man whose heart is not free; and thus I shallbe spared at least the sense that I have done you public wrong. You donot know, Charlotte, how heavy a burden life now is to me. I cannotbear the slightest struggle; I am weakened like a man whose vitalspark is gone, whose soul has left him. If it were not for the grief Ishould cause my mother, I would have flung myself before now into thesea; I have not returned to the rocks at Croisic since the day thattemptation became almost irresistible. Do not speak of this to anyone. Good-bye, Charlotte. "

He took the young girl's head and kissed her hair; then he left thegarden by the postern-gate and fled to Les Touches, where he stayednear Camille till past midnight. On returning home, at one in themorning, he found his mother awaiting him with her worsted-work. Heentered softly, clasped her hand in his, and said, --

"Is Charlotte gone?"

"She goes to-morrow, with her aunt, in despair, both of them, "answered the baroness. "Come to Ireland with me, my Calyste. "

"Many a time I have thought of flying there--"

"Ah!" cried the baroness. 

"With Beatrix, " he added. 

Some days after Charlotte's departure, Calyste joined the Chevalier duHalga in his daily promenade on the mall with his little dog. They satdown in the sunshine on a bench, where the young man's eyes couldwander from the vanes of Les Touches to the rocks of Croisic, againstwhich the waves were playing and dashing their white foam. Calyste wasthin and pale; his strength was diminishing, and he was conscious attimes of little shudders at regular intervals, denoting fever. Hiseyes, surrounded by dark circles, had that singular brilliancy which afixed idea gives to the eyes of hermits and solitary souls, or theardor of contest to those of the strong fighters of our presentcivilization. The chevalier was the only person with whom he couldexchange a few ideas. He had divined in that old man an apostle of hisown religion; he recognized in his soul the vestiges of an eternallove. 

"Have you loved many women in your life?" he asked him on the secondoccasion, when, as seamen say, they sailed in company along the mall. 

"Only one, " replied Du Halga. 

"Was she free?"

"No, " exclaimed the chevalier. "Ah! how I suffered! She was the wifeof my best friend, my protector, my chief--but we loved each otherso!"

"Did she love you?" said Calyste. 

"Passionately, " replied the chevalier, with a fervency not usual withhim. 

"You were happy?"

"Until her death; she died at the age of forty-nine, during theemigration, at St. Petersburg, the climate of which killed her. Shemust be very cold in her coffin. I have often thought of going thereto fetch her, and lay her in our dear Brittany, near to me! But shelies in my heart. "

The chevalier brushed away his tears. Calyste took his hand andpressed it. 

"I care for this little dog more than for life itself, " said the oldman, pointing to Thisbe. "The little darling is precisely like the oneshe held on her knees and stroked with her beautiful hands. I neverlook at Thisbe but what I see the hands of Madame l'Amirale. "

"Did you see Madame de Rochefide?" asked Calyste. 

"No, " replied the chevalier. "It is sixty-eight years since I havelooked at any woman with attention--except your mother, who hassomething of Madame l'Amirale's complexion. "

Three days later, the chevalier said to Calyste, on the mall, --

"My child, I have a hundred and forty /louis/ laid by. When you knowwhere Madame de Rochefide is, come and get them and follow her. "

Calyste thanked the old man, whose existence he envied. But now, fromday to day, he grew morose; he seemed to love no one; all things hurthim; he was gentle and kind to his mother only. The baroness watchedwith ever increasing anxiety the progress of his madness; she alonewas able, by force of prayer and entreaty, to make him swallow food. Toward the end of October the sick lad ceased to go even to the mallin search of the chevalier, who now came vainly to the house to tempthim out with the coaxing wisdom of an old man. 

"We can talk of Madame de Rochefide, " he would say. "I'll tell you myfirst adventure. "

"Your son is ill, " he said privately to the baroness, on the day hebecame convinced that all such efforts were useless. 

Calyste replied to questions about his health that he was perfectlywell; but like all young victims of melancholy, he took pleasure inthe thought of death. He no longer left the house, but sat in thegarden on a bench, warming himself in the pale and tepid sunshine, alone with his one thought, and avoiding all companionship. 

Soon after the day when Calyste ceased to go even to Les Touches, Felicite requested the rector of Guerande to come and see her. Theassiduity with which the Abbe Grimont called every morning at LesTouches, and sometimes dined there, became the great topic of thetown; it was talked of all over the region, and even reached Nantes. Nevertheless, the rector never missed a single evening at the hotel duGuenic, where desolation reigned. Masters and servants were allafflicted at Calyste's increasing weakness, though none of themthought him in danger; how could it ever enter the minds of these goodpeople that youth might die of love? Even the chevalier had no exampleof such a death among his memories of life and travel. They attributedCalyste's thinness to want of food. His mother implored him to eat. Calyste endeavored to conquer his repugnance in order to comfort her;but nourishment taken against his will served only to increase theslow fever which was now consuming the beautiful young life. 

During the last days of October the cherished child of the house couldno longer mount the stairs to his chamber, and his bed was placed inthe lower hall, where he was surrounded at all hours by his family. They sent at last for the Guerande physician, who broke the fever withquinine and reduced it in a few days, ordering Calyste to takeexercise, and find something to amuse him. The baron, on this, cameout of his apathy and recovered a little of his old strength; he grewyounger as his son seemed to age. With Calyste, Gasselin, and his twofine dogs, he started for the forest, and for some days all threehunted. Calyste obeyed his father and went where he was told, fromforest to forest, visiting friends and acquaintances in theneighboring chateaus. But the youth had no spirit or gaiety; nothingbrought a smile to his face; his livid and contracted featuresbetrayed an utterly passive being. The baron, worn out at last byfatigue consequent on this spasm of exertion, was forced to returnhome, bringing Calyste in a state of exhaustion almost equal to hisown. For several days after their return both father and son were sodangerously ill that the family were forced to send, at the request ofthe Guerande physician himself, for two of the best doctors in Nantes. 

The baron had received a fatal shock on realizing the change now sovisible in Calyste. With that lucidity of mind which nature gives tothe dying, he trembled at the thought that his race was about toperish. He said no word, but he clasped his hands and prayed to God ashe sat in his chair, from which his weakness now prevented him fromrising. The father's face was turned toward the bed where the son lay, and he looked at him almost incessantly. At the least motion Calystemade, a singular commotion stirred within him, as if the flame of hisown life were flickering. The baroness no longer left the room whereZephirine sat knitting in the chimney-corner in horrible uneasiness. Demands were made upon the old woman for wood, father and son bothsuffering from the cold, and for supplies and provisions, so that, finally, not being agile enough to supply these wants, she had givenher precious keys to Mariotte. But she insisted on knowing everything;she questioned Mariotte and her sister-in-law incessantly, asking in alow voice to be told, over and over again, the state of her brotherand nephew. One night, when father and son were dozing, Mademoisellede Pen-Hoel told her that she must resign herself to the death of herbrother, whose pallid face was now the color of wax. The old womandropped her knitting, fumbled in her pocket for a while, and at lengthdrew out an old chaplet of black wood, on which she began to pray witha fervor which gave to her old and withered face a splendor sovigorous that the other old woman imitated her friend, and then allpresent, on a sign from the rector, joining in the spiritual upliftingof Mademoiselle de Guenic. 

"Alas! I prayed to God, " said the baroness, remembering her prayerafter reading the fatal letter written by Calyste, "and he did nothear me. "

"Perhaps it would be well, " said the rector, "if we beggedMademoiselle des Touches to come and see Calyste. "

"She!" cried old Zephirine, "the author of all our misery! she who hasturned him from his family, who has taken him from us, led him to readimpious books, taught him an heretical language! Let her be accursed, and may God never pardon her! She has destroyed the du Guenics!"

"She may perhaps restore them, " said the rector, in a gentle voice. "Mademoiselle des Touches is a saintly woman; I am her surety forthat. She has none but good intentions to Calyste. May she only beenabled to carry them out. "

"Let me know the day when she sets foot in this house, that I may getout of it, " cried the old woman passionately. "She has killed bothfather and son. Do you think I don't hear death in Calyste's voice? heis so feeble now that he has barely strength to whisper. "

It was at this moment that the three doctors arrived. They pliedCalyste with questions; but as for his father, the examination wasshort; they were surprised that he still lived on. The Guerande doctorcalmly told the baroness that as to Calyste, it would probably be bestto take him to Paris and consult the most experienced physicians, forit would cost over a hundred /louis/ to bring one down. 

"People die of something, but not of love, " said Mademoiselle dePen-Hoel. 

"Alas! whatever be the cause, Calyste is dying, " said the baroness. "Isee all the symptoms of consumption, that most horrible disease of mycountry, about him. "

"Calyste dying!" said the baron, opening his eyes, from which rolledtwo large tears which slowly made their way, delayed by wrinkles, along his cheeks, --the only tears he had probably ever shed in hislife. Suddenly he rose to his feet, walked the few steps to his son'sbedside, took his hand, and looked earnestly at him. 

"What is it you want, father?" said Calyste. 

"That you should live!" cried the baron. 

"I cannot live without Beatrix, " replied Calyste. 

The old man dropped into a chair. 

"Oh! where could we get a hundred /louis/ to bring doctors from Paris?There is still time, " cried the baroness. 

"A hundred /louis!/" cried Zephirine; "will that save him?"

Without waiting for her sister-in-law's reply, the old maid ran herhands through the placket-holes of her gown, unfastened the petticoatbeneath it, which gave forth a heavy sound as it dropped to the floor. She knew so well the places where she had sewn in her /louis/ that shenow ripped them out with the rapidity of magic. The gold pieces rangas they fell, one by one, into her lap. The old Pen-Hoel gazed at thisperformance in stupefied amazement. 

"But they'll see you!" she whispered in her friend's ear. 

"Thirty-seven, " answered Zephirine, continuing to count. 

"Every one will know how much you have. "

"Forty-two. "

"Double /louis!/ all new! How did you get them, you who can't seeclearly?"

"I felt them. Here's one hundred and four /louis/, " cried Zephirine. "Is that enough?"

"What is all this?" asked the Chevalier du Halga, who now came in, unable to understand the attitude of his old blind friend, holding outher petticoat which was full of gold coins. 

Mademoiselle de Pen-Hoel explained. 

"I knew it, " said the chevalier, "and I have come to bring a hundredand forty /louis/ which I have been holding at Calyste's disposition, as he knows very well. "

The chevalier drew the /rouleaux/ from his pocket and showed them. Mariotte, seeing such wealth, sent Gasselin to lock the doors. 

"Gold will not give him health, " said the baroness, weeping. 

"But it can take him to Paris, where he can find her. Come, Calyste. "

"Yes, " cried Calyste, springing up, "I will go. "

"He will live, " said the baron, in a shaking voice; "and I candie--send for the rector!"

The words cast terror on all present. Calyste, seeing the mortalpaleness on his father's face, for the old man was exhausted by thecruel emotions of the scene, came to his father's side. The rector, after hearing the report of the doctors, had gone to Mademoiselle desTouches, intending to bring her back with him to Calyste, for inproportion as the worthy man had formerly detested her, he now admiredher, and protected her as a shepherd protects the most precious of hisflock. 

When the news of the baron's approaching end became known in Guerande, a crowd gathered in the street and lane; the peasants, the/paludiers/, and the servants knelt in the court-yard while the rectoradministered the last sacraments to the old Breton warrior. The wholetown was agitated by the news that the father was dying beside hishalf-dying son. The probable extinction of this old Breton race wasfelt to be a public calamity. 

The solemn ceremony affected Calyste deeply. His filial sorrowsilenced for a moment the anguish of his love. During the last hour ofthe glorious old defender of the monarchy, he knelt beside him, watching the coming on of death. The old man died in his chair inpresence of the assembled family. 

"I die faithful to God and his religion, " he said. "My God! as thereward of my efforts grant that Calyste may live!"

"I shall live, father; and I will obey you, " said the young man. 

"If you wish to make my death as happy as Fanny has made my life, swear to me to marry. "

"I promise it, father. "

It was a touching sight to see Calyste, or rather his shadow, leaningon the arm of the old Chevalier du Halga--a spectre leading a shade--and following the baron's coffin as chief mourner. The church and thelittle square were crowded with the country people coming in to thefuneral from a circuit of thirty miles. 

But the baroness and Zephirine soon saw that, in spite of hisintention to obey his father's wishes, Calyste was falling back into acondition of fatal stupor. On the day when the family put on theirmourning, the baroness took her son to a bench in the garden andquestioned him closely. Calyste answered gently and submissively, buthis answers only proved to her the despair of his soul. 

"Mother, " he said, "there is no life in me. What I eat does not feedme; the air that enters my lungs does not refresh me; the sun feelscold; it seems to you to light that front of the house, and show youthe old carvings bathed in its beams, but to me it is all a blur, amist. If Beatrix were here, it would be dazzling. There is but oneonly thing left in this world that keeps its shape and color to myeyes, --this flower, this foliage, " he added, drawing from his breastthe withered bunch the marquise had given him at Croisic. 

The baroness dared not say more. Her son's answer seemed to her moreindicative of madness than his silence of grief. She saw no hope, nolight in the darkness that surrounded them. 

The baron's last hours and death had prevented the rector frombringing Mademoiselle des Touches to Calyste, as he seemed bent ondoing, for reasons which he did not reveal. But on this day, whilemother and son still sat on the garden bench, Calyste quivered allover on perceiving Felicite through the opposite windows of thecourt-yard and garden. She reminded him of Beatrix, and his liferevived. It was therefore to Camille that the poor stricken motherowed the first motion of joy that lightened her mourning. 

"Well, Calyste, " said Mademoiselle des Touches, when they met, "I wantyou to go to Paris with me. We will find Beatrix, " she added in a lowvoice. 

The pale, thin face of the youth flushed red, and a smile brightenedhis features. 

"Let us go, " he said. 

"We shall save him, " said Mademoiselle des Touches to the mother, whopressed her hands and wept for joy. 

A week after the baron's funeral, Mademoiselle des Touches, theBaronne du Guenic and Calyste started for Paris, leaving the householdin charge of old Zephirine. 

 XVII

 A DEATH: A MARRIAGE

Felicite's tender love was preparing for Calyste a prosperous future. Being allied to the family of Grandlieu, the ducal branch of which wasending in five daughters for lack of a male heir, she had written tothe Duchesse de Grandlieu, describing Calyste and giving his history, and also stating certain intentions of her own, which were as follows:She had lately sold her house in the rue du Mont-Blanc, for which aparty of speculators had given her two millions five hundred thousandfrancs. Her man of business had since purchased for her a charming newhouse in the rue de Bourbon for seven hundred thousand francs; onemillion she intended to devote to the recovery of the du Guenicestates, and the rest of her fortune she desired to settle upon Sabinede Grandlieu. Felicite had long known the plans of the duke andduchess as to the settlement of their five daughters: the youngest wasto marry the Vicomte de Grandlieu, the heir to their ducal title;Clotilde-Frederique, the second daughter, desired to remain unmarried, in memory of a man she had deeply loved, Lucien de Rubempre, while, atthe same time, she did not wish to become a nun like her eldestsister; two of the remaining sisters were already married, and theyoungest but one, the pretty Sabine, just twenty years old, was theonly disposable daughter left. It was Sabine on whom Felicite resolvedto lay the burden of curing Calyste's passion for Beatrix. 

During the journey to Paris Mademoiselle des Touches revealed to thebaroness these arrangements. The new house in the rue de Bourbon wasbeing decorated, and she intended it for the home of Sabine andCalyste if her plans succeeded. 

The party had been invited to stay at the hotel de Grandlieu, wherethe baroness was received with all the distinction due to her rank asthe wife of a du Guenic and the daughter of a British peer. Mademoiselle des Touches urged Calyste to see Paris, while she herselfmade the necessary inquiries about Beatrix (who had disappeared fromthe world, and was travelling abroad), and she took care to throw himinto the midst of diversions and amusements of all kinds. The seasonfor balls and fetes was just beginning, and the duchess and herdaughters did the honors of Paris to the young Breton, who wasinsensibly diverted from his own thoughts by the movement and life ofthe great city. He found some resemblance of mind between Madame deRochefide and Sabine de Grandlieu, who was certainly one of thehandsomest and most charming girls in Parisian society, and thisfancied likeness made him give to her coquetries a willing attentionwhich no other woman could possibly have obtained from him. Sabineherself was greatly pleased with Calyste, and matters went so wellthat during the winter of 1837 the young Baron du Guenic, whose youthand health had returned to him, listened without repugnance to hismother when she reminded him of the promise made to his dying fatherand proposed to him a marriage with Sabine de Grandlieu. Still, whileagreeing to fulfil his promise, he concealed within his soul anindifference to all things, of which the baroness alone was aware, butwhich she trusted would be conquered by the pleasures of a happy home. 

On the day when the Grandlieu family and the baroness, accompanied byher relations who came from England for this occasion, assembled inthe grand salon of the hotel de Grandlieu to sign the marriagecontract, and Leopold Hannequin, the family notary, explained thepreliminaries of that contract before reading it, Calyste, on whoseforehead every one present might have noticed clouds, suddenly andcurtly refused to accept the benefactions offered him by Mademoiselledes Touches. Did he still count on Felicite's devotion to recoverBeatrix? In the midst of the embarrassment and stupefaction of theassembled families, Sabine de Grandlieu entered the room and gave hima letter, explaining that Mademoiselle des Touches had requested herto give it to him on this occasion. 

Calyste turned away from the company to the embrasure of a window andread as follows:--

 Camille Maupin to Calyste. 

 Calyste, before I enter my convent cell I am permitted to cast a look upon the world I am now to leave for a life of prayer and solitude. That look is to you, who have been the whole world to me in these last months. My voice will reach you, if my calculations do not miscarry, at the moment of a ceremony I am unable to take part in. 

 On the day when you stand before the altar giving your hand and name to a young and charming girl who can love you openly before earth and heaven, I shall be before another altar in a convent at Nantes betrothed forever to Him who will neither fail nor betray me. But I do not write to sadden you, --only to entreat you not to hinder by false delicacy the service I have wished to do you since we first met. Do not contest my rights so dearly bought. 

 If love is suffering, ah! I have loved you indeed, my Calyste. But feel no remorse; the only happiness I have known in life I owe to you; the pangs were caused by my own self. Make me compensation, then, for all those pangs, those sorrows, by causing me an everlasting joy. Let the poor Camille, who /is/ no longer, still be something in the material comfort you enjoy. Dear, let me be like the fragrance of flowers in your life, mingling myself with it unseen and not importunate. 

 To you, Calyste, I shall owe my eternal happiness; will you not accept a few paltry and fleeting benefits from me? Surely you will not be wanting in generosity? Do you not see in this the last message of a renounced love? Calyste, the world without you had nothing more for me; you made it the most awful of solitudes; and you have thus brought Camille Maupin, the unbeliever, the writer of books, which I am soon to repudiate solemnly--you have cast her, daring and perverted, bound hand and foot, before God. 

 I am to-day what I might have been, what I was born to be, --innocent, and a child. I have washed my robes in the tears of repentance; I can come before the altar whither my guardian angel, my beloved Calyste, has led me. With what tender comfort I give you that name, which the step I now take sanctifies. I love you without self-seeking, as a mother loves her son, as the Church loves her children. I can pray for you and for yours without one thought or wish except for your happiness. Ah! if you only knew the sublime tranquillity in which I live, now that I have risen in thought above all petty earthly interests, and how precious is the thought of DOING (as your noble motto days) our duty, you would enter your beautiful new life with unfaltering step and never a glance behind you or about you. Above all, my earnest prayer to you is that you be faithful to yourself and to those belonging to you. Dear, society, in which you are to live, cannot exist without the religion of duty, and you will terribly mistake it, as I mistook it, if you allow yourself to yield to passion and to fancy, as I did. Woman is the equal of man only in making her life a continual offering, as that of man is a perpetual action; my life has been, on the contrary, one long egotism. If may be that God placed you, toward evening, by the door of my house, as a messenger from Himself, bearing my punishment and my pardon. 

 Heed this confession of a woman to whom fame has been like a pharos, warning her of the only true path. Be wise, be noble; sacrifice your fancy to your duties, as head of your race, as husband, as father. Raise the fallen standard of the old du Guenics; show to this century of irreligion and want of principle what a gentleman is in all his grandeur and his honor. Dear child of my soul, let me play the part of a mother to you; your own mother will not be jealous of this voice from a tomb, these hands uplifted to heaven, imploring blessings on you. To-day, more than ever, does rank and nobility need fortune. Calyste, accept a part of mine, and make a worthy use of it. It is not a gift; it is a trust I place in your hands. I have thought more of your children and of your old Breton house than of you in offering you the profits which time has brought to my property in Paris. 

"Let us now sign the contract, " said the young baron, returning to theassembled company. 

The Abbe Grimont, to whom the honor of the conversion of thiscelebrated woman was attributed, became, soon after, vicar-general ofthe diocese. 

The following week, after the marriage ceremony, which, according tothe custom of many families of the faubourg Saint-Germain, wascelebrated at seven in the morning at the church of Saint Thomasd'Aquin, Calyste and Sabine got into their pretty travelling-carriage, amid the tears, embraces, and congratulations of a score of friends, collected under the awning of the hotel de Grandlieu. Thecongratulations came from the four witnesses, and the men present; thetears were in the eyes of the Duchesse de Grandlieu and her daughterClotilde, who both trembled under the weight of the same thought, --

"She is launched upon the sea of life! Poor Sabine! at the mercy of aman who does not marry entirely of his own free will. "

Marriage is not wholly made up of pleasures, --as fugitive in thatrelation as in all others; it involves compatibility of temper, physical sympathies, harmonies of character, which make of that socialnecessity an eternal problem. Marriageable daughters, as well asmothers, know the terms as well as the dangers of this lottery; andthat is why women weep at a wedding while men smile; men believe thatthey risk nothing, while women know, or very nearly know, what theyrisk. 

In another carriage, which preceded the married pair, was the Baronnedu Guenic, to whom the duchess had said at parting, --

"You are a mother, though you have only had one son; try to take myplace to my dear Sabine. "

On the box of the bridal carriage sat a /chasseur/, who acted ascourier, and in the rumble were two waiting-maids. The four postilionsdressed in their finest uniforms, for each carriage was drawn by fourhorses, appeared with bouquets on their breasts and ribbons on theirhats, which the Duc de Grandlieu had the utmost difficulty in makingthem relinquish, even by bribing them with money. The French postilionis eminently intelligent, but he likes his fun. These fellows tooktheir bribes and replaced their ribbons at the barrier. 

"Well, good-bye, Sabine, " said the duchess; "remember your promise;write to me often. Calyste, I say nothing more to you, but youunderstand me. "

Clotilde, leaning on the youngest sister Athenais, who was smiling tothe Vicomte de Grandlieu, cast a reflecting look through her tears atthe bride, and followed the carriage with her eyes as it disappearedto the clacking of four whips, more noisy than the shots of a pistolgallery. In a few minutes the gay convoy had reached the esplanade ofthe Invalides, the barrier of Passy by the quay of the Pont d'Iena, and were fairly on the high-road to Brittany. 

Is it not a singular thing that the artisans of Switzerland andGermany, and the great families of France and England should, one andall, follow the custom of setting out on a journey after the marriageceremony? The great people shut themselves in a box which rolls along;the little people gaily tramp the roads, sitting down in the woods, banqueting at the inns, as long as their joy, or rather their moneylasts. A moralist is puzzled to decide on which side is the finersense of modesty, --that which hides from the public eye andinaugurates the domestic hearth and bed in private, as to the worthyburghers of all lands, or that which withdraws from the family andexhibits itself publicly on the high-roads and in face of strangers. One would think that delicate souls might desire solitude and seek toescape both the world and their family. The love which begins amarriage is a pearl, a diamond, a jewel cut by the choicest of arts, atreasure to bury in the depths of the soul. 

Who can relate a honeymoon, unless it be the bride? How many womenreading this history will admit to themselves that this period ofuncertain duration is the forecast of conjugal life? The first threeletters of Sabine to her mother will depict a situation not surprisingto some young brides and to many old women. All those who findthemselves the sick-nurses, so to speak, of a husband's heart, do not, as Sabine did, discover this at once. But young girls of the faubourgSaint-Germain, if intelligent, are women in mind. Before marriage, they have received from their mothers and the world they live in thebaptism of good manners; though women of rank, anxious to hand downtheir traditions, do not always see the bearing of their own lessonswhen they say to their daughters: "That is a motion that must not bemade;" "Never laugh at such things;" "No lady ever flings herself on asofa; she sits down quietly;" "Pray give up such detestable ways;" "Mydear, that is a thing which is never done, " etc. 

Many bourgeois critics unjustly deny the innocence and virtue of younggirls who, like Sabine, are truly virgin at heart, improved by thetraining of their minds, by the habit of noble bearing, by naturalgood taste, while, from the age of sixteen, they have learned how touse their opera-glasses. Sabine was a girl of this school, which wasalso that of Mademoiselle de Chaulieu. This inborn sense of thefitness of things, these gifts of race made Sabine de Grandlieu asinteresting a young woman as the heroine of the "Memoirs of two youngMarried Women. " Her letters to her mother during the honeymoon, ofwhich we here give three or four, will show the qualities of her mindand temperament. 

Guerande, April, 1838. 

 To Madame la Duchesse de Grandlieu:

 Dear Mamma, --You will understand why I did not write to you during the journey, --our wits are then like wheels. Here I am, for the last two days, in the depths of Brittany, at the hotel du Guenic, --a house as covered with carving as a sandal-wood box. In spite of the affectionate devotion of Calyste's family, I feel a keen desire to fly to you, to tell you many things which can only be trusted to a mother. 

 Calyste married, dear mamma, with a great sorrow in his heart. We all knew that, and you did not hide from me the difficulties of my position; but alas! they are greater than you thought. Ah! my dear mother, what experience we acquire in the short space of a few days--I might even say a few hours! All your counsels have proved fruitless; you will see why from one sentence: I love Calyste as if he were not my husband, --that is to say, if I were married to another, and were travelling with Calyste, I should love Calyste and hate my husband. 

