MASTER-TALES

PARISIANPOINTS OF VIEW

BYLUDOVIC HALÉVY

TRANSLATED BYEDITH V. B. MATTHEWS

WITH INTRODUCTION BYBRANDER MATTHEWS

[Illustration]

HARPER & BROTHERS PUBLISHERSNEW YORK AND LONDON

Copyright, 1894, by HARPER & BROTHERS. 

_All rights reserved. _

CONTENTS

 PAGE

INTRODUCTION viiONLY A WALTZ 3THE DANCING-MASTER 37THE CIRCUS CHARGER 49BLACKY 69THE MOST BEAUTIFUL WOMAN IN PARIS 83THE STORY OF A BALL-DRESS 113THE INSURGENT 137THE CHINESE AMBASSADOR 147IN THE EXPRESS 161

INTRODUCTION

THE SHORT STORIES OF M. LUDOVIC HALÉVY

To most American readers of fiction I fancy that M. Ludovic Halévy isknown chiefly, if not solely, as the author of that most charming ofmodern French novels, _The Abbé Constantin_. Some of these readers mayhave disliked this or that novel of M. Zola's because of its bad moral, and this or that novel of M. Ohnet's because of its bad taste, and allof them were delighted to discover in M. Halévy's interesting andartistic work a story written by a French gentleman for young ladies. Here and there a scoffer might sneer at the tale of the old Frenchpriest and the young women from Canada as innocuous and saccharine; butthe story of the good Abbé Constantin and of his nephew, and of the girlthe nephew loved in spite of her American millions--this story had therare good fortune of pleasing at once the broad public of indiscriminatereaders of fiction and the narrower circle of real lovers of literature. Artificial the atmosphere of the tale might be, but it was with anartifice at once delicate and delicious; and the tale itself won its wayinto the hearts of the women of America as it had into the hearts of thewomen of France. 

There is even a legend--although how solid a foundation it may have infact I do not dare to discuss--there is a legend that the lady-superiorof a certain convent near Paris was so fascinated by _The AbbéConstantin_, and so thoroughly convinced of the piety of its author, that she ordered all his other works, receiving in due season the livelyvolumes wherein are recorded the sayings and doings of Monsieur andMadame Cardinal, and of the two lovely daughters of Monsieur and MadameCardinal. To note that these very amusing studies of certain aspects oflife in a modern capital originally appeared in that extraordinaryjournal, _La Vie Parisienne_--now sadly degenerate--is enough toindicate that they are not precisely what the good lady-superiorexpected to receive. We may not say that _La Famille Cardinal_ is one ofthe books every gentleman's library should be without; but to appreciateits value requires a far different knowledge of the world and of itswickedness than is needed to understand _The Abbé Constantin_. 

Yet the picture of the good priest and the portraits of the littleCardinals are the work of the same hand, plainly enough. In both ofthese books, as in _Criquette_ (M. Halévy's only other novel), as in _AMarriage for Love_, and the twoscore other short stories he has writtenduring the past thirty years, there are the same artistic qualities, thesame sharpness of vision, the same gentle irony, the same constructiveskill, and the same dramatic touch. It is to be remembered always thatthe author of _L'Abbé Constantin_ is also the half-author of "Froufrou"and of "Tricoche et Cacolet, " as well as of the librettos of "La BelleHélène" and of "La Grande Duchesse de Gerolstein. "

In the two novels, as in the twoscore short stories and sketches--the_contes_ and the _nouvelles_ which are now spring-like idyls and nowwintry episodes, now sombre etchings and now gayly-colored pastels--inall the works of the story-teller we see the firm grasp of thedramatist. The characters speak for themselves; each reveals himselfwith the swift directness of the personages of a play. They are nottalked about and about, for all analysis has been done by the playwrightbefore he rings up the curtain in the first paragraph. And the storyunrolls itself, also, as rapidly as does a comedy. The movement isstraightforward. There is the cleverness and the ingenuity of theaccomplished dramatist, but the construction has the simplicity of thehighest skill. The arrangement of incidents is so artistic that it seemsinevitable; and no one is ever moved to wonder whether or not the talemight have been better told in different fashion. 

Nephew of the composer of "La Juive"--an opera not now heard as often asit deserves, perhaps--and son of a playwright no one of whoseproductions now survives, M. Halévy grew up in the theatre. At fourteenhe was on the free-list of the Opéra, the Opéra-Comique, and the Odéon. After he left school and went into the civil service his one wish was towrite plays, and so to be able to afford to resign his post. In thecivil service he had an inside view of French politics, which gave him adistaste for the mere game of government without in any way impairingthe vigor of his patriotism; as is proved by certain of the short stonesdealing with the war of 1870 and the revolt of the Paris Communists. Andwhile he did his work faithfully, he had spare hours to give toliterature. He wrote plays and stories, and they were rejected. Themanager of the Odéon declared that one early play of M. Halévy's wasexactly suited to the Gymnase, and the manager of the Gymnase protestedthat it was exactly suited to the Odéon. The editor of a daily journalsaid that one early tale of M. Halévy's was too brief for a novel, andthe editor of a weekly paper said that it was too long for a shortstory. 

In time, of course, his luck turned; he had plays performed and storiespublished; and at last he met M. Henri Meilhac, and entered on thatcollaboration of nearly twenty years' duration to which we owe"Froufrou" and "Tricoche et Cacolet, " on the one hand, and on the otherthe books of Offenbach's most brilliant operas--"Barbebleue, " forexample, and "La Périchole. " When this collaboration terminated, shortlybefore M. Halévy wrote _The Abbé Constantin_, he gave up writing for thestage. The training of the playwright he could not give up, if hewould, nor the intimacy with the manners and customs of the people wholive, move, and have their being on the far side of the curtain. 

Obviously M. Halévy is fond of the actors and the actresses with whom hespent the years of his manhood. They appear again and again in histales; and in his treatment of them there is never anythingungentlemanly as there was in M. Jean Richepin's recent volume oftheatrical sketches. M. Halévy's liking for the men and women of thestage is deep; and wide is his knowledge of their changing moods. Theyoung Criquette and the old Karikari and the aged Dancing-master--heknows them all thoroughly, and he likes them heartily, and hesympathizes with them cordially. Indeed, nowhere can one find morekindly portraits of the kindly player-folk than in the writings of thishalf-author of "Froufrou"; it is as though the successful dramatist feltever grateful towards the partners of his toil, the companions of hisstruggles. He is not blind to their manifold weaknesses, nor is he thedupe of their easy emotionalism, but he is tolerant of their failings, and towards them, at least, his irony is never mordant. 

Irony is one of M. Halévy's chief characteristics, perhaps the chiefest. It is gentle when he deals with the people of the stage--far gentlerthen than when he is dealing with the people of Society, withfashionable folk, with the aristocracy of wealth. When he is telling usof the young loves of millionaires and of million-heiresses, his touchmay seem caressing, but for all its softness the velvet paw has clawsnone the less. It is amusing to note how often M. Halévy has chosen totell the tale of love among the very rich. The heroine of _The AbbéConstantin_ is immensely wealthy, as we all know, and immensely wealthyare the heroines of _Princesse_, of _A Grand Marriage, _ and of _In theExpress_. [A] Sometimes the heroes and the heroines are not onlyimmensely wealthy, they are also of the loftiest birth; such, forinstance, are the young couple whose acquaintance we make in the pagesof _Only a Waltz_. 

[Footnote A: Perhaps the present writer will be forgiven if he wishes torecord here that _In the Express (Par le Rapide)_ was published in Parisonly towards the end of 1892, while a tale not wholly unlike it, _In theVestibule Limited_, was published in New York in the spring of 1891. ]

There is no trace or taint of snobbery in M. Halévy's treatment of allthis magnificence; there is none of the vulgarity which marks the pagesof _Lothair_, for example; there is no mean admiration of mean things. There is, on the other hand, no bitterness of scourging satire. He letsus see that all this luxury is a little cloying and perhaps not a littleenervating. He suggests (although he takes care never to say it) thatperhaps wealth and birth are not really the best the world can offer. The amiable egotism of the hero of _In the Express_, and the notunkindly selfishness of the heroine of that most Parisian love-story, are set before us without insistence, it is true, but with an irony sokeen that even he who runs as he reads may not mistake the author's realopinion of the characters he has evoked. 

To say this is to say that M. Halévy's irony is delicate and playful. There is no harshness in his manner and no hatred in his mind. We do notfind in his pages any of the pessimism which is perhaps the dominantcharacteristic of the best French fiction of our time. To M. Halévy, asto every thinking man, life is serious, no doubt, but it need not betaken sadly, or even solemnly. To him life seems still enjoyable, as itmust to most of those who have a vivid sense of humor. He is notdisillusioned utterly, he is not reduced to the blankness of despair asare so many of the disciples of Flaubert, who are cast into the outerdarkness, and who hopelessly revolt against the doom they have broughton themselves. 

Indeed, it is Merimée that M. Halévy would hail as his master, and notFlaubert, whom most of his fellow French writers of fiction followblindly. Now, while the author of _Salamnbo_ was a romanticist turnedsour, the author of _Carmen_ was a sentimentalist sheathed in irony. ToGustave Flaubert the world was hideously ugly, and he wished itstrangely and splendidly beautiful, and he detested it the more becauseof his impossible ideal. To Prosper Merimée the world was what it is, to be taken and made the best of, every man keeping himself carefullyguarded. Like Merimée, M. Halévy is detached, but he is notdisenchanted. His work is more joyous than Merimée's, if not so vigorousand compact, and his delight in it is less disguised. Even in theCardinal sketches there is nothing that leaves an acrid after-taste, nothing corroding--as there is not seldom in the stronger and sternershort stories of Maupassant. 

More than Maupassant or Flaubert or Merimée, is M. Halévy a Parisian. Whether or not the characters of his tale are dwellers in the capital, whether or not the scene of his story is laid in the city by the Seine, the point of view is always Parisian. The _Circus Charger_ did his dutyin the stately avenues of a noble country-place, and _Blacky_ performedhis task near a rustic water-fall; but the men who record theirintelligent actions are Parisians of the strictest sect. Even in thepatriotic pieces called forth by the war of 1870, in the _Insurgent_ andin the _Chinese Ambassador_, it is the siege of Paris and the struggleof the Communists which seem to the author most important. His styleeven, his swift and limpid prose--the prose which somehow corresponds tothe best _vers de société_ in its brilliancy and buoyancy--is the styleof one who lives at the centre of things. Cardinal Newman once said thatwhile Livy and Tacitus and Terence and Seneca wrote Latin, Cicero wroteRoman; so while M. Zola on the one side, and M. Georges Ohnet on theother, may write French, M. Halévy writes Parisian. 

BRANDER MATTHEWS. 

ONLY A WALTZ

"Aunt, dear aunt, don't believe a word of what he is going to tell you. He is preparing to fib, to fib outrageously. If I hadn't interrupted himat the beginning of his talk, he would have told you that he had made uphis mind to marry me from his and my earliest childhood. "

"Of course!" exclaimed Gontran. 

"Of course not, " replied Marceline. "He was going to tell you that hewas a good little boy, having always loved his little cousin, and thatour marriage was a delightful romance of tenderness and sweetness. "

"Why, yes, of course, " repeated Gontran. 

"Nonsense! The truth, Aunt Louise, the real truth, in short, is this, never, never should we have been married if on the 17th of May, 1890, between nine and eleven o'clock, he had not lost 34, 000 points atbezique at the club, and if all the boxes had not been sold, that samenight, at the Bouffes-Parisiens Theatre. "

Gontran began to laugh. 

"Oh, you can laugh as much as you please! You know very well that butfor this--on what does fate depend?--I should now be married and aduchess, it is true; but Duchess of Courtalin, and not Duchess ofLannilis. Well, perhaps that would have been better! At any rate, I wishto give Aunt Louise the authentic history of our marriage. "

"Tell away, if it amuses you, " said Gontran. 

"Yes, sir, it amuses me. You shall know all, Aunt Louise--all, absolutely all; and I beg you to be judge of our quarrel. "

This scene was taking place eight days after Marceline de Lorlauge, atthe Church of the Madeleine, before the altar, hidden under a mountainof roses, had answered "yes, " with just the right amount of nervousnessand emotion (neither too much nor too little, but exactly right), whenshe was asked if she was willing to take for husband her cousin, JeanLeopold Mathurin Arbert Gontran, Duke of Lannilis. 

This marriage had been the great marriage of the season. There had beenan absolute crush under the colonnade and against the railings of thechurch to see the bride walk down those fearful steps of the Madeleine. What an important feat that is! Merely to be beautiful is not all thatis needful; it is necessary besides to know how to be beautiful. Thereis an art about being pretty which requires certain preparations andstudy. In society, as in the theatre, success rarely comes at once. Mme. De Lannilis had the good-fortune to make her first appearance withdecisive success. She was at once quite easily and boldly at home in herbeauty; she had only to appear to triumph. Prince Nérins had not amoment's hesitation concerning it, and he it is, as every one knows, who, with general consent, has made himself the distributor of thepatents of supreme Parisian elegance; so while the new duchess, beneaththe fire of a thousand eyes and behind the ringing staffs, was takingher first steps as a young married woman with calm assurance, Nérins, struck with admiration, was giving way, under the colonnade of theMadeleine, to veritable transports of enthusiasm. He went from group togroup repeating:

"She is aerial! There is no other expression for her--aerial! She doesnot walk, she glides! If she had the fantasy, with one little kick ofher heel, she could raise herself lightly over the heads of those twotall fellows with spears, cross the Place de la Concorde, and go andplace herself on the pediment of the Chamber of Deputies. Look at herwell; that is true beauty, radiant beauty, blazing beauty! She is agoddess, a young goddess! she will reign long, gentlemen--as long aspossible. "

The young goddess, for the present, did not go farther than Lannilis, inPoitou, to her husband's home--her home--in a mansion that had seen manyDuchesses of Lannilis, but never one more charming, and never, it mustbe said, one more absolutely in love. This little duchess of nineteenwas wild about this little duke of twenty-five, who was jealouslycarrying her off for himself alone to a quiet and solitary retreat. 

They had arrived Thursday, the 24th of June, at about two o'clock--on anexquisite night beneath a star-spangled sky--and they were suddenlyastounded at receiving a letter from their Aunt Louise, dated July 1:

"Eight days' steady tête-à-tête, " she wrote, "is enough, quite enough. Trust to the experience of an old countrywoman, who would be delightedto kiss her little nephew and niece. Don't eat all your love in thebud--keep a little for the future. "

Thursday, the 1st of July! Eight days! They had been eight days atLannilis! It was impossible! They tried to put some order in theirreflections. What had they done Friday, Saturday, and Sunday? But allwas vague, and became confused in their minds. The days and the nights, and the nights and days. What had they done? It was always the same, same thing; and the same thing had somehow never been the same thing. 

They had just loved, loved, loved; and, quite given up to this very wiseoccupation, they had completely forgotten that near Lannilis, in the oldresidence of Chatellerault, there was dear old Aunt Louise, who wasexpecting their first bridal visit--a visit which was due her, for shehad the best claim in the world, on account of her eighty-four years, her kindness, and also because of the gift of a magnificent pearlnecklace to Marceline. 

So it was necessary to be resigned, to leave off dreaming, and to comeback to reality; and it was during this visit that, before the old aunt, much amused at the quarrel, this great dispute had abruptly burst forthbetween the young married couple. 

Aunt Louise had accepted the position of arbitrator, and, presiding overthe discussion, she had made the two contestants sit down before her inarm-chairs, at a respectful distance. Marceline, before being seated, had already taken the floor. 

"Every one agreed upon this point (you know it, Aunt Louise; mamma mustoften have told you in her letters)--every one was agreed on this point:that there were really only two suitable matches for me--the Duke ofLannilis here present, and the Duke of Courtalin. I had the weakness toprefer him--him over there. Why? I can scarcely tell-a childish habit, doubtless. We had played together when we were no higher than that atbeing little husband and wife. I had remained faithful to that childhoodlove, whereas he--"

"Whereas I--"

"All in due season, sir, and you will lose nothing by waiting. However, there were all sorts of good reasons for preferring--the other one, whohad a larger fortune and was of more ancient nobility. "

"Oh, as to that--in money, maybe, but as to birth--"

"It is indisputable! You are both dukes by patent. "

"We in 1663. "

"And the Courtalin--"

"In 1666 only. "

"Agreed. "

"Well, then?"

"Oh, just wait! I am posted on the question; mamma studied it thoroughlywhen things looked, three months ago, as if I should be Duchess ofCourtalin. One morning mamma went to the archives with an old friend ofhers, a great historian, who is a member of the Institute. You datefrom 1663, and the Courtalin from 1666; that is correct. But LouisXIV. , in 1672, by a special edict, gave the precedence to theCourtalins; and you have not, I suppose, any idea of disputing whatLouis XIV. Thought best to do. Now, Aunt Louise, can he?"

"Certainly not. "

"But Saint Simon--"

"Oh, let us leave Saint Simon alone; he is prejudice and inaccuracyitself! I know he is on your side, but that doesn't count; but I will, to be agreeable to you, acknowledge that you are better looking andtaller than M. De Courtalin--"

"But--"

"Oh, my dear, I begin to see! You are dying for me to tell you that. Well, yes, you are a fairly handsome man; but that is only a veryperishable advantage, and you have too much respect forconventionalities to wish to make that equal to the decree of Louis XIV. However, I loved you--I loved you faithfully, tenderly, fondly, stupidly; yes, stupidly, for when I had come out in society, the yearbefore, in April, 1889, at Mme. De Fresnes's ball, when I had allowed mypoor, little, thin shoulders to be seen for the first time (I must havebeen about seventeen), I noticed that the young marriageable men in ourset (they are all quoted, noted, and labelled) drew away from me withstrange, respectful deference. I appeared to be of no importance orinterest, in spite of my name, my dowry, and my eyes. You see, I hadsinged myself. I had so ridiculously advertised my passion for you thatI no longer belonged to myself; I was considered as belonging to you. Assoon as I had put on my first long dress, which gave me at once theright to think of marriage and speak of love, I had told all my friendsthat I loved, and would never love or marry any one but you--you or theconvent. Yes, I had come to that! My friends had told their brothers andcousins, who had repeated it to you (just what I wanted), but it put meout of the race. Dare to say, sir, that it is not all true, strictlytrue!"

"I am saying nothing--?"