 Now think of a man beloved so completely, involuntarily, absolutely, and all the other adverbs you may choose to employ, and you will see that my servitude is established in spite of your good advice. You told me to be grand, noble, dignified, and self-respecting in order to obtain from Calyste the feelings that are never subject to the chances and changes of life, --esteem, honor, and the consideration which sanctifies a woman in the bosom of her family. I remember how you blamed, I dare say justly, the young women of the present day, who, under pretext of living happily with their husbands, begin by compliance, flattery, familiarity, an abandonment, you called it, a little too wanton (a word I did not fully understand), all of which, if I must believe you, are relays that lead rapidly to indifference and possibly to contempt. "Remember that you are a Grandlieu!" yes, I remember that you told me all that--

 But oh! that advice, filled with the maternal eloquence of a female Daedelus has had the fate of all things mythological. Dear, beloved mother, could you ever have supposed it possible that I should begin by the catastrophe which, according to you, ends the honeymoon of the young women of the present day?

 When Calyste and I were fairly alone in the travelling carriage, we felt rather foolish in each other's company, understanding the importance of the first word, the first look; and we both, bewildered by the solemnity, looked out of our respective windows. It became so ridiculous that when we reached the barrier monsieur began, in a rather troubled tone of voice, a set discourse, prepared, no doubt, like other improvisations, to which I listened with a beating heart, and which I take the liberty of here abridging. 

 "My dear Sabine, " he said, "I want you to be happy, and, above all, do I wish you to be happy in your own way. Therefore, in the situation in which we are, instead of deceiving ourselves mutually about our characters and our feelings by noble compliances, let us endeavor to be to each other at once what we should be years hence. Think always that you have a friend and a brother in me, as I shall feel I have a sister and a friend in you. "

 Though it was all said with the utmost delicacy, I found nothing in this first conjugal love-speech which responded to the feelings in my soul, and I remained pensive after replying that I was animated by the same sentiments. After this declaration of our rights to mutual coldness, we talked of weather, relays, and scenery in the most charming manner, --I with rather a forced little laugh, he absent-mindedly. 

 At last, as we were leaving Versailles, I turned to Calyste--whom I called my dear Calyste, and he called me my dear Sabine--and asked him plainly to tell me the events which had led him to the point of death, and to which I was aware that I owed the happiness of being his wife. He hesitated long. In fact, my request gave rise to a little argument between us, which lasted through three relays, --I endeavoring to maintain the part of an obstinate girl, and trying to sulk; he debating within himself the question which the newspapers used to put to Charles X. : "Must the king yield or not?" At last, after passing Verneuil, and exchanging oaths enough to satisfy three dynasties never to reproach him for his folly, and never to treat him coldly, etc. , etc. , he related to me his love for Madame de Rochefide. 

 "I do not wish, " he said, in conclusion, "to have any secrets between us. "

 Poor, dear Calyste, it seems, was ignorant that his friend, Mademoiselle des Touches, and you had thought it right to tell me the truth. Well, mother, --for I can tell all to a mother as tender as you, --I was deeply hurt by perceiving that he had yielded less to my request than to his own desire to talk of that strange passion. Do you blame me, darling mother, for having wished to reconnoitre the extent of the grief, the open wound of the heart of which you warned me?

 So, eight hours after receiving the rector's blessing at Saint-Thomas d'Aquin, your Sabine was in the rather false position of a young wife listening to a confidence, from the very lips of her husband, of his misplaced love for an unworthy rival. Yes, there I was, in the drama of a young woman learning, officially, as it were, that she owed her marriage to the disdainful rejection of an old and faded beauty!

 Still, I gained what I sought. "What was that?" you will ask. Ah! mother dear, I have seen too much of love going on around me not to know how to put a little of it into practice. Well, Calyste ended the poem of his miseries with the warmest protestations of an absolute forgetting of what he called his madness. All kinds of affirmations have to be signed, you know. The happy unhappy one took my hand, carried it to his lips, and, after that, he kept it for a long time clasped in his own. A declaration followed. /That one/ seemed to me more conformable than the first to the demands of our new condition, though our lips never said a word. Perhaps I owed it to the vigorous indignation I felt and showed at the bad taste of a woman foolish enough not to love my beautiful, my glorious Calyste. 

 They are calling me to play a game of cards, which I do not yet understand. I will finish my letter to-morrow. To leave you at this moment to make a fifth at /mouche/ (that is the name of the game) can only be done in the depths of Brittany--Adieu. 

Your Sabine. 

Guerande, May, 1838. 

 I take up my Odyssey. On the third day your children no longer used the ceremonious "you;" they thee'd and thou'd each other like lovers. My mother-in-law, enchanted to see us so happy, is trying to take your place to me, dear mother, and, as often happens when people play a part to efface other memories, she has been so charming that she is, /almost/, you to me. 

 I think she has guessed the heroism of my conduct, for at the beginning of our journey she tried to hide her anxiety with such care that it was visible from excessive precaution. 

 When I saw the towers of Guerande rising in the distance, I whispered in the ear of your son-in-law, "Have you really forgotten her?" My husband, now become /my angel/, can't know anything, I think, about sincere and simple love, for the words made him wild with happiness. Still, I think the desire to put Madame de Rochefide forever out of his mind led me too far. But how could I help it? I love, and I am half a Portuguese, --for I am much more like you, mamma, than like my father. 

 Calyste accepts all from me as spoilt children accept things, they think it their right; he is an only child, I remember that. But, between ourselves, I will not give my daughter (if I have any daughters) to an only son. I see a variety of tyrants in an only son. So, mamma, we have rather inverted our parts, and I am the devoted half of the pair. There are dangers, I know, in devotion, though we profit by it; we lose our dignity, for one thing. I feel bound to tell you of the wreck of that semi-virtue. Dignity, after all, is only a screen set up before pride, behind which we rage as we please; but how could I help it? you were not here, and I saw a gulf opening before me. Had I remained upon my dignity, I should have won only the cold joys (or pains) of a sort of brotherhood which would soon have drifted into indifference. What sort of future might that have led to? My devotion has, I know, made me Calyste's slave; but shall I regret it? We shall see. 

 As for the present, I am delighted with it. I love Calyste; I love him absolutely, with the folly of a mother, who thinks that all her son may do is right, even if he tyrannizes a trifle over her. 

Guerande, May 15th. 

 Up to the present moment, dear mamma, I find marriage a delightful affair, I can spend all my tenderness on the noblest of men whom a foolish woman disdained for a fiddler, --for that woman evidently was a fool, and a cold fool, the worst kind! I, in my legitimate love, am charitable; I am curing his wounds while I lay my heart open to incurable ones. Yes, the more I love Calyste, the more I feel that I should die of grief if our present happiness ever ceased. 

 I must tell you how the whole family and the circle which meets at the hotel de Guenic adore me. They are all personages born under tapestries of the highest warp; in fact, they seem to have stepped from those old tapestries as if to prove that the impossible may exist. Some day, when we are alone together, I will describe to you my Aunt Zephirine, Mademoiselle de Pen-Hoel, the Chevalier du Halga, the Demoiselles de Kergarouet, and others. They all, even to the two servants, Gasselin and Mariotte (whom I wish they would let me take to Paris), regard me as an angel sent from heaven; they tremble when I speak. Dear people! they ought to be preserved under glass. 

 My mother-in-law has solemnly installed us in the apartments formerly occupied by herself and her late husband. The scene was touching. She said to us, --

 "I spent my whole married life, a happy woman, in these rooms; may the omen be a happy one for you, my children. "

 She has taken Calyste's former room for hers. Saintly soul! she seems intent on laying off her memories and all her conjugal dignities to invest us with them. The province of Brittany, this town, this family of ancient morals and ancient customs has, in spite of certain absurdities which strike the eye of a frivolous Parisian girl, something inexplicable, something grandiose even in its trifles, which can only be defined by the word /sacred/. 

 All the tenants of the vast domains of the house of Guenic, bought back, as you know, by Mademoiselle des Touches (whom we are going to visit in her convent), have been in a body to pay their respects to us. These worthy people, in their holiday costumes, expressing their genuine joy in the fact that Calyste has now become really and truly their master, made me understand Brittany, the feudal system and /old/ France. The whole scene was a festival I can't describe to you in writing, but I will tell you about it when we meet. The terms of the leases have been proposed by the /gars/ themselves. We shall sign them, after making a tour of inspection round the estates, which have been mortgaged away from us for one hundred and fifty years! Mademoiselle de Pen-Hoel told me that the /gars/ have reckoned up the revenues and estimated the rentals with a veracity and justice Parisians would never believe. 

 We start in three days on horseback for this trip. I will write you on my return, dear mother. I shall have nothing more to tell you about myself, for my happiness is at its height--and how can that be told? I shall write you only what you know already, and that is, how I love you. 

Nantes, June, 1838. 

 Having now played the role of a chatelaine, adored by her vassals as if the revolutions of 1789 and 1830 had lowered no banners; and after rides through forests, and halts at farmhouses, dinners on oaken tables, covered with centenary linen, bending under Homeric viands served on antediluvian dishes; after drinking the choicest wines in goblets to volleys of musketry, accompanied by cries of "Long live the Guenics!" till I was deafened; after balls, where the only orchestra was a bagpipe, blown by a man for ten hours; and after bouquets, and young brides who wanted us to bless them, and downright weariness, which made me find in my bed a sleep I never knew before, with delightful awakenings when love shone radiant as the sun pouring in upon me, and scintillating with a million of flies, all buzzing in the Breton dialect!--in short, after a most grotesque residence in the Chateau du Guenic, where the windows are gates and the cows grace peacefully on the grass in the halls (which castle we have sworn to repair and to inhabit for a while very year to the wild acclamations of the clan du Guenic, a /gars/ of which bore high our banner)--ouf! I am at Nantes. 

 But oh! what a day was that when we arrived at the old castle! The rector came out, mother, with all his clergy, crowned with flowers, to receive us and bless us, expressing such joy, --the tears are in my eyes as I think of it. And my noble Calyste! who played his part of seigneur like a personage in Walter Scott! My lord received his tenants' homage as if he were back in the thirteenth century. I heard the girls and the women saying to each other, "Oh, what a beautiful seigneur we have!" for all the world like an opera chorus. The old men talked of Calyste's resemblance to the former Guenics whom they had known in their youth. Ah! noble, sublime Brittany! land of belief and faith! But progress has got its eye upon it; bridges are being built, roads made, ideas are coming, and then farewell to the sublime! The peasants will certainly not be as free and proud as I have now seen them, when progress has proved to them that they are Calyste's equals --if, indeed, they could ever be got to believe it. 

 After this poem of our pacific Restoration had been sung, and the contracts and leases signed, we left that ravishing land, all flowery, gay, solemn, lonely by turns, and came here to kneel with our happiness at the feet of her who gave it to us. 

 Calyste and I both felt the need of thanking the sister of the Visitation. In memory of her he has quartered his own arms with those of Des Touches, which are: party couped, tranche and taille or and sinople, on the latter two eagles argent. He means to take one of the eagles argent for his own supporter and put this motto in its beak: /Souviegne-vous/. 

 Yesterday we went to the convent of the ladies of the Visitation, to which we were taken by the Abbe Grimont, a friend of the du Guenic family, who told us that your dear Felicite, mamma, was indeed a saint. She could not very well be anything else to him, for her conversion, which was thought to be his doing, has led to his appointment as vicar-general of the diocese. Mademoiselle des Touches declined to receive Calyste, and would only see me. I found her slightly changed, thinner and paler; but she seemed much pleased at my visit. 

 "Tell Calyste, " she said, in a low voice, "that it is a matter of conscience with me not to see him, for I am permitted to do so. I prefer not to buy that happiness by months of suffering. Ah, you do not know what it costs me to reply to the question, 'Of what are you thinking?' Certainly the mother of the novices has no conception of the number and extent of the ideas which are rushing through my mind when she asks that question. Sometimes I am seeing Italy or Paris, with all its sights; always thinking, however, of Calyste, who is"--she said this in that poetic way you know and admire so much--"who is the sun of memory to me. I found, " she continued, "that I was too old to be received among the Carmelites, and I have entered the order of Saint-Francois de Sales solely because he said, 'I will bare your heads instead of your feet, '--objecting, as he did, to austerities which mortified the body only. It is, in truth, the head that sins. The saintly bishop was right to make his rule austere toward the intellect, and terrible against the will. That is what I sought; for my head was the guilty part of me. It deceived me as to my heart until I reached that fatal age of forty, when, for a few brief moments, we are forty times happier than young women, and then, speedily, fifty times more unhappy. But, my child, tell me, " she asked, ceasing with visible satisfaction to speak of herself, "are you happy?"

 "You see me under all the enchantments of love and happiness, " I answered. 

 "Calyste is as good and simple as he is noble and beautiful, " she said, gravely. "I have made you my heiress in more things than property; you now possess the double ideal of which I dreamed. I rejoice in what I have done, " she continued, after a pause. "But, my child, make no mistake; do yourself no wrong. You have easily won happiness; you have only to stretch out your hand to take it, and it is yours; but be careful to preserve it. If you had come here solely to carry away with you the counsels that my knowledge of your husband alone can give you, the journey would be well repaid. Calyste is moved at this moment by a communicated passion, but you have not inspired it. To make your happiness lasting, try, my dear child, to give him something of his former emotions. In the interests of both of you, be capricious, be coquettish; to tell you the truth, you /must/ be. I am not advising any odious scheming, or petty tyranny; this that I tell you is the science of a woman's life. Between usury and prodigality, my child, is economy. Study, therefore, to acquire honorably a certain empire over Calyste. These are the last words on earthly interests that I shall ever utter, and I have kept them to say as we part; for there are times when I tremble in my conscience lest to save Calyste I may have sacrificed you. Bind him to you, firmly, give him children, let him respect their mother in you--and, " she added, in a low and trembling voice, "manage, if you can, that he shall never again see Beatrix. "

 That name plunged us both into a sort of stupor; we looked into each other's eyes, exchanging a vague uneasiness. 

 "Do you return to Guerande?" she asked me. 

 "Yes, " I said. 

 "Never go to Les Touches. I did wrong to give him that property. "

 "Why?" I asked. 

 "Child!" she answered, "Les Touches for you is Bluebeard's chamber. There is nothing so dangerous as to wake a sleeping passion. "

 I have given you, dear mamma, the substance, or at any rate, the meaning of our conversation. If Mademoiselle des Touches made me talk to her freely, she also gave me much to think of; and all the more because, in the delight of this trip, and the charm of these relations with my Calyste, I had well-nigh forgotten the serious situation of which I spoke to you in my first letter, and about which you warned me. 

 But oh! mother, it is impossible for me to follow these counsels. I cannot put an appearance of opposition or caprice into my love; it would falsify it. Calyste will do with me what he pleases. According to your theory, the more I am a woman the more I make myself his toy; for I am, and I know it, horribly weak in my happiness; I cannot resist a single glance of my lord. But no! I do not abandon myself to love; I only cling to it, as a mother presses her infant to her breast, fearing some evil. 

Note. --When "Beatrix" was first published, in 1839, the volume ended with the following paragraph: "Calyste, rich and married to the most beautiful woman in Paris, retains a sadness in his soul which nothing dissipates, --not even the birth of a son at Guerande, in 1839, to the great joy of Zephirine du Guenic. Beatrix lives still in the depths of his heart, and it is impossible to foresee what disasters might result should he again meet with Madame de Rochefide. " In 1842 this concluding paragraph was suppressed and the story continued as here follows. --TR. 

 XVIII

 THE END OF A HONEY-MOON

Guerande, July, 1838. 

 To Madame la Duchesse de Grandlieu:

 Ah, my dear mamma! at the end of three months to know what it is to be jealous! My heart completes its experience; I now feel the deepest hatred and the deepest love! I am more than betrayed, --I am not loved. How fortunate for me to have a mother, a heart on which to cry out as I will!

 It is enough to say to wives who are still half girls: "Here's a key rusty with memories among those of your palace; go everywhere, enjoy everything, but keep away from Les Touches!" to make us eager to go there hot-foot, our eyes shining with the curiosity of Eve. What a root of bitterness Mademoiselle des Touches planted in my love! Why did she forbid me to go to Les Touches? What sort of happiness is mine if it depends on an excursion, on a visit to a paltry house in Brittany? Why should I fear? Is there anything to fear? Add to this reasoning of Mrs. Blue-Beard the desire that nips all women to know if their power is solid or precarious, and you'll understand how it was that I said one day, with an unconcerned little air:--

 "What sort of place is Les Touches?"

 "Les Touches belongs to you, " said my divine, dear mother-in-law. 

 "If Calyste had never set foot in Les Touches!"--cried my aunt Zephirine, shaking her head. 

 "He would not be my husband, " I added. 

 "Then you know what happened there?" said my mother-in-law, slyly. 

 "It is a place of perdition!" exclaimed Mademoiselle de Pen-Hoel. "Mademoiselle des Touches committed many sins there, for which she is now asking the pardon of God. "

 "But they saved the soul of that noble woman, and made the fortune of a convent, " cried the Chevalier du Halga. "The Abbe Grimont told me she had given a hundred thousand francs to the nuns of the Visitation. "

 "Should you like to go to Les Touches?" asked my mother-in-law. "It is worth seeing. "

 "No, no!" I said hastily. 

 Doesn't this little scene read to you like a page out of some diabolical drama?

 It was repeated again and again under various pretexts. At last my mother-in-law said to me: "I understand why you do not go to Les Touches, and I think you are right. "

 Oh! you must admit, mamma, that an involuntary, unconscious stab like that would have decided you to find out if your happiness rested on such a frail foundation that it would perish at a mere touch. To do Calyste justice, he never proposed to me to visit that hermitage, now his property. But as soon as we love we are creatures devoid of common-sense, and this silence, this reserve piqued me; so I said to him one day: "What are you afraid of at Les Touches, that you alone never speak of the place?"

 "Let us go there, " he replied. 

 So there I was /caught/, --like other women who want to be caught, and who trust to chance to cut the Gordian knot of their indecision. So to Les Touches we went. 

 It is enchanting, in a style profoundly artistic. I took delight in that place of horror where Mademoiselle des Touches had so earnestly forbidden me to go. Poisonous flowers are all charming; Satan sowed them--for the devil has flowers as well as God; we have only to look within our souls to see the two shared in the making of us. What delicious acrity in a situation where I played, not with fire, but--with ashes! I studied Calyste; the point was to know if that passion was thoroughly extinct. I watched, as you may well believe, every wind that blew; I kept an eye upon his face as he went from room to room and from one piece of furniture to another, exactly like a child who is looking for some hidden thing. Calyste seemed thoughtful, but at first I thought that I had vanquished the past. I felt strong enough to mention Madame de Rochefide-whom in my heart I called la Rocheperfide. At last we went to see the famous bush were Beatrix was caught when he flung her into the sea that she might never belong to another man. 

 "She must be light indeed to have stayed there, " I said laughing. Calyste kept silence, so I added, "We'll respect the dead. "

 Still Calyste was silent. 

 "Have I displeased you?" I asked. 

 "No; but cease to galvanize that passion, " he answered. 

 What a speech! Calyste, when he saw me all cast down by it, redoubled his care and tenderness. 

August. 

 I was, alas! at the edge of a precipice, amusing myself, like the innocent heroines of all melodramas, by gathering flowers. Suddenly a horrible thought rode full tilt through my happiness, like the horse in the German ballad. I thought I saw that Calyste's love was increasing through his reminiscences; that he was expending on /me/ the stormy emotions I revived by reminding him of the coquetries of that hateful Beatrix, --just think of it! that cold, unhealthy nature, so persistent yet so flabby, something between a mollusk and a bit of coral, dares to call itself Beatrix, /Beatrice!/

 Already, dearest mother, I am forced to keep one eye open to suspicion, when my heart is all Calyste's; and isn't it a great catastrophe when the eye gets the better of the heart, and suspicion at last finds itself justified? It came to pass in this way:--

 "This place is dear to me, " I said to Calyste one morning, "because I owe my happiness to it; and so I forgive you for taking me sometimes for another woman. "

 The loyal Breton blushed, and I threw my arms around his neck. But all the same I have left Les Touches, and never will I go back there again. 

 The very strength of hatred which makes me long for Madame de Rochefide's death--ah, heavens! a natural death, pleurisy, or some accident--makes me also understand to its fullest extent the power of my love for Calyste. That woman has appeared to me to trouble my sleep, --I see her in a dream; shall I ever encounter her bodily? Ah! the postulant of the Visitation was right, --Les Touches is a fatal spot; Calyste has there recovered his past emotions, and they are, I see it plainly, more powerful than the joys of our love. Ascertain, my dear mamma, if Madame de Rochefide is in Paris, for if she is, I shall stay in Brittany. Poor Mademoiselle des Touches might well repent of her share in our marriage if she knew to what extent I am taken for our odious rival! But this is prostitution! I am not myself; I am ashamed of it all. A frantic desire seizes me sometimes to fly from Guerande and those sands of Croisic. 

August 25th. 

 I am determined to go and live in the ruins of the old chateau. Calyste, worried by my restlessness, agrees to take me. Either he knows life so little that he guesses nothing, or he /does/ know the cause of my flight, in which case he cannot love me. I tremble so with fear lest I find the awful certainty I seek that, like a child, I put my hands before my eyes not to hear the explosion--

 Oh, mother! I am not loved with the love that I feel in my heart. Calyste is charming to me, that's true! but what man, unless he were a monster, would not be, as Calyste is, amiable and gracious when receiving all the flowers of the soul of a young girl of twenty, brought up by you, pure, loving, and beautiful, as many women have said to you that I am. 

Guenic, September 18. 

 Has he forgotten her? That's the solitary thought which echoes through my soul like a remorse. Ah! dear mamma, have all women to struggle against memories as I do? None but innocent young men should be married to pure young girls. But that's a deceptive Utopia; better have one's rival in the past than in the future. 

 Ah! mother, pity me, though at this moment I am happy as a woman who fears to lose her happiness and so clings fast to it, --one way of killing it, says that profoundly wise Clotilde. 

 I notice that for the last five months I think only of myself, that is, of Calyste. Tell sister Clotilde that her melancholy bits of wisdom often recur to me. She is happy in being faithful to the dead; she fears no rival. A kiss to my dear Athenais, about whom I see Juste is beside himself. From what you told me in your last letter it is evident he fears you will not give her to him. Cultivate that fear as a precious product. Athenais will be sovereign lady; but I who fear lest I can never win Calyste back from himself shall always be a servant. 

 A thousand tendernesses, dear mamma. Ah! if my terrors are not delusions, Camille Maupin has sold me her fortune dearly. My affectionate respects to papa. 

These letters give a perfect explanation of the secret relationbetween husband and wife. Sabine thought of a love marriage whereCalyste saw only a marriage of expediency. The joys of the honey-moonhad not altogether conformed to the legal requirements of the socialsystem. 

During the stay of the married pair in Brittany the work of restoringand furnishing the hotel du Guenic had been carried on by thecelebrated architect Grindot, under the superintendence of Clotildeand the Duc and Duchesse de Grandlieu, all arrangements having beenmade for the return of the young household to Paris in December, 1838. Sabine installed herself in the rue de Bourbon with pleasure, --lessfor the satisfaction of playing mistress of a great household than forthat of knowing what her family would think of her marriage. 

Calyste, with easy indifference, was quite willing to let hissister-in-law Clotilde and his mother-in-law the duchess guide him inall matters of social life, and they were both very grateful for hisobedience. He obtained the place in society which was due to his name, his fortune, and his alliance. The success of his wife, who wasregarded as one of the most charming women in Paris, the diversions ofhigh society, the duties to be fulfilled, the winter amusements of thegreat city, gave a certain fresh life to the happiness of the younghousehold by producing a series of excitements and interludes. Sabine, considered happy by her mother and sister, who saw in Calyste'scoolness an effect of his English education, cast aside her gloomynotions; she heard her lot so envied by many unhappily married womenthat she drove her terrors from her into the region of chimeras, untilthe time when her pregnancy gave additional guarantees to this neutralsort of union, guarantees which are usually augured well of byexperienced women. In October, 1839, the young Baronne du Guenic had ason, and committed the mistake of nursing it herself, on the theory ofmost women in such cases. How is it possible, they think, not to bewholly the mother of the child of an idolized husband?

Toward the end of the following summer, in August, 1840, Sabine hadnearly reached the period when the duty of nursing her first childwould come to an end. Calyste, during his two years' residence inParis, had completely thrown off that innocence of mind the charm ofwhich had so adorned his earliest appearance in the world of passion. He was now the comrade of the young Duc Georges de Maufrigneuse, lately married, like himself, to an heiress, Berthe de Cinq-Cygne; ofthe Vicomte Savinien de Portenduere, the Duc and Duchesse de Rhetore, the Duc and Duchesse de Lenoncourt-Chaulieu, and all the /habitues/ ofhis mother-in-law's salon; and he fully understood by this time thedifferences that separated Parisian life from the life of theprovinces. Wealth has fatal hours, hours of leisure and idleness, which Paris knows better than all other capitals how to amuse, charm, and divert. Contact with those young husbands who deserted the noblestand sweetest of creatures for the delights of a cigar and whist, forthe glorious conversations of a club, or the excitements of "theturf, " undermined before long many of the domestic virtues of theyoung Breton noble. The motherly solicitude of a wife who is anxiousnot to weary her husband always comes to the support of thedissipations of young men. A wife is proud to see her husband returnto her when she has allowed him full liberty of action. 

One evening, on October of that year, to escape the crying of thenewly weaned child, Calyste, on whose forehead Sabine could not endureto see a frown, went, urged by her, to the Varietes, where a new playwas to be given for the first time. The footman whose business it wasto engage a stall had taken it quite near to that part of the theatrewhich is called the /avant-scene/. As Calyste looked about him duringthe first interlude, he saw in one of the two proscenium boxes on hisside, and not ten steps from him, Madame de Rochefide. Beatrix inParis! Beatrix in public! The two thoughts flew through Calyste'sheart like arrows. To see her again after nearly three years! Howshall we depict the convulsion in the soul of this lover, who, farfrom forgetting the past, had sometimes substituted Beatrix for hiswife so plainly that his wife had perceived it? Beatrix was light, life, motion, and the Unknown. Sabine was duty, dulness, and theexpected. One became, in a moment, pleasure; the other, weariness. Itwas the falling of a thunderbolt. 

From a sense of loyalty, the first thought of Sabine's husband was toleave the theatre. As he left the door of the orchestra stalls, he sawthe door of the proscenium box half-open, and his feet took him therein spite of his will. The young Breton found Beatrix between two verydistinguished men, Canalis and Raoul Nathan, a statesman and a man ofletters. In the three years since Calyste had seen her, Madame deRochefide was amazingly changed; and yet, although the transformationhad seriously affected her as a woman, she was only the more poeticand the more attractive to Calyste. Until the age of thirty the prettywomen of Paris ask nothing more of their toilet than clothing; butafter they pass through the fatal portal of the thirties, they lookfor weapons, seductions, embellishments among their /chiffons;/ out ofthese they compose charms, they find means, they take a style, theyseize youth, they study the slightest accessory, --in a word, they passfrom nature to art. 

Madame de Rochefide had just come through the vicissitudes of a dramawhich, in this history of the manners and morals of France in thenineteenth century may be called that of the Deserted Woman. Desertedby Conti, she became, naturally, a great artist in dress, in coquetry, in artificial flowers of all kinds. 

"Why is Conti not here?" inquired Calyste in a low voice of Canalis, after going through the commonplace civilities with which even themost solemn interviews begin when they take place publicly. 

The former great poet of the faubourg Saint-Germain, twice a cabinetminister, and now for the fourth time an orator in the Chamber, andaspiring to another ministry, laid a warning finger significantly onhis lip. That gesture explained everything. 

"I am happy to see you, " said Beatrix, demurely. "I said to myselfwhen I recognized you just now, before you saw me, that /you/ at leastwould not disown me. Ah! my Calyste, " she added in a whisper, "why didyou marry?--and with such a little fool!"

As soon as a woman whispers in the ear of a new-comer and makes himsit beside her, men of the world find an immediate excuse for leavingthe pair alone together. 

"Come, Nathan, " said Canalis, "Madame la marquise will, I am sure, allow me to go and say a word to d'Arthez, whom I see over there withthe Princesse de Cadignan; it relates to some business in the Chamberto-morrow. "

This well-bred departure gave Calyste time to recover from the shockhe had just received; but he nearly lost both his strength and hissenses once more, as he inhaled the perfume, to him entrancing thoughvenomous, of the poem composed by Beatrix. Madame de Rochefide, nowbecome bony and gaunt, her complexion faded and almost discolored, hereyes hollow with deep circles, had that evening brightened thosepremature ruins by the cleverest contrivances of the /article Paris/. She had taken it into her head, like other deserted women, to assume avirgin air, and recall by clouds of white material the maidens ofOssian, so poetically painted by Girodet. Her fair hair draped herelongated face with a mass of curls, among which rippled the rays ofthe foot-lights attracted by the shining of a perfumed oil. Her whitebrow sparkled. She had applied an imperceptible tinge of rouge to hercheeks, upon the faded whiteness of a skin revived by bran and water. A scarf so delicate in texture that it made one doubt if human fingerscould have fabricated such gossamer, was wound about her throat todiminish its length, and partly conceal it; leaving imperfectlyvisible the treasures of the bust which were cleverly enclosed in acorset. Her figure was indeed a masterpiece of composition. 

As for her pose, one word will suffice--it was worthy of the pains shehad taken to arrange it. Her arms, now thin and hard, were scarcelyvisible within the puffings of her very large sleeves. She presentedthat mixture of false glitter and brilliant fabrics, of silken gauzeand craped hair, of vivacity, calmness, and motion which goes by theterm of the /Je ne sais quoi/. Everybody knows in what that consists, namely: great cleverness, some taste, and a certain composure ofmanner. Beatrix might now be called a decorative scenic effect, changed at will, and wonderfully manipulated. The presentation of thisfairy effect, to which is added clever dialogue, turns the heads ofmen who are endowed by nature with frankness, until they becomepossessed, through the law of contrasts, by a frantic desire to playwith artifice. It is false, though enticing; a pretence, butagreeable; and certain men adore women who play at seduction as othersdo at cards. And this is why: The desire of the man is a syllogismwhich draws conclusions from this external science as to the secretpromises of pleasure. The inner consciousness says, without words: "Awoman who can, as it were, create herself beautiful must have manyother resources for love. " And that is true. Deserted women areusually those who merely love; those who retain love know the /art/ ofloving. Now, though her Italian lesson had very cruelly maltreated theself-love and vanity of Madame de Rochefide, her nature was tooinstinctively artificial not to profit by it. 

"It is not a question of loving a man, " she was saying a few momentsbefore Calyste had entered her box; "we must tease and harass him ifwe want to keep him. That's the secret of all those women who seek toretain you men. The dragons who guard treasures are always armed withclaws and wings. "

"I shall make a sonnet on that thought, " replied Canalis at the verymoment when Calyste entered the box. 

With a single glance Beatrix divined the state of Calyste's heart; shesaw the marks of the collar she had put upon him at Les Touches, stillfresh and red. Calyste, however, wounded by the speech made to himabout his wife, hesitated between his dignity as a husband, Sabine'sdefence, and a harsh word cast upon a heart which held such memoriesfor him, a heart which he believed to be bleeding. The marquiseobserved his hesitation; she had made that speech expressly that shemight know how far her empire over Calyste still extended. Seeing hisweakness, she came at once to his succor to relieve his embarrassment. 

"Well, dear friend, you find me alone, " she said, as soon as the twogentlemen had left the box, --"yes, alone in the world!"

"You forget me!" said Calyste. 

"You!" she replied, "but you are married. That was one of my griefs, among the many I have endured since I saw you last. Not only--I saidto myself--do I lose love, but I have lost a friendship which Ithought was Breton. Alas! we can make ourselves bear everything. Now Isuffer less, but I am broken, exhausted! This is the first outpouringof my heart for a long, long time. Obliged to seem proud beforeindifferent persons, and arrogant as if I had never fallen in presenceof those who pay court to me, and having lost my dear Felicite, therewas no ear into which I could cast the words, /I suffer!/ But to you Ican tell the anguish I endured on seeing you just now so near to me. Yes, " she said, replying to a gesture of Calyste's, "it is almostfidelity. That is how it is with misery; a look, a visit, a merenothing is everything to us. Ah! you once loved me--you--as I deservedto be loved by him who has taken pleasure in trampling under foot thetreasures I poured out upon him. And yet, to my sorrow, I cannotforget; I love, and I desire to be faithful to a past that can neverreturn. "

Having uttered this tirade, improvised for the hundredth time, sheplayed the pupils of her eyes in a way to double the effect of herwords, which seemed to be dragged from the depths of her soul by theviolence of a torrent long restrained. Calyste, incapable of speech, let fall the tears that gathered in his eyes. Beatrix caught his handand pressed it, making him turn pale. 

"Thank you, Calyste, thank you, my poor child; that is how a truefriend responds to the grief of his friend. We understand each other. No, don't add another word; leave me now; people are looking at us; itmight cause trouble to your wife if some one chanced to tell her thatwe were seen together, --innocently enough, before a thousand people!There, you see I am strong; adieu--"

She wiped her eyes, making what might be called, in woman's rhetoric, an antithesis of action. 

"Let me laugh the laugh of a lost soul with the careless creatures whoamuse me, " she went on. "I live among artists, writers, in short theworld I knew in the salon of our poor Camille--who may indeed haveacted wisely. To enrich the man we love and then to disappear saying, 'I am too old for him!' that is ending like the martyrs, --and the bestend too, if one cannot die a virgin. "

She began to laugh, as it to remove the melancholy impression she hadmade upon her former adorer. 

"But, " said Calyste, "where can I go to see you?"

"I am hidden in the rue de Chartres opposite the Parc de Monceaux, ina little house suitable to my means; and there I cram my head withliterature--but only for myself, to distract my thoughts; God keep mefrom the mania of literary women! Now go, leave me; I must not allowthe world to talk of me; what will it not say on seeing us together!Adieu--oh! Calyste, my friend, if you stay another minute I shallburst into tears!"

Calyste withdrew, after holding out his hand to Beatrix and feelingfor the second time that strange and deep sensation of a doublepressure--full of seductive tingling. 

"Sabine never knew how to stir my soul in that way, " was the thoughtthat assailed him in the corridor. 

During the rest of the evening the Marquise de Rochefide did not castthree straight glances at Calyste, but there were many sidelong lookswhich tore of the soul of the man now wholly thrown back into hisfirst, repulsed love. 

When the baron du Guenic reached home the splendor of his apartmentsmade him think of the sort of mediocrity of which Beatrix had spoken, and he hated his wealth because it could not belong to that fallenangel. When he was told that Sabine had long been in bed he rejoicedto find himself rich in the possession of a night in which to liveover his emotions. He cursed the power of divination which love hadbestowed upon Sabine. When by chance a man is adored by his wife, shereads on his face as in a book; she learns every quiver of itsmuscles, she knows whence comes its calmness, she asks herself thereason of the slightest sadness, seeking to know if haply the cause isin herself; she studies the eyes; for her the eyes are tinted with thedominant thought, --they love or they do not love. Calyste knew himselfto be the object of so deep, so naive, so jealous a worship that hedoubted his power to compose a cautious face that should not betraythe change in his moral being. 

"How shall I manage to-morrow morning?" he said to himself as he wentto sleep, dreading the sort of inspection to which Sabine would haverecourse. When they came together at night, and sometimes during theday, Sabine would ask him, "Do you still love me?" or, "I don't wearyyou, do I?" Charming interrogations, varied according to the nature orthe cleverness of women, which hide their anxieties either feigned orreal. 

To the surface of the noblest and purest hearts the mud and slime castup by hurricanes must come. So on that morrow morning, Calyste, whocertainly loved his child, quivered with joy on learning that Sabinefeared the croup, and was watching for the cause of slightconvulsions, not daring to leave her little boy. The baron made apretext of business and went out, thus avoiding the home breakfast. Heescaped as prisoners escape, happy in being afoot, and free to go bythe Pont Louis XVI. And the Champs Elysees to a cafe on the boulevardwhere he had liked to breakfast when he was a bachelor. 

What is there in love? Does Nature rebel against the social yoke? Doesshe need that impulse of her given life to be spontaneous, free, thedash of an impetuous torrent foaming against rocks of opposition andof coquetry, rather than a tranquil stream flowing between the twobanks of the church and the legal ceremony? Has she her own designs asshe secretly prepares those volcanic eruptions to which, perhaps, weowe great men?

It would be difficult to find a young man more sacredly brought upthan Calyste, of purer morals, less stained by irreligion; and yet hebounded toward a woman unworthy of him, when a benign and radiantchance had given him for his wife a young creature whose beauty wastruly aristocratic, whose mind was keen and delicate, a pious, lovinggirl, attached singly to him, of angelic sweetness, and made moretender still by love, a love that was passionate in spite of marriage, like his for Beatrix. Perhaps the noblest men retain some clay intheir constitutions; the slough still pleases them. If this be so, theleast imperfect human being is the woman, in spite of her faults andher want of reason. Madame de Rochefide, it must be said, amid thecircle of poetic pretensions which surrounded her, and in spite of herfall, belonged to the highest nobility; she presented a nature moreethereal than slimy, and hid the courtesan she was meant to be beneathan aristocratic exterior. Therefore the above explanation does notfully account for Calyste's strange passion. 

Perhaps we ought to look for its cause in a vanity so deeply buried inthe soul that moralists have not yet uncovered that side of vice. There are men, truly noble, like Calyste, handsome as Calyste, rich, distinguished, and well-bred, who tire--without their knowledge, possibly--of marriage with a nature like their own; beings whose ownnobleness is not surprised or moved by nobleness in others; whomgrandeur and delicacy consonant with their own does not affect; butwho seek from inferior or fallen natures the seal of their ownsuperiority--if indeed they do not openly beg for praise. Calystefound nothing to protect in Sabine, she was irreproachable; the powersthus stagnant in his heart were now to vibrate for Beatrix. If greatmen have played before our eyes the Saviour's part toward the womantaken in adultery, why should ordinary men be wiser in theirgeneration than they?

Calyste reached the hour of two o'clock living on one sentence only, "I shall see her again!"--a poem which has often paid the costs of ajourney of two thousand miles. He now went with a light step to therue de Chartres, and recognized the house at once although he hadnever before seen it. Once there, he stood--he, the son-in-law of theDuc de Grandlieu, he, rich, noble as the Bourbons--at the foot of thestaircase, stopped short by the interrogation of the old footman:"Monsieur's name?" Calyste felt that he ought to leave to Beatrix herfreedom of action in receiving or not receiving him; and he waited, looking into the garden, with its walls furrowed by those black andyellow lines produced by rain upon the stucco of Paris. 

Madame de Rochefide, like nearly all great ladies who break theirchain, had left her fortune to her husband when she fled from him; shecould not beg from her tyrant. Conti and Mademoiselle des Touches hadspared Beatrix all the petty worries of material life, and her motherhad frequently send her considerable sums of money. Finding herselfnow on her own resources, she was forced to an economy that was rathersevere for a woman accustomed to every luxury. She had therefore goneto the summit of the hill on which lies the Parc de Monceaux, andthere she had taken refuge in a "little house" formerly belonging to agreat seigneur, standing on the street, but possessed of a charminggarden, the rent of which did not exceed eighteen hundred francs. Still served by an old footman, a maid, and a cook from Alencon, whowere faithful to her throughout her vicissitudes, her penury, as shethought it, would have been opulence to many an ambitious bourgeoise. 

Calyste went up a staircase the steps of which were well pumiced andthe landings filled with flowering plants. On the first floor the oldservant opened, in order to admit the baron into the apartment, adouble door of red velvet with lozenges of red silk studded with giltnails. Silk and velvet furnished the rooms through which Calystepassed. Carpets in grave colors, curtains crossing each other beforethe windows, portieres, in short all things within contrasted with themean external appearance of the house, which was ill-kept by theproprietor. Calyste awaited Beatrix in a salon of sober character, where all the luxury was simple in style. This room, hung with garnetvelvet heightened here and there with dead-gold silken trimmings, thefloor covered with a dark red carpet, the windows resemblingconservatories, with abundant flowers in the jardinieres, was lightedso faintly that Calyste could scarcely see on a mantel-shelf two casesof old celadon, between which gleamed a silver cup attributed toBenvenuto Cellini, and brought from Italy by Beatrix. The furniture ofgilded wood with velvet coverings, the magnificent consoles, on one ofwhich was a curious clock, the table with its Persian cloth, all boretestimony to former opulence, the remains of which had been wellapplied. On a little table Calyste saw jewelled knick-knacks, a bookin course of reading, in which glittered the handle of a dagger usedas a paper-cutter--symbol of criticism! Finally, on the walls, tenwater-colors richly framed, each representing one of the diversebedrooms in which Madame de Rochefide's wandering life had led her tosojourn, gave the measure of what was surely superior impertinence. 

The rustle of a silk dress announced the poor unfortunate, whoappeared in a studied toilet which would certainly have told a /roue/that his coming was awaited. The gown, made like a wrapper to show theline of a white bosom, was of pearl-gray moire with large opensleeves, from which issued the arms covered with a second sleeve ofpuffed tulle, divided by straps and trimmed with lace at the wrists. The beautiful hair, which the comb held insecurely, escaped from a capof lace and flowers. 

"Already!" she said, smiling. "A lover could not have shown moreeagerness. You must have secrets to tell me, have you not?"

And she posed herself gracefully on a sofa, inviting Calyste by agesture to sit beside her. By chance (a selected chance, possibly, forwomen have two memories, that of angels and that of devils) Beatrixwas redolent of the perfume which she used at Les Touches during herfirst acquaintance with Calyste. The inhaling of this scent, contactwith that dress, the glance of those eyes, which in the semi-darknessgathered the light and returned it, turned Calyste's brain. Theluckless man was again impelled to that violence which had once beforealmost cost Beatrix her life; but this time the marquise was on theedge of a sofa, not on that of a rock; she rose to ring the bell, laying a finger on his lips. Calyste, recalled to order, controlledhimself, all the more because he saw that Beatrix had no inimicalintention. 

"Antoine, I am not at home--for every one, " she said. "Put some woodon the fire. You see, Calyste, that I treat you as a friend, " shecontinued with dignity, when the old man had left the room; "thereforedo not treat me as you would a mistress. I have two remarks to make toyou. In the first place, I should not deny myself foolishly to any manI really loved; and secondly, I am determined to belong to no otherman on earth, for I believed, Calyste, that I was loved by a speciesof Rizzio, whom no engagement trammelled, a man absolutely free, andyou see to what that fatal confidence has led me. As for you, you arenow under the yoke of the most sacred of duties; you have a young, amiable, delightful wife; moreover, you are a father. I should be, asyou are, without excuse--we should be two fools--"

"My dear Beatrix, all these reasons vanish before a single word--Ihave never loved but you on earth, and I was married against my will. "

"Ah! a trick played upon us by Mademoiselle des Touches, " she said, smiling. 

Three hours passed, during which Madame de Rochefide held Calyste tothe consideration of conjugal faith, pointing out to him the horriblealternative of an utter renunciation of Sabine. Nothing else couldreassure her, she said, in the dreadful situation to which Calyste'slove would reduce her. Then she affected to regard the sacrifice ofSabine as a small matter, she knew her so well!

"My dear child, " she said, "that's a woman who fulfils all thepromises of her girlhood. She is a Grandlieu, to be sure, but she's asbrown as her mother the Portuguese, not to say yellow, and as dry andstiff as her father. To tell the truth, your wife will never go wrong;she's a big boy who can take care of herself. Poor Calyste! is thatthe sort of woman you needed? She has fine eyes, but such eyes arevery common in Italy and in Spain and Portugal. Can any woman betender with bones like hers. Eve was fair; brown women descend fromAdam, blondes come from the hand of God, which left upon Eve his lastthought after he had created her. "

About six o'clock Calyste, driven to desperation, took his hat todepart. 

"Yes, go, my poor friend, " she said; "don't give her the annoyance ofdining without you. "

Calyste stayed. At his age it was so easy to snare him on his worstside. 

"What! you dare to dine with me?" said Beatrix, playing a provocativeamazement. "My poor food does not alarm you? Have you enoughindependence of soul to crown me with joy by this little proof of youraffection?"

"Let me write a note to Sabine; otherwise she will wait dinner for metill nine o'clock. "

"Here, " said Beatrix, "this is the table at which I write. "

She lighted the candles herself, and took one to the table to lookover what he was writing. 

"/My dear Sabine--/"

"'My dear'?--can you really say that your wife is still dear to you?"she asked, looking at him with a cold eye that froze the very marrowof his bones. "Go, --you had better go and dine with her. "

"/I dine at a restaurant with some friends. /"

"A lie. Oh, fy! you are not worthy to be loved either by her or by me. Men are all cowards in their treatment of women. Go, monsieur, go anddine with your dear Sabine. "

Calyste flung himself back in his arm-chair and became as pale asdeath. Bretons possess a courage of nature which makes them obstinateunder difficulties. Presently the young baron sat up, put his elbow onthe table, his chin in his hand, and looked at the implacable Beatrixwith a flashing eye. He was so superb that a Northern or a Southernwoman would have fallen at his feet saying, "Take me!" But Beatrix, born on the borders of Normandy and Brittany, belonged to the race ofCasterans; desertion had developed in her the ferocity of the Frank, the spitefulness of the Norman; she wanted some terrible notoriety asa vengeance, and she yielded to no weakness. 

"Dictate what I ought to write, " said the luckless man. "But, in thatcase--"

"Well, yes!" she said, "you shall love me then as you loved me atGuerande. Write: /I dine out; do not expect me. /"

"What next?" said Calyste, thinking something more would follow. 

"Nothing; sign it. Good, " she said, darting on the note withrestrained joy. "I will send it by a messenger. "

"And now, " cried Calyste, rising like a happy man. 

"Ah! I have kept, I believe, my freedom of action, " she said, turningaway from him and going to the fireplace, where she rang the bell. "Here, Antoine, " she said, when the old footman entered, "send thisnote to its address. Monsieur dines here. "

 XIX

 THE FIRST LIE OF A PIOUS DUCHESS

Calyste returned to his own house about two in the morning. Afterwaiting for him till half-past twelve, Sabine had gone to bedoverwhelmed with fatigue. She slept, although she was keenlydistressed by the laconic wording of her husband's note. Still, sheexplained it. The true love of a woman invariably begins by explainingall things to the advantage of the man beloved. Calyste was pressedfor time, she said. 

The next morning the child was better; the mother's uneasinesssubsided, and Sabine came with a smiling face, and little Calyste onher arm, to present him to his father before breakfast with the prettyfooleries and senseless words which gay young mothers do and say. Thislittle scene gave Calyste the chance to maintain a countenance. He wascharming to his wife, thinking in his heart that he was a monster, andhe played like a child with Monsieur le chevalier; in fact he playedtoo well, --he overdid the part; but Sabine had not reached the stageat which a woman recognizes so delicate a distinction. 

At breakfast, however, she asked him suddenly:--

"What did you do yesterday?"

"Portenduere kept me to dinner, " he replied, "and after that we wentto the club to play whist. "

"That's a foolish life, my Calyste, " said Sabine. "Young noblemen inthese days ought to busy themselves about recovering in the eyes ofthe country the ground lost by their fathers. It isn't by smokingcigars, playing whist, idling away their leisure, and saying insolentthings of parvenus who have driven them from their positions, not yetby separating themselves from the masses whose soul and intellect andprovidence they ought to be, that the nobility will exist. Instead ofbeing a party, you will soon be a mere opinion, as de Marsay said. Ah!if you only knew how my ideas on this subject have enlarged since Ihave nursed and cradled your child! I'd like to see that grand oldname of Guenic become once more historical!" Then suddenly plungingher eyes into those of Calyste, who was listening to her with apensive air, she added: "Admit that the first note you ever wrote mewas rather stiff. "

"I did not think of sending you word till I got to the club. "

"But you wrote on a woman's note-paper; it had a perfume of feminineelegance. "

"Those club directors are such dandies!"

The Vicomte de Portenduere and his wife, formerly MademoiselleMirouet, had become of late very intimate with the du Guenics, sointimate that they shared their box at the Opera by equal payments. The two young women, Ursula and Sabine, had been won to thisfriendship by the delightful interchange of counsels, cares, andconfidences apropos of their first infants. 

While Calyste, a novice in falsehood, was saying to himself, "I mustwarn Savinien, " Sabine was thinking, "I am sure that paper bore acoronet. " This reflection passed through her mind like a flash, andSabine scolded herself for having made it. Nevertheless, she resolvedto find the paper, which in the midst of her terrors of the nightbefore she had flung into her letter-box. 

After breakfast Calyste went out, saying to his wife that he shouldsoon return. Then he jumped into one of those little low carriageswith one horse which were just beginning to supersede the inconvenientcabriolet of our ancestors. He drove in a few minutes to the vicomte'shouse and begged him to do him the service, with rights of return, offibbing in case Sabine should question the vicomtesse. Thence Calyste, urging his coachman to speed, rushed to the rue de Chartres in orderto know how Beatrix had passed the rest of the night. He found thatunfortunate just from her bath, fresh, embellished, and breakfastingwith a very good appetite. He admired the grace with which his angelate her boiled eggs, and he marvelled at the beauty of the goldservice, a present from a monomaniac lord, for whom Conti had composeda few ballads on /ideas/ of the lord, who afterwards published them ashis own!

Calyste listened entranced to the witty speeches of his idol, whosegreat object was to amuse him, until she grew angry and wept when herose to leave her. He thought he had been there only half an hour, butit was past three before he reached home. His handsome English horse, a present from the Vicomtesse de Grandlieu, was so bathed in sweatthat it looked as though it had been driven through the sea. By one ofthose chances which all jealous women prepare for themselves, Sabinewas at a window which looked on the court-yard, impatient at Calyste'snon-return, uneasy without knowing why. The condition of the horsewith its foaming mouth surprised her. 

"Where can he have come from?"

The question was whispered in her ear by that power which is notexactly consciousness, nor devil, nor angel; which sees, forebodes, shows us the unseen, and creates belief in mental beings, creaturesborn of our brains, going and coming and living in the world invisibleof ideas. 

"Where do you come from, dear angel?" Sabine said to Calyste, meetinghim on the first landing of the staircase. "Abd-el-Kader is nearlyfoundered. You told me you would be gone but a moment, and I have beenwaiting for you these three hours. "

"Well, well, " thought Calyste, who was making progress indissimulation, "I must get out of it by a present--Dear littlemother, " he said aloud, taking her round the waist with more cajolerythan he would have used if he had not been conscious of guilt, "I seethat it is quite impossible to keep a secret, however innocent, fromthe woman who loves us--"

"Well, don't tell secrets on the staircase, " she said, laughing. "Comein. "

In the middle of a salon which adjoined their bedroom, she caughtsight in a mirror of Calyste's face, on which, not aware that it couldbe seen, he allowed his real feelings and his weariness to appear. 

"Now for your secret?" she said, turning round. 

"You have shown such heroism as a nurse, " he said, "that the heirpresumptive of the Guenics is dearer to me than ever, and I wanted togive you a surprise, precisely like any bourgeois of the rue SaintDenis. They are finishing for you at this moment a dressing-table atwhich true artists have worked, and my mother and aunt Zephirine havecontributed. "

Sabine clasped him in her arms, and held him tightly to her breastwith her head on his neck, faint with the weight of happiness, not forthe piece of furniture, but for the dispersion of her first darkdoubt. It was one of those magnificent transports which can becounted, and which no love, however excessive, can prodigally spend, or life would be too soon burned out. Then, indeed, men should fall atthe feet of women to adore them, for such moments are sublime, momentswhen the forces of the heart and intellect gush forth like the watersof sculptured nymphs from their inclining urns. Sabine burst intotears. 