"Because you are overcome, crushed by the evidence. You say nothing now, but what did you say last year? Last year! When I think that we couldhave been married since last year! A year, a whole year lost! And it wasso long, and it could have been so short! Well, he was there, at theFresnes' ball. He condescended to do me the honor of dancing three timeswith me. I came home intoxicated, absolutely intoxicated with joy. Butthat great happiness did not last long, for this is what that Gontranthe next day said to his friend Robert d'Aigremont, who told his sisterGabrielle, who repeated it to me, that he saw clearly that they wishedto marry him to his cousin Marceline. I had, the day before, literallythrown myself into his arms; he had thought right, from pure goodness ofheart, to show some pity for the love of the little school-girl, so hehad resolved to dance with me; but he had done, quite done--he wouldn'tbe caught again. He would keep carefully away from coming-out balls;they were too dangerous a form of gayety. Marriage did not tempt him inthe least. He had not had enough of a bachelor's life yet--besides, heknew of nothing more absurd than those marriages between cousins. Thetrue pleasure of marriage, he said, must be to put into one's lifesomething new and unexpected, and to call by her first name, all atonce, on Tuesday morning, a person whom one didn't so call Monday night. But a person whom one already knew well, where would be the pleasure? Hemade a movement, Aunt Louise; did you see?"

"I saw--"

"He recognized the phrase. "

"True. I remember--"

"Ah! but you did not say that phrase only--you said all the others. Butthat is nothing as yet, Aunt Louise. Do you know what was his principalobjection to a marriage with me? Do you know what he told Robert? Thathe had seen me in evening-dress the night before for the first time, andthat I was too thin! Too thin! Ah! that was a cruel blow to me! For itwas true. I was thin. The evening after Gabrielle had told me that awfulfact, that evening in undressing I looked at my poor little shoulders, with their poor little salt-cellars, and I had a terrible spasm ofsorrow--a flood of tears that wouldn't stop--a torrent, a real torrent;and then mamma appeared. I was alone, disrobed, hair flying, studying myshoulders, deploring their meagreness--a true picture of despair! Mammatook me in her arms. 'My angel, my poor dear, what is the matter?' Ianswered only by sobbing. 'My child, tell me all. ' Mamma was veryanxious, but I could not speak; tears choked my voice. 'My dearest, doyou wish to kill me?' So to reassure mamma I managed to say between mysobs: 'I am too thin, mamma; last night Gontran thought me too thin!' Atthat mamma began to laugh heartily; but as she was good-humored thatevening, after laughing she explained to me that she, at seventeen, hadbeen much thinner than I, and she promised me in the most solemn mannerthat I should grow stouter. Mamma spoke true; I have fattened up. Willyou have the goodness, sir, to declare to our aunt that the salt-cellarshave entirely disappeared, and that you cannot have against me, in thatrespect, any legitimate cause of complaint?"

"I will declare so very willingly; but you will permit me to add--"

"I will permit you no such thing. I have the floor, let me speak; butyou will soon have a chance to justify yourself. I intend to put youthrough a little cross-questioning. "

"I'll wait, then--"

"Yes, do. So last spring I began my first campaign. I do not know, AuntLouise, what the customs were in your time, but I know that to-day, atthe present time, the condition of young girls is one of extremeseverity. We are kept confined, closely confined, till eighteen, formamma was very indulgent in bringing me out when I was only seventeen;but mamma is goodness itself, and then she isn't coquettish for asou--she didn't mind admitting that she had a marriageable daughter. Allmothers are not like that, and I know some who are glad to put off thepublic and official exhibition of their poor children so as to gain ayear. At the same time that they race at Longchamps and Chantilly thegreat fillies of the year, they take from their boxes the greatheiresses of the year who are ripe for matrimony, and in a series ofwhite balls given for that purpose, between Easter Sunday and the GrandPrix, they are made to take little trial gallops before connoisseurs. They have to work rapidly and find a buyer before the Grand Prix; forafter that all is up, the young girls are packed back to theirgovernesses, dancing-masters, and literary professors. The campaign isover. That is all for the year. They are not seen again, the poorthings, till after Lent. So mamma took me last year to a dozen largeballs, which were sad and sorrowful for me. He was not there! He didn'twish to marry! He told it to every one insolently, satirically. He wouldnever, never, never marry! He told it to me. "

"At your mother's request. "

"Yes, that is true. I know since that it was at mamma's petition that hetalked that way; she hoped it would prevent my being stubborn in mycraze for him. "

"Craze!" exclaimed Aunt Louise. 

"Excuse me, Aunt Louise, it is a word of to-day. "

"And means--"

"It means a sort of unexplainable, absurd, and extravagant love thatcomes without its being possible to know why--in short, Aunt Louise, exactly the love I have for him. "

"Much obliged! But you do not tell everything. You do not say that yourmother desired your marriage with Courtalin--"

"Yes, of course; mamma was quite right. M. De Courtalin has a thousandsterling merits that you have not--that you will never have; and then M. De Courtalin had a particularly good point in mamma's eyes: he did notfind me too thin, and he asked for my hand in marriage. One day aboutfour o'clock (that was the 2d of June last year) mamma came into my roomwith an expression on her face I had never seen before. 'My child, ' shesaid--'my dear child!' She had no need to finish; I had understood. M. De Courtalin all the evening before, at the Princess de Viran's, hadhovered about me, and the next day his mother had come to declare tomamma that her son knew of nothing more delightful than my face. Ianswered that I knew of nothing less delightful than M. De Courtalin'sface. I added that, besides, I was in no hurry to marry. Mamma tried tomake me hear reason. I was going to let slip an admirable chance. TheDuke of Courtalin was the target of all the ambitious mothers--a greatname, a great position, a great fortune! I should deeply regret some dayto have shown such disdain for advantages like these, etc. And to allthese things, which were so true and sensible, I could find only oneword to say: his name, Gontran, Gontran, Gontran! Gontran or theconvent, and the most rigorous one of all, the Carmel, in sackcloth andashes! Oh, Aunt Louise, do look at him! He listens to all this with anunbearable little air of fatuity. "

"You have forbidden me to speak. "

"True. Don't speak; but you have deserved a little lesson in modesty andhumility. Good gracious! you think perhaps it was for your merits that Ichose you, insisted on you. You would be far from the mark, my poordear. It is, on the contrary, because of your want of merit. Now, as toM. De Courtalin. Why, there is a man of merit! I had, from morning tonight, M. De Courtalin's merit dinned into my ears, and that was why Ihad taken a dislike to him. What I dreaded more than anything for ahusband was what is called a superior man; and mamma went the wrong wayto work to win me over to her candidate when she said to me: 'He is avery intelligent, very serious, very deep-thinking, and verydistinguished man; he has spent his youth honorably; he has been a modelson, and would make a model husband. ' It made me shiver to hear mammatalk so. I know nothing more awful than people who are always, alwaysright; who, under all circumstances, give evidence of unfailing goodsense; who crush us with their superiority. With Gontran I am easy, quite easy. It isn't he who would crush me with his superiority. I donot know much, Aunt Louise, but my ignorance beside his is learning. Hehad great trouble in getting his baccalaureate. He flunked three times. "

"Flunked!" exclaimed Aunt Louise. 

"It means failed. He taught me the word. All the queer words I use, AuntLouise, were taught me by him. "

"Come, now--"

"Yes, all. I can see him now, coming to the house one day, and I canhear him say, 'Flunked again!' That was the third time. Then he went andtook his examination in the country at a little college at Douai; it waseasier, and he passed at last. M. De Courtalin has never been flunked;he is everything that one can be at his age: bachelor, advocate, lawyer, and grave, exact, and severe in his language, and dressed--always in ablack frock-coat, with two rows of buttons, always all buttoned--inshort, a man of the past. And what a future before him! Already a memberof the General Council, and very eloquent, very influential, he will bedeputy in three years, and then, when we have a government that peopleof our class can recognize, minister, ambassador, and I know not what!The highest offices wait for him, and all his ambitions will belegitimate when he has a chance to put his superior talents at theservice of the monarchy. That's one of mamma's phrases. Whereas you, mypoor Gontran--you will never be anything other than a very funny andvery nice old dear, whom I shall lead as I like with my little finger. "

"Oh! oh!"

"You will see. Besides, you have seen for eight days. "

"The first eight days don't count. "

"I will continue, rest assured. I love you, besides. I love you, and doyou know why? It is because you are not a man of the past; you aredistinctly modern, very modern. Look at him, Aunt Louise. Isn't he verynice, very well turned out, very modern, in fact--I repeat it--in hislittle pearl-gray suit. He is devoted to his clothes. He consults forhours and hours with his tailor, which delights me, for I intend toconsult for hours and hours with my dress-maker. And he will pay thebills without a tremor, for he will be charmed to see me very stylishand very much admired. Ah, we shall make the most brilliant and mostgiddy little couple! He is modern, I shall be modern, we shall bemodern! After three, four, or five weeks (we do not know exactly)dedicated to pure love, we shall take flight towards the country, whereone has a good time; and then we shall be talked about, Aunt Louise, weshall be talked about. And now, where was I in my story? I am sure I donot know at all. "

"Nor I. "

"Nor I. "

"Ah, I know. Mme. De Courtalin had come to ask my hand for her honorableson, and when mamma had spoken to me of that I had exclaimed, 'Soonerthe convent!' I do not know exactly what mamma said to Mme. DeCourtalin--at any rate, I was left alone for the time being. There was arush to the Grand Prix, and then a general breaking-up. We went to spenda month at Aix-les-Bains for papa's complaint, and then a fortnighthere, Aunt Louise; and then, do you remember, you received theconfessions of my poor torn heart. Ah! I must say you are the only youngmember of the family--you were the only one who did not make a long facewhen I spoke of my love for that rogue. Mamma, however, had preached toyou, and you vaunted the advantages of an alliance with Courtalin, butwithout conviction. I felt that you were at bottom on my side againstmamma, and it was so easily explained--mamma could not understand me, whereas you! They think we little girls know nothing, and we knoweverything. I knew that mamma had made a worldly marriage, which had, however, turned out very well; and you, Aunt Louise, had married forlove. You must have battled to get the husband you wished, and you hadhim, and you resolutely conquered your happiness. Yes, I knew all that;I dared even to allude to those things of the past, and those memoriesbrought a smile to your lips and tears to your eyes. And to-day again, Aunt Louise, there it is, the smile, and there are the tears. "

Marceline interrupted her talk, affectionately threw herself on her AuntLouise's neck, and kissed her with all her heart. She wiped away thetears with kisses, and only the smile remained. Yes, Aunt Louiseremembered that she had had hard work to get as husband a certainhandsome officer of the Royal Guard, who was there present at the scene, in an old decorated frame, standing up with his helmet on his head in amartial attitude, leaning on the hilt of his cavalry sabre. 

He, too, had been modern, that conqueror of the Trocadero, when heentered Madrid in 1822 on the staff of the Duke of Angoulême. And she, too, old Aunt Louise, had been modern, very modern, the day when, froma window of the Palace of the Tuileries, during a military parade, shehad murmured this phrase in her mother's ear: "Mamma, there is the one Ilove. "

"Ah, how cowardly we are!" exclaimed Marceline, abruptly, changing hertone. "Yes, how cowardly we are to love them--those, those dreadful men, who know so little how to care for us. I say that for Gontran. What washe doing while I was telling you my sorrows, Aunt Louise? Quite calmlytaking a trip around the world. But let him speak now, let him speak, especially as I cannot any more. In all my life I have never made solong a speech. Speak, sir; why were you going round the world?"

"Because your mother, on the morning of the day before you departed forAix-les-Bains, had had a very long conversation with me. "

"And she had said to you?"

"She had said to me, 'Put a stop to this; marry her or go away, and lether not hear of you again till her marriage. ' And as I had for some timebeen debating whether to take a little trip to Japan, I started forJapan. "

"He started for Japan! That goes without saying. You hear him, AuntLouise; he admits that this time last year he preferred to expatriatehimself rather than marry me. So there he was in America, in China, andin Japan. This lasted ten months; from time to time, humbly and timidly, I asked for news of him. He was very well; his last letter was fromShanghai, or Sidney, or Java. For me, not a word, not aremembrance--nothing, nothing, absolutely nothing!"

"I had promised your mother. One day at Yokohama I had bought you a lotof fascinating little things. The box was done up and addressed to youwhen I remembered my promise. I sent all those Japaneseries to yourmother, thinking that you would have your share of the spoil. "

"I had nothing at all. The arrival of the box was kept a secret. Itwould have been necessary to have pronounced your name before me, andmamma didn't wish that. On the other hand, there was always one name onher lips--Courtalin. Still Courtalin, and always Courtalin. He had allqualities, all virtues. Then he had just lost his aunt in Brittany, andhe had inherited something. It was thought that he would only have aquarter of the property, and he had had three-quarters. Besides, it wasa country-seat, and all around this seat, an admirable domain, sixteenor seventeen hundred hectares. I say it to my shame, Aunt Louise, to mygreat shame, the thought of giving in came to me; and then, to beabsolutely frank, it rather pleased me to become a duchess; so mammamade me out a list of all possible husbands for me, and there was noother duke in the list but M. De Courtalin. There was, of course, thelittle Count of Limiers, who would be duke some day. But when? Hisfather is forty-five and an athlete, and has an iron constitution. So Iwas obliged to admit it when I talked it over with mamma in the evening. To be duchess it was necessary to agree on M. De Courtalin. Mamma, however, was perfect, and delightfully gentle. She did not press me, nortreat me harshly, nor torment me; she waited. Only I knew she had saidto Mme. De Nelly: 'It will be accomplished, my dear, before the 20th ofJune. It must be. ' Papa was obliged to return to Aix for his complaint. The 20th of June was the date for his departure. I no longer said, 'No, no, no!' with that savage energy of the year before. You see, Gontran, Iopen my whole heart to you; you will have, I hope, soon the same courageand sincerity. "

"You may be sure of it. "

"I was waiting, however--I was waiting for his return. I wished to havewith him a very serious conversation. It is quite true that I felt likefainting with fear at the mere thought of that explanation; but I wasnone the less resolved to speak, and I would speak. It seemed to meimpossible that he had not thought of me sometimes out there in Chinaand Cochin China. We had always loved each other (till the unhappy dayon which I had become marriageable) with a tender and faithfulaffection! I knew that he would arrive in Paris during the night of the2d or 3d of April. Very certainly the day after he would come and seeus. And so, in fact, towards two o'clock he came. Mamma hadn't finisheddressing; I was alone. I ran to him. 'Ah, how glad I am to see you!' andI kissed him with effusion. Then he, very much moved, yes, very muchmoved, kissed me, and began to say to me such nice and pretty thingsthat I felt my heart melting. Ah, if mamma hadn't come for fiveminutes--I would only have asked for five minutes!--and how quickly itwould have turned into love-making our little explanation!"

"Yes, that is true. The impulse that threw you into my arms was sosincere. Ah, very certainly it was that day, at that moment, that Ibegan to love you. And then I looked at you. You were no longer thesame. There was such great and happy change. "

"He does not dare say it, Aunt Louise, but I will say it: I had becomefatter. Ah, when I think that I might be Duchess of Courtalin if I hadremained thin. Those men! Those men! What wretches! But mamma came in, then papa, and then my brother George. No explanation possible! Therethey all were engaged in an odious conversation on the comparativemerits of the English and French boats--the English ones are faster, thefood on the French ones is better, etc. It was charming! At the end ofan hour Gontran went away, but not without giving me a very tender andeloquent hand-shake. I could wish nothing more speaking than thathand-shake. But mamma, who was observing us attentively, had clearlyseen our two hands, after having found a way to say very pleasantthings, had had a great deal of trouble in separating. I expected, ofcourse, to see him the next day. Did you come?"

"No. "

"And the day after that?"

"No, nor then. "

"At last, after three days, mamma took me to the races at the Bois deBoulogne. We arrived, and there at once, two steps from me, I saw him. But no, it was no longer he; frigid greeting, frigid good-day, frigidhand-shake, frigid words, and very few of them--scarcely a fewsentences, awkward and embarrassed. Then he was lost in the crowd, andthat was all. He did not appear again. I was dumfounded, overcome, crushed. "

"But it was your mother who--"

"Yes, I know now; but I did not know that day. Yes, it was mamma. Oh, must I not love mamma to have forgiven her that?"

"She had come to me very early in the morning the day after the veryeloquent hand-shake and there, in tears--yes, literally in tears (shewas sobbing)--she had appealed to my sense of honor, of delicacy, ofintegrity. 'You both had, ' she said to me, 'yesterday, on seeing eachother again after a long absence, a little spasm of emotion. That is allright; but you must stop there, and not prolong this foolishness, ' And, just as I was going to protest: 'Oh yes; foolishness!' 'Remember, Marceline's happiness is at stake. You have no right to compromise her. You come back from China all at once, and your abrupt return will breakoff more sensible, more studied arrangements. M. De Courtalin isthirty-four; he is a man of great knowledge and wisdom. However, I knowthat that is only a secondary consideration; but love passes away, andmoney remains, and M. De Courtalin is richer, very much richer, thanyou. With him Marceline will have quite a grand position. Whereas you, you know how I love you, and I know how worthy you are of being loved. You are charming, charming, charming. ' It was your mother who spokethus. "

"I know; I know. "

"'Yes, charming; but when I have said that, I have said all. So I willask you this question, and I expect from you a faithful answer: Have youthose solid qualities which alone can make a husband, a true husband?Marceline is a little light-headed, a little frivolous, a littlecoquettish. ' It is always your mother who is speaking. "

"I know; I know. "

"I was embarrassed, Aunt Louise; it seemed to me that that speech wasnot without reason. I hadn't a very high idea of myself as a husband, and even now I ask myself--"

"Don't ask yourself anything. Be an affectionate husband, and you willhave all the virtues. Nothing simpler, as you see. You can go on. "

"Well, your mother was so skilfully persuasive that the day after, atthe races, I gave that cold greeting. "

"And so I, that same day, on entering the house, threw myself intomamma's arms, exclaiming, 'Yes, I am willing to marry M. De Courtalin!'Ah, how many times between that day and the 16th of May I threw myselfinto mamma's arms! I did nothing else. Mamma got used to it, and neversaw me appear without mechanically opening her arms. 'Yes, I amwilling, ' and sometimes, 'No, I am not. ' But the 'No, I am nots' becamefewer and fewer. M. De Courtalin, besides, was perfect; a model of tact, of gentleness, and of resignation. He waited, always in his blackfrock-coat, always buttoned, with an inexhaustible patience. Mamma was, in short, pledged to Mme. De Courtalin, and I felt the circle tightenround me. The papers announced, in a covert but transparent way, thatthere was question of an alliance between two families of the FaubourgSaint-Germain, and they made it pretty clear that it concerned twoimportant families. I already received vague congratulations, and Idared respond only by vague denials. The morning of the famous 17th ofMay mamma had said to me, 'Come, my child, don't make a martyr of thatpoor boy. Since it is to be "yes, " for it will be "yes, " you knowyourself, say "yes" at once. ' I had obtained only a miserable respite oftwenty-four hours; and things were thus when, still on the 17th of May, mamma and I arrived, a little late (after eleven), at Mme. DeVernieux's, who was giving a ball, a very large ball. I went in, and Ihad at once the feeling that I must be looking extremely well thatevening. They formed into a little hedge along my way, and I heard alittle 'oh!' of surprise, and a big 'ah!' of admiration which wentstraight to my heart. I had had already in society certain successes, but never any as marked as that one. M. De Courtalin came towards me. Hewished to engage me for all the waltzes, for all the quadrilles, for theentire evening, for the night, for life. I answered him: 'Later, presently, we will see. I feel a little tired. ' The fact was I hadn'tthe heart to dance. Mamma and I took our seats. A waltz began. Mammascolded softly: 'Dance with him, my child, I beg. ' I didn't listen toher. I was abstractedly looking around the room when suddenly I saw in acorner two eyes fixed, fastened, pinioned on me--two eyes that I wellknew, but that I had some difficulty in recognizing, for they weretremendously enlarged by a sort of stupor. "

"Say by overwhelming admiration. "

"As you please But it is here, Aunt Louise, that my interrogation willbegin. Why and how were you there? Where had you dined, Gontran?"

"At the club. "

"And what did you intend to do after dinner? Come to Mme. DeVernieux's?"

"No; Robert d'Aigremont and I had meant to go to the Bouffes-Parisiens. "

"You did not go? Why?"

"We had telephoned from the club to have a box; all were sold--"

"So you said to Robert--"

"I said to Robert, 'Let's play bezique;' and I was beaten by one ofthose streaks of bad luck--34, 000 points in a dozen games--so thoroughlythat towards half-past ten I thought that bezique had lasted longenough--"

"And so--"

"And so--"

"So Robert wished to bring you to Mme. De Vernieux's. And you didn'twant to go! If you hadn't come, however, and if there had been a box atthe Bouffes-Parisiens, or if you had won at bezique, my marriage with M. De Courtalin would have been publicly announced the next day. "

"Yes, but I came; and there I was in the corner looking at you, lookingat you, looking at you. It was you, and yet not you--"

"I, immediately on seeing the way you were looking at me, understoodthat something extraordinary was going to happen. Your eyes shone, burned, blazed!"

"Because I had discovered that you were simply the prettiest woman ofthe ball, where all the prettiest women of Paris were. Yes, theprettiest, and such shoulders, such shoulders!"

"Ripe! in fact, I was ripe!"

"My head was turned at once. I saw Courtalin manoeuvring and trying toget near you. I understood that there was not a moment to be lost. Toreach there ahead of Courtalin I threw myself intrepidly into the midstof the room, among the waltzers, pushing and being pushed. I forged apassage and tore into rags one of the lace flounces of Mme. DeLornans--she hasn't yet forgiven me. But I got there--I got there beforeCourtalin, and threw myself on you, and took you round your waist (I canstill hear your little cry), and I dragged you off. "

"Mamma had scarcely time to scream 'Marceline, Marceline!' when I wasthere no more. He had lifted me off, and carried me away; and we werewaltzing wildly, furiously!--oh, what a waltz!--and he was saying to me:'I love you! I adore you! You are grace and beauty itself! There is onlyone pretty woman here--you; and it is I who will be your husband. I, doyou hear? I, and not another!' And I, quite suffocated with surprise, pleasure, and emotion, allowed myself to be nearly carried by him, but Ikept begging him to speak lower. 'Anything you wish; yes, I will be yourwife; but take care--you will be heard--you will be heard. '"

"That is what I wished; and I continued, 'I love you! I adore you!'"

"Then I, absolutely breathless: 'Not so fast. I pray, not so fast; Ishall fall. I assure you everything is going round, everything is goinground. Let us stop. ' 'No, no; don't let's stop. Keep on still. If westop your mother will separate us, and I have still so many things tosay to you--so many things, so many things. Swear to me that you will bemy wife. ' 'Yes, I swear it; but enough, enough--' I was smothering. Heheard nothing. He was going, going like a madman. We had become ahurricane, a whirlwind, a cyclone. We caused surprise and fright. No onedanced any more, but looked at us. And he held me so close, and his facewas so near my face, his lips so near my lips, that all at once I feltmyself giving way. I slipped, and let myself into his arms. A cloudpassed before my eyes; I could not speak nor think; then blankness. Everything had disappeared before me in a vertigo not too disagreeable, I must say. I had fainted, absolutely fainted. "

"The next day our marriage was decided, perfectly decided. Our waltz hadcaused scandal. That was just what I wanted. "

"There, Aunt Louise, is the history of our marriage, and I want to-dayto draw this conclusion: it is that I was the first to begin to love, and I shall have, consequently, one day, when it pleases me, the rightto stop the first. "

"Ah, no, indeed; tell her, Aunt Louise, that she will never have thatright--"

A new quarrel threatened to break out. 

"This, my children, " said the old aunt, "is all I have to say: she did, in truth, start the first to love; but it seems to me, Gontran, that youstarted all at once at such a great pace that you must have caught upwith her. "

"Passed her, Aunt Louise. "

"Oh no!" exclaimed Marceline. 

"Oh yes--"

"Oh no--"

"Well, " continued Aunt Louise, "try never to have any other quarrelsthan that one. Try to walk always in life step by step, side by side, and heart to heart. I have seen many inventions since I was born, andthe world is no longer what it was then. But there is one thing to whichinventions have made no difference, and never will. That thing you have;keep it. It is love! Love each other, children, as strongly and as longas possible. "

And Aunt Louise wept another tear, and smiled on looking at the portraitof the officer of the Royal Guard. 

THE DANCING-MASTER

I was dining at the house of some friends, and in the course of theevening the hostess said to me:

"Do you often go to the opera?"

"Yes, very often. "

"And do you go behind the scenes?"

"Yes, I go behind. "

"Then you can do me a favor. In the ballet department there's an old mancalled Morin, who is perfectly respectable, it seems. He is the littleB----'s dancing-master. He gives excellent lessons. I should like tohave him for my little girls, so ask him if he could come twice a week. "

I willingly undertook the delicate mission. 

The next day, February 17, 1881, about ten in the evening, I arrived atthe opera, and went behind the scenes to search for Monsieur Morin. "TheProphet" was being played, and the third act had just begun. On thestage the Anabaptists were singing forcibly:

 "Du sang! que Judas succombe! Du sang! Dansons sur leur tombe! Du sang! Voila l'hécatombe Que Dieu nous demande encor!"

Axes were raised over the heads of a crowd of hapless prisoners, whowere barons, bishops, monks, and grand ladies. In the wings, balanced ontheir skates, all the ballet-girls were waiting the right moment to

 "Effleurer la glace Sans laisser de trace. "

I respectfully begged one of the young Westphalian peasant-girls topoint out to me the man named Morin. 

"Morin, " she replied, "is not one of the skaters. Look, he is on thestage. That's he over there, the one who is doing the bishop; thatbishop, you see, who is being pushed and pulled. Wait, he will be offdirectly. "

One of the Anabaptist leaders intervened, however, declaring that thenobles and priests who could pay ransom should be spared. Morin escapedwith his life, and I had the honor of being presented to him by thelittle Westphalian peasant-girl. 

He had quite a venerable air, with his long gray beard and his finepurple robe with his large pastoral cross. While he was arrangingsomewhat his costume, which had been so roughly pulled by those violentAnabaptists, I asked him if he would be willing to give lessons to twoyoung girls of good family. 

The pious bishop accepted with alacrity. His price was ten francs anhour. 

The little skaters had gone on the stage, and were performing wonderfulfeats. The wings had suddenly become calm and silent. We gave ourselvesup, his Reverence and myself, to a little friendly chat. 

"Yes, sir, " his Highness said to me, "I give dancing lessons. I havemany patrons among the aristocracy and the bankers. I have no reason tocomplain; and yet one must admit things were better once, much better. Dancing is going out, sir, dancing is going out. "

"Is it possible?"

"It is as I have the honor of telling you. Women still learn to dance;but no longer the young men, sir, no longer. Baccarat, races, and theminor theatres--that's what they enjoy. It's a little the fault of theGovernment. "

"How can that be?"

"M. Jules Ferry has recently rearranged the curriculum of theUniversity. He has made certain studies obligatory--modern languages, for instance. I don't blame him for that; the study of modern languageshas great advantages. But dancing, sir; nothing has been done fordancing, and it is dancing which ought, after all, to have been madeobligatory. There ought to be a dancing-master in every high-school, anda normal-school for dancing with examinations and competitions indancing. Dancing ought to be studied the same as Latin or Greek. Dancing, too, is a language, and a language that every well-bred manought to be able to speak. Well, do you know what happens nowadays?Sometimes it happens, sir, that diplomatic posts are given to people whoget confused in the figures of a quadrille, and who are incapable ofwaltzing for two minutes. They know very well that their education isincomplete. Quite lately a young man came to me--a young man of greatmerit, it seems, except in regard to dancing. He had just been attachedto a great embassy. He had never danced in his life--never. Do youunderstand? Never! It is scarcely to be credited, and yet it is true. That's the way M. Barthélémy-Saint-Hilaire picks them out. Oh, thisbeard smothers me! Will you permit me?"

"Certainly. "

He took off his gray beard, and thus looked much less venerable. He thencontinued:

"I said to this young man: 'We will try, but it will be hard work. Oneoughtn't to begin dancing at twenty-eight. ' I limbered him up as best Icould. I had only two weeks to do it in. I begged him to put off hisdeparture, to obtain a reprieve of three or four months--I could havemade something of him. He would not. He went without knowing anything. Ioften think of him. He will represent us out there; he will represent usvery badly; he will not be an honor to his country. Please to rememberthat he may be called upon to take part in some official quadrille--todance, for instance, with an archduchess. Well, if he slips up in it, with his archduchess, it will be charming! All this is very sad indeed. I am a Republican, sir, an old Republican, and it is painful to thinkthat the republic is represented by diplomats who cannot distinguishbetween a change of foot and a simple step. Do you know what is said inforeign courts? 'Why, who are those savages that France sends us?' Yes, that's what they say. The diplomatic corps in the time of the Empire wasnot brilliant. Oh no; those gentlemen did many foolish things. Oh yes;but still they knew how to dance!"

And the good old bishop, seeing that I listened with much interest, wenton with his brilliant improvisation. 

"Dancing, sir, is not merely a pleasure, an amusement; no, it is ofgreat social interest. Why, the question of marriage is closelyconnected with dancing. At present, in France, marriage is languishing. That is proved by statistics. Well, I am convinced that if there arefewer marriages it is because there is less dancing. Consider this firstof all, that to know how to dance well, very well, is, for an agreeableyoung man who is without fortune, a great advantage in society. One ofmy pupils, sir, has recently married extremely well. He was a veryordinary kind of youth, who had tried everything and had succeeded innothing; but he was a first-rate waltzer, and he danced away with twomillions. "

"Two millions!"

"Yes, two millions, and they were two cash millions; she was an orphan, no father nor mother--all that can be dreamed of. He clasped that younglady (she was very plump). Well, in his arms, she felt herself light asa feather. She thought of but one thing--waltzing with him. She was asone wild. He gave her a new sensation, and what is it women desire aboveall things? To have new sensations, in short, she refused marquises, counts, and millionaires. She wanted him only. She got him, and he waspenniless, and his name is Durand. Ah, do not repeat his name; Ioughtn't to have told you. "

"Don't be afraid. "

"After all, you can repeat it; it doesn't matter, it's such a commonname. There is public policy in love-matches which cause a rich girl tomarry a poor man, or a poor girl to marry a rich man. It sets moneycirculating, it prevents its remaining in the same place, it keepscapital moving. Well, three-fourths of the love-matches were formerlymade by the dance. Now there are short interviews in parlors, ingalleries, and at the Opéra Comique. They chat; that's all right, butchatting is not sufficient. Wit is something, but not everything. Awaltz furnishes much knowledge that conversation cannot. Dress-makersnowadays are so wily. They know how to bring out this point and hidethat; they remodel bad figures. They give plumpness and roundness to thethin; they make hips, shoulders--everything, in fact. One doesn't knowwhat to expect, science has made such advances. The eye may be deceived, but the hand of an experienced dancer never! A waltzer with tact knowshow to find out the exact truth about things. "

"Oh! oh!"

"Remaining all the time, sir, perfectly respectful and perfectlyreserved. Good heavens! look at myself, for instance. It is to waltzingthat I owe my happiness. Mme. Morin was not then Mme. Morin. I kept myeye on her, but I hesitated. She appeared thin, and--well, I'll admitthat to marry a thin woman didn't suit my ideas. You know every one hashis ideals. So, sir, I was still hesitating, when one evening, at thewedding of one of my friends, a very capable young man, a deputy managerof a department at the Ministry of Religion, they started a littledance. For the first waltz I asked the one who was to be my companionthrough life. Immediately I felt in my hand a delightful figure--one ofthose full but supple figures; and while waltzing, quite enchanted, Iwas saying to myself, 'She isn't really thin! she isn't really thin!' Itook her back to her place after the waltz, and went at once to hermother to ask for her hand, which was granted me. For fourteen years Ihave been the happiest of men, and perhaps I shouldn't have made thatmarriage if I hadn't known how to waltz. You see, sir, the results of awaltz?"

"Perfectly. "

"That is not all, sir. Thanks to dancing, one discovers not only theagreeable points of a person, the fulness of her figure, thelithesomeness of her waist, but also, in a briskly led waltz, a littleexamination of the health and constitution of a woman can be had. Iremember one evening twelve or so years ago--in the Rue Le Peletier, inthe old Opéra-house, which has burned down--I was on the stage awaitingmy cue for the dance in 'William Tell, ' you know, in the third act. Twosubscribers were talking quite close to me, in the wings. One of thegentlemen was an old pupil of mine. I have had so many pupils! Withoutwishing to, I heard scraps of the conversation, and these two sentencesstruck my ear: 'Well, have you decided?' 'Oh, ' replied my pupil, 'I findher very charming, but I have heard that she is weak in the lungs. 'Then, sir, I did a very unusual thing for me. I begged pardon for havingheard unintentionally, and I said to my old pupil: 'I think I haveguessed that a marriage is in question. Will you authorize me to giveyou a piece of advice--advice drawn from the practice of my profession?Do they allow this young lady to waltz?' You know there are mothers whodo not permit--"

"I know, I know. "

We had arrived at this point in that interesting conversation when theballet ended. The bishop and myself were assailed by an actual whirlwindof skaters, and my little Westphalian peasant-girl found me where shehad left me. 

"I declare!" she said to me, "so you come to confess at the opera? Givehim absolution, Morin, and give it to me, too. Now then, come along tothe greenroom. "

She took my arm, and we went off together, while the excellent Morin, with gravity and dignity beneath his sacred ornaments, withstood theshock of this avalanche of dancers. 

THE CIRCUS CHARGER

After George had related how he had been married off at twenty-two byhis aunt, the Baroness de Stilb, Paul said: "_I_ was married off by acircus charger. I was very nearly forty years of age, and I felt sopeacefully settled in my little bachelor habits that, in the best faithin the world, on all occasions, I swore by the gods never to run thegreat risk of marriage; but I reckoned without the circus charger. 

"It was in the last days of September, 1864. I had just arrived fromBaden-Baden, and my intention was to spend only twenty-four hours inParis. I had invited four or five of my friends--Callières, Bernheim, Frondeville, and Valreas--to my place in Poitou for the shooting season. They were to come in the first part of October, and it needed a week toput all in order at Roche-Targé. A letter from my overseer awaited me inParis, and the letter brought disastrous news; the dogs were well, butout of the dozen hunting horses that I had there, five, during mysojourn at Baden, had fallen sick or lame, and I found myselfabsolutely forced to get new horses. 

"I made a tour of the Champs-Elysées sellers, who showed me as hunters afine collection of broken--down skeletons. Average price, three thousandfrancs. Roulette had treated me badly of late, and I was neither in thehumor, nor had I the funds, to spend in that way seven or eight hundredlouis in a morning. 

"It was a Wednesday, and Chéri was holding his first autumn sale. I wentto the Rue de Ponthieu during the day; and there out of the lot, onchance, without inquiry, blindly, by good-luck, and from the meredeclarations of the catalogue--'_Excellent hunter, good jumper, hashunted with lady rider_, ' etc. --I bought eight horses, which only costme five thousand francs. Out of eight, I said to myself, there willalways be four or five who will go, and who will be good enough to serveas remounts. 

"Among the horses there was one that I had bought, I must confess, particularly on account of his coat, which was beautiful. The cataloguedid not attribute to him any special qualifications for hunting, butlimited itself to '_Brutus, riding horse_. ' He was a large dapple-grayhorse, but never, I think, have I seen gray better dappled; the whitecoat was strewn almost regularly with beautiful black spots, which werewell distributed and well marked. 

"I left town the next day for Roche-Targé, and the following day, early, they announced to me that the horses had arrived. I at once went down tosee them, and my first glance was at Brutus. He had been trotting in myhead for forty-eight hours, that devil of a gray horse, and I had asingular desire to know what he was and of what he was capable. 

"I had him taken out of the stable first. A groom led him to me with astrap. The horse had long teeth, hollows in the chest, lumpyfetlocks--in short, all the signs of respectable age; but he hadpowerful shoulders, a large breast, a neck which was both strong andsupple, head well held, tail well placed, and an irreproachable back. Itwasn't, however, all this that attracted most my attention. What Iadmired above all was the air with which Brutus looked at me, and withwhat an attentive, intelligent, and curious eye he followed my movementsand gestures. Even my words seemed to interest him singularly; heinclined his head to my side as if to hear me, and, as soon as I hadfinished speaking, he neighed joyously in answer. 

"They showed me successively the seven other horses; I examined themrapidly and absent-mindedly. They were horses like all other horses. Brutus certainly had something in particular, and I was anxious to makein his company a short jaunt in the country. He allowed himself to besaddled, bridled, and mounted like a horse who knows his business, andso we both started in the quietest way in the world. 