Suddenly as if bitten by a viper, she left Calyste, threw herself on asofa and fainted away, for the reaction of a chill to her glowingheart came near to killing her. As she held Calyste in her arms, hernose at his cravat, abandoned to her joy, she smelt the perfume ofthat letter paper! Another woman's head had lain there, whose hair andface had left that adulterous odor! She had just kissed the spot wherethe kisses of her rival were still warm. 

"What is the matter?" asked Calyste, after he had brought Sabine backto consciousness by passing a damp cloth over her face and making hersmell salts. 

"Fetch the doctor and my nurse, both! Yes, my milk has turned, I feelit. They won't come at once unless you fetch them yourself--go!"

Calyste, alarmed, rushed out. The moment Sabine heard the closing ofthe porte-cochere she started up like a frightened doe, and walkedabout the salon as if beside herself, crying out, "My God! my God! myGod!"

Those two words took the place of all ideas. The crisis she had seizedupon as a pretext in reality took place. The hairs of her head werelike so many red-hot needles heated in the fire of a nervous fever. Her boiling blood seemed to her to mingle with her nerves and yet tryto issue from all her pores. She was blind for a few moments, andcried aloud, "I am dying!"

At that terrible cry of the injured wife and mother her maid ran in. After she was laid upon her bed and recovered both sight and mind, thefirst act of her intelligence was to send the maid to her friend, Madame de Portenduere. Sabine felt that her ideas were whirling in herbrain like straws at the will of a waterspout. "I saw, " she saidlater, "myriads all at once. "

She rang for the footman and in the transport of her fever she foundstrength to write the following letter, for she was mastered by onemad desire--to have certainty:--

 To Madame la Baronne du Guenic:

 Dear Mamma, --When you come to Paris, as you allow us to hope you will, I shall thank you in person for the beautiful present by which you and my aunt Zephirine and Calyste wish to reward me for doing my duty. I was already well repaid by my own happiness in doing it. I can never express the pleasure you have given me in that beautiful dressing-table, but when you are with me I shall try to do so. Believe me, when I array myself before that treasure, I shall think, like the Roman matron, that my noblest jewel is our little angel, etc. 

She directed the letter to Guerande and gave it to the footman topost. 

When the Vicomtesse de Portenduere came, the shuddering chill ofreaction had succeeded in poor Sabine this first paroxysm of madness. 

"Ursula, I think I am going to die, " she said. 

"What is the matter, dear?"

"Where did Savinien and Calyste go after they dined with youyesterday?"

"Dined with me?" said Ursula, to whom her husband had said nothing, not expecting such immediate inquiry. "Savinien and I dined alonetogether and went to the Opera without Calyste. "

"Ursula, dearest, in the name of your love for Savinien, keep silenceabout what you have just said to me and what I shall now tell you. Youalone shall know why I die--I am betrayed! at the end of three years, at twenty-two years of age!"

Her teeth chattered, her eyes were dull and frozen, her face had takenon the greenish tinge of an old Venetian mirror. 

"You! so beautiful! For whom?"

"I don't know yet. But Calyste has told me two lies. Do not pity me, do not seem incensed, pretend ignorance and perhaps you can find outwho /she/ is through Savinien. Oh! that letter of yesterday!"

Trembling, shaking, she sprang from her bed to a piece of furniturefrom which she took the letter. 

"See, " she said, lying down again, "the coronet of a marquise! Findout if Madame de Rochefide has returned to Paris. Am I to have a heartin which to weep and moan? Oh, dearest!--to see one's beliefs, one'spoesy, idol, virtue, happiness, all, all in pieces, withered, lost! NoGod in the sky! no love upon earth! no life in my heart! no anything!I don't know if there's daylight; I doubt the sun. I've such anguishin my soul I scarcely feel the horrible sufferings in my body. Happily, the baby is weaned; my milk would have poisoned him. "

At that idea the tears began to flow from Sabine's eyes which hadhitherto been dry. 

Pretty Madame de Portenduere, holding in her hand the fatal letter, the perfume of which Sabine again inhaled, was at first stupefied bythis true sorrow, shocked by this agony of love, without as yetunderstanding it, in spite of Sabine's incoherent attempts to relatethe facts. Suddenly Ursula was illuminated by one of those ideas whichcome to none but sincere friends. 

"I must save her!" she thought to herself. "Trust me, Sabine, " shecried. "Wait for my return; I will find out the truth. "

"Ah! in my grave I'll love you, " exclaimed Sabine. 

The viscountess went straight to the Duchesse de Grandlieu, pledgedher to secrecy, and then explained to her fully her daughter'ssituation. 

"Madame, " she said as she ended, "do you not think with me, that inorder to avoid some fatal illness--perhaps, I don't know, even madness--we had better confide the whole truth to the doctor, and invent sometale to clear that hateful Calyste and make him seem for the timebeing innocent?"

"My dear child, " said the duchess, who was chilled to the heart bythis confidence, "friendship has given you for the moment theexperience of a woman of my age. I know how Sabine loves her husband;you are right, she might become insane. "

"Or lose her beauty, which would be worse, " said the viscountess. 

"Let us go to her!" cried the duchess. 

Fortunately they arrived a few moments before the famous /accoucheur/, Dommanget, the only one of the two men of science whom Calyste hadbeen able to find. 

"Ursula has told me everything, " said the duchess to her daughter, "and you are mistaken. In the first place, Madame de Rochefide is notin Paris. As for what your husband did yesterday, my dear, I can tellyou that he lost a great deal of money at cards, so that he does noteven know how to pay for your dressing-table. "

"But /that?/" said Sabine, holding out to her mother the fatal letter. 

"That!" said the duchess, laughing; "why, that is written on theJockey Club paper; everybody writes nowadays on coroneted paper; evenour stewards will soon be titled. "

The prudent mother threw the unlucky paper into the fire as she spoke. 

When Calyste and Dommanget arrived, the duchess, who had giveninstructions to the servants, was at once informed. She left Sabine tothe care of Madame de Portenduere and stopped the /accoucheur/ andCalyste in the salon. 

"Sabine's life is at stake, monsieur, " she said to Calyste; "you havebetrayed her for Madame de Rochefide. "

Calyste blushed, like a girl still respectable, detected in a fault. 

"And, " continued the duchess, "as you do not know how to deceive, youhave behaved in such a clumsy manner that Sabine has guessed thetruth. But I have for the present repaired your blunder. You do notwish the death of my daughter, I am sure--All this, MonsieurDommanget, will put you on the track of her real illness and itscause. As for you, Calyste, an old woman like me understands yourerror, though she does not pardon it. Such pardons can only be broughtby a lifetime of after happiness. If you wish me to esteem you, youmust, in the first place, save my daughter; next, you must forgetMadame de Rochefide; she is only worth having once. Learn to lie; havethe courage of a criminal, and his impudence. I have just told a liemyself, and I shall have to do hard penance for that mortal sin. "

She then told the two men the lies she had invented. The cleverphysician sitting at the bedside of his patient studied in hersymptoms the means of repairing the ill, while he ordered measures thesuccess of which depended on great rapidity of execution. Calystesitting at the foot of the bed strove to put into his glance anexpression of tenderness. 

"So it was play which put those black circles round your eyes?" Sabinesaid to him in a feeble voice. 

The words made the doctor, the mother, and the viscountess tremble, and they all three looked at one another covertly. Calyste turned asred as a cherry. 

"That's what comes of nursing a child, " said Dommanget brutally, butcleverly. "Husbands are lonely when separated from their wives, andthey go to the club and play. But you needn't worry over the thirtythousand francs which Monsieur le baron lost last night--"

"Thirty thousand francs!" cried Ursula, in a silly tone. 

"Yes, I know it, " replied Dommanget. "They told me this morning at thehouse of the young Duchesse Berthe de Maufrigneuse that it wasMonsieur de Trailles who won that money from you, " he added, turningto Calyste. "Why do you play with such men? Frankly, monsieur lebaron, I can well believe you are ashamed of it. "

Seeing his mother-in-law, a pious duchess, the young viscountess, ahappy woman, and the old /accoucheur/, a confirmed egotist, all threelying like a dealer in bric-a-brac, the kind and feeling Calysteunderstood the greatness of the danger, and two heavy tears rolledfrom his eyes and completely deceived Sabine. 

"Monsieur, " she said, sitting up in bed and looking angrily atDommanget, "Monsieur du Guenic can lose thirty, fifty, a hundredthousand francs if it pleases him, without any one having a right tothink it wrong or read him a lesson. It is far better that Monsieur deTrailles should win his money than that we should win Monsieur deTrailles'. "

Calyste rose, took his wife round the neck, kissed her on both cheeksand whispered:--

"Sabine, you are an angel!"

Two days later the young wife was thought to be out of danger, and thenext day Calyste was at Madame de Rochefide's making a merit of hisinfamy. 

"Beatrix, " he said, "you owe me happiness. I have sacrificed my poorlittle wife to you; she has discovered all. That fatal paper on whichyou made me write, bore your name and your coronet, which I nevernoticed--I saw but you! Fortunately the 'B' was by chance effaced. Butthe perfume you left upon me and the lies in which I involved myselflike a fool have betrayed my happiness. Sabine nearly died of it; hermilk went to the head; erysipelas set in, and possibly she may bearthe marks for the rest of her days. "

As Beatrix listened to this tirade her face was due North, icy enoughto freeze the Seine had she looked at it. 

"So much the better, " she said; "perhaps it will whiten her for you. "

And Beatrix, now become as hard as her bones, sharp as her voice, harsh as her complexion, continued a series of atrocious sarcasms inthe same tone. There is no greater blunder than for a man to talk ofhis wife, if she is virtuous, to his mistress, unless it be to talk ofhis mistress, if she is beautiful, to his wife. But Calyste had notreceived that species of Parisian education which we must call thepoliteness of the passions. He knew neither how to lie to his wife, nor how to tell his mistress the truth, --two apprenticeships a man inhis position must make in order to manage women. He was thereforecompelled to employ all the power of passion to obtain from Beatrix apardon which she forced him to solicit for two hours; a pardon refusedby an injured angel who raised her eyes to the ceiling that she mightnot see the guilty man, and who put forth reasons sacred to marquisesin a voice quivering with tears which were furtively wiped with thelace of her handkerchief. 

"To speak to me of your wife on the very day after my fall!" shecried. "Why did you not tell me she is a pearl of virtue? I know shethinks you handsome; pure depravity! I, I love your soul! for let metell you, my friend, you are ugly compared to many shepherds on theCampagna of Rome, " etc. , etc. 

Such speeches may surprise the reader, but they were part of a systemprofoundly meditated by Beatrix in this her third incarnation, --for ateach passion a woman becomes another being and advances one step moreinto profligacy, the only word which properly renders the effect ofthe experience given by such adventures. Now, the Marquise deRochefide had sat in judgment on herself before the mirror. Cleverwomen are never deceived about themselves; they count their wrinkles, they assist at the birth of their crow's-feet, they know themselves byheart, and even own it by the greatness of their efforts atpreservation. Therefore to struggle successfully against a splendidyoung woman, to carry away from her six triumphs a week, Beatrix hadrecourse to the knowledge and the science of courtesans. Withoutacknowledging to herself the baseness of this plan, led away to theemployment of such means by a Turkish passion for Calyste's beauty, she had resolved to make him think himself unpleasant, ugly, ill-made, and to behave as if she hated him. No system is more fruitful with menof a conquering nature. To such natures the presence of repugnance tobe vanquished is the renewal of the triumph of the first day on allsucceeding days. And it is something even better. It is flattery inthe guise of dislike. A man then says to himself, "I am irresistible, "or "My love is all-powerful because it conquers her repugnance. " Ifyou deny this principle, divined by all coquettes and courtesansthroughout all social zones, you may as well reject all seekers afterknowledge, all delvers into secrets, repulsed through years in theirduel with hidden causes. Beatrix added to the use of contempt as amoral piston, a constant comparison of her own poetic, comfortablehome with the hotel du Guenic. All deserted wives who abandonthemselves in despair, neglect also their surroundings, so discouragedare they. On this, Madame de Rochefide counted, and presently began anunderhand attack on the luxury of the faubourg Saint-Germain, whichshe characterized as stupid. 

The scene of reconciliation, in which Beatrix made Calyste swear andreswear hatred to the wife, who, she said, was playing comedy, tookplace in a perfect bower where she played off her graces amidravishing flowers, and rare plants of the costliest luxury. Thescience of nothings, the trifles of the day, she carried to excess. Fallen into a mortifying position through Conti's desertion, Beatrixwas determined to have, at any rate, the fame which unprincipledconduct gives. The misfortune of the poor young wife, a rich andbeautiful Grandlieu, should be her pedestal. 

 XX

 A SHORT TREATISE ON CERTAINTY: BUT NOT FROM PASCAL'S POINT OF VIEW

When a woman returns to ordinary life after the nursing of her firstchild she reappears in the world embellished and charming. This phaseof maternity, while it rejuvenates the women of a certain age, givesto young women a splendor of freshness, a gay activity, a /brio/ ofmere existence, --if it is permissible to apply to the body a wordwhich Italy has discovered for the mind. In trying to return to thecharming habits of the honeymoon, Sabine discovered that her husbandwas not the former Calyste. Again she observed him, unhappy girl, instead of resting securely in her happiness. She sought for the fatalperfume, and smelt it. This time she no longer confided in her friend, nor in the mother who had so charitably deceived her. She wantedcertainty, and Certainty made no long tarrying. Certainty is neverwanting, it is like the sun; and presently shades are asked for tokeep it out. It is, in matters of the heart, a repetition of the fableof the woodman calling upon Death, --we soon ask Certainty to leave usblind. 

One morning, about two weeks after the first crisis, Sabine receivedthis terrible letter:--

Guerande. 

 To Madame la Baronne du Guenic:

 My dear Daughter, --Your aunt Zephirine and I are lost in conjectures about the dressing-table of which you tell us in your letter. I have written to Calyste about it, and I beg you to excuse our ignorance. You can never doubt our hearts, I am sure. We are piling up riches for you here. Thanks to the advice of Mademoiselle de Pen-Hoel on the management of your property, you will find yourself within a few years in possession of a considerable capital without losing any of your income. 

 Your letter, dear child as dearly loved as if I had borne you in my bosom and fed you with my milk, surprised me by its brevity, and above all by your silence about my dearest little Calyste. You told me nothing of the great Calyste either; but then, I know that /he/ is happy, etc. 

Sabine wrote across this letter these words, "Noble Brittany does notalways lie. " She then laid the paper on Calyste's desk. 

Calyste found the letter and read it. Seeing Sabine's sentence andrecognizing her handwriting he flung the letter into the fire, determined to pretend that he had never received it. Sabine spent awhole week in an agony the secrets of which are known only to angelicor solitary souls whom the wing of the bad angel has neverovershadowed. Calyste's silence terrified her. 

"I, who ought to be all gentleness, all pleasure to him, I havedispleased him, wounded him! My virtue has made itself hateful. I haveno doubt humiliated my idol, " she said to herself. These thoughtsplowed furrows in her heart. She wanted to ask pardon for her fault, but Certainty let loose upon her other proofs. Grown bold andinsolent, Beatrix wrote to Calyste at his own home; Madame du Guenicreceived the letter, and gave it to her husband without opening it, but she said to him, in a changed voice and with death in her soul:"My friend, that letter is from the Jockey Club; I recognize both thepaper and the perfume. "

Calyste colored, and put the letter into his pocket. 

"Why don't you read it?"

"I know what it is about. "

The young wife sat down. No longer did fever burn her, she wept nomore; but madness such as, in feeble beings, gives birth to miraclesof crime, madness which lays hands on arsenic for themselves or fortheir rivals, possessed her. At this moment little Calyste was broughtin, and she took him in her arms to dance him. The child, justawakened, sought the breast beneath the gown. 

"He remembers, --he, at any rate, " she said in a low voice. 

Calyste went to his own room to read his letter. When he was no longerpresent the poor young woman burst into tears, and wept as women weepwhen they are all alone. 

Pain, as well as pleasure, has its initiation. The first crisis, likethat in which poor Sabine nearly succumbed, returns no more than thefirst fruits of other things return. It is the first wedge struck inthe torture of the heart; all others are expected, the shock to thenerves is known, the capital of our forces has been already drawn uponfor vigorous resistance. So Sabine, sure of her betrayal, spent threehours with her son in her arms beside the fire in a way that surprisedherself, when Gasselin, turned into a footman, came to say:--

"Madame is served. "

"Let monsieur know. "

"Monsieur does not dine at home, Madame la baronne. "

Who knows what torture there is for a young woman of twenty-three infinding herself alone in the great dining-room of an old mansion, served by silent servants, under circumstances like these?

"Order the carriage, " she said suddenly; "I shall go to the Opera. "

She dressed superbly; she wanted to exhibit herself alone and smilinglike a happy woman. In the midst of her remorse for the addition shehad made to Madame de Rochefide's letter she had resolved to conquer, to win back Calyste by loving kindness, by the virtues of a wife, bythe gentleness of the paschal lamb. She wished, also, to deceive allParis. She loved, --loved as courtesans and as angels love, with pride, with humility. But the opera chanced to be "Otello. " When Rubini sang/Il mio cor si divide/, she rushed away. Music is sometimes mightierthan actor or poet, the two most powerful of all natures, combined. Savinien de Portenduere accompanied Sabine to the peristyle and puther in the carriage without being able to understand this suddenflight. 

Madame du Guenic now entered a phase of suffering which is peculiar tothe aristocracy. Envious, poor, and miserable beings, --when you see onthe arms of such women golden serpents with diamond heads, necklacesclasped around their necks, say to yourselves that those vipers sting, those slender bonds burn to the quick through the delicate flesh. Allsuch luxury is dearly bought. In situations like that of Sabine, womencurse the pleasures of wealth; they look no longer at the gilding oftheir salons; the silk of the divans is jute in their eyes, exoticflowers are nettles, perfumes poison, the choicest cookery scrapestheir throat like barley-bread, and life becomes as bitter as the DeadSea. 

Two or three examples may serve to show this reaction of luxury uponhappiness; so that all those women who have endured it may beholdtheir own experience. 

Fully aware now of this terrible rivalry, Sabine studied her husbandwhen he left the house, that she might divine, if possible, the futureof his day. With what restrained fury does a woman fling herself uponthe red-hot spikes of that savage martyrdom! What delirious joy if shecould think he did not go to the rue de Chartres! Calyste returned, and then the study of his forehead, his hair, his eyes, hiscountenance, his demeanor, gave a horrible interest to mere nothings, to observations pursued even to matters of toilet, in which a womanloses her self-respect and dignity. These fatal investigations, concealed in the depths of her heart, turn sour and rot the delicateroots from which should spring to bloom the azure flowers of sacredconfidence, the golden petals of the One only love, with all theperfumes of memory. 

One day Calyste looked about him discontentedly; he had stayed athome! Sabine made herself caressing and humble, gay and sparkling. 

"You are vexed with me, Calyste; am I not a good wife? What is therehere that displeases you?" she asked. 

"These rooms are so cold and bare, " he replied; "you don't understandarranging things. "

"Tell me what is wanting. "

"Flowers. "

"Ah!" she thought to herself, "Madame de Rochefide likes flowers. "

Two days later, the rooms of the hotel du Guenic had assumed anotheraspect. No one in Paris could flatter himself to have more exquisiteflowers than those that now adorned them. 

Some time later Calyste, one evening after dinner, complained of thecold. He twisted about in his chair, declaring there was a draught, and seemed to be looking for something. Sabine could not at firstimagine what this new fancy signified, she, whose house possessed acalorifere which heated the staircases, antechambers, and passages. Atlast, after three days' meditation, she came to the conclusion thather rival probably sat surrounded by a screen to obtain thehalf-lights favorable to faded faces; so Sabine had a screen, but herswas of glass and of Israelitish splendor. 

"From what quarter will the next storm come?" she said to herself. 

These indirect comparisons with his mistress were not yet at an end. When Calyste dined at home he ate his dinner in a way to drive Sabinefrantic; he would motion to the servants to take away his plates afterpecking at two or three mouthfuls. 

"Wasn't it good?" Sabine would ask, in despair at seeing all the painsshe had taken in conference with her cook thrown away. 

"I don't say that, my angel, " replied Calyste, without anger; "I amnot hungry, that is all. "

A woman consumed by a legitimate passion, who struggles thus, falls atlast into a fury of desire to get the better of her rival, and oftengoes too far, even in the most secret regions of married life. Socruel, burning, and incessant a combat in the obvious and, as we maycall them, exterior matters of a household must needs become moreintense and desperate in the things of the heart. Sabine studied herattitudes, her toilets; she took heed about herself in all theinfinitely little trifles of love. 

The cooking trouble lasted nearly a month. Sabine, assisted byMariotte and Gasselin, invented various little vaudeville schemes toascertain the dishes which Madame de Rochefide served to Calyste. Gasselin was substituted for Calyste's groom, who had fallenconveniently ill. This enabled Gasselin to consort with Madame deRochefide's cook, and before long, Sabine gave Calyste the same fare, only better; but still he made difficulties. 

"What is wanting now?" she said. 

"Oh, nothing, " he answered, looking round the table for something hedid not find. 

"Ah!" exclaimed Sabine, as she woke the next morning, "Calyste wantedsome of those Indian sauces they serve in England in cruets. Madame deRochefide accustoms him to all sorts of condiments. "

She bought the English cruets and the spiced sauces; but it soonbecame impossible for her to make such discoveries in all thepreparations invented by her rival. 

This period lasted some months; which is not surprising when weremember the sort of attraction presented by such a struggle. It islife. And that is preferable, with its wounds and its anguish, to thegloomy darkness of disgust, to the poison of contempt, to the void ofabdication, to that death of the heart which is called indifference. But all Sabine's courage abandoned her one evening when she appearedin a toilet such as women are inspired to wear in the hope ofeclipsing a rival, and about which Calyste said, laughing:--

"In spite of all you can do, Sabine, you'll never be anything but ahandsome Andalusian. "

"Alas!" she said, dropping on a sofa, "I may never make myself ablonde, but I know if this continues I shall soon be thirty-five yearsold. "

She refused to go to the Opera as she intended, and chose to stay athome the whole evening. But once alone she pulled the flowers from herhair and stamped upon them; she tore off the gown and scarf andtrampled them underfoot, like a goat caught in the tangle of itstether, which struggles till death comes. Then she went to bed. 

 XXI

 THE WICKEDNESS OF A GOOD WOMAN

Playing for these terrible stakes Sabine grew thin; grief consumedher; but she never for a moment forsook the role she had imposed uponherself. Sustained by a sort of fever, her lips drove back into herthroat the bitter words that pain suggested; she repressed theflashing of her glorious dark eyes, and made them soft even tohumility. But her failing health soon became noticeable. The duchess, an excellent mother, though her piety was becoming more and morePortuguese, recognized a moral cause in the physically weak conditionin which Sabine now took satisfaction. She knew the exact state of therelation between Beatrix and Calyste; and she took great pains to drawher daughter to her own house, partly to soothe the wounds of herheart, but more especially to drag her away from the scene of hermartyrdom. Sabine, however, maintained the deepest silence for a longtime about her sorrows, fearing lest some one might meddle betweenherself and Calyste. She declared herself happy! At the height of hermisery she recovered her pride, and all her virtues. 

But at last, after some months during which her sister Clotilde andher mother had caressed and petted her, she acknowledged her grief, confided her sorrows, cursed life, and declared that she saw deathcoming with delirious joy. She begged Clotilde, who was resolved toremain unmarried, to be a mother to her little Calyste, the finestchild that any royal race could desire for heir presumptive. 

One evening, as she sat with her young sister Athenais (whose marriageto the Vicomte de Grandlieu was to take place at the end of Lent), andwith Clotilde and the duchess, Sabine gave utterance to the supremecries of her heart's anguish, excited by the pangs of a lasthumiliation. 

"Athenais, " she said, when the Vicomte Juste de Grandlieu departed ateleven o'clock, "you are going to marry; let my example be a warningto you. Consider it a crime to display your best qualities; resist thepleasure of adorning yourself to please Juste. Be calm, dignified, cold; measure the happiness you give by that which you receive. Thisis shameful, but it is necessary. Look at me. I perish through my bestqualities. All that I /know/ was fine and sacred and grand within me, all my virtues, were rocks on which my happiness is wrecked. I haveceased to please because I am not thirty-six years old. In the eyes ofsome men youth is thought an inferiority. There is nothing to imagineon an innocent face. I laugh frankly, and that is wrong; to captivateI ought to play off the melancholy half-smile of the fallen angel, whowants to hide her yellowing teeth. A fresh complexion is monotonous;some men prefer their doll's wax made of rouge and spermaceti and coldcream. I am straightforward; but duplicity is more pleasing. I amloyally passionate, as an honest woman may be, but I ought to bemanoeuvring, tricky, hypocritical, and simulate a coldness I have not, --like any provincial actress. I am intoxicated with the happiness ofhaving married one of the most charming men in France; I tell him, naively, how distinguished he is, how graceful his movements are, howhandsome I think him; but to please him I ought to turn away my headwith pretended horror, to love nothing with real love, and tell himhis distinction is mere sickliness. I have the misfortune to admireall beautiful things without setting myself up for a wit by causticand envious criticism of whatever shines from poesy and beauty. Idon't seek to make Canalis and Nathan say of /me/ in verse and prosethat my intellect is superior. I'm only a poor little artless child; Icare only for Calyste. Ah! if I had scoured the world like /her/, if Ihad said as /she/ has said, 'I love, ' in every language of Europe, Ishould be consoled, I should be pitied, I should be adored for servingthe regal Macedonian with cosmopolitan love! We are thanked for ourtenderness if we set it in relief against our vice. And I, a noblewoman, must teach myself impurity and all the tricks of prostitutes!And Calyste is the dupe of such grimaces! Oh, mother! oh, my dearClotilde! I feel that I have got my death-blow. My pride is only asham buckler; I am without defence against my misery; I love myhusband madly, and yet to bring him back to me I must borrow thewisdom of indifference. "

"Silly girl, " whispered Clotilde, "let him think you will avengeyourself--"

"I wish to die irreproachable and without the mere semblance of doingwrong, " replied Sabine. "A woman's vengeance should be worthy of herlove. "

"My child, " said the duchess to her daughter, "a mother must of coursesee life more coolly than you can see it. Love is not the end, but themeans, of the Family. Do not imitate that poor Baronne de Macumer. Excessive passion is unfruitful and deadly. And remember, God sends usafflictions with knowledge of our needs. Now that Athenais' marriageis arranged, I can give all my thoughts to you. In fact, I havealready talked of this delicate crisis in your life with your fatherand the Duc de Chaulieu, and also with d'Ajuda; we shall certainlyfind means to bring Calyste back to you. "

"There is always one resource with the Marquise de Rochefide, "remarked Clotilde, smiling, to her sister; "she never keeps heradorers long. "

"D'Ajuda, my darling, " continued the duchess, "was Monsieur deRochefide's brother-in-law. If our dear confessor approves of certainlittle manoeuvres to which we must have recourse to carry out a planwhich I have proposed to your father, I can guarantee to you therecovery of Calyste. My conscience is repugnant to the use of suchmeans, and I must first submit them to the judgment of the AbbeBrossette. We shall not wait, my child, till you are /in extremis/before coming to your relief. Keep a good heart! Your grief to-nightis so bitter that my secret escapes me; but it is impossible for menot to give you a little hope. "

"Will it make Calyste unhappy?" asked Sabine, looking anxiously at theduchess. 