"I had at first ridden him with the snaffle, and Brutus had gone off ata long easy gait, with rather a stiff neck and projected head; but assoon as I let him feel the curb, he changed with extraordinary rapidityand suppleness, drawing his head back to his breast, and champing hisbit noisily; then at the same time he took a short gait, which was lightand even, lifting well his feet and striking the sod with the regularityof a pendulum. 

"Chéri's catalogue had not lied; the horse was a good rider--too good arider, in fact. I made him trot, then gallop; the horse at the firstsuggestion gave me an excellent little trot and an excellent littlegallop, but always plunging to the ground and pulling my arms when Itried to lift his head. When I wished to quicken his gait, the horsebroke at once. He began to rack in great style, trotting with thefore-feet and galloping with the hind ones. 'Well, ' I said to myself, 'Isee now; I've bought some old horse of the Saumur or Saint-Cyr school, and it's not on this beast that I'll hunt in eight days. '

"I was about to turn and go home, quite edified as to Brutus'squalities, when the report of a gun was heard twenty yards away in thewoods. It was one of my keepers who was shooting a rabbit, and whoreceived some time after a handsome present from my wife for that shot. 

"I was then in the centre of the cross-roads, which formed a perfectcircle of five or six yards in radius; six long green alleys came to anend at this spot. On hearing the report, Brutus had stopped short, planted himself on his four legs, with ears erect and head raised. I wassurprised to find the horse so impressionable. I should have thoughtthat after the brilliant education that very certainly he had receivedin his youth, Brutus must be an artillery horse, used to gun and cannon. I drew in my legs to urge the horse on, but Brutus didn't move; Ispurred him sharply twice, but Brutus didn't move; I whipped himsoundly, but Brutus didn't move. I tried to back the horse, to push himto the right, to the left, but I couldn't move him in the slightestdegree. Brutus seemed glued to the ground, and yet--don't you dare tolaugh, and be assured that my tale is absolutely true--each time that Iattempted to put the horse in motion he turned his head and looked atme with an expression which could clearly be read as impatience andsurprise; then he would again become as immovable as a statue. There wasevidently some misunderstanding between the horse and myself. I saw thatin his eyes, and Brutus said to me, with all the clearness he could putin his expression, 'I, as a horse, am doing my duty, and it's you, as arider, who are not doing yours!'

"I was more puzzled than embarrassed. 'What extraordinary kind of ahorse have I bought at Chéri's, ' I said to myself, 'and why does he lookat me so queerly?' I was, however, going to take strong measures--thatis to say, I was preparing to whip him smartly--when another report washeard. 

"Then the horse gave a jump. I thought I had the best of it, and, profiting by his bound, I tried to carry him forward with hand and knee. But no; he stopped short after his bound, and again planted himself onthe ground more energetically and more resolutely than the first time. Ah, then I grew angry, and my whip came into play; I grasped it firmlyand began to strike the horse with all my strength to the right andleft. But Brutus, he too lost patience, and, instead of the cold andimmovable opposition that at first he had shown, I met with furiousretaliations, strange springs, bucking, extraordinary rearing, fantastic whirling; and in the midst of this battle, while theinfatuated horse bounded and reared, while I, exasperated, struck withvigor the leather pommel with my broken whip, Brutus still found time togive me glances not only of surprise and impatience, but also of angerand indignation. While I was asking the horse for the obedience which herefused me, it is certain that he expected from me something that I wasnot doing. 

"How did it end? To my shame, to my great shame, I was pitifullyunhorsed by an incomparable feat! Brutus understood, I think, that hewould not get the better of me by violence, and judged it necessary totry cunning; after a pause which was most certainly a moment ofreflection, the horse rose up, head down, upright on his fore-feet, withthe skill, the calm, and the perfect equilibrium of a clown who walks onhis hands. Thus I tumbled into the sand, which, by good-luck, was thickin that spot. 

"I tried to get up. I screamed and fell back ridiculously, flat on mystomach, on my nose. At the slightest movement I felt as though a kniferan through my left leg. It's a slight matter, however--the rupture of aslender sinew; but though slight, the injury was none the less painful. I succeeded, nevertheless, in turning over and sitting up; but justwhen, while rubbing my eyes, filled with sand, I was beginning to askmyself what in the midst of this tumult had become of my miserabledapple-gray, I saw over my head a large horse's hoof descending. Thenthis large hoof pressed, with a certain gentleness, however, on mychest, and pushed me delicately back on the ground, on my back thistime. 

"I was greatly discouraged; and feeling incapable of another effort, Iremained in that position, continuing to ask myself what sort of a horseI had bought at Chéri's, closing my eyes, and awaiting death. 

"Suddenly I heard a curious trampling around me; a quantity of littlehard things struck me on the face. I opened my eyes, and perceivedBrutus, who, with his fore-feet and hind-legs, was trying withincredible activity and prodigious skill to bury me in the sand. He wasdoing his best, poor beast, and from time to time he stopped to gaze athis work; then, raising his head, he neighed and began his work again. That lasted for a good three or four minutes, after which Brutus, judging me doubtless sufficiently interred, placed himself veryrespectfully on his knees before my tomb--on his knees, literally on hisknees! He was saying, I suppose, a little prayer. I looked at him. Itinterested me extremely. 

"His prayer finished, Brutus made a slight bow, went off a few steps, stopped, then, beginning to gallop, made at least twenty times thecircuit of the open space in the middle of which he had buried me. Brutus galloped very well, with even stride, head well held, on theright foot, making around me a perfect circle. I followed him with myeyes, but it made me uneasy to see him go round and round and round. Ihad the strength to cry 'Stop! stop!' The horse stopped and seemedembarrassed, without doubt asking himself what there was still to bedone; but he perceived my hat, which in my fall had got separated fromme, and at once made a new resolution: he walked straight to the hat, seized it in his teeth, and galloped off, this time by one of the sixalleys that led from my tomb. 

"Brutus got farther and farther away, and disappeared; I remained alone. I was puzzled, positively puzzled. I shook off the little coating ofdust which covered me, and without getting up, by the help of my twoarms and right leg--to move my left leg was not to be thought of--Isucceeded in dragging myself to a little grassy slope on the edge of oneof the alleys. Once there, I could sit down, after a fashion, and Ibegan to shout with all the strength of my lungs, 'Hi, there! hi! hi, there!' No answer. The woods were absolutely deserted and still. Theonly thing to be done was to wait till some one passed by to aid me. 

"For half an hour I had been in that hateful position when I perceivedin the distance, at the very end of the same alley by which he had goneoff, Brutus coming back, with the same long gallop he had used in going. A great cloud of dust accompanied the horse. Little by little, in thatcloud, I perceived a tiny carriage--a pony-carriage; then in that littlepony-carriage a woman, who drove herself, and behind the woman a smallgroom. 

"A few moments later Brutus, covered with foam, stopped before me, letmy hat drop at my feet and neighed, as though to say, 'I've done myduty; here is help. ' But I no longer bothered myself about Brutus andthe explanations that he made me. My only thoughts were for the fairywho was to relieve me, and who, after lightly jumping from her littlecarriage, was coming quickly towards me. Besides, she, too, wasexamining me curiously, and all at once we both exclaimed, at the sametime:

"'Mme. De Noriolis!'

"'M. De La Roche-Targé!'

"A little while ago George spoke to us of his aunt, and mentioned howshe had married him quite young, at one stroke, without giving him timeto reflect or breathe. I, too, have an aunt, and between us for a numberof years there has been a perpetual battle. 'Marry. ' 'I don't want tomarry. ' 'Do you want young girls? There is Mademoiselle A, MademoiselleB, Mademoiselle C. ' 'I don't want to marry. ' 'Do you want widows? Thereis Madame D, Madame E, Madame F. ' 'I don't want to marry. '

"Mme. De Noriolis figured always in the first rank in the series ofwidows, and I noticed that my aunt put stress, with evident favoritism, on all the good points and advantages that I should find in thatmarriage. She didn't have to tell me that Mme. De Noriolis was verypretty--any one could see that; or that she was very rich--I knew italready. But she explained to me that M. De Noriolis was an idiot, whohad had the merit of making his wife perfectly miserable, and that thusit would be very easy for the second husband to make himself very muchloved. 

"Then, when she had discoursed at length on the virtues, graces, andmerits of Mme. De Noriolis, my aunt, who is clever and knows myweakness, pulled out of her desk a topographical map, and spread it outwith care on the table. 

"It was the map of the district of Chatellerault, a very correct andminute map, that my aunt had gone herself to the military station tobuy, with the view of convincing me that I ought to marry Mme. DeNoriolis. The places of Noriolis and of La Roche-Targé were scarcelythree kilometers apart in that map. My aunt, with her own hands, haddrawn a line of red ink, and slily united the two places, and she forcedme to look at her little red line, saying to me, 'Two thousand acreswithout a break, when the places of Noriolis and La Roche-Targé areunited; what a chance for a hunter!'

"I closed my eyes, so strong was the temptation, and repeated myrefrain, 'I don't want to marry. ' But I was afraid, seriously afraid;and when I met Mme. De Noriolis I always saw her surrounded, as by ahalo, by the little red line of my aunt, and I said to myself: 'Acharming, and clever, and sensible woman, whose first husband was anidiot, and this and that, and two thousand acres without a break. Runaway, wretch, run away, since you don't wish to marry. '

"And I ran away! But this time by what means could I run away? I wasthere, miserable, in the grass, covered with sand, with my hair indisorder, my clothes in rags, and my unfortunate leg stiff. And Mme. DeNoriolis came nearer, looking spick and span--always in the halo of thelittle red line--and said to me:

"'You, M. De La Roche-Targé, is it you? What are you doing there? Whathas happened to you?'

"I frankly confessed my fall. 

"'At least you are not wounded?'

"'No, no, I'm not wounded. I've something the matter with that leg; butit's nothing serious, I know. '

"'And what horse played you that trick?'

"'Why, this one. '

"And I pointed out Brutus to Mme. De Noriolis. Brutus was there, quitenear us, untied, peacefully crunching little tufts of broom. 

"'What, that one, that brave horse? Oh, he has well made up for hisfaults, I assure you. I will tell you about it, but later on. You mustfirst get home, and at once. '

"'I can't walk a step. '

"'But I am going to take you back myself, at the risk of compromisingyou. '

"And she called Bob, her little groom, and taking me gently by the arm, while Bob took me by the other, she made me get into her carriage; fiveminutes later we were bowling off, both of us, in the direction of LaRoche-Targé: she, holding the reins and driving the pony with a lighthand; I, looking at her, feeling troubled, confused, embarrassed, ridiculous, and stupid. We were alone in the carriage. Bob wascommissioned to bring Brutus, who, very docile, had allowed himself tobe taken. 

"'Lie down, ' Mme. De Noriolis said to me; 'keep your leg straight; I amgoing to drive you slowly so as to avoid bumps. '

"In short, she made a lot of little amiable and pleasant remarks; then, when she saw me well settled, she said:

"'Tell me how you came to fall, and then I will tell you how I happenedto come to your aid. It seems to me this horse story must be queer. '

"I began my tale; but as soon as I spoke of Brutus's efforts to unhorseme, and the two reports of the gun, she exclaimed:

"'I understand, I understand. You have bought a circus charger. '

"'A circus charger!'

"'Why, yes; that's it, and that explains everything. You have seentwenty times at the Circus of the Empress the performance of the circuscharger--the light-cavalryman who enters the arena on a gray horse, thenthe Arabs come and shoot at the cavalryman, who is wounded and falls;and as you didn't fall, the horse, indignant and not understanding howyou could so far forget your part, threw you on the ground. And whenyou were on the ground, what did the horse do?'

"I related Brutus's little work in burying me suitably. 

"'The circus charger, ' she continued; 'still the circus charger. He seeshis master wounded, the Arabs could come back and finish him, and sowhat does the horse do? He buries the cavalryman. Then goes offgalloping, didn't he?'

"'Yes, on a hard gallop, '

"'Carrying the flag, which is not to fall into the hands of the Arabs. '

"'It's my hat that he took. '

"'He took what he could. And where does the circus charger gallop to?'

"'Ah! I know, I know, ' I exclaimed, in my turn, 'he goes to get thesutler. '

"'Precisely. He goes to get the sutler; and the sutler to-day, if youplease, is I, Countess of Noriolis. Your big gray horse galloped into mygrounds. I was standing on the porch, putting on my gloves and ready tostep into my carriage, when the stablemen came running, upon seeing thathorse arrive saddled and bridled, without a rider, and a hat in hismouth. They tried to catch him, but he shunned them and escaped, andcame straight to the porch, falling on his knees before me. The menapproached, and once more tried to catch him; but he got up, gallopedaway, stopped by the gate of the grounds, turned around, and looked atme. He called to me--I assure you, he called to me. I told the men notto bother about the horse any more. Then I jumped into my carriage andstarted; the horse rushed into the woods; post-haste I followed him bypaths that were not always intended for carriages; but still I followedhim, and I arrived and found you. '

"At the moment Mme. De Noriolis was speaking those last words thecarriage received a tremendous shock from behind; then we saw in the airBrutus's head, which was held there upright as though by a miracle. Forit was again Brutus. Mounted by Bob, he had followed the carriage forseveral minutes, and seeing that the back seat of the littlepony-carriage was unoccupied, he had, like a true artist, cleverlyseized the moment to give us a new proof of his talent in executing themost brilliant of his former performances. In one jump he had placed hisfore-feet on the carriage, then, that done, he quietly continuedtrotting on his two hind-legs. Bob, distracted, with his body thrownover and his head thrown back, was making vain attempts to put the horseback on his four legs. 

"As to Mme. De Noriolis, she was so well frightened, that, letting thereins drop from her hands, she had simply thrown herself in my arms. Heradorable little head had rolled hap-hazard on my shoulder, and my lipsjust touched her hair. With my left hand I tried to recover the reins, with my right I supported Mme. De Noriolis; my leg hurt me frightfully, and I was seized with a queer feeling of confusion. 

"It was thus that Mme. De Noriolis made her first entry into LaRoche-Targé. 

"When she returned there, one evening at midnight, six weeks later, having during the day become Mme. De La Roche-Targé, she said:

"'What is life, after all? Nothing like this would have happened if youhadn't bought the circus charger. '"

BLACKY

"Don't be alarmed, sir; you won't miss the train. For the last fifteenyears I've been carrying travellers to the station, and I've never yetmissed a train! Think of that, sir; never!"

"But--"

"Oh, don't look at your watch. There is one thing you don't know andthat you must learn, and that your watch will never be able to tellyou--that is, that the train is always a quarter of an hour late. Such athing as the train's being on time has never happened. "

Such a thing happened that day, however, for the train was on time, andso I missed it. My driver was furious. 

"You should warn us, " he said to the station-master, "if your trains aresuddenly going to start at the right hour. Who ever saw the like!"

And he turned to one or two of the porters for witnesses. 

"Did you ever see such a thing? I don't wish to appear blamable beforethe gentleman. A train on time--on time! You know it's the first timeit has ever happened. "

There was a general cry of "Yes, indeed; usually there's some delay. "But, for all that, I had none the less three long hours to pass in avery desolate village (in the Canton of Vaud) shut in by two sad-lookingmountains, which had their little topknots covered with snow. 

But how kill three hours? In my turn I now asked advice, and again therewas a chorus of "Go see the Caldron; that's the only sight to be seen inthis part of the country. " "And where is this Caldron?" On the mountain, to the right, half way up; but the path was a little complicated, and Iwas advised to take a guide; and there, over there in that white cottagewith green blinds, I would find the best guide there was about here, anhonest man--Old Simon. 

So I went and knocked at the door of the little house. 

An old woman opened it. 

"Simon, the guide?"

"Yes, right here; but--if it's to go to the Caldron--"

"It is to go to the Caldron. "

"Well, Simon hasn't been very well since morning; he hasn't muchstrength, and he can't go out. But don't worry yourself; there is someone who can replace him--there is Blacky. "

"All right, let it be Blacky, then. "

"Only I must tell you that Blacky isn't a person. "

"Not a person?"

"No, he's our dog. "

"A dog? What do you mean?"

"Yes, Blacky; and he will guide you very well--quite as well as myhusband. He is in the habit of--"

"In the habit?"

"Certainly; for years and years Simon took him along, so he learned thedifferent places, and now he does very well all by himself. He has oftentaken travellers, and we have always been complimented about him. As forintelligence, don't be afraid--he has as much as you or I. He needs onlyspeech, but speech isn't required. If it was to show a monument, now--why, yes, for then it would be necessary to give some account andknow the historical dates; but here there are only the beauties ofnature. Take Blacky, and it will be cheaper also; my husband would costthree francs, whereas Blacky is only thirty sous, and he will show youas much for thirty sous as my husband would for three francs. "

"Very well; and where is Blacky?"

"He is resting in the sun, in the garden. Already this morning he hastaken some English people to the Caldron. Shall I call him?"

"Yes, call him. "

"Blacky! Blacky!"

He came with a leap through the window. He was a rather ugly-lookinglittle dog, with long frizzy hair, all mussed; he wasn't much to lookat, but he had, however, about him a certain air of gravity, resolution, and importance. His first glance was at me--a clear, searching, confident look that took me in from head to toe, and that seemed to say, "It's a traveller, and he wants to see the Caldron. "

One train missed sufficed me for that day, and I was particularlyanxious not to lay myself open to another such experience, so Iexplained to the good woman that I had only three hours for my visit tothe Caldron. 

"Oh, I know, " she said; "you wish to take the four-o'clock train. Don'tbe alarmed; Blacky will bring you back in time. Now then, Blacky, offwith you; hurry up!"

But Blacky didn't seem at all disposed to mind. He stayed theremotionless, looking at his mistress with a certain uneasiness. 

"Ah, how stupid of me!" said the old woman. "I forgot the sugar;" andshe went to get four pieces of sugar from a drawer, and gave them to me, saying: "That's why he wouldn't start; you had no sugar. You see, Blacky, the gentleman has the sugar. Now then, run along with you, sir, to the Caldron! to the Caldron! to the Caldron!"

She repeated these last words three times, slowly and distinctly, andduring that time I was closely examining Blacky. He acknowledged thewords of his mistress with little movements of the head, which rapidlybecame more emphatic, and towards the end he evinced some temper andimpatience. They could be interpreted thus: "Yes, yes, to the Caldron--Iunderstand. The gentleman has the pieces of sugar, and we are going tothe Caldron--it's settled. Do you take me for a fool?"

And, without waiting for Mme. Simon's third "To the Caldron!" Blacky, evidently hurt, turned tail, came and placed himself in front of me, andby his look showed me the door, which told me as plainly as a dog cantell, "Now then, come along, you!"

I meekly followed him. We two started, he in front, I behind. In thismanner we went through the entire village. The children who were playingin the street recognized my guide. 

"Hello, Blacky! good-morning, Blacky!" They wanted to play with thedog, but he turned his head with a disdainful air--the air of a dog whohasn't the time to answer himself, and who is doing his duty and earningthirty sous. One of the children exclaimed:

"Leave him alone; don't you see he is taking the gentleman to theCaldron? Good-day, sir!"

And all repeated, laughing, "Good-day, sir!"

I smiled rather awkwardly; I am sure I felt embarrassed, even a littlehumiliated. I was, in fact, under the lead of that animal. He, for thepresent, was my master. He knew where he was going; I did not. I was ina hurry to get out of the village and find myself alone with Blacky andface to face with the beauties of nature that he had been commissionedto show me. 

These beauties of nature were, at the beginning, a fearfully hot anddusty road, on which the sun fell with full force. The dog walked with abrisk step, and I was getting tired following him. I tried to slackenhis gait. "Come, I say, Blacky, my friend, not so quickly. " But Blackyturned a deaf ear, and continued, without listening to me, his littletrot. He was taken suddenly with a real fit of anger when I wished tosit down in the corner of a field, under a tree that gave a meagreshade. He barked furiously, and cast on me outraged looks; evidentlywhat I was doing was against the rule. He was not in the habit ofstopping there, and his barks were so piercing and annoying that I roseto continue on my way. Blacky became calm at once, and walked placidlyin front of me--I had understood him, and he was satisfied. 

Shortly afterwards we entered a delightful path, in full blossom, shady, sweet-smelling, and filled with freshness and the murmur of springs. Blacky immediately entered the wood, took to his heels, and disappearedin the little footway. I followed, slightly out of breath, and had notgone a hundred steps when I found Blacky waiting for me, with head erectand bright eyes, in a clearing enlivened by the tinkle of a tinycascade. There was there an old rustic bench, and Blacky lookedimpatiently from me to the seat and from the seat to me. I was beginningto understand Blacky's language. 

"There now, " he said to me, "here is indeed a place to rest in. It'snice and cool here; but you were so stupid, you wanted to stop in thesun. Come on, now; sit down; you really can sit down. I will allow you. "

I stopped, sat down, and lit a cigar, and came near offering one toBlacky; perhaps he smoked. But I thought he would prefer a piece ofsugar. He caught it on the fly very cleverly, and crunched it withenjoyment. Then he lay down and took a nap at my feet. He was evidentlyaccustomed to a little siesta at this place. 

He slept barely ten minutes I was, however, perfectly easy, for Blackybegan to inspire me with absolute confidence, and I was determined toobey him blindly. He got up, stretched himself, and threw me a glancethat meant, "Come along, my friend, come along. " And, like two oldfriends, we set off slowly. Blacky was enjoying the silence and thesweetness of the place. On the road, previously, being in a hurry, hehad walked with an abrupt, sturdy, hurried step--he was walking to getthere; but now, refreshed and revived, Blacky was walking for thepleasure of a promenade in one of the prettiest paths in the Canton ofVaud. 

Presently a side path appeared, leading off to the left; there was ashort hesitation on the part of Blacky, who reflected, and then passedit, continuing on his way straight ahead, but not without some doubt anduncertainty in his manner. Then he stopped; he must have made somemistake. Yes; for he retraced his steps, and we took the turning to theleft, which, at the end of a hundred feet, led into an open circularspace, and Blacky, with his nose in the air, invited me to contemplatethe highly respectable height of the lofty rocks which formed thiscircle. When Blacky thought I had seen sufficient, he turned around, andwe went on again in the path through the woods. Blacky had forgotten toshow me the circle of rocks--a slight error quickly repaired. 

The road soon became very mountainous, broken, and difficult, and Iadvanced slowly and with many precautions. As to Blacky, he spranglightly from rock to rock, but did not forsake me. He waited and fixedhis eyes on me with the most touching solicitude. At last I began tohear a rushing of water; Blacky commenced barking joyously. 

"Courage!" he said to me; "courage! We are nearly there; you will soonsee the Caldron. "

It was in truth the Caldron. From a short height a modest stream fell, splashing and rebounding on a large rock slightly hollowed. I shouldnever have been consoled for such a steep climb to see such a smallsight if I had not had brave little Blacky for a companion. He, atleast, was much more interesting and marvellous than the Caldron. Oneither side of the fall, in little Swiss chalets, were two dairy-maids;one was a blonde and the other a brunette; both were in their nationaldress, and were eagerly on the lookout for my coming, standing on thedoor-steps of their tiny houses--little wooden boxes, seemingly cut outby machine. 

It seemed to me that the blonde had very pretty eyes, and I had alreadytaken several steps towards her when Blacky began to bark emphatically, and resolutely barred the way. Could he have a preference for the darkone? I walked in the other direction. That was it; Blacky calmed down asthough by enchantment when he saw me seated at a table in front of thehouse of his young protégée. I asked for a cup of milk; Blacky's friendentered her little toy house, and Blacky slipped in at her feet. Througha half-open window I followed him with my eyes. The wretch! He waswaited upon before I was. He it was who first had his large bowl ofmilk. He had sold himself! After which, with white drops on hismustache, Blacky came to keep me company and look at me drink my milk. Igave him a piece of sugar, and both of us, absolutely satisfied witheach other, filled our lungs with the sharp air of the mountain. We wereat a height of about three or four hundred yards. It was a delightfulhalf-hour. 

Blacky began to show signs of impatience and agitation. I could read himthen like a book. It was time to go. I paid, got up, and while I wentoff to the right towards the path by which we came to the mountain, Isaw Blacky go and plant himself on the left, at the opening of anotherpath. He gave me a serious and severe look. What progress I had madeduring the last two hours, and how familiar Blacky's eloquent silencehad become!

"What must you think of me?" said Blacky to me. "Do you imagine I amgoing to take the same path twice? No, indeed. I am a good guide, and Iknow my business. We shall make the descent another way. "

We went back by another road, which was much prettier than the first. Blacky, quite sprightly, often turned around to me with an air oftriumphant joy. We traversed the village, and at the station Blacky wasassailed by three or four dogs of his acquaintance, who seemed desirousof a talk or game with their comrade. They attempted to block his way, but Blacky, grumbling and growling, repulsed their advances. 

"Can't you see what I am doing? I am taking this gentleman to thestation. "

It was only in the waiting-room that he consented to leave me, afterhaving eaten with relish the two last pieces of sugar. And this is how Iinterpreted the farewell look of Blacky:

"We are twenty minutes ahead of time. It isn't I who would have let youlose the train. Well, good-bye--pleasant journey!"

THE MOST BEAUTIFUL WOMAN IN PARIS

On Friday, April 19th, Prince Agénor was really distracted at the operaduring the second act of "Sigurd. " The prince kept going from box tobox, and his enthusiasm increased as he went. 

"That blonde! Oh, that blonde! She is ideal! Look at that blonde! Do youknow that blonde?"

It was from the front part of Mme. De Marizy's large first tier box thatall these exclamations were coming at that moment. 

"Which blonde?" asked Mme. De Marizy. 

"Which blonde! Why, there is but one this evening in the house. Oppositeto you, over there, in the first box, the Sainte Mesme's box. Look, baroness, look straight over there--"

"Yes I am looking at her. She is atrociously got up, but pretty--"

"Pretty! She is a wonder! Simply a wonder! Got up? Yes, agreed--somecountry relative. The Sainte Mesmes have cousins in Périgord. But what asmile! How well her neck is set on! And the slope of the shoulders! Ah, especially the shoulders!"

"Come, either keep still or go away. Let me listen to Mme. Caron--"

The prince went away, as no one knew that incomparable blonde. Yet shehad often been to the opera, but in an unpretentious way--in the secondtier of boxes. And to Prince Agénor above the first tier of boxes therewas nothing, absolutely nothing. There was emptiness--space. The princehad never been in a second-tier box, so the second-tier boxes did notexist. 

While Mme. Caron was marvellously singing the marvellous phrase ofReyer, "_Ô mon sauveur silencieux la Valkyrie est ta conquête_, " theprince strolled along the passages of the opera. Who was that blonde? Hewanted to know, and he would know. 

And suddenly he remembered that good Mme. Picard was the box-opener ofthe Sainte Mesmes, and that he, Prince of Nérins, had had the honor ofbeing for a long time a friend of that good Mme. Picard. It was she whoin the last years of the Second Empire had taught him bezique in all itsvarieties--Japanese, Chinese, etc. He was then twenty, Mme. Picard wasforty. She was not then box-opener of the National Academy of Music; shehad in those times as office--and it was not a sinecure--the position ofaunt to a nice young person who showed a very pretty face and a verypretty pair of legs in the chorus of the _revues_ of the Variétée. Andthe prince, while quite young, at the beginning of his life, had, forthree or four years, led a peaceful, almost domestic life, with the auntand niece. Then they went off one way and he another. 

One evening at the opera, ten years later, in handing his overcoat to avenerable-looking old dame, Agénor heard himself saluted by thefollowing little speech:

"Ah, how happy I am to see you again, prince! And not changed--not atall changed. Still the same, absolutely the same--still twenty. "

It was Mme. Picard, who had been raised to the dignity of box-opener. They chatted, talked of old times, and after that evening the princenever passed Mme. Picard without greeting her. She responded with alittle deferential courtesy. She was one of those people, becoming rarerand rarer nowadays, who have the exact feeling for distances andconventions. There was, however, a little remnant of familiarity, almostof affection, in the way in which she said "prince. " This did notdisplease Agénor; he had a very good recollection of Mme. Picard. 

"Ah, prince, " said Mme. Picard on seeing Agénor, "there is no one foryou to-night in _my_ boxes. Mme. De Simiane is not here, and Mme. DeSainte Mesme has rented her box. "

"That's precisely it. Don't you know the people in Mme. De SainteMesme's box?"

"Not at all, prince. It's the first time I have seen them in themarquise's box--"

"Then you have no idea--"

"None, prince. Only to me they don't appear to be people of--"

She was going to say of _our_ set. A box-opener of the first tier ofboxes at the opera, having generally only to do with absolutelyhigh-born people, considers herself as being a little of their set, andshows extreme disdain for unimportant people; it displeases her toreceive these unimportant people in _her_ boxes. Mme. Picard, however, had tact which rarely forsook her, and so stopped herself in time tosay:

"People of _your_ set. They belong to the middle class, to the wealthymiddle class; but still the middle class. That doesn't satisfy you; youwish to know more on account of the blonde. Is it not so, prince?"

Those last words were spoken with rare delicacy; they were murmured morethan spoken--box-opener to a prince! It would have been unacceptablewithout that perfect reserve in accent and tone; yes, it was abox-opener who spoke, but a box-opener who was a little bit the aunt offormer times, the aunt _à la mode de Cythère_. Mme. Picard continued:

"Ah, she is a beauty! She came with a little dark man--her husband, I'msure; for while she was taking off her cloak--it always takes sometime--he didn't say a word to her. No eagerness, no little attentions. Yes, he could only be a husband. I examined the cloak. People onedoesn't know puzzle me and _my_ colleague. Mme. Flachet and I alwaysamuse ourselves by trying to guess from appearances. Well, the cloakcomes from a good dress-maker, but not from a great one. It is fine andwell-made, but it has no style. I think they are middle-class people, prince. But how stupid I am! You know M. Palmer--well, a little whileago he came to see the beautiful blonde!"

"M. Palmer?"

"Yes, and he can tell you. "

"Thanks, Mme. Picard, thanks--"

"Good-bye, prince, good-bye, " and Mme. Picard went back to her stool, near her colleague, Mme. Flachet, and said to her:

"Ah, my dear, what a charming man the prince is! True gentlefolks, thereis nothing like them! But they are dying out, they are dying out; thereare many less than formerly. "

Prince Agénor was willing to do Palmer--big Palmer, rich Palmer, vainPalmer--the honor of being one of his friends; he deigned, and veryfrequently, to confide to Palmer his financial difficulties, and thebanker was delighted to come to his aid. The prince had been obliged toresign himself to becoming a member of two boards of directors presidedover by Palmer, who was much pleased at having under obligations to himthe representative of one of the noblest families in France. Besides, the prince proved himself to be a _good prince_, and publiclyacknowledged Palmer, showing himself in his box, taking charge of hisentertainments, and occupying himself with his racing-stable. He hadeven pushed his gratitude to the point of compromising Mme. Palmer inthe most showy way. 

"I am removing her from the middle class, " he said; "I owe it to Palmer, who is one of the best fellows in the world. "

The prince found the banker alone in a lower box. 

"What is the name--the name of that blonde in the Sainte Mesme's box?"

"Mme. Derline. "

"Is there a M. Derline?"

"Certainly, a lawyer--my lawyer; the Sainte Mesme's lawyer. And if youwant to see Mme. Derline close to, come to my ball next Thursday. Shewill be there--"

The wife of a lawyer!. She was only the wife of a lawyer! The prince satdown in the front of the box, opposite Mme. Derline, and while lookingat that lawyeress he was thinking. "Have I, " he said to himself, "sufficient credit, sufficient power, to make of Mme. Derline the mostbeautiful woman in Paris?"

For there was always a _most beautiful woman in Paris_, and it was he, Prince Agénor, who flattered himself that he could discover, proclaim, crown, and consecrate that most beautiful woman in Paris. Launch Mme. Derline in society! Why not? He had never launched any one from themiddle class. The enterprise would be new, amusing, and bold. He lookedat Mme. Derline through his opera-glass, and discovered thousands ofbeauties and perfections in her delightful face. 

After the opera, the prince, during the exit, placed himself at thebottom of the great staircase. He had enlisted two of his friends. "Come, " he had said to them, "I will show you the most beautiful womanin Paris. " While he was speaking, two steps away from the prince was analert young man who was attached to a morning paper, a very widely-readpaper. The young man had sharp ears, he caught on the fly the phrase ofthe Prince Agénor, whose high social position he knew; he succeeded inkeeping close to the prince, and when Mme. Derline passed, the youngreporter had the gift of hearing the conversation, without losing aword, of the three brilliant noblemen. A quarter of an hour later hearrived at the office of the paper. 

"Is there time, " he asked, "to write a dozen lines in the _SocietyNote-book_?"

"Yes, but hurry. "

The young man was a quick writer; the fifteen lines were done in thetwinkling of an eye. They brought seven francs fifty to the reporter, but cost M. Derline a little more than that. 

During this time Prince Agénor, seated in the club at the whist-table, was saying, while shuffling the cards:

"This evening at the opera there was a marvellous woman, a certain Mme. Derline. She is the most beautiful woman in Paris!"

The following morning, in the gossip-corner of the Bois, in the springsunshine, the prince, surrounded by a little group of respectfuldisciples, was solemnly delivering from the back of his roan mare thefollowing opinion:

"Listen well to what I say. The most beautiful woman in Paris is acertain Mme. Derline. This star will be visible Thursday evening at thePalmer's. Go, and don't forget the name--Mme. Derline. "

The disciples dispersed, and went abroad spreading the great news. 

Mme. Derline had been admirably brought up by an irreproachable mother;she had been taught that she ought to get up in the morning, keep astrict account of her expenses, not go to a great dress-maker, believein God, love her husband, visit the poor, and never spend but half herincome in order to prepare dowries for her daughters. Mme. Derlineperformed all these duties. She led a peaceful and serene life in theold house (in the Rue Dragon) which had sheltered, since 1825, threegenerations of Derlines; the husbands had all three been lawyers, thewives had all three been virtuous. The three generations had passedthere a happy and moderate life, never having any great pleasures, but, also, never being very bored. 

The next day at eight o'clock in the morning Mme. Derline awoke with anuneasy feeling. She had passed a troubled night--she, who usually sleptlike a child. The evening before at the opera, in the box, Mme. Derlinehad vaguely felt that something was going on around her. And during theentire last act an opera-glass, obstinately fixed on her--the prince'sopera-glass--had thrown her into a certain agitation, not disagreeable, however. She wore a low dress--too much so, in her mother's opinion--andtwo or three times, under the fixity of that opera-glass, she had raisedthe shoulder-straps of her dress. 

So, after opening her eyes, Mme. Derline reclosed them lazily, indolently, with thoughts floating between dreamland and reality. Sheagain saw the opera-house, and a hundred, two hundred, five hundredopera-glasses obstinately fixed on her--on her alone. 

The maid entered, placed a tray on a little table, made up a big fire inthe fire-place, and went away. There was a cup of chocolate and themorning paper on the tray, the same as every morning. Then Mme. Derlinecourageously got up, slipped her little bare feet into fur slippers, wrapped herself in a white cashmere dressing-gown, and crouchedshivering in an arm-chair by the fire. She sipped the chocolate, andslightly burned herself; she must wait a little while. She put down thecup, took up the paper, unfolded it, and rapidly ran her eye over thesix columns of the front page. At the bottom, quite at the bottom of thesixth column, were the following lines:

 _Last evening at the opera there was a very brilliant performance of "Sigurd. " Society was well represented there; the beautiful Duchess of Montaiglon, the pretty Countess Verdinière of Lardac, the marvellous Marquise of Muriel, the lively Baroness of_--

To read the name of the baroness it was necessary to turn the page. Mme. Derline did not turn it; she was thinking, reflecting. The eveningbefore she had amused herself by having Palmer point out to her thesocial leaders in the house, and it so happened that the banker hadpointed out to her the marvellous marquise. And Mme. Derline--who wastwenty-two--raised herself a little to look in the glass. She exchangeda slight smile with a young blonde, who was very pink and white. 

"Ah, " she said to herself, "if I were a marquise the man who wrote thiswould perhaps have paid some attention to me, and my name would perhapsbe there. I wonder if it's fun to see one's name printed in a paper?"