"Oh, heavens! shall I ever be as silly as that!" cried Athenais, naively. 

"Ah, little girl, you know nothing of the precipices down which ourvirtue flings us when led by love, " replied Sabine, making a sort ofmoral revelation, so distraught was she by her woe. 

The speech was uttered with such incisive bitterness that the duchess, enlightened by the tone and accent and look of her daughter, feltcertain there was some hidden trouble. 

"My dears, it is midnight; come, go to bed, " she said to Clotilde andAthenais, whose eyes were shining. 

"In spite of my thirty-five years I appear to be /de trop/, " saidClotilde, laughing. While Athenais kissed her mother, Clotilde leanedover Sabine and said in her ear: "You will tell what it is? I'll dinewith you to-morrow. If my mother's conscience won't let her act, I--Imyself will get Calyste out of the hands of the infidels. "

"Well, Sabine, " said the duchess, taking her daughter into herbedroom, "tell me, what new trouble is there, my child?"

"Mamma, I am lost!"

"But how?"

"I wanted to get the better of that horrible woman--I conquered for atime--I am pregnant again--and Calyste loves her so that I foresee atotal abandonment. When she hears of it she will be furious. Ah! Isuffer such tortures that I cannot endure them long. I know when he isgoing to her, I know it by his joy; and his peevishness tells me asplainly when he leaves her. He no longer troubles himself to concealhis feelings; I have become intolerable to him. She has an influenceover him as unhealthy as she is herself in soul and body. You'll see!she will exact from him, as the price of forgiveness, my publicdesertion, a rupture like her own; she will take him away from me toSwitzerland or Italy. He is beginning now to say it is ridiculous thathe knows nothing of Europe. I can guess what those words mean, flungout in advance. If Calyste is not cured of her in three months I don'tknow what he may become; but as for me, I will kill myself. "

"But your soul, my unhappy child? Suicide is a mortal sin. "

"Don't you understand? She may give him a child. And if Calyste lovedthe child of that woman more than mine--Oh! that's the end of mypatience and all my resignation. "

She fell into a chair. She had given vent to the deepest thought inher heart; she had no longer a hidden grief; and secret sorrow is likethat iron rod that sculptors put within the structure of their clay, --it supports, it is a force. 

"Come, go home, dear sufferer. In view of such misery the abbe willsurely give me absolution for the venial sins which the deceits of theworld compel us to commit. Leave me now, my daughter, " she said, goingto her /prie-Dieu/. "I must pray to our Lord and the Blessed Virginfor you, with special supplication. Good-bye, my dear Sabine; aboveall things, do not neglect your religious duties if you wish us tosucceed. "

"And if we do triumph, mother, we shall only save the family. Calystehas killed within me the holy fervor of love, --killed it by sickeningme with all things. What a honey-moon was mine, in which I was made tofeel on that first day the bitterness of a retrospective adultery!"

The next day, about two in the afternoon, one of the vicars of thefaubourg Saint-Germain appointed to a vacant bishopric in 1840 (anoffice refused by him for the third time), the Abbe Brossette, one ofthe most distinguished priests in Paris, crossed the court-yard of thehotel de Grandlieu, with a step which we must needs call theecclesiastical step, so significant is it of caution, mystery, calmness, gravity, and dignity. He was a thin little man about fiftyyears of age, with a face as white as that of an old woman, chilled bypriestly austerities, and hollowed by all the sufferings which heespoused. Two black eyes, ardent with faith yet softened by anexpression more mysterious than mystical, animated that trulyapostolical face. He was smiling as he mounted the steps of theportico, so little did he believe in the enormity of the cases aboutwhich his penitent sent for him; but as the hand of the duchess was anopen palm for charity, she was worth the time which her innocentconfessions stole from the more serious miseries of the parish. 

When the vicar was announced the duchess rose, and made a few stepstoward him in the salon, --a distinction she granted only to cardinals, bishops, simple priests, duchesses older then herself, and persons ofroyal blood. 

"My dear abbe, " she said, pointing to a chair and speaking in a lowvoice, "I need the authority of your experience before I throw myselfinto a rather wicked intrigue, although it is one which must result ingreat good; and I desire to know from you whether I shall makehindrances to my own salvation in the course I propose to follow. "

"Madame la duchesse, " replied the abbe, "do not mix up spiritualthings with worldly things; they are usually irreconcilable. In thefirst place, what is this matter?"

"You know that my daughter Sabine is dying of grief; Monsieur duGuenic has left her for Madame de Rochefide. "

"It is very dreadful, very serious; but you know what our dear SaintFrancois de Sales says on that subject. Remember too how Madame Guyoncomplained of the lack of mysticism in the proofs of conjugal love;she would have been very willing to see her husband with a Madame deRochefide. "

"Sabine is only too gentle; she is almost too completely a Christianwife; but she has not the slightest taste for mysticism. "

"Poor young woman!" said the abbe, maliciously. "What method will youtake to remedy the evil?"

"I have committed the sin, my dear director, of thinking how to launchupon Madame de Rochefide a little man, very self-willed and full ofthe worst qualities, who will certainly induce her to dismiss myson-in-law. "

"My daughter, " replied the abbe, stroking his chin, "we are not now inthe confessional; I am not obliged to make myself your judge. From theworld's point of view, I admit that the result would be decisive--"

"The means seem to me odious, " she said. 

"Why? No doubt the duty of a Christian woman is to withdraw a sinningwoman from an evil path, rather than push her along it; but when awoman has advanced upon that path as far as Madame de Rochefide, it isnot the hand of man, but that of God, which recalls such a sinner; sheneeds a thunderbolt. "

"Father, " replied the duchess, "I thank you for your indulgence; butthe thought has occurred to me that my son-in-law is brave and aBreton. He was heroic at the time of the rash affair of that poorMADAME. Now, if the young fellow who undertook to make Madame deRochefide love him were to quarrel with Calyste, and a duel shouldensue--"

"You have thought wisely, Madame la duchesse; and it only proves thatin crooked paths you will always find rocks of stumbling. "

"I have discovered a means, my dear abbe, to do a great good; towithdraw Madame de Rochefide from the fatal path in which she now is;to restore Calyste to his wife, and possibly to save from hell a poordistracted creature. "

"In that case, why consult me?" asked the vicar, smiling. 

"Ah!" replied the duchess, "Because I must permit myself some rathernasty actions--"

"You don't mean to rob anybody?"

"On the contrary, I shall apparently have to spend a great deal ofmoney. "

"You will not calumniate, or--"

"Oh! oh!"

"--injure your neighbor?"

"I don't know about that. "

"Come, tell me your plan, " said the abbe, now becoming curious. 

"Suppose, instead of driving out one nail by another, --this is what Ithought at my /prie-Dieu/ after imploring the Blessed Virgin toenlighten me, --I were to free Calyste by persuading Monsieur deRochefide to take back his wife? Instead of lending a hand to evil forthe sake of doing good to my daughter, I should do one great good byanother almost as great--"

The vicar looked at the Portuguese lady, and was pensive. 

"That is evidently an idea that came to you from afar, " he said, "sofar that--"

"I have thanked the Virgin for it, " replied the good and humbleduchess; "and I have made a vow--not counting a novena--to give twelvehundred francs to some poor family if I succeed. But when Icommunicated my plan to Monsieur de Grandlieu he began to laugh, andsaid: 'Upon my honor, at your time of life I think you women have adevil of your own. '"

"Monsieur le duc made as a husband the same reply I was about to makewhen you interrupted me, " said the abbe, who could not restrain asmile. 

"Ah! Father, if you approve of the idea, will you also approve of themeans of execution? It is necessary to do to a certain Madame Schontz(a Beatrix of the quartier Saint-Georges) what I proposed to do toMadame de Rochefide. "

"I am certain that you will not do any real wrong, " said the vicar, cleverly, not wishing to hear any more, having found the result sodesirable. "You can consult me later if you find your consciencemuttering, " he added. "But why, instead of giving that person in therue Saint-Georges a fresh occasion for scandal, don't you give her ahusband?"

"Ah! my dear director, now you have rectified the only bad thing I hadin my plan. You are worthy of being an archbishop, and I hope I shallnot die till I have had the opportunity of calling you Your Eminence. "

"I see only one difficulty in all this, " said the abbe. 

"What is that?"

"Suppose Madame de Rochefide chooses to keep your son-in-law after shegoes back to her husband?"

"That's my affair, " replied the duchess; "when one doesn't oftenintrigue, one does so--"

"Badly, very badly, " said the abbe. "Habit is necessary foreverything. Try to employ some of those scamps who live by intrigue, and don't show your own hand. "

"Ah! monsieur l'abbe, if I make use of the means of hell, will Heavenhelp me?"

"You are not at confession, " repeated the abbe. "Save your child. "

The worthy duchess, delighted with her vicar, accompanied him to thedoor of the salon. 

 XXII

 THE NORMAL HISTORY OF AN UPPER-CLASS GRISETTE

A storm was gathering, as we see, over Monsieur de Rochefide, whoenjoyed at that moment the greatest amount of happiness that aParisian can desire in being to Madame Schontz as much a husband as hehad been to Beatrix. It seemed therefore, as the duke had verysensibly said to his wife, almost an impossibility to upset soagreeable and satisfactory an existence. This opinion will oblige usto give certain details on the life led by Monsieur de Rochefide afterhis wife had placed him in the position of a /deserted husband/. Thereader will then be enabled to understand the enormous differencewhich our laws and our morals put between the two sexes in the samesituation. That which turns to misery for the woman turns to happinessfor the man. This contrast may inspire more than one young woman withthe determination to remain in her own home, and to struggle there, like Sabine du Guenic, by practising (as she may select) the mostaggressive or the most inoffensive virtues. 

Some days after Beatrix had abandoned him, Arthur de Rochefide, now anonly child in consequence of the death of his sister, the first wifeof the Marquis d'Ajuda-Pinto, who left no children, found himself solemaster of the hotel de Rochefide, rue d'Anjou Saint-Honore, and of twohundred thousand francs a year left to him by his father. This richinheritance, added to the fortune which Arthur possessed when hemarried, brought his income, including that from the fortune of hiswife, to a thousand francs a day. To a gentleman endowed with a naturesuch as Mademoiselle des Touches had described it in a few words toCalyste, such wealth was happiness enough. While his wife continued inher home and fulfilled the duties of maternity, Rochefide enjoyed thisimmense fortune; but he did not spend it any more than he expended thefaculties of his mind. His good, stout vanity, gratified by the figurehe presented as a handsome man (to which he owed a few successes thatauthorized him to despise women), allowed itself free scope in thematter of brains. Gifted with the sort of mind which we must call areflector, he appropriated the sallies of others, the wit of the stageand the /petits journaux/, by his method of repeating them, andapplied them as formulas of criticism. His military joviality (he hadserved in the Royal Guard) seasoned conversation with so much pointthat women without any intellects proclaimed him witty, and the restdid not dare to contradict them. 

This system Arthur pursued in all things; he owed to nature theconvenient genius of imitation without mimicry; he imitated seriously. Thus without any taste of his own, he knew how to be the first toadopt and the first to abandon a new fashion. Accused of nothing worsethan spending too much time at his toilet and wearing a corset, hepresented the type of those persons who displease no one by adoptingincessantly the ideas and the follies of everbody, and who, astride ofcircumstance, never grow old. 

As a husband, he was pitied; people thought Beatrix inexcusable fordeserting the best fellow on earth, and social jeers only touched thewoman. A member of all clubs, subscriber to all the absurditiesgenerated by patriotism or party spirit ill-understood (a compliancewhich put him in the front rank /a propos/ of all such matters), thisloyal, brave, and very silly nobleman, whom unfortunately so many richmen resemble, would naturally desire to distinguish himself byadopting some fashionable mania. Consequently, he glorified his nameprincipally in being the sultan of a four-footed harem, governed by anold English groom, which cost him monthly from four to five thousandfrancs. His specialty was /running horses;/ he protected the equinerace and supported a magazine devoted to hippic questions; but, forall that, he knew very little of the animals, and from shoes tobridles he depended wholly on his groom, --all of which willsufficiently explain to you that this semi-bachelor had nothingactually of his own, neither mind, taste, position, or absurdity; evenhis fortune came from his fathers. After having tasted thedispleasures of marriage he was so content to find himself once more abachelor that he said among his friends, "I was born with a caul"(that is, to good luck). 

Pleased above all things to be able to live without the costs ofmaking an appearance, to which husbands are constrained, his house, inwhich since the death of his father nothing had been changed, resembled those of masters who are travelling; he lived there little, never dined, and seldom slept there. Here follows the reason for suchindifference. 

After various amorous adventures, bored by women of fashion of thekind who are truly bores, and who plant too many thorny hedges aroundhappiness, he had married after a fashion, as we shall see, a certainMadame Schontz, celebrated in the world of Fanny Beaupre, Susanne duVal-Noble, Florine, Mariette, Jenny Cadine, etc. This world, --of whichone of our artists wittily remarked at the frantic moment of an opera/galop/, "When one thinks that all /that/ is lodged and clothed andlives well, what a fine idea it gives us of mankind!"--this world hasalready irrupted elsewhere into this history of French manners andcustoms of the nineteenth century; but to paint it with fidelity, thehistorian should proportion the number of such personages to thediverse endings of their strange careers, which terminate either inpoverty under its most hideous aspect, or by premature death oftenself-inflicted, or by lucky marriages, occasionally by opulence. 

Madame Schontz, known at first under the name of La Petite-Aurelie, todistinguish her from one of her rivals far less clever than herself, belongs to the highest class of those women whose social utilitycannot be questioned by the prefect of the Seine, nor by those who areinterested in the welfare of the city of Paris. Certainly the Rat, accused of demolishing fortunes which frequently never existed, mightbetter be compared to a beaver. Without the Aspasias of the Notre-Damede Lorette quarter, far fewer houses would be built in Paris. Pioneersin fresh stucco, they have gone, towed by speculation, along theheights of Montmartre, pitching their tents in those solitudes ofcarved free-stone, the like of which adorns the European streets ofAmsterdam, Milan, Stockholm, London, and Moscow, architectural steppeswhere the wind rustles innumerable papers on which a void is divulgedby the words, /Apartments to let/. 

The situation of these dames is determined by that which they take inthe apocryphal regions. If the house is near the line traced by therue de Provence, the woman has an income, her budget prospers; but ifshe approaches the farther line of the Boulevard Exterieur or risestowards the horrid town of Batignolles, she is without resources. WhenMonsieur de Rochefide first encountered Madame Schontz, she lived onthe third floor of the only house that remained in the rue de Berlin;thus she was camping on the border-land between misery and itsreverse. This person was not really named, as you may suppose, eitherSchontz or Aurelie. She concealed the name of her father, an oldsoldier of the Empire, that perennial colonel who always appears atthe dawn of all these feminine existences either as father or seducer. Madame Schontz had received the gratuitous education of Saint-Denis, where young girls are admirably brought up, but where, unfortunately, neither husbands nor openings in life are offered to them when theyleave the school, --an admirable creation of the Emperor, which nowlacks but one thing, the Emperor himself!

"I shall be there, to provide for the daughters of my faithfullegions, " he replied to a remark of one of his ministers, who foresawthe future. 

Napoleon had also said, "I shall be there!" for the members of theInstitute; to whom they had better give no salary than send themeighty francs each month, a wage that is less than that of certainclerks!

Aurelie was really the daughter of the intrepid Colonel Schiltz, aleader of those bold Alsacian guerillas who came near saving theEmperor in the campaign of France. He died at Metz, --robbed, pillaged, ruined. In 1814 Napoleon put the little Josephine Schiltz, then aboutnine years old, at Saint-Denis. Having lost both father and mother andbeing without a home and without resources, the poor child was notdismissed from the institution on the second return of the Bourbons. She was under-mistress of the school till 1827, but then her patiencegave way; her beauty seduced her. When she reached her majorityJosephine Schiltz, the Empress's goddaughter, was on the verge of theadventurous life of a courtesan, persuaded to that doubtful future bythe fatal example of some of her comrades like herself withoutresources, who congratulated themselves on their decision. Shesubstituted /on/ for /il/ in her father's name and placed herselfunder the patronage of Saint-Aurelie. 

Lively, witty, and well-educated, she committed more faults than herduller companions, whose misdemeanors had invariably self-interest fortheir base. After knowing various writers, poor but dishonest, cleverbut deeply in debt; after trying certain rich men as calculating asthey were foolish; and after sacrificing solid interests to one truelove, --thus going through all the schools in which experience istaught, --on a certain day of extreme misery, when, at Valentino's (thefirst stage to Musard) she danced in a gown, hat, and mantle that wereall borrowed, she attracted the attention of Arthur de Rochefide, whohad come there to see the famous /galop/. Her cleverness instantlycaptivated the man who at that time knew not what passion to devotehimself to. So that two years after his desertion by Beatrix, thememory of whom often humiliated him, the marquis was not blamed by anyone for marrying, so to speak, in the thirteenth arrondissement, asubstitute for his wife. 

Let us sketch the four periods of this happiness. It is necessary toshow that the theory of marriage in the thirteenth arrondissementaffects in like manner all who come within its rule. [*] Marquis in theforties, sexagenary retired shopkeeper, quadruple millionnaire ormoderate-income man, great seigneur or bourgeois, the strategy ofpassion (except for the differences inherent in social zones) nevervaries. The heart and the money-box are always in the same exact andclearly defined relation. Thus informed, you will be able to estimatethe difficulties the duchess was certain to encounter in hercharitable enterprise. 

[*] Before 1859 there was no 13th arrondissement in Paris, hence the saying. --TR. 

Who knows the power in France of witty sayings upon ordinary minds, orwhat harm the clever men who invent them have done? For instance, nobook-keeper could add up the figures of the sums remainingunproductive and lost in the depths of generous hearts andstrong-boxes by that ignoble phrase, "/tirer une carotte!/"

The saying has become so popular that it must be allowed to soil thispage. Besides, if we penetrate within the 13th arrondissement, we areforced to accept its picturesque patois. /Tirer une carotte/ has adozen allied meanings, but it suffices to give it here as: /To dupe/. Monsieur de Rochefide, like all little minds, was terribly afraid ofbeing /carotte/. The noun has become a verb. From the very start ofhis passion for Madame Schontz, Arthur was on his guard, and he was, therefore, very /rat/, to use another word of the same vocabulary. Theword /rat/, when applied to a young girl, means the guest or the oneentertained, but applied to a man it signifies the giver of the feastwho is niggardly. 

Madame Schontz had too much sense and she knew men too well not toconceive great hopes from such a beginning. Monsieur de Rochefideallowed her five hundred francs a month, furnished for her, rathershabbily, an apartment costing twelve hundred francs a year on asecond floor in the rue Coquenard, and set himself to study Aurelie'scharacter, while she, perceiving his object, gave him a character tostudy. Consequently, Rochefide became happy in meeting with a woman ofnoble nature. But he saw nothing surprising in that; her mother was aBarnheim of Baden, a well-bred woman. Besides, Aurelie was so wellbrought up herself! Speaking English, German, and Italian, shepossessed a thorough knowledge of foreign literatures. She could holdher own against all second-class pianists. And, remark this! shebehaved about her talents like a well-bred woman; she never mentionedthem. She picked up a brush in a painter's studio, used it halfjestingly, and produced a head which caused general astonishment. Formere amusement during the time she pined as under-mistress atSaint-Denis, she had made some advance in the domain of the sciences, but her subsequent life had covered these good seeds with a coating ofsalt, and she now gave Arthur the credit of the sprouting of theprecious germs, re-cultivated for him. 

Thus Aurelie began by showing a disinterestedness equal to her othercharms, which allowed this weak corvette to attach its grapnelssecurely to the larger vessel. Nevertheless, about the end of thefirst year, she made ignoble noises in the antechamber with her clogs, coming in about the time when the marquis was awaiting her, andhiding, as best she could, the draggled tail of an outrageously muddygown. In short, she had by this time so perfectly persuaded her /grospapa/ that all her ambition, after so many ups and downs, was toobtain honorably a comfortable little bourgeois existence, that, aboutten months after their first meeting, the second phase of happinessdeclared itself. 

Madame Schontz then obtained a fine apartment in the rueNeuve-Saint-Georges. Arthur, who could no longer conceal the amount ofhis fortune, gave her splendid furniture, a complete service of plate, twelve hundred francs a month, a low carriage with one horse, --this, however, was hired; but he granted a tiger very graciously. MadameSchontz was not the least grateful for this munificence; she knew themotive of her Arthur's conduct, and recognized the calculations of themale /rat/. Sick of living at a restaurant, where the fare is usuallyexecrable, and where the least little /gourmet/ dinner costs sixtyfrancs for one, and two hundred francs if you invite three friends, Rochefide offered Madame Schontz forty francs a day for his dinner andthat of a friend, everything included. Aurelie accepted. 

Thus having made him take up all her moral letters of credit, drawnone by one on Monsieur de Rochefide's comfort, she was listened towith favor when she asked for five hundred francs more a month for herdress, in order not to shame her /gros papa/, whose friends allbelonged to the Jockey Club. 

"It would be a pretty thing, " she said, "if Rastignac, Maxime deTrailles, d'Esgrignon, La Roche-Hugon, Ronqueroles, Laginski, Lenoncourt, found you with a sort of Madame Everard. Besides, haveconfidence in me, papa, and you'll be the gainer. "

In fact, Aurelie contrived to display new virtues in this secondphase. She laid out for herself a house-keeping role for which sheclaimed much credit. She made, so she said, both ends meet at theclose of the month on two thousand five hundred francs without a debt, --a thing unheard of in the faubourg Saint-Germain of the 13tharrondissement, --and she served dinners infinitely superior to thoseof Nucingen, at which exquisite wines were drunk at twelve francs abottle. Rochefide, amazed, and delighted to be able to invite hisfriends to the house with economy, declared, as he caught her roundthe waist, --

"She's a treasure!"

Soon after he hired one-third of a box at the Opera for her; next hetook her to first representations. Then he began to consult hisAurelie, and recognized the excellence of her advice. She let him takethe clever sayings she said about most things for his own, and, thesebeing unknown to others, raised his reputation as an amusing man. Henow acquired the certainty of being loved truly, and for himselfalone. Aurelie refused to make the happiness of a Russian prince whooffered her five thousand francs a month. 

"You are a lucky man, my dear marquis, " cried old Prince Galathionneas he finished his game of whist at the club. "Yesterday, after youleft us alone, I tried to get Madame Schontz away from you, but shesaid: 'Prince, you are not handsomer, but you are a great deal olderthan Rochefide; you would beat me, but he is like a father to me; canyou give me one-tenth of a reason why I should change? I've never hadthe grand passion for Arthur that I once had for little fools invarnished boots and whose debts I paid; but I love him as a wife lovesher husband when she is an honest woman. ' And thereupon she showed methe door. "

This speech, which did not seem exaggerated, had the effect of greatlyincreasing the state of neglect and degradation which reigned in thehotel de Rochefide. Arthur now transported his whole existence and hispleasures to Madame Schontz, and found himself well off; for at theend of three years he had four hundred thousand francs to invest. 

The third phase now began. Madame Schontz became the tenderest ofmothers to Arthur's son; she fetched him from school and took him backherself; she overwhelmed with presents and dainties and pocket-moneythe child who called her his "little mamma, " and who adored her. Shetook part in the management of Arthur's property; she made him buyinto the Funds when low, just before the famous treaty of London whichoverturned the ministry of March 1st. Arthur gained two hundredthousand francs by that transaction and Aurelie did not ask for apenny of it. Like the gentleman that he was, Rochefide invested hissix hundred thousand francs in stock of the Bank of France and puthalf of that sum in the name of Josephine Schiltz. A little house wasnow hired in the rue de La Bruyere and given to Grindot, that greatdecorative architect, with orders to make it a perfect bonbon-box. 

Henceforth, Rochefide no longer managed his affairs. Madame Schontzreceived the revenues and paid the bills. Become, as it were, practically his wife, his woman of business, she justified theposition by making her /gros papa/ more comfortable than ever; she hadlearned all his fancies, and gratified them as Madame de Pompadourgratified those of Louis XV. In short, Madame Schontz reigned anabsolute mistress. She then began to patronize a few young men, artists, men of letters, new-fledged to fame, who rejected bothancients and moderns, and strove to make themselves a great reputationby accomplishing little or nothing. 