And while addressing this question to herself, she turned the page, andcontinued reading:

 --_the lively Baroness of Myrvoix, etc. We have to announce the appearance of a new star which has abruptly burst forth in the Parisian constellation. The house was in ecstasy over a strange and disturbing blonde, whose dark steel eyes, and whose shoulders--ah, what shoulders! The shoulders were the event of the evening. From all quarters one heard asked, "Who is she?" "Who is she?" "To whom do those divine shoulders belong?" "To whom?" We know, and our readers will doubtless thank us for telling them the name of this ideal wonder. It is Mme. Derline. _

Her name! She had read her name! She was dazzled. Her eyes clouded. Allthe letters in the alphabet began to dance wildly on the paper. Thenthey calmed down, stopped, and regained their places. She was able tofind her name, and continue reading;

 _It is Mme. Derline, the wife of one of the most agreeable and richest lawyers in Paris. The Prince of Nérins, whose word has so much weight in such matters, said yesterday evening to every one who would listen, "She is the most beautiful woman in Paris. " We are absolutely of that opinion. _

A single paragraph, and that was all. It was enough, it was too much!Mme Derline was seized with a feeling of undefinable confusion. It wasa combination of fear and pleasure, of joy and trouble, of satisfiedvanity and wounded modesty. Her dressing-gown was a little open; shefolded it over with a sort of violence, and crossed it upon, her feet, abruptly drawn back towards the arm-chair. She had a feeling of nudity. It seemed to her that all Paris was there, in her room, and that thePrince de Nérins was in front saying to all Paris, "Look, look! She isthe most beautiful woman in Paris. "

The Prince of Nérins! She knew the name well, for she read with keeninterest in the papers all the articles entitled "_Parisian Life_, ""_High Life_, " "_Society Echoes_, " etc. ; and all the society columnssigned "_Mousseline_, " "_Fanfreluche_, " "_Brimborion_, " "_Véloutine_";all the accounts of great marriages, great balls, of great comings out, and of great charity sales. The name of the prince often figured inthese articles, and he was always quoted as supreme arbiter of Parisianelegances. 

And it was he who had declared--ah!--decidedly pleasure got the betterof fear. Still trembling with emotion, Mme. Derline went and placedherself before a long looking-glass, an old cheval-glass from Jacob's, which never till now had reflected other than good middle-class womenmarried to good lawyers. In that glass she looked at herself, examinedherself, studied herself, long, curiously, and eagerly. Of course sheknew she was pretty, but oh, the power of print! She found herselfabsolutely delightful. She was no longer Mme. Derline--she was the mostbeautiful woman in Paris! Her feet, her little feet--their bareness nolonger troubled her--left the ground. She raised herself gently towardsthe heavens, towards the clouds, and felt herself become a goddess. 

But suddenly an anxiety seized her. "Edward! What would Edward say?"Edward was her husband. There had been but one man's surname in herlife--her husband's. The lawyer was well loved! And almost at the samemoment when she was asking herself what Edward would say, Edwardabruptly opened the door. 

He was a little out of breath. He had run up-stairs two at a time. Hewas peacefully rummaging among old papers in his study on theground-floor when one of his brother-lawyers, with forcedcongratulations, however, had made him read the famous article. He hadsoon got rid of his brother-lawyer, and he had come, much irritated, tohis room. At first there was simply a torrent of words. 

"Why do these journalists meddle? It's an outrage! Your name--look, there is your name in this paper!"

"Yes, I know, I've seen--"

"Ah, you know, you have seen--and you think it quite natural!"

"But, dear--"

"What times do we live in? It's your fault, too. "

"My fault!"

"Yes, your fault!"

"And how?"

"Your dress last night was too low, much too low. Besides, your mothertold you so--"

"Oh, mamma--"

"You needn't say 'Oh, mamma!' Your mother was right. There, read: 'Andwhose shoulders--ah, what shoulders!' And it is of your shoulders theyare speaking. And that prince who dares to award you a prize forbeauty!"

The good man had plebeian, Gothical ideas--the ideas of a lawyer of oldtimes, of a lawyer of the Rue Dragon; the lawyers of the BoulevardMalesherbes are no longer like that. 

Mme. Derline very gently, very quietly, brought the rebel back toreason. Of course there was charm and eloquence in her speech, but howmuch more charm and eloquence in the tenderness of her glance and smile. 

Why this great rage and despair? He was accused of being the husband ofthe most beautiful woman in Paris. Was that such a horrible thing, sucha terrible misfortune? And who was the brother-lawyer, the goodbrother-lawyer, who had taken pleasure in coming to show him the hatefularticle?

"M. Renaud. "

"Oh, it was M. Renaud--dear M. Renaud!"

Thereupon Mme. Derline was seized with a hearty fit of laughter; so muchso that the blond hair, which had been loosely done up, came down andframed the pretty face from which gleamed the dark eyes which couldalso, when they gave themselves the trouble, look very gentle, verycaressing, very loving. 

"Oh, it was M. Renaud, the husband of that delightful Mme. Renaud! Well, do you know what you will do immediately, without losing a minute? Go tothe president of the Tribunal and ask for a divorce. You will say tohim: 'M. Aubépin, deliver me from my wife. Her crime is being pretty, very pretty, too pretty. I wish another one who is ugly, very ugly, whohas Mme. Renaud's large nose, colossal foot, pointed chin, skinnyshoulders, and eternal pimples. ' That's what you want, isn't it? Come, you big stupid, kiss your poor wife, and forgive her for not being amonster. "

As rather lively gestures had illustrated this little speech, the whitecashmere dressing-gown had slipped--slipped a good deal, and had opened, very much opened; the criminal shoulders were within reach of M. Derline's lips--he succumbed. Besides, he too felt the abominableinfluence of the press. His wife had never seemed so pretty to him, and, brought back to subjection, M. Derline returned to his study in order tomake money for the most beautiful woman in Paris. 

A very wise and opportune occupation; for scarcely was Mme. Derline leftalone when an idea flashed through her head which was to call forth avery pretty collection of bank-notes from the cash-box of the lawyer ofthe Rue Dragon. Mme. Derline had intended wearing to the Palmer's ball adress which had already been much seen. Mme. Derline had kept thedress-maker of her wedding-dress, her mother's dress-maker, adress-maker of the Left Bank. It seemed to her that her new positionimposed new duties on her. She could not appear at the Palmer's withouta dress which had not been seen, and stamped with a well-known name. Sheordered the carriage in the afternoon, and resolutely gave her coachmanthe address of one of the most illustrious dress-makers in Paris. Shearrived a little agitated, and to reach the great artist was obliged topass through a veritable crowd of footmen, who were in the antechamberchatting and laughing, used to meeting there and making long stops. Nearly all the footmen were those of society, the highest society; theyhad spent the previous evening together at the English Embassy, and wereto be that evening at the Duchess of Grémoille. 

Mme. Derline entered a sumptuous parlor; it was very sumptuous, toosumptuous. Twenty great customers were there--society women andactresses, all agitated, anxious, feverish--looking at the beautifultall saleswomen come and go before them, wearing the last creations ofthe master of the house. The great artist had a diplomatic bearing:buttoned-up black frock-coat, long cravat with pin (a present from aroyal highness who paid her bills slowly), and a many-colored rosette inhis button-hole (the gift of a small reigning prince who paid slower yetthe bills of an opera-dancer). He came and went--precise, calm, andcool--in the midst of the solicitations and supplications of hiscustomers. "M. Arthur! M. Arthur!" One heard nothing but that phrase. Hewas M. Arthur. He went from one to the other--respectful, without toomuch humility, to the duchesses, and easy, without too much familiarity, to the actresses. There was an extraordinary liveliness, and aconfusion of marvellous velvets, satins, and embroidered, brocaded, andgold or silver threaded stuffs, all thrown here and there, as though byaccident--but what science in that accident--on arm-chairs, tables, anddivans. 

In the first place Mme. Derline ran against a shop-girl who was bearingwith outstretched arms a white dress, and was almost hidden beneath alight mountain of muslins and laces. The only thing visible was theshop-girl's mussed black hair and sly suburban expression. Mme. Derlinebacked away, wishing to place herself against the, wall; but a tryer-onwas there, a large energetic brunette, who spoke authoritatively in ahigh staccato. "At once, " she was saying--"bring me at once theprincess's dress!"

Frightened and dazed, Mme. Derline stood in a corner and watched anopportunity to seize a saleswoman on the fly. She even thought of givingup the game. Never, certainly, should she dare to address directly thatterrible M. Arthur, who had just given her a rapid glance in which shebelieved to have read, "Who is she? She isn't properly dressed! Shedoesn't go to a fashionable dress-maker!" At last Mme. Derline succeededin getting hold of a disengaged saleswoman, and there was the sameslightly disdainful glance--a glance which was accompanied by thephrase:

"Madame is not a regular customer of the house?"

"No, I am not a customer--"

"And you wish?"

"A dress, a ball-dress--and I want the dress for next Thursdayevening--"

"Thursday next!"

"Yes, Thursday next. "

"Oh! madame, it is not to be thought of. Even for a customer of thehouse it would be impossible. "

"But I wished it so much--"

"Go and see M. Arthur. He alone can--"

"And where is M. Arthur?"

"In his office. He has just gone into his office. Over there, madame, opposite. "

Mme. Derline, through a half-open door, saw a sombre and severe butluxurious room--an ambassador's office. On the walls the great Europeanpowers were represented by photographs--the Empress Eugénie, thePrincess of Wales, a grand-duchess of Russia, and an archduchess ofAustria. M. Arthur was there taking a few moments' rest, seated in alarge arm-chair, with an air of lassitude and exhaustion, and with anewspaper spread out over his knees. He arose on seeing Mme. Derlineenter. In a trembling voice she repeated her wish. 

"Oh, madame, a ball-dress--a beautiful ball-dress--for Thursday! Icouldn't make such a promise--I couldn't keep it. There areresponsibilities to which I never expose myself. "

He spoke slowly, gravely, as a man conscious of his high position. 

"Oh, I am so disappointed. It was a particular occasion and I was toldthat you alone could--"

Two tears, two little tears, glittered on her eye-lashes. M. Arthur wasmoved. A woman, a pretty woman, crying there, before him! Never had suchhomage been paid to his genius. 

"Well, madame, I am willing to make an attempt. A very simple dress--"

"Oh no, not simple. Very brilliant, on the contrary--everything that ismost brilliant. Two of my friends are customers of yours (she namedthem), and I am Mme. Derline--"

"Mme. Derline! You are Mme. Derline?"

The two _Mme. Derlines_ were followed by a glance and a smile--theglance was at the newspaper and the smile was at Mme. Derline; but itwas a discreet, self-contained smile--the smile of a perfectly gallantman. This is what the glance and smile said with admirable clearness:

"Ah I you are Mme. Derline--that already celebrated Mme. Derline--whoyesterday at the opera--I understand, I understand--I was reading justnow in this paper--words are no longer necessary--you should have toldyour name at once--yes, you need me; yes, you shall have your dress;yes, I want to divide your success with you. "

M. Arthur called:

"Mademoiselle Blanche, come here at once! Mademoiselle Blanche!"

And turning towards Mme. Derline, he said:

"She has great talent, but I shall myself superintend it; so beeasy--yes, I myself. "

Mme. Derline was a little confused, a little embarrassed by her glory, but happy nevertheless. Mademoiselle Blanche came forward. 

"Conduct madame, " said M. Arthur, "and take the necessary measures for aball-dress, very low, and with absolutely bare arms. During that time, madame, I am going to think seriously of what I can do for you. It mustbe something entirely new--ah! before going, permit me--"

He walked very slowly around Mme. Derline, and examined her withprofound attention; then he walked away, and considered her from alittle distance. His face was serious, thoughtful, and anxious. A greatthinker wrestling with a great problem. He passed his hand over hisforehead, raised his eyes to the sky, getting inspiration by a painfuldelivery; but suddenly his face lit up--the spirit from above hadanswered. 

"Go, madame, " he said, "go. Your dress is thought out. When you comeback, mademoiselle, bring me that piece of pink satin; you know, the onethat I was keeping for some great occasion. "

Thus Mme. Derline found herself with Mademoiselle Blanche in a trying-onroom, which was a sort of little cabin lined with mirrors. A quarter ofan hour later, when the measures had been taken, Mme. Derline came backand discovered M. Arthur in the midst of pieces of satin of all colors, of crêpes, of tulles, of laces, and of brocaded stuffs. 

"No, no, not the pink satin, " he said to Mademoiselle Blanche, who wasbringing the asked-for piece; "no, I have found something better. Listento me. This is what I wish: I have given up the pink, and I have decidedon this, this peach-colored satin. A classic robe, outlining all thefine lines and showing the suppleness of the body. This robe must bevery clinging--hardly any underskirts. It must be of surah. Madame mustbe melted into it--do you thoroughly understand?--absolutely meltedinto the robe. We will drop over the dress this crêpe--yes, that one, but in small, light pleats. The crêpe will be as a cloud thrown over thedress--a transparent, vapory, impalpable cloud. The arms are to beabsolutely bare, as I already told you. On each shoulder there must be asimple knot, showing the upper part of the arm. Of what is the knot tobe? I'm still undecided--I need to think it over--till to-morrow, madame, till to-morrow. "

Mme. Derline came back the next day, and the next, and every day tillthe day before the famous Thursday; and each time that she came back, while awaiting her turn to try on, she ordered dresses, very simpleones, but yet costing from seven to eight hundred francs each. 

And that was not all. On the day of her first visit to M. Arthur, whenMme. Derline came out of the great house, she wasbroken-hearted--positively broken-hearted--at the sight of her brougham;it really did make a pitiful appearance among all the stylish carriageswhich were waiting in three rows and taking up half the street. It wasthe brougham of her late mother-in-law, and it still rolled through thestreets of Paris after fifteen years' service. Mme. Derline got into thewoe-begone brougham to drive straight to a very well-knowncarriage-maker, and that evening, cleverly seizing the psychologicalmoment, she explained to M. Derline that she had seen a certain littleblack coupé lined with blue satin that would frame delightfully her newdresses. 

The coupé was bought the next day by M. Derline, who also was beginningfully to realize the extent of his new duties. But the next day it wasdiscovered that it was impossible to harness to that jewel of a coupéthe old horse who had pulled the old carriage, and no less impossible toput on the box the old coachman who drove the old horse. 

This is how on Thursday, April 25th, at half-past ten in the evening, avery pretty chestnut mare, driven by a very correct English coachman, took M. And Mme. Derline to the Palmer's. They still lacked something--alittle groom to sit beside the English coachman. But a certain amount ofdiscretion had to be employed. The most beautiful woman in Parisintended to wait ten days before asking for the little groom. 

While she was going up-stairs at the Palmer's, she distinctly felt herheart beat like the strokes of a hammer. She was going to play adecisive game. She knew that the Palmers had been going everywhere, saying, "Come on Thursday; we will show you Mme. Derline, the mostbeautiful woman in Paris. " Curiosity as well as jealousy had been wellawakened. 

She entered, and from the first minute she had the delicious sensationof her success. Throughout the long gallery of the Palmer's house it wasa true triumphal march. She advanced with firm and precise step, erect, and head well held. She appeared to see nothing, to hear nothing, buthow well she saw! how well she felt, the fire of all those eyes on hershoulders! Around her arose a little murmur of admiration, and never hadmusic been sweeter to her. 

Yes, decidedly, all went well. She was on a fair way to conquer Paris. And, sure of herself, at each step she became more confident, lighter, and bolder, as she advanced on Palmer's arm, who, in passing, pointedout the counts, the marquises, and the dukes. And then Palmer suddenlysaid to her:

"I want to present to you one of your greatest admirers, who, the othernight at the opera, spoke of nothing but your beauty; he is the Princeof Nérins. "

She became as red as a cherry. Palmer looked at her and began to laugh. 

"Ah, you read the other day in that paper?"

"I read--yes, I read--"

"But where is the prince, where is he? I saw him during the day, and hewas to be here early. "

Mme. Derline was not to see the Prince of Nérins that evening. And yethe had intended to go to the Palmers and preside at the deification ofhis lawyeress. He had dined at the club, and had allowed himself to bedragged off to a first performance at a minor theatre. An operetta ofthe regulation type was being played. The principal personage was ayoung queen, who was always escorted by the customary fourmaids-of-honor. 

Three of these young ladies were very well known to first-nighters, ashaving already figured in the tableaux of operettas and in groups offairies, but the fourth--Oh, the fourth! She was a new one, a tallbrunette of the most striking beauty. The prince made himself remarkedmore than all others by his enthusiasm. He completely forgot that he wasto leave after the first act. The play was over very late, and theprince was still there, having paid no attention to the piece or themusic, having seen nothing but the wonderful brunette, having heardnothing but the stanza which she had unworthily massacred in the middleof the second act. And while they were leaving the theatre, the princewas saying to whoever would listen:

"That brunette! oh, that brunette! She hasn't an equal in any theatre!She is the most beautiful woman in Paris! The most beautiful!"

It was one o'clock in the morning. The prince asked himself if he shouldgo to the Palmers. Poor Mme. Derline; she was of very slight importancebeside this new wonder! And then, too, the prince was a methodical man. The hour for whist had arrived; so he departed to play whist. 

The following morning Mme. Derline found ten lines on the Palmer's ballin the "society column. " There was mention of the marquises, thecountesses, and the duchesses who were there, but about Mme. Derlinethere was not a word--not a word. 

On the other hand, the writer of theatrical gossip celebrated inenthusiastic terms the beauty of that ideal maid-of-honor, and said, "_Besides, the Prince of Nérins declared that Mademoiselle Miranda wasindisputedly the most beautiful woman in Paris!_"

Mme. Derline threw the paper in the fire. She did not wish her husbandto know that she was already not the most beautiful woman in Paris. 

She has, however, kept the great dress-maker and the English coachman, but she never dared to ask for the little groom. 

THE STORY OF A BALL-DRESS

When the women of the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries write theirmemoirs they boldly present themselves to the reader thus: "I have awell-shaped mouth, " said the Marquise of Courcelles, "beautiful lips, pearly teeth, good forehead, cheeks, and expression, finely chiselledthroat, divine hands, passable arms (that is to say, they are a littlethin); but I find consolation for that misfortune in the fact that Ihave the prettiest legs in the world. "

And I will follow the marquise's example. Here is my portrait: Overskirtof white illusion trimmed with fringe, and three flounces of blondalternating with the fringe; court mantle of cherry silk girt by a highflounce of white blond which falls over the fringe and is caught up byMarie Antoinette satin; two other flounces of blond are placed behind atintervals above; on each side from the waist up are facings composed oflittle alternating flounces of blond, looped up with satin; the big puffbehind is bound by a flounce of white blond. A little white waist, thefront and shoulder-straps of which are of satin trimmed with blond. Beltof red satin with large red butterfly. 

The world was made in six days, I in three. And yet I too am in theworld--a little complicated world of silk, satin, blond, loops, andfringes. Did God rest while he was making the world? I do not know; butI do know that the scissors that cut me out and the needle that sewed merested neither day nor night from Monday evening, January 24, 1870, toThursday morning, January 27th. The slashes of the scissors and thepricks of the needle caused me great pain at first, but I soon paid noattention to them at all. I began to observe what was going on, tounderstand that I was becoming a dress, and to discover that the dresswould be a marvel. From time to time M. Worth came himself to pay melittle visits. "Take in the waist, " he would say, "add more fringe, spread out the train, enlarge the butterfly, " etc. 