The conduct of Madame Schontz, a triumph of tactics, ought to revealto you her superiority. In the first place, these ten or a dozen youngfellows amused Arthur; they supplied him with witty sayings and cleveropinions on all sorts of topics, and did not put in doubt the fidelityof the mistress; moreover, they proclaimed her a woman who waseminently intelligent. These living advertisements, theseperambulating articles, soon set up Madame Schontz as the mostagreeable woman to be found in the borderland which separates thethirteenth arrondissement from the twelve others. Her rivals--SuzanneGaillard, who, in 1838, had won the advantage over her of becoming awife married in legitimate marriage, Fanny Beaupre, Mariette, Antonia--spread calumnies that were more than droll about the beauty of thoseyoung men and the complacent good-nature with which Monsieur deRochefide welcomed them. Madame Schontz, who could distance, as shesaid, by three /blagues/ the wit of those ladies, said to them onenight at a supper given by Nathan to Florine, after recounting herfortune and her success, "Do as much yourselves!"--a speech whichremained in their memory. 

It was during this period that Madame Schontz made Arthur sell hisrace-horses, through a series of considerations which she no doubtderived from the critical mind of Claude Vignon, one of her/habitues/. 

"I can conceive, " she said one night, after lashing the horses forsome time with her lively wit, "that princes and rich men should settheir hearts on horse-flesh, but only for the good of the country, notfor the paltry satisfactions of a betting man. If you had a stud farmon your property and could raise a thousand or twelve hundred horses, and if all the horses of France and of Navarre could enter into onegreat solemn competition, it would be fine; but you buy animals as themanagers of theatres trade in artists; you degrade an institution to agambling game; you make a Bourse of legs, as you make a Bourse ofstocks. It is unworthy. Don't you spend sixty thousand francssometimes merely to read in the newspapers: 'Lelia, belonging toMonsieur de Rochefide beat by a length Fleur-de-Genet the property ofMonsieur le Duc de Rhetore'? You had much better give that money topoets, who would carry you in prose and verse to immortality, like thelate Montyon. "

By dint of being prodded, the marquis was brought to see thehollowness of the turf; he realized that economy of sixty thousandfrancs; and the next year Madame Schontz remarked to him, --

"I don't cost you anything now, Arthur. "

Many rich men envied the marquis and endeavored to entice MadameSchontz away from him, but like the Russian prince they wasted theirold age. 

"Listen to me, " she said to Finot, now become immensely rich. "I amcertain that Rochefide would forgive me a little passion if I fell inlove with any one, but one doesn't leave a marquis with a kind heartlike that for a /parvenu/ like you. You couldn't keep me in theposition in which Arthur has placed me; he has made me half a wife anda lady, and that's more than you could do even if you married me. "

This was the last nail which clinched the fetters of that happygalley-slave, for the speech of course reached the ears for which itwas intended. 

The fourth phase had begun, that of /habit/, the final victory inthese plans of campaign, which make the women of this class say of aman, "I hold him!" Rochefide, who had just bought the little hotel inthe name of Mademoiselle Josephine Schiltz (a trifle of eightythousand francs), had reached, at the moment the Duchesse de Grandlieuwas forming plans about him, the stage of deriving vanity from hismistress (whom he now called Ninon II. ), by vaunting her scrupuloushonesty, her excellent manners, her education, and her wit. He hadmerged his own defects, merits, tastes, and pleasures in MadameSchontz, and he found himself at this period of his life, either fromlassitude, indifference, or philosophy, a man unable to change, whoclings to wife or mistress. 

We may understand the position won in five years by Madame Schontzfrom the fact that presentation at her house had to be proposed sometime before it was granted. She refused to receive dull rich peopleand smirched people; and only departed from this rule in favor ofcertain great names of the aristocracy. 

"They, " she said, "have a right to be stupid because they arewell-bred. "

She possessed ostensibly the three hundred thousand francs whichRochefide had given her, and which a certain good fellow, a brokernamed Gobenheim (the only man of that class admitted to her house)invested and reinvested for her. But she manipulated for herselfsecretly a little fortune of two hundred thousand francs, the resultof her savings for the last three years and of the constant movementof the three hundred thousand francs, --for she never admitted thepossession of more than that known sum. 

"The more you make, the less you get rich, " said Gobenheim to her oneday. 

"Water is so dear, " she answered. 

This secret hoard was increased by jewels and diamonds, which Aureliewore a month and then sold. When any one called her rich, MadameSchontz replied that at the rate of interest in the Funds threehundred thousand francs produced only twelve thousand, and she hadspent as much as that in the hardest days of her life. 

 XXIII

 ONE OF THE DISEASES OF THE AGE

Such conduct implied a plan, and Madame Schontz had, as you may wellbelieve, a plan. Jealous for the last two years of Madame du Bruel, she was consumed with the ambition to be married by church and mayor. All social positions have their forbidden fruit, some little thingmagnified by desire until it has become the weightiest thing in life. This ambition of course involved a second Arthur; but no espial on thepart of those about her had as yet discovered Rochefide's secretrival. Bixiou fancied he saw the favored one in Leon de Lora; thepainter saw him in Bixiou, who had passed his fortieth year and oughtto be making himself a fate of some kind. Suspicions were also turnedon Victor de Vernisset, a poet of the school of Canalis, whose passionfor Madame Schontz was desperate; but the poet accused Stidmann, ayoung sculptor, of being his fortune rival. This artist, a charminglad, worked for jewellers, for manufacturers in bronze andsilver-smiths; he longed to be another Benvenuto Cellini. Claude Vignon, the young Comte de la Palferine, Gobenheim, Vermanton a cynicalphilosopher, all frequenters of this amusing salon, were severallysuspected, and proved innocent. No one had fathomed Madame Schontz, certainly not Rochefide, who thought she had a penchant for the youngand witty La Palferine; she was virtuous from self-interest and waswholly bent on making a good marriage. 

Only one man of equivocal reputation was ever seen in Madame Schontz'ssalon, namely Couture, who had more than once made his brotherspeculators howl; but Couture had been one of Madame Schontz'searliest friends, and she alone remained faithful to him. The falsealarm of 1840 swept away the last vestige of this stock-gambler'scredit; Aurelie, seeing his run of ill-luck, made Rochefide play, aswe have seen, in the other direction. Thankful to find a place forhimself at Aurelie's table, Couture, to whom Finot, the cleverest or, if you choose, the luckiest of all parvenus, occasionally gave a noteof a thousand francs, was alone wise and calculating enough to offerhis hand and name to madame Schontz, who studied him to see if thebold speculator had sufficient power to make his way in politics andenough gratitude not to desert his wife. Couture, a man aboutforty-three years of age, half worn-out, did not redeem the unpleasantsonority of his name by birth; he said little of the authors of hisdays. 

Madame Schontz was bemoaning to herself the rarity of eligible men, when Couture presented to her a provincial, supplied with the twohandles by which women take hold of such pitchers when they wish tokeep them. To sketch this person will be to paint a portion of theyouth of the day. The digression is history. 

In 1838, Fabien du Ronceret, son of a chief-justice of the Royal courtat Caen (who had lately died), left his native town of Alencon, resigning his judgeship (a position in which his father had compelledhim, he said, to waste his time), and came to Paris, with theintention of making a noise there, --a Norman idea, difficult torealize, for he could scarcely scrape together eight thousand francs ayear; his mother still being alive and possessing a life-interest in avaluable estate in Alencon. This young man had already, duringprevious visits to Paris, tried his rope, like an acrobat, and hadrecognized the great vice of the social replastering of 1830. He meantto turn it to his own profit, following the example of the longestheads of the bourgeoisie. This requires a rapid glance on one of theeffects of the new order of things. 

Modern equality, unduly developed in our day, has necessarilydeveloped in private life, on a line parallel with political life, thethree great divisions of the social /I;/ namely, pride, conceit, andvanity. Fools wish to pass for wits; wits want to be thought men oftalent; men of talent wish to be treated as men of genius; as for menof genius, they are more reasonable; they consent to be only demigods. This tendency of the public mind of these days, which, in the Chamber, makes the manufacturer jealous of the statesman, and the administratorjealous of the writer, leads fools to disparage wits, wits todisparage men of talent, men of talent to disparage those who outstripthem by an inch or two, and the demigods to threaten institutions, thethrone, or whatever does not adore them unconditionally. So soon as anation has, in a very unstatesmanlike spirit, pulled down allrecognized social superiorities, she opens the sluice through whichrushes a torrent of secondary ambitions, the meanest of which resolvesto lead. She had, so democrats declare, an evil in her aristocracy;but a defined and circumscribed evil; she exchanges it for a dozenarmed and contending aristocracies--the worst of all situations. Byproclaiming the equality of all, she has promulgated a declaration ofthe rights of Envy. We inherit to-day the saturnalias of theRevolution transferred to the domain, apparently peaceful, of themind, of industry, of politics; it now seems that reputations won bytoil, by services rendered, by talent, are privileges granted at theexpense of the masses. Agrarian law will spread to the field of glory. Never, in any age, have men demanded the affixing of their names onthe nation's posters for reasons more puerile. Distinction is soughtat any price, by ridicule, by an affectation of interest in thecause of Poland, in penitentiaries, in the future of liberatedgalley-slaves, in all the little scoundrels above and below twelveyears, and in every other social misery. These diverse manias createfictitious dignities, presidents, vice-presidents, and secretaries ofsocieties, the number of which is greater than that of the socialquestions they seek to solve. Society on its grand scale has beendemolished to make a million of little ones in the image of thedefunct. These parasitic organizations reveal decomposition; are theynot the swarming of maggots in the dead body? All these societies arethe daughters of one mother, Vanity. It is not thus that Catholiccharity or true beneficence proceeds; /they/ study evils in wounds andcure them; they don't perorate in public meetings upon deadly ills forthe pleasure of perorating. 

Fabien du Ronceret, without being a superior man, had divined, by theexercise of that greedy common-sense peculiar to a Norman, the gain hecould derive from this public vice. Every epoch has its characterwhich clever men make use of. Fabien's mind, though not clever, waswholly bent on making himself talked about. 

"My dear fellow, a man must make himself talked about, if he wants tobe anything, " he said, on parting from the king of Alencon, a certaindu Bousquier, a friend of his father. "In six months I shall be betterknown than you are!"

It was thus that Fabien interpreted the spirit of his age; he did notrule it, he obeyed it. He made his debut in Bohemia, a region in themoral topography of Paris where he was known as "The Heir" by reasonof certain premeditated prodigalities. Du Ronceret had profited byCouture's follies for the pretty Madame Cadine, for whom, during hisephemeral opulence, he had arranged a delightful ground-floorapartment with a garden in the rue Blanche. The Norman, who wanted hisluxury ready-made, bought Couture's furniture and all the improvementshe was forced to leave behind him, --a kiosk in the garden, where hesmoked, a gallery in rustic wood, with India mattings and adorned withpotteries, through which to reach the kiosk if it rained. When theHeir was complimented on his apartment, he called it his /den/. Theprovincial took care not to say that Grindot, the architect, hadbestowed his best capacity upon it, as did Stidmann on the carvings, and Leon de Lora on the paintings, for Fabien's crowning defect wasthe vanity which condescends to lie for the sake of magnifying theindividual self. 

The Heir complimented these magnificences by a greenhouse which hebuilt along a wall with a southern exposure, --not that he lovedflowers, but he meant to attack through horticulture the public noticehe wanted to excite. At the present moment he had all but attained hisend. Elected vice-president of some sort of floral society presidedover by the Duc de Vissembourg, brother of the Prince de Chiavari, youngest son of the late Marechal Vernon, he adorned his coat with theribbon of the Legion of honor on the occasion of an exhibition ofproducts, the opening speech at which, delivered by him, and bought ofLousteau for five hundred francs, was boldly pronounced to be his ownbrew. He also made himself talked about by a flower, given to him byold Blondet of Alencon, father of Emile Blondet, which he presented tothe horticultural world as the product of his own greenhouse. 

But this success was nothing. The Heir, who wished to be accepted as awit, had formed a plan of consorting with clever celebrities and soreflecting their fame, --a plan somewhat hard to execute on a basis ofan exchequer limited to eight thousand francs a year. With this end inview, Fabien du Ronceret had addressed himself again and again, without success, to Bixiou, Stidmann, and Leon de Lora, asking them topresent him to Madame Schontz, and allow him to take part in thatmenageria of lions of all kinds. Failing in those directions heapplied to Couture, for whose dinners he had so often paid that thelate speculator felt obliged to prove categorically to Madame Schontzthat she ought to acquire such an original, if it was only to make himone of those elegant footmen without wages whom the mistresses ofhouseholds employ to do errands, when servants are lacking. 

In the course of three evenings Madame Schontz read Fabien like a bookand said to herself, --

"If Couture does not suit me, I am certain of saddling that one. Myfuture can go on two legs now. "

This queer fellow whom everybody laughed at was really the chosen one, --chosen, however, with an intention which made such preferenceinsulting. The choice escaped all public suspicion by its veryimprobability. Madame Schontz intoxicated Fabien with smiles givensecretly, with little scenes played on the threshold when she bade himgood-night, if Monsieur de Rochefide stayed behind. She often madeFabien a third with Arthur in her opera-box and at firstrepresentations; this she excused by saying he had done her such orsuch a service and she did not know how else to repay him. Men have anatural conceit as common to them as to women, --that of being lovedexclusively. Now of all flattering passions there is none more prizedthan that of a Madame Schontz, for the man she makes the object of alove she calls "from the heart, " in distinction from another sort oflove. A woman like Madame Schontz, who plays the great lady, and whoseintrinsic value is real, was sure to be an object of pride to Fabien, who fell in love with her to the point of never presenting himselfbefore her eyes except in full dress, varnished boots, lemon-kidgloves, embroidered shirt and frill, waistcoat more or lessvariegated, --in short, with all the external symptoms of profoundworship. 

A month before the conference of the duchess and her confessor, MadameSchontz had confided the secret of her birth and her real name toFabien, who did not in the least understand the motive of theconfidence. A fortnight later, Madame Schontz, surprised at this wantof intelligence, suddenly exclaimed to herself:--

"Heavens! how stupid I am! he expects me to love him for himself. "

Accordingly the next day she took the Heir in her /caleche/ to theBois, for she now had two little carriages, drawn by two horses. Inthe course of this public /tete-a-tete/ she opened the question of herfuture, and declared that she wished to marry. 

"I have seven hundred thousand francs, " she said, "and I admit to youthat if I could find a man full of ambition, who knew how tounderstand my character, I would change my position; for do you knowwhat is the dream of my life? To become a true bourgeoise, enter anhonorable family, and make my husband and children truly happy. "

The Norman would fain be "distinguished" by Madame Schontz, but asfor marrying her, that folly seemed debatable to a bachelor ofthirty-eight whom the revolution of July had made a judge. Seeing hishesitation, Madame Schontz made the Heir the butt of her wit, herjests, and her disdain, and turned to Couture. Within a week, thelatter, whom she put upon the scent of her fortune, had offered hishand, and heart, and future, --three things of about the same value. 

The manoeuvres of Madame Schontz had reached this stage of proceeding, when Madame de Grandlieu began her inquiries into the life and habitsof the Beatrix of the Place Saint-Georges. 

 XXIV

 THE INFLUENCE OF SOCIAL RELATIONS AND POSITION

In accordance with the advice of the Abbe Brossette the Duchesse deGrandlieu asked the Marquis d'Ajuda to bring her that king ofpolitical cut-throats, the celebrated Comte Maxime de Trailles, archduke of Bohemia, the youngest of young men, though he was nowfully fifty years of age. Monsieur d'Ajuda arranged to dine withMaxime at the club in the rue de Beuane, and proposed to him afterdinner to go and play dummy whist with the Duc de Grandlieu, who hadan attack of gout and was all alone. 

Though the son-in-law of the duke and the cousin of the duchess hadevery right to present him in a salon where he had never yet set foot, Maxime de Trailles did not deceive himself as to the meaning of aninvitation thus given. He felt certain that the duke or the duchesshad some need of him. Club life where men play cards with other menwhom they do not receive in their own houses is by no means one of themost trifling signs of the present age. 

The Duc de Grandlieu did Maxime the honor of appearing to suffer fromhis gout. After several games of whist he went to bed, leaving hiswife /tete-a-tete/ with Maxime and d'Ajuda. The duchess, seconded bythe marquis, communicated her project to Monsieur de Trailles, andasked his assistance, while ostensibly asking only for his advice. Maxime listened to the end without committing himself, and waited tillthe duchess should ask point-blank for his co-operation beforereplying. 

"Madame, I fully understand you, " he then said, casting on her and themarquis one of those shrewd, penetrating, astute, comprehensiveglances by which such great scamps compromise their interlocutors. "D'Ajuda will tell you that if any one in Paris can conduct thatdifficult negotiation, it is I, --of course without mixing you up init; without its being even known that I have come here this evening. Only, before anything is done, we must settle preliminaries. How muchare you willing to sacrifice?"

"All that is necessary. "

"Very well, then, Madame la duchesse. As the price of my efforts youmust do me the honor to receive in your house and seriously protectMadame la Comtesse de Trailles. "

"What! are you married?" cried d'Ajuda. 

"I shall be married within a fortnight to the heiress of a rich butextremely bourgeois family, --a sacrifice to opinion! I imbibe the veryspirit of my government, and start upon a new career. Consequently, Madame la duchesse will understand how important it is to me to havemy wife adopted by her and by her family. I am certain of being madedeputy by the resignation of my father-in-law, and I am promised adiplomatic post in keeping with my new fortune. I do not see why mywife should not be as well received as Madame de Portenduere in thatsociety of young women which includes Mesdames de la Bastie, Georgesde Maufrigneuse, de L'Estorade, du Guenic, d'Ajuda, de Restaud, deRastignac, de Vandenesse. My wife is pretty, and I will undertake to/un-cotton-night-cap/ her. Will this suit you, Madame la duchesse? Youare religious, and if you say yes, your promise, which I know to besacred, will greatly aid in my change of life. It will be one moregood action to your account. Alas! I have long been the king of/mauvais sujets/, and I want to make an end of it. After all, we bear, azure, a wivern or, darting fire, ongle gules, and scaled vert, achief ermine, from the time of Francois I. , who thought proper toennoble the valet of Louis XI. , and we have been counts sinceCatherine de' Medici. "

"I will receive and protect your wife, " said the duchess, solemnly, "and my family will not turn its back upon her; I give you my word. "

"Ah! Madame la duchesse, " cried Maxime, visibly touched, "if Monsieurle duc would also deign to treat me with some kindness, I promise youto make your plan succeed without its costing you very much. But, " hecontinued after a pause, "you must take upon yourself to follow myinstructions. This is the last intrigue of my bachelor life; it mustbe all the better managed because it concerns a good action, " headded, smiling. 

"Follow your instructions!" said the duchess. "Then I must appear inall this. "

"Ah! madame, I will not compromise you, " cried Maxime. "I esteem youtoo much to demand guarantees. I merely mean that you must follow myadvice. For example, it will be necessary that du Guenic be taken awayby his wife for at least two years; she must show him Switzerland, Italy, Germany, --in short, all possible countries. "

"Ah! you confirm a fear of my director, " said the duchess, naively, remembering the judicious objection of the Abbe Brossette. 

Maxime and d'Ajuda could not refrain from smiling at the idea of thisagreement between heaven and hell. 

"To prevent Madame de Rochefide from ever seeing Calyste again, " shecontinued, "we will all travel, Juste and his wife, Calyste, Sabine, and I. I will leave Clotilde with her father--"

"It is too soon to sing victory, madame, " said Maxime. "I foreseeenormous difficulties; though I shall no doubt vanquish them. Youresteem and your protection are rewards which would make me commit thevilest actions, but these will be--"

"The vilest actions!" cried the duchess, interrupting this moderncondottiere, and showing on her countenance as much disgust asamazement. 

"And you would share them, madame, inasmuch as I am only your agent. But are you ignorant of the degree of blindness to which Madame deRochefide has brought your son-in-law? I know it from Canalis andNathan, between whom she was hesitating when Calyste threw himselfinto the lioness's jaws. Beatrix has contrived to persuade thatserious Breton that she has never loved any one but him; that she isvirtuous; that Conti was merely a sentimental head-love in whichneither the heart nor the rest of it had any part, --a musical love, inshort! As for Rochefide, that was duty. So, you understand, she isvirgin!--a fact she proves by forgetting her son, whom for more than ayear she has not made the slightest attempt to see. The truth is, thelittle count will soon be twelve years old, and he finds in MadameSchontz a mother who is all the more a mother because maternity is, asyou know, a passion with women of that sort. Du Guenic would lethimself be cut in pieces, and would chop up his wife for Beatrix; andyou think it is an easy matter to drag a man from the depths of suchcredulity! Ah! madame, Shakespeare's Iago would lose all hishandkerchiefs. People think that Othello, or his younger brother, Orosmanes, or Saint-Preux, Rene, Werther, and other lovers now inpossession of fame, represented love! Never did their frosty-heartedfathers know what absolute love is; Moliere alone conceived it. Love, Madame la duchesse, is not loving a noble woman, a Clarissa--a greateffort, faith! Love is to say to one's self: 'She whom I love isinfamous; she deceives me, she will deceive me; she is an abandonedcreature, she smells of the frying of hell-fire;' but we rush to her, we find there the blue of heaven, the flowers of Paradise. That is howMoliere loved, and how we, scamps that we are! how we love. As for me, I weep at the great scene of Arnolphe. Now, that is how yourson-in-law loves Beatrix. I shall have trouble separating Rochefidefrom Madame Schontz; but Madame Schontz will no doubt lend herself tothe plot; I shall study her interior. But as for Calyste and Beatrix, they will need the blows of an axe, far deeper treachery, and so basean infamy that your virtuous imagination could never descend to it--unless indeed your director gave you a hand. You have asked theimpossible, you shall be obeyed. But in spite of my settled intentionto war with fire and sword, I cannot absolutely promise you success. Ihave known lovers who did not recoil before the most awfuldisillusions. You are too virtuous to know the full power of women whoare not virtuous. "

"Do not enter upon those infamous actions until I have consulted theAbbe Brossette to know how far I may be your accomplice, " cried theduchess, with a naivete which disclosed what selfishness there is inpiety. 

"You shall be ignorant of everything, my dear mother, " interposedd'Ajuda. 

On the portico, while the carriage of the marquis was drawing up, d'Ajuda said to Maxime:--

"You frightened that good duchess. "

"But she has no idea of the difficulty of what she asks. Let us go tothe Jockey Club; Rochefide must invite me to dine with Madame Schontzto-morrow, for to-night my plan will be made, and I shall have chosenthe pawns on my chess-board to carry it out. In the days of hersplendor Beatrix refused to receive me; I intend to pay off thatscore, and I will avenge your sister-in-law so cruelly that perhapsshe will find herself too well revenged. "

The next day Rochefide told Madame Schontz that Maxime de Trailles wascoming to dinner. That meant notifying her to display all her luxury, and prepare the choicest food for this connoisseur emeritus, whom allthe women of the Madame Schontz type were in awe of. Madame Schontzherself thought as much of her toilet as of putting her house in astate to receive this personage. 

In Paris there are as many royalties as there are varieties of art, mental and moral specialties, sciences, professions; the strongest andmost capable of the men who practise them has a majesty which is allhis own; he is appreciated, respected by his peers, who know thedifficulties of his art or profession, and whose admiration is givento the man who surmounts them. Maxime was, in the eyes of /rats/ andcourtesans, an extremely powerful and capable man, who had known howto make himself excessively loved. He was also admired by men who knewhow difficult it is to live in Paris on good terms with creditors; inshort, he had never had any other rival in elegance, deportment, andwit than the illustrious de Marsay, who frequently employed him onpolitical missions. All this will suffice to explain his interviewwith the duchess, his prestige with Madame Schontz, and the authorityof his words in a conference which he intended to have on theboulevard des Italiens with a young man already well-known, thoughlately arrived, in the Bohemia of Paris. 

 XXV

 A PRINCE OF BOHEMIA

The next day, when Maxime de Trailles rose, Finot (whom he hadsummoned the night before) was announced. Maxime requested his visitorto arrange, as if by accident, a breakfast at the cafe Anglais, whereFinot, Couture, and Lousteau should gossip beside him. Finot, whoseposition toward the Comte de Trailles was that of a sub-lieutenantbefore a marshall of France, could refuse him nothing; it wasaltogether too dangerous to annoy that lion. Consequently, when Maximecame to the breakfast, he found Finot and his two friends at table andthe conversation already started on Madame Schontz, about whomCouture, well manoeuvred by Finot and Lousteau (Lousteau being, thoughnot aware of it, Finot's tool), revealed to the Comte de Trailles allthat he wanted to know about her. 

About one o'clock, Maxime was chewing a toothpick and talking with duTillet on Tortoni's portico, where speculation held a little Bourse, asort of prelude to the great one. He seemed to be engaged in business, but he was really awaiting the Comte de la Palferine, who, within agiven time, was certain to pass that way. The boulevard des Italiensis to-day what the Pont Neuf was in 1650; all persons known to famepass along it once, at least, in the course of the day. Accordingly, at the end of about ten minutes, Maxime dropped du Tillet's arm, andnodding to the young Prince of Bohemia said, smiling:--

"One word with you, count. "

The two rivals in their own principality, the one orb on its decline, the other like the rising sun, sat down upon four chairs before theCafe de Paris. Maxime took care to place a certain distance betweenhimself and some old fellows who habitually sunned themselves likewall-fruit at that hour in the afternoon, to dry out their rheumaticaffections. He had excellent reasons for distrusting old men. 

"Have you debts?" said Maxime, to the young count. 

"If I had none, should I be worthy of being your successor?" repliedLa Palferine. 

"In putting that question to you I don't place the matter in doubt; Ionly want to know if the total is reasonable; if it goes to the fiveor the six?"

"Six what?"

"Figures; whether you owe fifty or one hundred thousand? I have owed, myself, as much as six hundred thousand. "

La Palferine raised his hat with an air as respectful as it washumorous. 

"If I had sufficient credit to borrow a hundred thousand francs, " hereplied, "I should forget my creditors and go and pass my life inVenice, amid masterpieces of painting and pretty women and--"

"And at my age what would you be?" asked Maxime. 

"I should never reach it, " replied the young count. 

Maxime returned the civility of his rival, and touched his hat lightlywith an air of laughable gravity. 

"That's one way of looking at life, " he replied in the tone of oneconnoisseur to another. "You owe--?"

"Oh! a mere trifle, unworthy of being confessed to an uncle; he woulddisinherit me for such a paltry sum, --six thousand. "

"One is often more hampered by six thousand than by a hundredthousand, " said Maxime, sententiously. "La Palferine, you've a boldspirit, and you have even more spirit than boldness; you can go far, and make yourself a position. Let me tell you that of all those whohave rushed into the career at the close of which I now am, and whohave tried to oppose me, you are the only one who has ever pleasedme. "

La Palferine colored, so flattered was he by this avowal made withgracious good-humor by the leader of Parisian adventurers. This actionof his own vanity was however a recognition of inferiority whichwounded him; but Maxime divined that unpleasant reaction, easy toforesee in so clever a mind, and he applied a balm instantly byputting himself at the discretion of the young man. 

"Will you do something for me that will facilitate my retreat from theOlympic circus by a fine marriage? I will do as much for you. "

"You make me very proud; it realizes the fable of the Rat and theLion, " said La Palferine. 

"I shall begin by lending you twenty thousand francs, " continuedMaxime. 

"Twenty thousand francs! I knew very well that by dint of walking upand down this boulevard--" said La Palferine, in the style of aparenthesis. 

"My dear fellow, you must put yourself on a certain footing, " saidMaxime, laughing. "Don't go on your own two feet, have six; do as Ido, I never get out of my tilbury. "

"But you must be going to ask me for something beyond my powers. "

"No, it is only to make a woman love you within a fortnight. "

"Is it a lorette?"

"Why?"

"Because that's impossible; but if it concerns a woman, and awell-bred one who is also clever--"

"She is a very illustrious marquise. "

"You want her letters?" said the young count. 

"Ah! you are after my own heart!" cried Maxime. "No, that's not it. "

"Then you want me to love her?"

"Yes, in the real sense--"

"If I am to abandon the aesthetic, it is utterly impossible, " said LaPalferine. "I have, don't you see, as to women a certain honor; we mayplay the fool with them, but not--"

"Ah! I was not mistaken!" cried Maxime. "Do you think I'm a man topropose mere twopenny infamies to you? No, you must go, and dazzle, and conquer. My good mate, I give you twenty thousand francs, and tendays in which to triumph. Meet me to-night at Madame Schontz'. "

"I dine there. "

"Very good, " returned Maxime. "Later, when you have need of me, Monsieur le comte, you will find me, " he added in the tone of a kingwho binds himself, but promises nothing. 

"This poor woman must have done you some deadly harm, " said LaPalferine. 

"Don't try to throw a plummet-line into my waters, my boy; and let metell you that in case of success you will obtain such powerfulinfluence that you will be able, like me, to retire upon a finemarriage when you are bored with your bohemian life. "

"Comes there a time when it is a bore to amuse one's self, " said LaPalferine, "to be nothing, to live like the birds, to hunt the fieldsof Paris like a savage, and laugh at everything?"

"All things weary, even hell, " said de Trailles, laughing. "Well, thisevening. "

The two /roues/, the old and the young, rose. As Maxime got into hisone-horse equipage, he thought to himself: "Madame d'Espard can'tendure Beatrix; she will help me. Hotel de Grandlieu, " he called outto the coachman, observing that Rastignac was just passing him. 

Find a great man without some weakness!

The duchess, Madame du Guenic, and Clotilde were evidently weeping. 

"What is the matter?" he asked the duchess. 

"Calyste did not come home; this is the first time; my poor daughteris in despair. "

"Madame la duchesse, " said Maxime, drawing the pious lady into theembrasure of a window, "for Heaven's sake keep the utmost secrecy asto my efforts, and ask d'Ajuda to do the same; for if Calyste everhears of our plot there will be a duel between him and me to thedeath. When I told you that the affair would not cost much, I meantthat you would not be obliged to spend enormous sums; but I do wanttwenty thousand francs; the rest is my affair; there may be importantplaces to be given, a receiver-generalship possibly. "

The duchess and Maxime left the room. When Madame de Grandlieureturned to her daughter, she again listened to Sabine's dithyrambicsinlaid with family facts even more cruel than those which had alreadycrushed the young wife's happiness. 

"Don't be so troubled, my darling, " said the duchess. "Beatrix willpay dear for your tears and sufferings; the hand of Satan is upon her;she will meet with ten humiliations for every one she has inflictedupon you. "

Madame Schontz had invited Claude Vignon, who, on several occasions, had expressed a wish to know Maxime de Trailles personally. She alsoinvited Couture, Fabien, Bixiou, Leon de Lora, La Palferine, andNathan. The latter was asked by Rochefide on account of Maxime. Aurelie thus expected nine guests, all men of the first ability, withthe exception of du Ronceret; but the Norman vanity and the brutalambition of the Heir were fully on a par with Claude Vignon's literarypower, Nathan's poetic gift, La Palferine's /finesse/, Couture'sfinancial eye, Bixiou's wit, Finot's shrewdness, Maxime's profounddiplomacy, and Leon de Lora's genius. 

Madame Schontz, anxious to appear both young and beautiful, armedherself with a toilet which that sort of woman has the art of making. She wore a guipure pelerine of spidery texture, a gown of blue velvet, the graceful corsage of which was buttoned with opals, and her hair inbands as smooth and shining as ebony. Madame Schontz owed hercelebrity as a pretty woman to the brilliancy and freshness of acomplexion as white and warm as that of Creoles, to a face full ofspirited details, the features of which were clearly and firmly drawn, --a type long presented in perennial youth by the Comtesse Merlin, andwhich is perhaps peculiar to Southern races. Unhappily, little MadameSchontz had tended towards ebonpoint ever since her life had become sohappy and calm. Her neck, of exquisite roundness, was beginning totake on flesh about the shoulders; but in France the heads of womenare principally treasured; so that fine heads will often keep anill-formed body unobserved. 

"My dear child, " said Maxime, coming in and kissing Madame Schontz onthe forehead, "Rochefide wanted me to see your establishment; why, itis almost in keeping with his four hundred thousand francs a year. Well, well, he would never have had them if he hadn't known you. Inless than five years you have made him save what others--Antonia, Malaga, Cadine, or Florentine--would have made him lose. "

"I am not a lorette, I am an artist, " said Madame Schontz, with a sortof dignity, "I hope to end, as they say on the stage, as theprogenitrix of honest men. "

"It is dreadful, but we are all marrying, " returned Maxime, throwinghimself into an arm-chair beside the fire. "Here am I, on the point ofmaking a Comtesse Maxime. "

"Oh, how I should like to see her!" exclaimed Madame Schontz. "Butpermit me to present to you Monsieur Claude Vignon--Monsieur ClaudeVignon, Monsieur de Trailles. "

"Ah, so you are the man who allowed Camille Maupin, the innkeeper ofliterature, to go into a convent?" cried Maxime. "After you, God. Inever received such an honor. Mademoiselle des Touches treated you, monsieur, as though you were Louis XIV. "

"That is how history is written!" replied Claude Vignon. "Don't youknow that her fortune was used to free the Baron du Guenic's estates?Ah! if she only knew that Calyste now belongs to her ex-friend, "(Maxime pushed the critic's foot, motioning to Rochefide), "she wouldissue from her convent, I do believe, to tear him from her. "

"Upon my word, Rochefide, if I were you, " said Maxime, finding thathis warning did not stop Vignon, "I should give back my wife'sfortune, so that the world couldn't say she attached herself toCalyste from necessity. "

"Maxime is right, " remarked Madame Schontz, looking at Arthur, whocolored high. "If I have helped you to gain several thousand francs ayear, you couldn't better employ them. I shall have made the happinessof husband /and/ wife; what a feather in my cap!"

"I never thought of it, " replied the marquis; "but a man should be agentleman before he's a husband. "

"Let me tell you when is the time to be generous, " said Maxime. 

"Arthur, " said Aurelie, "Maxime is right. Don't you see, old fellow, that generous actions are like Couture's investments?--you should makethem in the nick of time. "

At that moment Couture, followed by Finot, came in; and, soon after, all the guests were assembled in the beautiful blue and gold salon ofthe hotel Schontz, a title which the various artists had given totheir inn after Rochefide purchased it for his Ninon II. When Maximesaw La Palferine, the last to arrive, enter, he walked up to hislieutenant, and taking him aside into the recess of a window, gave himnotes for twenty thousand francs. 

"Remember, my boy, you needn't economize them, " he said, with theparticular grace of a true scamp. 

"There's none but you who can double the value of what you seem togive, " replied La Palferine. 

"Have you decided?"

"Surely, inasmuch as I take the money, " said the count, with a mixtureof haughtiness and jest. 

"Well, then, Nathan, who is here to-night, will present you two dayshence at the house of Madame la Marquise de Rochefide. "

La Palferine started when he heard the name. 

"You are to be madly in love with her, and, not to rouse suspicion, drink heavily, wines, liqueurs! I'll tell Aurelie to place you besideNathan at dinner. One thing more, my boy: you and I must meet everynight, on the boulevard de la Madeleine at one in the morning, --you togive me an account of progress, I to give you instructions. "

"I shall be there, my master, " said the young count, bowing. 

"Why do you make us dine with that queer fellow dressed like thehead-waiter of a restaurant?" whispered Maxime to Madame Schontz, witha sign toward Fabien du Ronceret. 

"Have you never met the Heir? Du Ronceret of Alencon. "

"Monsieur, " said Maxime to Fabien, "I think you must know my friendd'Esgrignon?"

"Victurnien has ceased to know me for some time, " replied Fabien, "butwe used to be very intimate in our youth. "

The dinner was one of those which are given nowhere but in Paris bythese great female spendthrifts, for the choiceness of theirpreparations often surprise the most fastidious of guests. It was atjust such a supper, at the house of a courtesan as handsome and richas Madame Schontz, that Paganini declared he had never eaten such fareat the table of any sovereign, nor drunk such wines with any prince, nor heard such witty conversation, nor seen the glitter of suchcoquettish luxury. 

Maxime and Madame Schontz were the first to re-enter the salon, aboutten o'clock, leaving the other guests, who had ceased to tellanecdotes and were now boasting of their various good qualities, withtheir viscous lips glued to the glasses which they could not drain. 

"Well, my dear, " said Maxime, "you are not mistaken; yes, I have comefor your /beaux yeux/ and for help in a great affair. You must leaveArthur; but I pledge myself to make him give you two hundred thousandfrancs. "

"Why should I leave the poor fellow?"

"To marry that idiot, who seems to have been sent from Alenconexpressly for the purpose. He has been a judge, and I'll have him madechief-justice in place of Emile Blondet's father, who is getting to beeighty years old. Now, if you know how to sail your boat, your husbandcan be elected deputy. You will both be personages, and you can thenlook down on Madame la Comtesse du Bruel. "

"Never!" said Madame Schontz; "she's a countess. "

"Hasn't he condition enough to be made a count?"

"By the bye, he bears arms, " cried Aurelie, hunting for a letter in anelegant bag hanging at the corner of the fireplace, and giving it toMaxime. "What do they mean? Here are combs. "

"He bears: per fesse argent and azure; on the first, three combsgules, two and one, crossed by three bunches grapes purpure, leavedvert, one and two; on the second, four feathers or, placed fretwise, with /Servir/ for motto, and a squire's helmet. It is not much; itseems they were ennobled under Louis XIV. ; some mercer was doubtlesstheir grandfather, and the maternal line must have made its money inwines; the du Ronceret whom the king ennobled was probably an usher. But if you get rid of Arthur and marry du Ronceret, I promise you heshall be a baron at the very least. But you see, my dear, you'll haveto soak yourself for five or six years in the provinces if you want tobury La Schontz in a baroness. That queer creature has been castinglooks at you, the meaning of which is perfectly clear. You've gothim. "

"No, " replied Aurelie, "when my hand was offered to him he remained, like the brandies I read of to-day in the market reports, /dull/. "

"I will undertake to decide him--if he is drunk. Go and see where theyall are. "

"It is not worth while to go; I hear no one but Bixiou, who is makingjokes to which nobody listens. But I know my Arthur; he feels bound tobe polite, and he is probably looking at Bixiou with his eyes shut. "

"Let us go back, then. "

"/Ah ca!/" said Madame Schontz, suddenly stopping short, "in whoseinterest shall I be working?"

"In that of Madame de Rochefide, " replied Maxime, promptly. "It isimpossible to reconcile her with Rochefide as long as you hold him. Her object is to recover her place as head of his household and theenjoyment of four hundred thousand francs a year. "

"And she offers me only two hundred thousand! I want three hundredthousand, since the affair concerns her. What! haven't I taken care ofher brat and her husband? I have filled her place in every way--anddoes she think to bargain with me? With that, my dear Maxime, I shallhave a million; and if you'll promise me the chief-justiceship atAlencon, I can hold my own as Madame du Ronceret. "

"That's settled, " said Maxime. 

"Oh! won't it be dull to live in that little town!" cried Aurelie, philosophically. "I have heard so much of that province fromd'Esgrignon and the Val-Noble that I seem to have lived therealready. "

"Suppose I promise you the support of the nobility?"

"Ah! Maxime, you don't mean that?--but the pigeon won't fly. "

"And he is very ugly with his purple skin and bristles for whiskers;he looks like a wild boar with the eyes of a bird of prey. But he'llmake the finest chief-justice of a provincial court. Now don't beuneasy! in ten minutes he shall be singing to you Isabelle's air inthe fourth act of Robert le Diable: 'At thy feet I kneel'--youpromise, don't you? to send Arthur back to Beatrix?"

"It will be difficult; but perseverance wins. "

About half-past ten o'clock the guests returned to the salon forcoffee. Under the circumstances in which Madame Schontz, Couture, anddu Ronceret were placed, it is easy to imagine the effect producedupon the Heir by the following conversation which Maxime held withCouture in a corner and in a low voice, but so placed that Fabiencould listen to them. 

"My dear Couture, if you want to lead a steady life you had betteraccept a receiver-generalship which Madame de Rochefide will obtainfor you. Aurelie's million will furnish the security, and you'll sharethe property in marrying her. You can be made deputy, if you know howto trim your sails; and the premium I want for thus saving you is yourvote in the chamber. "

"I shall always be proud to be a follower of yours. "

"Ah! my dear fellow, you have had quite an escape. Just imagine!Aurelie took a fancy for that Norman from Alencon; she asked to havehim made a baron, and chief-justice in his native town, and officer ofthe Legion of honor! The fool never guessed her value, and you willowe your fortune to her disappointment. You had better not leave thatclever creature time for reflection. As for me, I am already puttingthe irons in the fire. "

And Maxime left Couture at the summit of happiness, saying to LaPalferine, "Shall I drive you home, my boy?"

By eleven o'clock Aurelie was alone with Couture, Fabien, andRochefide. Arthur was asleep on a sofa. Couture and Fabien each triedto outstay the other, without success; and Madame Schontz finallyterminated the struggle by saying to Couture, --

"Good-night, I shall see you to-morrow. "

A dismissal which he took in good part. 

"Mademoiselle, " said Fabien, in a low voice, "because you saw methoughtful at the offer which you indirectly made to me, do not thinkthere was the slightest hesitation on my part. But you do not know mymother; she would never consent to my happiness. "

"You have reached an age for respectful summons, " retorted Aurelie, insolently. "But if you are afraid of mamma you won't do for me. "

"Josephine!" said the Heir, tenderly, passing his arm audaciouslyround Madame Schontz' waist, "I thought you loved me!"

"Well?"

"Perhaps I could appease my mother, and obtain her consent. "

"How?"

"If you would employ your influence--"

"To have you made baron, officer of the Legion of honor, andchief-justice at Alencon, --is that it, my friend? Listen to me: I havedone so many things in my life that I am capable of virtue. I can bean honest woman and a loyal wife; and I can push my husband very high. But I wish to be loved by him without one look or one thought beingturned away from me. Does that suit you? Don't bind yourselfimprudently; it concerns your whole life, my little man. "

"With a woman like you I can do it blind, " cried Fabien, intoxicatedby the glance she gave him as much as by the liqueurs des Iles. 

"You shall never repent that word, my dear; you shall be peer ofFrance. As for that poor old fellow, " she continued, looking atRochefide, who was sound asleep, "after to-day I have d-o-n-e withhim. "

Fabien caught Madame Schontz around the waist and kissed her with animpulse of fury and joy, in which the double intoxication of wine andlove was secondary to ambition. 

"Remember, my dear child, " she said, "the respect you ought to show toyour wife; don't play the lover; leave me free to retire from mymud-hole in a proper manner. Poor Couture, who thought himself sure ofwealth and a receiver-generalship!"

"I have a horror of that man, " said Fabien; "I wish I might never seehim again. "

"I will not receive him any more, " replied Madame Schontz, with aprudish little air. "Now that we have come to an understanding, myFabien, you must go; it is one o'clock. "

This little scene gave birth in the household of Arthur and Aurelie(so completely happy until now) to a phase of domestic warfareproduced in the bosom of all homes by some secret and alien interestin one of the partners. The next day when Arthur awoke he found MadameSchontz as frigid as that class of woman knows how to make herself. 

"What happened last night?" he said, as he breakfasted, looking atAurelie. 

"What often happens in Paris, " she replied, "one goes to bed in dampweather and the next morning the pavements are dry and frozen so hardthat they are dusty. Do you want a brush?"

"What's the matter with you, dearest?"

"Go and find your great scarecrow of a wife!"

"My wife!" exclaimed the poor marquis. 

"Don't I know why you brought Maxime here? You mean to make up withMadame de Rochefide, who wants you perhaps for some indiscreet brat. And I, whom you call so clever, I advised you to give back herfortune! Oh! I see your scheme. At the end of five years Monsieur istired of me. I'm getting fat, Beatrix is all bones--it will be achange for you! You are not the first I've known to like skeletons. Your Beatrix knows how to dress herself, that's true; and you are manwho likes figure-heads. Besides, you want to send Monsieur du Guenicto the right-about. It will be a triumph! You'll cut quite anappearance in the world! How people will talk of it! Why! you'll be ahero!"

Madame Schontz did not make an end of her sarcasms for two hours aftermid-day, in spite of Arthur's protestations. She then said she wasinvited out to dinner, and advised her "faithless one" to go withouther to the Opera, for she herself was going to the Ambigu-Comique tomeet Madame de la Baudraye, a charming woman, a friend of Lousteau. Arthur proposed, as proof of his eternal attachment to his littleAurelie and his detestation of his wife, to start the next day forItaly, and live as a married couple in Rome, Naples, Florence, --inshort, wherever she liked, offering her a gift of sixty thousandfrancs. 

"All that is nonsense, " she said. "It won't prevent you from making upwith your wife, and you'll do a wise thing. "

Arthur and Aurelie parted on this formidable dialogue, he to playcards and dine at the club, she to dress and spend the evening/tete-a-tete/ with Fabien. 

Monsieur de Rochefide found Maxime at the club, and complained to himlike a man who feels that his happiness is being torn from his heartby the roots, every fibre of which clung to it. Maxime listened to hismoans, as persons of social politeness are accustomed to listen, whilethinking of other things. 

"I'm a man of good counsel in such matters, my dear fellow, " heanswered. "Well, let me tell you, you are on the wrong road in lettingAurelie see how dear she is to you. Allow me to present you to MadameAntonia. There's a heart to let. You'll soon see La Schontz with othereyes. She is thirty-seven years old, that Schontz of yours, and MadameAntonia is only twenty-six! And what a woman! I may say she is mypupil. If Madame Schontz persists in keeping on the hind heels of herpride, don't you know what that means?"

"Faith, no!"

"That she wants to marry, and if that's the case, nothing can hinderher from leaving you. After a lease of six years a woman has a rightto do so. Now, if you will only listen to me, you can do a betterthing for yourself. Your wife is to-day worth more than all theSchontzes and Antonias of the quartier Saint-Georges. I admit theconquest is difficult, but it is not impossible; and after all thathas happened she will make you as happy as an Orgon. In any case, youmustn't look like a fool; come and sup to-night with Antonia. "

"No, I love Aurelie too well; I won't give her any reason to complainof me. "

"Ah! my dear fellow, what a future you are preparing for yourself!"cried Maxime. 

"It is eleven o'clock; she must have returned from the Ambigu, " saidRochefide, leaving the club. 

And he called out his coachman to drive at top speed to the rue de laBruyere. 

Madame Schontz had given precise directions; monsieur could enter asmaster with the fullest understanding of madame; but, warned by thenoise of monsieur's arrival, madame had so arranged that the sound ofher dressing-door closing as women's doors do close when they aresurprised, was to reach monsieur's ears. Then, at a corner of thepiano, Fabien's hat, forgotten intentionally, was removed veryawkwardly by a maid the moment after monsieur had entered the room. 

"Did you go to the Ambigu, my little girl?"

"No, I changed my mind, and stayed at home to play music. "

"Who came to see you?" asked the marquis, good-humoredly, seeing thehat carried off by the maid. 

"No one. "

At that audacious falsehood Arthur bowed his head; he passed beneaththe Caudine forks of submission. A real love descends at times tothese sublime meannesses. Arthur behaved with Madame Schontz as Sabinewith Calyste, and Calyste with Beatrix. 

Within a week the transition from larva to butterfly took place in theyoung, handsome, and clever Charles-Edouard, Comte Rusticoli de laPalferine. Until this moment of his life he had lived miserably, covering his deficits with an audacity equal to that of Danton. But henow paid his debts; he now, by advice of Maxime, had a littlecarriage; he was admitted to the Jockey Club and to the club of therue de Gramont; he became supremely elegant, and he published in the"Journal des Debats" a novelette which won him in a few days areputation which authors by profession obtain after years of toil andsuccesses only; for there is nothing so usurping in Paris as thatwhich ought to be ephemeral. Nathan, very certain that the count wouldnever publish anything else, lauded the graceful and presuming youngman so highly to Beatrix that she, spurred by the praise of the poet, expressed a strong desire to see this king of the vagabonds of goodsociety. 

"He will be all the more delighted to come here, " replied Nathan, "because, as I happen to know, he has fallen in love with you to thepoint of committing all sorts of follies. "

"But I am told he has already committed them. "

"No, not all; he has not yet committed that of falling in love with avirtuous woman. "

Some ten days after the scheme plotted on the boulevard between Maximeand his henchman, the seductive Charles-Edouard, the latter, to whomNature had given, no doubt sarcastically, a face of charmingmelancholy, made his first irruption into the nest of the dove of therue de Chartres, who took for his reception an evening when Calystewas obliged to go to a party with his wife. 

If you should ever meet La Palferine you will understand perfectly thesuccess obtained in a single evening by that sparkling mind, thatanimated fancy, especially if you take into consideration theadmirable adroitness of the showman who consented to superintend thisdebut. Nathan was a good comrade, and he made the young count shine, as a jeweller showing off an ornament in hopes to sell it, makes thediamonds glitter. La Palferine was, discreetly, the first to withdraw;he left Nathan and the marquise together, relying on the collaborationof the celebrated author, which was admirable. Seeing that Beatrix wasquite astounded, Raoul put fire into her heart by pretended reticenceswhich stirred the fibres of a curiosity she did not know shepossessed. Nathan hinted that La Palferine's wit was not so much thecause of his success with women as his superiority in the art of love;a statement which magnified the count immensely. 

This is the place to record a new effect of that great law ofcontraries, which produces so many crises in the human heart andaccounts for such varied eccentricities that we are forced to rememberit sometimes as well as its counterpart, the law of similitudes. Allcourtesans preserve in the depths of their heart a perennial desire torecover their liberty; to this they would sacrifice everything. Theyfeel this antithetical need with such intensity that it is rare tomeet with one of these women who has not aspired several times to areturn to virtue through love. They are not discouraged by the mostcruel deceptions. On the other hand, women restrained by theireducation, by the station they occupy, chained by the rank of theirfamilies, living in the midst of opulence, and wearing a halo ofvirtue, are drawn at times, secretly be it understood, toward thetropical regions of love. These two natures of woman, so opposed toeach other, have at the bottom of their hearts, the one that faintdesire for virtue, the other that faint desire for libertinism whichJean-Jacques Rousseau was the first to have the courage to diagnose. In one, it is a last reflexion of the ray divine that is not extinct;in the other, it is the last remains of our primitive clay. 

This claw of the beast was rapped, this hair of the devil was pulledby Nathan with extreme cleverness. The marquise began to ask herselfseriously if, up to the present time, she had not been the dupe of herhead, and whether her education was complete. Vice--what is it?Possibly only the desire to know everything. 

 XXVI

 DISILLUSIONS--IN ALL BUT LA FONTAINE'S FABLES

The next day Calyste seemed to Beatrix just what he was: a perfect andloyal gentleman without imagination or cleverness. In Paris, a mancalled clever must have spontaneous brilliancy, as the fountains havewater; men of the world and Parisians in general are in that way veryclever. But Calyste loved too deeply, he was too much absorbed in hisown sentiments to perceive the change in Beatrix, and to satisfy herneed by displaying new resources. To her, he seemed pale indeed, afterthe brilliancy of the night before, and he caused not the faintestemotion to the hungry Beatrix. A great love is a credit opened to apower so voracious that bankruptcy is sure to come sooner or later. 

In spite of the fatigue of this day (the day when a woman is bored bya lover) Beatrix trembled with fear at the thought of a possiblemeeting between La Palferine and Calyste, a man of courage withoutassertion. She hesitated to see the count again; but the knot of herhesitation was cut by a decisive event. 

Beatrix had taken the third of a box at the Opera, obscurely situatedon the lower tier for the purpose of not being much in sight. For thelast few days Calyste, grown bolder, had escorted the marquise to herbox, placing himself behind her, and timing their arrival at a latehour so as to meet no one in the corridors. Beatrix, on theseoccasions, left the box alone before the end of the last act, andCalyste followed at a distance to watch over her, although old Antoinewas always there to attend his mistress. Maxime and La Palferine hadstudied this strategy, which was prompted by respect for theproprieties, also by that desire for concealment which characterizesthe idolators of the little god, and also, again, by the fear whichoppresses all women who have been constellations in the world and whomlove has caused to fall from their zodiacal eminence. Publichumiliation is dreaded as an agony more cruel than death itself. But, by a manoeuvre of Maxime's, that blow to her pride, that outrage whichwomen secure of their rank in Olympus cast upon others who have fallenfrom their midst, was now to descend on Beatrix. 