One thing worried me: For whom was I intended? I knew the name, nothingmore--the Baroness Z----. Princess would have been better; but still, baroness did very well. I was ambitious. I dreaded the theatre. Itremained to be seen whether this baroness was young, pretty, and equalto wearing me boldly, and whether she had a figure to show me off toadvantage. I was horribly afraid of falling into the hands of an uglywoman, a provincial, or an old coquette. 

How perfectly reassured I was as soon as I saw the baroness! Small, delicate, supple, stylish, a fairy waist, the shoulders of a goddess, and, besides all this, a certain little air of audacity, of raillery, but in exquisite moderation. 

I was spread out on a large pearl-gray lounge, and I was received withmarks of frank admiration. M. Worth had been good enough to bring me_himself_, and he didn't trouble himself about all dresses. 

"How original!" exclaimed the little baroness; "how new! But very dear, isn't it?"

"One thousand and fifty francs. "

"One thousand and fifty francs! And I furnished the lace! Ah, howquickly I should leave you if I didn't owe you so much! For I owe you alot of money. "

"Oh, very little, baroness--very little. "

"No, no; a great deal. But we will discuss that another day. "

That evening I made my first appearance in society, and I came out atthe Tuileries. We both of us, the baroness and myself, had an undeniablesuccess. When the Empress crossed the Salon of Diana, making pleasantremarks to the right and left, she had the graciousness to stop beforeus and make the following remark, which seemed to me extremely witty, "Ah, baroness, what a dress--what a dress! It's a dream!" On thatoccasion the Empress wore a dress of white tulle dotted with silver, ona design of cloudy green, with epaulettes of sable. It was queer, notineffective, but in doubtful taste. 

We received much attention, the baroness and I. The new Minister, M. Émile Ollivier, was presented to us; we received him coldly, as thelittle baroness did not approve, I believe, of liberal reforms, andlooked for nothing good from them. We had a long chat on the window-seatwith the Marshal Leboeuf. The only topic during that interestingconversation was the execution of Troppmann. It was the great event ofthe week. 

At two o'clock we left--the baroness, I, and the baron. For there was ahusband, who for the time being was crowded in the corner of thecarriage, and hidden under the mass of my skirts and of my train, whichwas thrown back on him all in a heap. 

"Confess, Edward, " said the little baroness--confess that I was prettyto-night. "

"Very. "

"And my dress?"

"Oh, charming!"

"You say that indolently, without spirit or enthusiasm. I know youwell. You think I've been extravagant. Well, indeed I haven't. Do youknow how much this dress cost me? Four hundred francs--not a centimemore. "

We arrived home, which was a step from the Tuileries, in the PlaceVendôme. The baron went to his rooms, the baroness to hers; and whileHermance, the maid, cleverly and swiftly untied all my rosettes and tookout the pins, the little baroness kept repeating: "How becoming thisdress is to me! And I seem to become it, too. I shall wear it onThursday, Hermance, to go to the Austrian Embassy. Wait a minute, till Isee the effect of the butterfly in the back. Bring the lamp nearer;nearer yet. Yes, that's it. Ah, how pretty it is! I am enchanted withthis dress, Hermance--really enchanted!"

If the little baroness was enchanted with me, I was equally enchantedwith the baroness. We two made the most tender, the most intimate, andthe most united of families. We comprehended, understood, and completedeach other so well. I had not to do with one of those mechanicaldolls--stupidly and brutally laced into a padded corset. Between thelittle baroness and myself there was absolutely nothing but lace andfine linen. We could confidentially and surely depend on one another. The beauty of the little baroness was a real beauty, without garniture, conjuring, or trickery. 

So the following Thursday I went to the Austrian Embassy, and a weeklater to the Princess Mathilde's. But, alas! the next morning the littlebaroness said to her maid: "Hermance, take that dress to the reserve. Ilove it, and I'd wear it every evening; but it has been seensufficiently for this winter. Yesterday several people said to me, 'Ah, that's your dress of the Tuileries; it's your dress of the AustrianEmbassy. ' It must be given up till next year. Good-bye, dear littledress. "

And, having said that, she placed her charming lips at hap-hazard amongmy laces and kissed me in the dearest way in the world. Ah, how pleasedand proud I was of that childish and sweet fellowship! I remembered thatthe evening before, on our return, the little baroness had kissed herhusband; but the kiss she had given him was a quick, dry kiss--one ofthose hurried kisses with which one wishes to get through; whereas mykiss had been prolonged and passionate. She had cordiality for thebaron, and love for me. The little baroness wasn't twenty, and she was acoquette to the core. I say this, in the first place, to excuse her, and, in the second place, to give an exact impression of her character. 

So at noon, in the arms of Hermance, I made my entry to the reserve. Itwas a dormitory of dresses, an immense room on the third story, verylarge, and lined with wardrobes of white oak, carefully locked. In themiddle of the room was an ottoman, on which Hermance deposited me; afterwhich she slid back ten or twelve wardrobe doors, one after the other. Dresses upon dresses! I should never be able to tell how many. All werehung in the air by silk tape on big triangles. Hermance, however, seemedmuch embarrassed. 

"In the reserve, " she murmured, "in the reserve; that is easy to say. But where is there any room? And this one needs a lot. " At lastHermance, after having given a number of little taps to the right andleft, succeeded in making a sort of slit, into which I had greatdifficulty in sliding. Hermance gave me and my neighbors some morelittle taps to lump us together, and then shut the door. Darknessreigned. I was placed between a blue velvet dress and a mauve satin one. 

Towards the end of April we received a visit from the little baroness, and in consequence of that visit there was great disturbance. Winterdresses were hung up; spring dresses were got down. At the beginning ofJuly another visit, another disturbance--entry of the costumes from theraces; departure of others for the watering-places. I lost my neighborto the right, the mauve dress, and kept my neighbor on the left, theblue dress, a cross and crabbed person who was forever groaning, complaining, and saying to me, "Oh, my dear, you do take up so muchroom; do get out of the way a little. " I must admit that the poor bluevelvet dress was much to be pitied. It was three years old, having beena part of the little baroness's trousseau, and had never been worn. "Ahigh-neck blue velvet dress, at my age, with my shoulders and arms!" hadexclaimed the little baroness; "I should look like a grandmother!" Thusit was decreed, and the unfortunate blue dress had gone from thetrousseau straight to the reserve. 

A week or ten days after the departure of the dresses for Baden-Baden weheard a noise, the voices of women, and all the doors were opened. Itwas the little baroness, who had brought her friend the Countess N----. 

"Sit there, my dear, on that ottoman, " said the little baroness. "I havecome to look over my dresses. I am very hurried; I arrived but just nowfrom Baden, and I start again to-night for Anjou. We can chatter whileHermance shows me the dresses. Oh, those Prussians, my dear, themonsters! We had to run away, Blanche and myself, like thieves. (Verysimple dresses, Hermance, every-day dresses, and walking and boatingdresses. ) Yes, my dear, like thieves! They threw stones at us, realstones, in the Avenue of Lichtental, and called us 'RascallyFrenchwomen! French rabble!' The Emperor did well to declare war againstsuch people. (Dresses for horseback, Hermance--my brown riding-habit. )At any rate, there's no need to worry. My husband dined yesterday withGuy; you know, the tall Guy, who is an aide of Leboeuf. Well, we areready, admirably ready, and the Prussians not at all. (Very simple, Isaid, Hermance. You are showing me ball-dresses. I don't intend to danceduring the war. ) And then, my dear, it seems that this war wasabsolutely necessary from a dynastic point of view. I don't quite knowwhy, but I tell it to you as I heard it. (These dozen dresses, Hermance, will be sufficient. But there are thirteen. I never could have thirteen. Take away the green one; or, no, add another--that blue one; that'sall. ) Now let's go down, my dear. "

Whereupon she departed. So war was declared, and with Prussia. I wasmuch moved. I was a French dress and a Bonapartist dress. I was afraidfor France and afraid for the dynasty, but the words of the tall Guywere so perfectly reassuring. 

For two months there was no news; but about the 10th of September thelittle baroness arrived with Hermance. She was very pale, poor littlebaroness--very pale and agitated. 

"Dark dresses, Hermance, " she said, "black dresses. I know! What remainsof Aunt Pauline's mourning? There must remain quite a lot of things. Yousee, I am too sad--"

"But if madame expects to remain long in England?"

"Ah! as long as the Republic lasts. "

"Then it may be a long time. "

"What do you mean--a long time? What _do_ you mean, Hermance? Who cantell you such things?"

"It seems to me that if I were madame I'd take for precaution's sake afew winter dresses, a few evening-dresses--"

"Evening-dresses! Why, what are you thinking of? I shall go nowhere, Hermance, alone in England, without my husband, who stays in Paris inthe National Guard. "

"But if madame should go to see their Majesties in England?"

"Yes, of course I shall, Hermance. "

"Well, it's because I know madame's feelings and views that--"

"You are right; put in some evening-dresses. "

"Will madame take her last white satin dress?"

"Oh no, not that one; it would be too sad a memory for the Empress, whonoticed it at the last ball at the Tuileries. And then the dresswouldn't stand the voyage. My poor white satin dress! Shall I ever wearit again?"

That is why I did not emigrate, and how I found myself blockaded inParis during the siege. From the few words that we had heard of theconversation of the little baroness and Hermance we had a pretty clearidea of the situation. The Empire was overthrown and the Republicproclaimed. The Republic! There were among us several old family laceswho had seen the first Republic--that of '93. The Reign of Terror! Ah, what tales they told us! The fall of the Empire, however, did notdisplease these old laces, who were all Legitimists or Orleanists. In myneighborhood, on a gooseberry satin skirt, there were four flounces oflace who had had the honor of attending the coronation of Charles X. , and who were delighted, and kept saying to us: "The Bonapartes broughtabout invasion; invasion brings back the Bourbons. Long live Henry V. !"

We all had, however, a common preoccupation. Should we remain in style?We were nearly all startling, risky, and loud--so much so that we werequite anxious, except three or four quiet dresses, velvet and dark clothdresses, who joined in the chorus with the old laces, and said to us:"Ah, here's an end to the carnival, to this masquerade of an empire!Republic or monarchy, little we care; we are sensible and in goodtaste. " We felt they were somewhat in the right in talking thus. FromSeptember to February we remained shut up in the wardrobes, wranglingwith each other, listening to the cannon, and knowing nothing of whatwas going on. 

Towards the middle of February all the doors were opened. It was thelittle baroness--the little baroness!

"Ah!" she exclaimed, "my dresses, my beloved dresses, there they are;how happy I am to see them!"

We could say nothing; but we, too, were very happy to see the littlebaroness. 

"Now, then, Hermance, " continued the little baroness, "let us huntaround a little. What can I take to Bordeaux? After such disasters Imust have quiet and sombre dresses. "

"Madame hasn't very many. "

"I beg your pardon, Hermance, I have dark dresses--this one and thatone. The blue velvet dress! The blue velvet dress is just the thing, andI've never worn it. "

And so my neighbor the blue dress was taken down, and was at last goingto make her first appearance in the world. However, the little baronessherself, with great activity, rummaged round in the wardrobes. 

"Nothing, nothing, " she said; "four or five dresses only. All the restare impossible, and would not accord with the Government we shall havein Bordeaux. Well, I shall be obliged to have some republican dressesmade--very moderate republican, but still republican. "

The little baroness went away, to come back a month later, always withHermance, who was an excellent maid, and much thought of by hermistress. New deliberation. 

"Hermance, " said the little baroness, "what can I take to Versailles? Ithink we shall be able to have a little more freedom. There will bereceptions and dinners with M. Thiers; then the princes are coming. Imight risk transition dresses. Do you know what I mean by that, Hermance--transition dresses?"

"Perfectly, madame--pearl grays, mauves, violets, lilacs. "

"Yes, that's it, Hermance; light but quiet colors. You are aninvaluable maid. You understand me perfectly. "

The little baroness started for Versailles with a collection oftransition dresses. There must have been twenty. It was a goodbeginning, and filled us with hope. She had begun at Bordeaux withsombre colors, and continued on at Versailles with light ones, Versailles was evidently only a stepping-stone between Bordeaux andParis. The little baroness was soon coming back to Paris, and once thelittle baroness was in Paris we could feel assured that we should notstay long in the wardrobes. 

But it happened that a few days after the departure of the littlebaroness for Versailles we heard loud firing beneath the windows of thehouse (we lived in the Place Vendôme). Was it another revolt, anotherrevolution? For a week nothing more was heard; there was silence. Thenat the end of that week the cannonade began around Paris worse thanever. Was the war recommencing with the Prussians? Was it a new siege?

The days passed, and the boom of the cannon continued. Finally, onemorning there was a great racket in the court-yard of our house. Cries, threats, oaths! The noise came up and up. Great blows with the butt endsof muskets were struck on the wardrobe doors. They were smashed in andwe perceived eight or ten slovenly looking, dirty, and bearded men. Among these men was a woman, a little brunette; fairly pretty, I mustsay, but queerly gotten up. A black dress with a short skirt, littleboots with red bows, a round gray felt hat with a large red plume, and asort of red scarf worn crosswise. It was a peculiar style, but it wasstyle all the same. 

"Oh, oh!" exclaimed the little woman, "here's luck! What a lot ofdresses! Well, clear away all this, sergeant, and take those duds toheadquarters. "

Then all those men threw themselves upon us with a sort of fury. We feltourselves gripped and dishonored by coarse, dirty hands. 

"Don't soil them too much, citizens, " the little woman would cry. "Dothem up in packages, and take the packages down to theammunition-wagon. "

The headquarters was the apartment of the young lady of the red plume. Our new mistress was the wife of a general of the Commune. We weredestined to remain official dresses. Official during the Empire, andofficial during the Commune. The first thought of Mme. General was tohold a review of us, and I had the honor of being the object of herspecial attention and admiration. 

"Ah, look, Émile!" (Émile was the General. ) "Look! this is the toniestof the whole concern. I'll keep it for the Tuileries. "

I was to be kept for the Tuileries! What tales of woe and whatlamentations there were in the sort of alcove where we were thrown likerags! Mme. General went into society every evening, and never put on thesame dress twice. My poor companions the day after told me theiradventures of the day before. This one had dined at Citizen RaoulRigault's, the Préfecture of Police; that one attended a performance of"Andromaque" at the Théâtre Français, in the Empress's box, etc. At lastit was my turn. The 17th of May was the day of the grand concert at theTuileries. 

Oh, my dear little baroness, what had become of you? Where were yourlong soft muslin petticoats and your fine white satin corsets? Wherewere your transparent linen chemisettes? Mme. General had coarsepetticoats of starched calico. Mme. General wore such a corset! Mme. General had such a crinoline! My poor skirts of lace and satin wereabominably stiffened and tossed about by the hard crinoline hoops. As tothe basque, the strange thing happened that the basque of the littlebaroness was much too tight for Mme. General at the waist, and, on thecontrary, above the waist it was--I really do not know how to explainsuch things. At any rate, it was just the opposite of small, so much sothat it had to be padded. Horrible! Most horrible!

At ten that evening I was climbing for the second time the grandstaircase of the Tuileries, in the midst of a dense and ignoble mob. Oneof the General's aides-de-camp tried in vain to open a passage. 

"Room, room, for the wife of the General!" he cried. 

Much they cared for the wife of the General! Great big boots trampled onmy train, sharp spurs tore my laces, and the bones of the corsets ofMme. General hurt me terribly. 

At midnight I returned to Mme. General's den. I returned in rags, shreds, soiled, dishonored, and stained with wine, tobacco, and mud. Ahateful little maid brutally tore me from the shoulders of Mme. General, and said to her mistress:

"Well, madame, was it beautiful?"

"No, Victoria, " replied Mme. General, "it was too mixed. But do hurryup! tear it off if it won't come. I know where to find others at thesame price. "

And I was thrown like a rag on a heap of pieces. The heap of pieces wascomposed of ball-dresses of the little baroness. 

One morning, three or four days later, the aide-de-camp rushed in, crying, "The Versaillists! The Versaillists are in Paris!"

Thereupon Mme. General put on a sort of military costume, took tworevolvers, filled them with cartridges, and hung them on a black leatherbelt which she wore around her waist. "Where is the General?" she saidto the aide-de-camp. 

"At the Tuileries. "

"Very well, I shall go there with you. " And on that she departed, withher little gray felt hat jauntily tilted over her ear. 

The cannonade and firing redoubled and came nearer. Evidently there wasfighting very near us, quite close to us. The next day towards noon wesaw them both come back, the General and Mme. General. And in what acondition! Panting, frightened, forbidding, with clothes white withdust, and hands and faces black with powder. The General was wounded inthe left hand, he had twisted around his wrist a handkerchief bathed inblood. 

"Does your arm hurt you?" Mme. General said to him. 

"It stings a little, that's all. "

"Are they following us?"

"Yes, I think so. "

"Listen! There are noises, shouts. "

"Look out of the window without showing yourself. "

"The red trousers! They are here!"

"Lock and bolt the door. Get the revolvers and load them. I can't onaccount of my arm. This wound is a bore. "

"You are so pale!"

"Yes; I am losing blood--a good deal of blood. "

"They are coming up the stairs!"

"Into the alcove--let us go into the alcove, on the dresses. "

"Here they are!"

"Give me the revolver. "

The door gave way violently under the hammering of the butts of theguns. A shower of bullets fell on us and around us. The General, with asingle movement, fell heavily at full length on the bed of silk, muslin, and laces that we made for him. Three or four men with red trousersthrew themselves on Mme. General, who fought, bit, and screamed, "Assassins! assassins!"

A soldier tore away the bell-cord, firmly tied her hands, and carriedher away like a bundle. She continued to repeat, in a strangled voice, "Assassins! assassins!" The soldiers approached the alcove and looked atthe General. "As to him, " they said, "he's done for; he doesn't needanything more. Let's be off. "

They left us, and we remained there for two days, crushed beneath thatcorpse and covered with blood. Finally, at the end of those two days, aman arrived who was called a Commissioner, and who wore a tricoloredscarf around his waist. "This corpse has been forgotten, " he said. "Takeit away. "

They tried to lift the body, but with fingers stiffened by death theGeneral held my big cherry satin butterfly. They had nearly to break hisfingers to get it out. 