At a performance of "Lucia, " which ends, as every one knows, with oneof the finest triumphs of Rubini, Madame de Rochefide, whom Antoinehad not yet come to fetch, reached the peristyle of the opera-house bythe lower corridor just as the staircase was crowded by fashionablewomen ranged on the stairs or standing in groups below it, awaitingthe announcement of their carriages. Beatrix was instantly recognized;whispers which soon became a murmur arose in every group. In a momentthe crowd dispersed; the marquise was left alone like a leper. Calystedared not, seeing his wife on the staircase, advance to accompany her, though twice she vainly cast him a tearful glance, a prayer, that hewould come to her. At that moment, La Palferine, elegant, superb, charming, left two ladies with whom he had been talking, and came downto the marquise. 

"Take my arm, " he said, bowing, "and walk proudly out. I will findyour carriage. "

"Will you come home with me and finish the evening?" she answered, getting into her carriage and making room for him. 

La Palferine said to his groom, "Follow the carriage of madame, " andthen he jumped into it beside her to the utter stupefaction ofCalyste, who stood for a moment planted on his two legs as if theywere lead. It was the sight of him standing thus, pale and livid, thatcaused Beatrix to make the sign to La Palferine to enter her carriage. Doves can be Robespierres in spite of their white wings. Threecarriages reached the rue de Chartres with thundering rapidity, --thatof Calyste, that of the marquise, and that of La Palferine. 

"Oh! you here?" said Beatrix, entering her salon on the arm of theyoung count, and finding Calyste, whose horse had outstripped those ofthe other carriages. 

"Then you know monsieur?" said Calyste, furiously. 

"Monsieur le Comte de la Palferine was presented to me ten days ago byNathan, " she replied; "but you, monsieur, /you/ have known me fouryears!--"

"And I am ready, madame, " said Charles-Edouard, "to make the Marquised'Espard repent to her third generation for being the first to turnaway from you. "

"Ah! it was /she/, was it?" cried Beatrix; "I will make her rue it. "

"To revenge yourself thoroughly, " said the young man in her ear, "youought to recover your husband; and I am capable of bringing him backto you. "

The conversation, thus begun, went on till two in the morning, withoutallowing Calyste, whose anger was again and again repressed by a lookfrom Beatrix, to say one word to her in private. La Palferine, thoughhe did not like Beatrix, showed a superiority of grace, good taste, and cleverness equal to the evident inferiority of Calyste, whowriggled in his chair like a worm cut in two, and actually rose threetimes as if to box the ears of La Palferine. The third time that hemade a dart forward, the young count said to him, "Are you in pain, monsieur?" in a manner which sent Calyste back to his chair, where hesat as rigid as a mile-stone. 

The marquise conversed with the ease of a Celimene, pretending toignore that Calyste was there. La Palferine had the cleverness todepart after a brilliant witticism, leaving the two lovers to aquarrel. 

Thus, by Maxime's machinations, the fire of discord flamed in theseparate households of Monsieur and of Madame de Rochefide. The nextday, learning the success of this last scene from La Palferine at theJockey Club, where the young count was playing whist, Maxime went tothe hotel Schontz to ascertain with what success Aurelie was rowingher boat. 

"My dear, " said Madame Schontz, laughing at Maxime's expression, "I amat an end of my expedients. Rochefide is incurable. I end my career ofgallantry by perceiving that cleverness is a misfortune. "

"Explain to me that remark. "

"In the first place, my dear friend, I have kept Arthur for the lastweek to a regimen of kicks on the shin and perpetual wrangling andjarring; in short, all we have that is most disagreeable in ourbusiness. 'You are ill, ' he says to me with paternal sweetness, 'for Ihave been good to you always and I love you to adoration. ' 'You are toblame for one thing, my dear, ' I answered; 'you bore me. ' 'Well, if Ido, haven't you the wittiest and handsomest young man in Paris toamuse you?' said the poor man. I was caught. I actually felt I lovedhim. "

"Ah!" said Maxime. 

"How could I help it? Feeling is stronger than we; one can't resistsuch things. So I changed pedals. I began to entice my judicialwild-boar, now turned like Arthur to a sheep; I gave him Arthur's sofa. Heavens! how he bored me. But, you understand, I had to have Fabienthere to let Arthur surprise us. "

"Well, " cried Maxime, "go on; what happened? Was Arthur furious?"

"You know nothing about it, my old fellow. When Arthur came in and'surprised' us, Fabien and me, he retreated on the tips of his toes tothe dining-room, where he began to clear his throat, 'broum, broum!'and cough, and knock the chairs about. That great fool of a Fabien, towhom, of course, I can't explain the whole matter, was frightened. There, my dear Maxime, is the point we have reached. "

Maxime nodded his head, and played for a few moments with his cane. 

"I have known such natures, " he said. "And the only way for you to dois to pitch Arthur out of the window and lock the door upon him. Thisis how you must manage it. Play that scene over again with Fabien;when Arthur surprises you, give Fabien a glance Arthur can't mistake;if he gets angry, that will end the matter; if he still says, 'broum, broum!' it is just as good; you can end it a better way. "

"How?"

"Why, get angry, and say: 'I believed you loved me, respected me; butI see you've no feeling at all, not even jealousy, '--you know thetirade. 'In a case like this, Maxime' (bring me in) 'would kill hisman on the spot' (then weep). 'And Fabien, he' (mortify him bycomparing him with that fellow), 'Fabien whom I love, Fabien wouldhave drawn a dagger and stabbed you to the heart. Ah, that's what itis to love! Farewell, monsieur; take back your house and all yourproperty; I shall marry Fabien; /he/ gives me his name; /he/ marriesme in spite of his old mother--but /you/--'"

"I see! I see!" cried Madame Schontz. "I'll be superb! Ah! Maxime, there will never be but one Maxime, just as there's only one deMarsay. "

"La Palferine is better than I, " replied the Comte de Trailles, modestly. "He'll make his mark. "

"La Palferine has tongue, but you have fist and loins. What weightsyou've carried! what cuffs you've given!"

"La Palferine has all that, too; he is deep and he is educated, whereas I am ignorant, " replied Maxime. "I have seen Rastignac, whohas made an arrangement with the Keeper of the Seals. Fabien is to beappointed chief-justice at once, and officer of the Legion of honorafter one year's service. "

"I shall make myself /devote/, " said Madame Schontz, accenting thatspeech in a manner which obtained a nod of approbation from Maxime. 

"Priests can do more than even we, " he replied sententiously. 

"Ah! can they?" said Madame Schontz. "Then I may still find some onein the provinces fit to talk to. I've already begun my role. Fabienhas written to his mother that grace has enlightened me; and he hasfascinated the good woman with my million and the chief-justiceship. She consents that we shall live with her, and sends me her portrait, and wants mine. If Cupid looked at hers he would die on the spot. Come, go away, Maxime. I must put an end to my poor Arthur to-night, and it breaks my heart. "

Two days later, as they met on the threshold of the Jockey Club, Charles-Edouard said to Maxime, "It is done. "

The words, which contained a drama accomplished in part by vengeance, made Maxime smile. 

"Now come in and listen to Rochefide bemoaning himself; for you andAurelie have both touched goal together. Aurelie has just turnedArthur out of doors, and now it is our business to get him a home. Hemust give Madame du Ronceret three hundred thousand francs and takeback his wife; you and I must prove to him that Beatrix is superior toAurelie. "

"We have ten days before us to do it in, " said Charles-Edouard, "andin all conscience that's not too much. "

"What will you do when the shell bursts?"

"A man has always mind enough, give him time to collect it; I'm superbat that sort of preparation. "

The two conspirators entered the salon together, and found Rochefideaged by two years; he had not even put on his corset, his beard hadsprouted, and all his elegance was gone. 

"Well, my dear marquis?" said Maxime. 

"Ah, my dear fellow, my life is wrecked. "

Arthur talked for ten minutes, and Maxime listened gravely, thinkingall the while of his own marriage, which was now to take place withina week. 

"My dear Arthur, " he replied at last; "I told you the only means Iknew to keep Aurelie, but you wouldn't--"

"What was it?"

"Didn't I advise you to go and sup with Antonia?"

"Yes, you did. But how could I? I love, and you, you only make love--"

"Listen to me, Arthur; give Aurelie three hundred thousand francs forthat little house, and I'll promise to find some one to suit youbetter. I'll talk to you about it later, for there's d'Ajuda makingsigns that he wants to speak to me. "

And Maxime left the inconsolable man for the representative of afamily in need of consolation. 

"My dear fellow, " said d'Ajuda in his ear, "the duchess is in despair. Calyste is having his trunks packed secretly, and he has taken out apassport. Sabine wants to follow them, surprise Beatrix, and maul her. She is pregnant, and it takes the turn of murderous ideas; she hasactually and openly bought pistols. "

"Tell the duchess that Madame de Rochefide will not leave Paris, butwithin a fortnight she will have left Calyste. Now, d'Ajuda, shakehands. Neither you nor I have ever said, or known, or done anythingabout this; we admire the chances of life, that's all. "

"The duchess has already made me swear on the holy Gospels to hold mytongue. "

"Will you receive my wife a month hence?"

"With pleasure. "

"Then every one, all round, will be satisfied, " said Maxime. "Onlyremind the duchess that she must make that journey to Italy with thedu Guenics, and the sooner the better. "

For ten days Calyste was made to bear the weight of an anger all themore invincible because it was in part the effect of a real passion. Beatrix now experienced the love so brutally but faithfully describedto the Duchesse de Grandlieu by Maxime de Trailles. Perhaps nowell-organized beings exist who do not experience that terriblepassion once in the course of their lives. The marquise felt herselfmastered by a superior force, --by a young man on whom her rank andquality did not impose, who, as noble as herself, regarded her with aneye both powerful and calm, and from whom her greatest feminine artsand efforts could with difficulty obtain even a smile of approval. Inshort, she was oppressed by a tyrant who never left her that she didnot fall to weeping, bruised and wounded, yet believing herself toblame. Charles-Edouard played upon Madame de Rochefide the same comedyMadame de Rochefide had played on Calyste for the last six months. 

Since her public humiliation at the Opera, Beatrix had never ceased totreat Monsieur du Guenic on the basis of the following proposition:--

"You have preferred your wife and the opinion of the world to me. Ifyou wish to prove that you love me, sacrifice your wife and the worldto me. Abandon Sabine, and let us live in Switzerland, Italy, orGermany. "

Entrenched in that hard /ultimatum/, she established the blockadewhich women declare by frigid glances, disdainful gestures, and acertain fortress-like demeanor, if we may so call it. She thoughtherself delivered from Calyste, supposing that he would never dare tobreak openly with the Grandlieus. To desert Sabine, to whomMademoiselle des Touches had left her fortune, would doom him topenury. 

But Calyste, half-mad with despair, had secretly obtained a passport, and had written to his mother begging her to send him at once aconsiderable sum of money. While awaiting the arrival of these fundshe set himself to watch Beatrix, consumed by the fury of Bretonjealousy. At last, nine days after the communication made by LaPalferine to Maxime at the club, Calyste, to whom his mother hadforwarded thirty thousand francs, went to Madame de Rochefide's housewith the firm intention of forcing the blockade, driving away LaPalferine, and leaving Paris with his pacified angel. It was one ofthose horrible alternatives in which women who have hitherto retainedsome little respect for themselves plunge at once and forever into thedegradations of vice, --though it is possible to return thence tovirtue. Until this moment Madame de Rochefide had regarded herself asa virtuous woman in heart, upon whom two passions had fallen; but toadore Charles-Edouard and still let Calyste adore her, would be tolose her self-esteem, --for where deception begins, infamy begins. Shehad given rights to Calyste, and no human power could prevent theBreton from falling at her feet and watering them with the tears of anabsolute repentance. Many persons are surprised at the glacialinsensibility under which women extinguish their loves. But if theydid not thus efface their past, their lives could have no dignity, they could never maintain themselves against the fatal familiarity towhich they had once submitted. In the entirely new situation in whichBeatrix found herself, she might have evaded the alternativespresented to her by Calyste had La Palferine entered the room; but thevigilance of her old footman, Antoine, defeated her. 

Hearing a carriage stop before the door, she said to Calyste, "Herecome visitors!" and she rushed forward to prevent a scene. 

Antoine, however, as a prudent man, had told La Palferine that Madamela marquise was out. 

When Beatrix heard from the old servant who had called and the answerhe had given, she replied, "Very good, " and returned to the salon, thinking: "I will escape into a convent; I will make myself a nun. "

Calyste, meantime, had opened the window and seen his rival. 

"Who came?" he said to Beatrix on her return. 

"I don't know; Antoine is still below. "

"It was La Palferine. "

"Possibly. "

"You love him, and that is why you are blaming and reproaching me; Isaw him!"

"You saw him?"

"I opened the window. "

Beatrix fell half fainting on the sofa. Then she negotiated in orderto gain time; she asked to have the journey postponed for a week, under pretence of making preparations; inwardly resolving to turnCalyste off in a way that she could satisfy La Palferine, --for suchare the wretched calculations and the fiery anguish concealed withthese lives which have left the rails along which the great socialtrain rolls on. 

When Calyste had left her, Beatrix felt so wretched, so profoundlyhumiliated, that she went to bed; she was really ill; the violentstruggle which wrung her heart seemed to reach a physical reaction, and she sent for the doctor; but at the same time she despatched to LaPalferine the following letter, in which she revenged herself onCalyste with a sort of rage:--

 To Monsieur le Comte de la Palferine. 

 My Friend, --Come and see me; I am in despair. Antoine sent you away when your arrival would have put an end to one of the most horrible nightmares of my life and delivered me from a man I hate, and whom I trust never to see again. I love you only in this world, and I can never again love any one but you, though I have the misfortune not to please you as I fain would--

She wrote four pages which, beginning thus, ended in an exaltation toopoetic for typography, in which she compromised herself so completelythat the letter closed with these words: "Am I sufficiently at yourmercy? Ah! nothing will cost me anything if it only proves to you howmuch you are loved. " And she signed the letter, a thing she had neverdone for Conti or Calyste. 

The next day, at the hour when La Palferine called, Beatrix was in herbath, and Antoine begged him to wait. He, in his turn, saw Calystesent away; for du Guenic, hungry for love, came early. La Palferinewas standing at the window, watching his rival's departure, whenBeatrix entered the salon. 

"Ah! Charles, " she cried, expecting what had happened, "you haveruined me!"

"I know it, madame, " replied La Palferine, tranquilly. "You have swornto love me alone; you have offered to give me a letter in which youwill write your motives for destroying yourself, so that, in case ofinfidelity, I may poison you without fear of human justice, --as ifsuperior men needed to have recourse to poison for revenge! You havewritten to me: 'Nothing will cost me anything if it only proves to youhow much you are loved. ' Well, after that, I find a contradictionbetween those words and your present remark that I have ruined you. Imust know now if you have had the courage to break with du Guenic. "

"Ah! you have your revenge upon him in advance, " she cried, throwingher arms around his neck. "Henceforth, you and I are forever boundtogether. "

"Madame, " said the prince of Bohemia, coldly, "if you wish me for yourfriend, I consent; but on one condition only. "

"Condition!" she exclaimed. 

"Yes; the following condition. You must be reconciled to Monsieur deRochefide; you must recover the honor of your position; you mustreturn to your handsome house in the due d'Anjou and be once more oneof the queens of Paris. You can do this by making Rochefide play apart in politics, and putting into your own conduct the persistencywhich Madame d'Espard has displayed. That is the situation necessaryfor the woman to whom I do the honor to give myself. "

"But you forget that Monsieur de Rochefide's consent is necessary. "

"Oh, my dear child, " said La Palferine, "we have arranged all that; Ihave given my word of honor as a gentleman that you are worth all theSchontzes of the quartier Saint-Georges, and you must fulfil mypledge. "

For the next week Calyste went every day to Madame de Rochefide'sdoor, only to be refused by Antoine, who said with a studied face, "Madame is ill. "

From there Calyste hurried to La Palferine's lodging, where the valetanswered, "Monsieur le comte is away, hunting. " Each time thishappened the Breton baron left a letter for La Palferine. 

On the ninth day Calyste received a line from La Palferine, making anappointment to receive him. He hurried to his lodgings and found thecount, but in company with Maxime de Trailles, to whom the young/roue/ no doubt wished to give proof of his /savoir-faire/ by makinghim a witness of this scene. 

"Monsieur le baron, " began Charles-Edouard, tranquilly, "here are thesix letters you have done me the honor to write to me. They are, asyou see, safe and sound; they have not been unsealed. I knew inadvance what they were likely to contain, having learned that you havebeen seeking me since the day when I looked at you from the window ofa house from which you had looked at me on the previous day. I thoughtI had better ignore all mistaken provocations. Between ourselves, I amsure you have too much good taste to be angry with a woman for nolonger loving you. It is always a bad means of recovering her to seeka quarrel with the one preferred. But, in the present case, yourletters have a radical fault, a nullity, as the lawyers say. You havetoo much good sense, I am sure, to complain of a husband who takesback his wife. Monsieur de Rochefide has felt that the position of themarquise was undignified. You will, therefore, no longer find Madamede Rochefide in the rue de Chartres, but--six months hence, nextwinter--in the hotel de Rochefide. You flung yourself ratherheedlessly into the midst of a reconciliation between husband andwife, --which you provoked yourself by not saving Madame de Rochefidefrom the humiliation to which she was subjected at the Opera. Oncoming away, the marquise, to whom I had already carried certainamicable proposals from her husband, took me up in her carriage, andher first words were, 'Bring Arthur back to me!'"

"Ah! yes, " cried Calyste, "she was right; I was wanting in truedevotion. "

"Unhappily, monsieur, Rochefide was living with one of those atrociouswomen, Madame Schontz, who had long been expecting him to leave her. She had counted on Madame de Rochefide's failure in health, andexpected some day to see herself marquise; finding her castles in theair thus scattered, she determined to revenge herself on husband andwife. Such women, monsieur, will put out one of their own eyes to putout two of their enemy. La Schontz, who has just left Paris, has putout six! If I had had the imprudence to love the marquise, MadameSchontz would have put out eight. You see now that you are in need ofan oculist. "

Maxime could not help smiling at the change that came over Calyste'sface; which turned deadly pale as his eyes were opened to hissituation. 

"Would you believe, Monsieur le baron, that that unworthy woman hasgiven her hand to the man who furnished the means for her revenge? Ah!these women! You can understand now why Arthur and his wife shouldhave retired for a time to their delightful little country-house atNogent-sur-Marne. They'll recover their eyesight there. During theirstay in the country the hotel de Rochefide is to be renovated, and themarquise intends to display on her return a princely splendor. When awoman so noble, the victim of conjugal love, finds courage to returnto her duty, the part of a man who adores her as you do, and admiresher as I admire her, is to remain her friend although we can donothing more. You will excuse me, I know, for having made Monsieur leComte de Trailles a witness of this explanation; but I have been mostanxious to make myself perfectly clear throughout. As for my ownsentiments, I am, above all, desirous to say to you, that although Iadmire Madame de Rochefide for her intellect, she is supremelydispleasing to me as a woman. "

"And so end our noblest dreams, our celestial loves!" said Calyste, dumfounded by so many revelations and disillusionments. 

"Yes, in the serpent's tail, " said Maxime, "or, worse still, in thevial of an apothecary. I never knew a first love that did not endfoolishly. Ah! Monsieur le baron, all that man has of the divinewithin him finds its food in heaven only. That is what justifies thelives of us /roues/. For myself, I have pondered this question deeply;and, as you know, I was married yesterday. I shall be faithful to mywife, and I advise you to return to Madame du Guenic, --but not forthree months. Don't regret Beatrix; she is the model of a vain andempty nature, without strength, coquettish for self-glorificationonly, a Madame d'Espard without her profound political capacity, awoman without heart and without head, floundering in evil. Madame deRochefide loves Madame de Rochefide only. She would have parted youfrom Madame du Guenic without the possibility of return, and then shewould have left you in the lurch without remorse. In short, that womanis as incomplete for vice as she is for virtue. "

"I don't agree with you, Maxime, " said La Palferine. "I think she willmake the most delightful mistress of a salon in all Paris. "

Calyste went away, after shaking hands with Charles-Edouard and Maximeand thanking them for having pricked his illusions. 

Three days later, the Duchesse de Grandlieu, who had not seen herdaughter Sabine since the morning when this conference took place, went to the hotel du Guenic early in the day and found Calyste in hisbath, with Sabine beside him working at some adornment for the future/layette/. 

"What has happened to you, my children?" asked the excellent duchess. 

"Nothing but good, dear mamma, " replied Sabine, raising her eyes, radiant with happiness, to her mother; "we have been playing the fableof 'The Two Pigeons, ' that is all. "

Calyste held out his hand to his wife, and pressed hers so tenderlywith a look so eloquent, that she said in a whisper to the duchess, --

"I am loved, mother, and forever!"

ADDENDUM

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

Ajuda-Pinto, Marquis Miguel d' Father Goriot Scenes from a Courtesan's Life The Secrets of a Princess

Bixiou, Jean-Jacques The Purse A Bachelor's Establishment The Government Clerks Modeste Mignon Scenes from a Courtesan's Life The Firm of Nucingen The Muse of the Department Cousin Betty The Member for Arcis A Man of Business Gaudissart II. The Unconscious Humorists Cousin Pons

Blondet (Judge) Jealousies of a Country Town

Brossette, Abbe The Peasantry

Cadine, Jenny Cousin Betty The Unconscious Humorists The Member for Arcis

Cambremer, Pierre A Seaside Tragedy

Canalis, Constant-Cyr-Melchior, Baron de Letters of Two Brides A Distinguished Provincial at Paris Modeste Mignon The Magic Skin Another Study of Woman A Start in Life The Unconscious Humorists The Member for Arcis

Casteran, De The Chouans The Seamy Side of History Jealousies of a Country Town The Peasantry

Chocardelle, Mademoiselle A Prince of Bohemia A Man of Business Cousin Betty The Member for Arcis

Conti, Gennaro Lost Illusions

Espard, Jeanne-Clementine-Athenais de Blamont-Chauvry, Marquise d' The Commission in Lunacy A Distinguished Provincial at Paris Scenes from a Courtesan's Life Letters of Two Brides Another Study of Woman The Gondreville Mystery The Secrets of a Princess A Daughter of Eve

Ferdinand The Chouans

Gaillard, Theodore A Distinguished Provincial at Paris Scenes from a Courtesan's Life The Unconscious Humorists

Gaillard, Madame Theodore Jealousies of a Country Town A Distinguished Provincial at Paris A Bachelor's Establishment Scenes from a Courtesan's Life The Unconscious Humorists

Galathionne, Prince and Princess (both not in each story) The Secrets of a Princess The Middle Classes Father Goriot A Distinguished Provincial at Paris A Daughter of Eve

Gerard, Francois-Pascal-Simon, Baron A Bachelor's Establishment

Gobenheim Cesar Birotteau

Grandlieu, Duchesse Ferdinand de Scenes from a Courtesan's Life A Daughter of Eve

Grindot Cesar Birotteau Lost Illusions A Distinguished Provincial at Paris A Start in Life Scenes from a Courtesan's Life The Middle Classes Cousin Betty

Guenic, Gaudebert-Calyste-Charles, Baron du The Chouans

Halga, Chevalier du The Purse

Hannequin, Leopold Albert Savarus Cousin Betty Cousin Pons

La Palferine, Comte de A Prince of Bohemia A Man of Business Cousin Betty The Imaginary Mistress

Lenoncourt, Duc de The Lily of the Valley Cesar Birotteau Jealousies of a Country Town The Gondreville Mystery

Lora, Leon de The Unconscious Humorists A Bachelor's Establishment A Start in Life Pierre Grassou Honorine Cousin Betty

Lousteau, Etienne A Distinguished Provincial at Paris A Bachelor's Establishment Scenes from a Courtesan's Life A Daughter of Eve The Muse of the Department Cousin Betty A Prince of Bohemia A Man of Business The Middle Classes The Unconscious Humorists

Maufrigneuse, Georges de The Secrets of a Princess The Gondreville Mystery The Member for Arcis

Maufrigneuse, Berthe de The Gondreville Mystery The Member for Arcis

Portenduere, Vicomte Savinien de The Ball at Sceaux Scenes from a Courtesan's Life Ursule Mirouet

Portenduere, Vicomtesse Savinien de Ursule Mirouet Another Study of Woman

Rochefide, Marquis Arthur de Cousin Betty

Rochefide, Marquise de The Secrets of a Princess A Daughter of Eve Sarrasine A Prince of Bohemia

Ronceret, Du Jealousies of a Country Town

Ronceret, Fabien-Felicien du (or Duronceret) Jealousies of a Country Town Gaudissart II

Ronceret, Madame Fabien du The Muse of the Department Cousin Betty The Unconscious Humorists

Simeuse, Admiral de The Gondreville Mystery Jealousies of a Country Town

Stidmann Modeste Mignon The Member for Arcis Cousin Betty Cousin Pons The Unconscious Humorists

Touches, Mademoiselle Felicite des Beatrix Lost Illusions A Distinguished Provincial at Paris A Bachelor's Establishment Another Study of Woman A Daughter of Eve Honorine The Muse of the Department

Trailles, Comte Maxime de Cesar Birotteau Father Goriot Gobseck Ursule Mirouet A Man of Business The Member for Arcis The Secrets of a Princess Cousin Betty The Unconscious Humorists

Vernisset, Victor de The Seamy Side of History Cousin Betty

Vignon, Claude A Distinguished Provincial at Paris A Daughter of Eve Honorine Cousin Betty The Unconscious Humorists