Meantime the Commissioner examined and searched curiously among thatbrilliant heap of rags on which the General had died. My waist appearedto catch his eye. "Here is a mark, " he said to one of his men--"a markinside the waist, with the name and number of the maker. We can learnwhere these dresses came from. Wrap this waist in a newspaper and I'lltake it. "

They wrapped me in an old number of the _Official Journal of theCommune_. The following day we went to M. Worth, the Commissioner and I. The conversation was not long. 

"Was this dress made by you?" the Commissioner asked. 

"Yes; here's the mark. "

"And for whom was it made?"

"Number 18, 223. Wait a moment; I'll consult my books. " The dress-makercame back in five minutes, and said to the Commissioner, "It was for theBaroness Z---- that I made this dress, eighteen months ago, and it isn'tpaid for. "

THE INSURGENT

"Prisoner, " said the President of the Council of War, "have you anythingto add in your defence?"

"Yes, colonel, " replied the prisoner. "The little lawyer you assigned medefended me according to his idea; I want to defend myself according tomine. 

"My name is Martin (Lewis Joseph). I am fifty-five years old. My fatherwas a locksmith. He had a little shop in the upper part of theSaint-Martin Quarter, and had a fair business. We just existed. Ilearned to read in the _National_, which was, I believe, the paper of M. Thiers. 

"On the 27th of July, 1830, my father went out very early. That evening, at ten o'clock, he was brought back to us on a litter, dying. He hadreceived a bullet in the chest. Beside him on the litter was his musket. 

"'Take it, ' he said to me. 'I give it to you; and every time there is ariot, be against the Government--always, always, always!'

"An hour later he was dead. I went out in the night. At the firstbarricade I stopped and offered myself; a man examined me by the lightof a lantern. 'A child!' he exclaimed. I was not fifteen. I was veryslight and undersized. I answered: 'A child, maybe, but my father waskilled two hours ago. He gave me his musket. Teach me how to use it. '

"From that moment I became what I have always been for forty years, aninsurgent! If I fought during the Commune, it was not because I wasforced, nor for the thirty sous; it was from taste, from pleasure, fromhabit, from routine. 

"In 1830 I behaved rather bravely at the attack on the Louvre. Theurchin who first scaled the gate beneath the bullets of the Swiss was I. I received the Medal of July. But the shopkeepers gave us a king. It hadall to be done over. I joined a secret society; I learned to meltbullets, to make powder--in short, I completed my education, and Iwaited. 

"I had to wait nearly two years. On June 5, 1832, at noon, in front ofthe Madeleine, I was the first to unharness one of the horses of thehearse of General Lamarque. I passed the day in shouting, 'Long liveLafayette!' and I passed the night in making barricades. The nextmorning we were attacked by the regulars. In the evening, towards fouro'clock, we were blocked, cannonaded, swept with grape-shot, and crushedback into the Church of Saint-Méry. I had a bullet and threebayonet-stabs in my body when I was picked up by the soldiers from thestone floor of a little chapel to the left--the Chapel of St. John. Ihave often gone back to that little chapel--not to pray, I wasn'tbrought up with such ideas--but to see the stains of my blood whichstill remain on the stones. 

"On account of my youth I received a ten-year sentence. I was sent toMont Saint-Michel. That was why I didn't take part in the riots of 1834. If I had been free I should have fought in Rue Transnonian as I hadfought in Rue Saint-Méry--'against the Government--always, always, always!' It was my father's last word; it was my gospel, my religion. Icall that my catechism in six words. I came out of prison in 1842, and Iagain began to wait. 

"The revolution of '48 was made without effort. The shopkeepers werestupid and cowardly. They were neither for nor against us. The municipalguards alone defended themselves. We had a little trouble in taking theguard-house of the Château d'Eau. On the evening of February 24th Iremained three or four hours on the square before the Hôtel de Ville. The members of the Provisional Government, one after another, madespeeches to us--said that we were heroes, great citizens, the foremostnation in the world, that we had broken the bonds of tyranny. Afterhaving fed us on these fine speeches, they gave us a republic whichwasn't any better than the monarchy we had overthrown. 

"In June I took up my musket again, but on that occasion we were notsuccessful. I was arrested, sentenced, and sent to Cayenne. It seemsthat I behaved well there. One day I saved a captain of marines fromdrowning. Observe that I should most certainly have shot at that captainif he had been on one side of a barricade and I on the other; but a manwho is drowning, dying--in short, I received my pardon, I came back toFrance in 1852, after the Coup d'État; I had missed the insurrection of1851. 

"At Cayenne I had made friends with a tailor named Barnard. Six monthsafter my departure for France, Barnard died. I went to see his widow. She was in want. I married her. We had a son in 1854--you willunderstand presently why I speak to you of my wife and my son. But youmust already suspect that an insurgent who marries the widow of aninsurgent does not have royalist children. 

"Under the Empire there was nothing to do. The police were very strict. We were dispersed, disarmed. I worked, I brought up my son with theideas that my father had given me. The wait was long. Rochefort, Gambetta, public reunions--all that put us in motion again. 

"On the first important occasion I showed myself. I was one of thatlittle band who assaulted the barracks of the firemen of Villette. Onlythere we made a mistake. We killed a fireman, unnecessarily, I wascaught and thrown into prison, but the Government of the Fourth ofSeptember liberated us, from which I concluded that we did right toattack those barracks and kill the fireman, even unnecessarily. 

"The siege began. I immediately opposed the Government, on the side ofthe Commune. I marched against the Hôtel de Ville on the 31st of Octoberand on the 22d of January. I liked revolt for revolt's sake. Aninsurgent--I told you in the beginning I am an insurgent. I cannot heara discussion without taking part, nor see a riot without running to it, nor a barricade without bringing my paving-stone. It's in the blood. 

"And then, besides, I wasn't quite ignorant, and I said to myself, It isonly necessary to succeed thoroughly some day, and then, in our turn, weshall be the Government, and it will be better than with all theselawyers, who place themselves behind us during the battle, and passahead after the victory. '

"The 18th of March came, and naturally I was in it. I shouted 'Hurrahfor the regulars!' I fraternized with the army. I went to the Hôtel deVille. I found a government already at work. It was absolutely the sameas on the 24th of February. 

"Now you tell me that that insurrection was not lawful. That ispossible, but I don't quite see why not. I begin to get muddled--aboutthese insurrections which are a duty and those which are a crime! I donot clearly see the difference. 

"I shot at the Versailles troops in 1871, as I had shot at the royalguard in 1830 and on the municipals in 1848. After 1830 I received theMedal of July; after 1848 the compliments of M. De Lamartine. This timeI am going to get transportation or death. 

"There are insurrections which please you. You raise columns to them, you give their names to streets, you give yourselves the offices, thepromotions, and the big salaries, and we folks, who made the revolution, you call us great citizens, heroes, a nation of brave men, etc. That'sthe coin we are paid with. 

"And then there are other insurrections which displease you. As aresult, transportation, death. Well, you see, if you hadn't complimentedus so after the first ones, perhaps we wouldn't have made the last. Ifyou hadn't raised the Column of July at the entrance of ourneighborhood, we wouldn't perhaps have gone and demolished the VendômeColumn in your neighborhood. Those two penny trumpets didn't agree. Onehad to upset the other, and that is what happened. 

"Now, why I threw away my captain's uniform on the 26th of May, why Iwas in a blouse when I was arrested, I will tell you. When I learnedthat the gentlemen of the Commune, instead of coming to shoot with usbehind the barricades, were at the Hôtel de Ville distributing amongthemselves thousand-franc notes, were shaving their beards, dyeing theirhair, and hiding themselves in caves, I did not wish to keep theshoulder-straps they had given me. 

"Besides, shoulder-straps embarrassed me. 'Captain Martin' soundedidiotic. 'Insurgent Martin'--why, that's well and good. I wanted to endas I had begun, die as my father had died, as a rioter in a riot, as abarricader behind a barricade. 

"I could not get killed. I got caught. I belong to you. But I wish tobeg a favor of you. I have a son, a child of seventeen; he is atCherbourg, on the hulks. He fought, it is true, and he does not deny it;but it is I who put a musket in his hand, it is I who told him that hisduty was there. He listened to me. He obeyed me. That is all his crime. Do not sentence him too harshly. 

"As for me, you have got me; do not let me go, that's the advice I giveyou. I am too old to mend; and then, what can you expect? Nothing canchange it. I was born on the wrong side of the barricade. "

THE CHINESE AMBASSADOR

In the beginning of the year 1870 some English and French residents hadbeen massacred in China. Reparation was demanded. His ExcellencyTchong-Keon, Tutor of the Heir-apparent and Vice-President of the WarDepartment, was sent to Europe as Ambassador Extraordinary to theEnglish and French governments. 

Tchong-Keon has recently published at Pekin a very curious account ofhis voyage. One of my friends who lives in Shanghai, and who possessesthe rare talent of being able to read Chinese easily, sent me thisfaithful translation of a part of Tchong-Keon's book:

HAVRE, _September 12, 1870_. 

I land, and I make myself known. I am the Ambassador of the Emperor ofChina. I bear apologies to the Emperor of the French, and presents tothe Empress. There is no Emperor and no Empress. A Republic has beenproclaimed. I am much embarrassed. Shall I offer the apologies andpresents that were intended for the Empire to the Republic?

HAVRE, _September 14, 1870_. 

After much reflection, I shall offer the apologies and keep thepresents. 

HAVRE, _September 26, 1870_. 

Yes; but to whom shall I carry the apologies, and to whom shall Ipresent them? The Government of the French Republic is divided in two:there is one part in Paris and one part in Tours. To go to Paris is notto be thought of. Paris is besieged and blockaded by the Prussians. Ishall go to Tours. 

HAVRE, _October 2, 1870_. 

I did not go, and I shall not go, to Tours. I received yesterday a visitfrom the correspondent of the _Times_, a most agreeable and sensibleman. I told him that I intended going to Tours. 

"To Tours! What do you want in Tours?"

"To present the apologies of my master to the Minister of ForeignAffairs of the French Republic. "

"But that minister isn't in Tours. "

"And where is he?"

"Blockaded in Paris. "

A Minister of Foreign Affairs who is blockaded in a besieged town seemedto me most extraordinary. 

"And why, " the correspondent of the _Times_ asked me, "do you bringapologies to the French Government?"

"Because we massacred some French residents. "

"French residents! That's of no importance nowadays. France no longerexists. You can, if it amuses you, throw all the French residents intothe sea. "

"We also thoughtlessly massacred some English residents. "

"You massacred some English residents! Oh, that's very different!England is still a great nation. And you have brought apologies to QueenVictoria?"

"Yes, apologies and presents. "

"Go to London, go straight to London, and don't bother about France;there is no France. "

The correspondent of the _Times_ looked quite happy when he spoke thosewords: "there is no France. "

LONDON, _October 10, 1870_. 

I've seen the Queen of England. She received me very cordially. She hasaccepted the apologies; she has accepted the presents. 

LONDON, _October 12, 1870_. 

Had a long conversation with Lord Granville, Minister of Foreign Affairsof the Queen of England. I explained to his Excellency that I meant togo home at once, and that I feel I need not pay further attention to myFrench embassy, as France no longer exists. Lord Granville answered me:

"Don't go away so soon; you will perhaps be obliged to come back, andsooner than you imagine. France is an extraordinary country, which picksup very quickly. Await the end of the war, and then you can take yourapologies to the Government that France will have decided on givingitself. Till then remain in England. We shall be most happy to offer youour hospitality. "

LONDON, _November 3, 1870_. 

I did not return to China. I am waiting in London till the Minister ofForeign Affairs is not besieged, and till there is some way of layingone's hands on the French Government. There are many Parisians here whoescaped from their country on account of the war. I dined yesterday withhis Royal Highness, the Prince of Wales. Three Parisian women, all threeyoung, and all three pretty, took possession of me after dinner. We hada very interesting conversation in English. 

"You are looking for the French Government, the legitimate Government?"said the first of these Parisians. "Why, it is here in England, half anhour from London. To-morrow go to the Waterloo station and buy a ticketfor Chiselhurst, and there you will find Napoleon III. , who is, and hasnever ceased to be, the Emperor of the French. "

"Don't listen to her, Mr. Ambassador, " laughingly said the secondParisian, "don't listen to her; she is a terrible Bonapartist. Yes, thetrue sovereign of France is in England, quite near London, but not atChiselhurst; and it is not the Waterloo station you must go to, but theVictoria station. You mustn't take a ticket for Chiselhurst, but forTwickenham, and there you will find at Orleans House his Royal Highnessthe Count of Paris. "

"Don't listen to her, Mr. Ambassador, " exclaimed in turn, and alsolaughing, the third Parisian, "don't listen to her; she is a terriblerevolutionist! The Count of Paris is not the heir to the throne ofFrance. To find the legitimate King you must go a little farther thanChiselhurst or Twickenham; you must go to Austria, to the FrohsdorfPalace. The King of France--he is the descendant of Henry IV. --is theCount of Chambord. "

If I count aright, that makes three legitimate sovereigns, and all threedeposed. Never in China have we had anything of that sort. Our olddynasty has had to fight against the invasions of the Mongols andagainst the insurrections of the Taipings. But three legitimatesovereigns for the same country, for a single throne! One has to cometo Europe to see such things. 

However, the three Parisians gayly discussed the matter, and seemed tobe the best friends in the world. 

LONDON, _November 15, 1870_. 

As a sequel to the three Frenchwomen, representing three differentmonarchs, I met, this evening, at Lord Granville's, three Frenchmenrepresenting three different republics. 

The first asked me why I didn't go to Tours. 

"You will find there, " he said to me, "the authorized representatives ofthe French Republic, and in addressing yourself to M. Gambetta you areaddressing France--"

"Don't do that, Mr. Ambassador!" exclaimed the second Frenchman; "thereal Government of the real French Republic is shut up in Paris. M. Jules Favre alone can officially receive your visit and your apologies. "

"The Republic of Paris isn't worth more than the Republic of Tours, " thethird Frenchman then told me. "If we have a Republic in France, it willbe neither the Republic of M. Gambetta nor the Republic of M. JulesFavre. "

"And whose Republic then?"

"The Republic of M. Thiers--"

Whereupon the three Frenchmen began to dispute in earnest. They werevery red, shouted loudly, and made violent gestures. The discussionabout the three monarchies had been much gentler and much more agreeablethan the discussion about the three republics. 

During the evening these Frenchmen managed to slip into my ear, in turn, two or three little phrases of this kind:

"Don't listen, " the first one said to me, "to that partisan of theGovernment of Paris; he is a lawyer who has come here with a commissionfrom M. Jules Favre. So you see he has a big salary, and as he wishes tokeep it--"

"Don't listen, " the second one said to me, "to that partisan of thealleged Republic of M. Thiers; he is only a monarchist, a disguisedOrleanist--"

"Don't listen, " the third one said to me, "to that partisan of theRepublic of Tours; he is a gentleman who has come to England to get aloan for the benefit of the Government of Tours; so, as he expects toget a lot of money--"

Thus I am, if I reckon correctly, face to face with sixgovernments--three monarchies and three republics. 

LONDON, _December 6, 1870_. 

I think that his Excellency, M. De Bernstoff, Prussian Ambassador toEngland, takes pleasure in making fun of me. I never meet him but thathe announces to me that Paris will capitulate the next day. The next dayarrives and Paris does not capitulate. However, this evening hisExcellency looked so perfectly sure of what he was saying that I think Ican prepare to start for Paris. 

PARIS, _February 20, 1871_. 

I only left on the 10th of February. At last I am in Paris. I travelledslowly, by short stages. What a lot of burned villages! What a lot ofsacked houses! What a lot of devastated forests, dug-up woods, andbridges and railroads destroyed! And these Europeans treat us asbarbarians!

However, among all these ruins there is one the sight of which filled mewith the keenest joy. The palace of Saint-Cloud was the summer palace ofthe Emperor Napoleon, and not a stone upon a stone remains. Icontemplated curiously, eagerly, and for a long time the blackened ruinsof this palace. Pieces of old Chinese vases were hidden in the heaps ofrubbish among the wreck of marble and fragments of shell. 

Where did those old Chinese vases come from? Perhaps from the summerpalace of our Emperor, from that palace which was devastated, burned, and destroyed by those English and French soldiers who came to bring uscivilization. 

I was extremely well received by the English, who overwhelmed me withinvitations and kindnesses; but none the less I hope that the palaces ofBuckingham and Windsor will also have their turn. 

PARIS, _February 25, 1871_. 

I have written to M. Jules Favre to let him know that I have beenwaiting six months for the opportunity of presenting to him thecompliments and apologies of the Emperor of China. M. Jules Favreanswered me that he is obliged to start for Bordeaux. I shall have anaudience in the beginning of March. 

PARIS, _March 7, 1871_. 

Another letter from M. Jules Favre. He is expected at Frankfort by M. DeBismarck. My audience is again put off. 

PARIS, _March 17, 1871_. 

At last, to-morrow, March 18th, at four o'clock, I am to be received byM. Jules Favre at the Ministry of Foreign Affairs. 

PARIS, _March 18, 1871_. 

We dressed ourselves, I and my two secretaries, in our officialcostumes, and departed at three o'clock, accompanied by an interpreter. We arrived. The court of the house was filled with people who appearedbusy and hurried, and who came and went, carrying cases and packages. The interpreter, after having exchanged several words with an employeeof the ministry, said to me:

"Something serious has happened--an insurrection. The Government isagain obliged to change its capital!"

At that moment a door opened, and M. Jules Favre himself appeared with alarge portfolio under his arm. He explained to the interpreter that Ishould have my audience at Versailles in several days, and having mademe a profound bow, which I returned him, he ran away with his largeportfolio. 

VERSAILLES, _March 19, 1871_. 

I had to leave Paris at twelve o'clock in a great hurry. There really isa new Government at Paris. This Government is not one of the threemonarchies, nor one of the three republics. It is a seventh arrangement, which is called the _Commune_. This morning an armed troop of mensurrounded the house where I live. It seems that the new Ministry ofForeign Affairs of Paris of the Commune would have been charmed toreceive a Chinese ambassador. They had come to carry me off. I had timeto escape. It is not the Minister of Foreign Affairs in Paris that Iought to see, it is the Minister of Foreign Affairs in Versailles. 

Good heavens, how complicated it all is! And when shall I be able to putmy hand on this intangible person, who is now blockaded in Paris and nowchased out of Paris?

VERSAILLES, _April 6, 1871_. 

At last, yesterday, I had the honor of being received by his Excellency, and we discussed the events that had occurred in Paris. 

"This insurrection, " M. Jules Favre said to me, "is the most formidableand the most extraordinary that has ever broken out. "

I could not allow such a great historical error to pass. I answered M. Jules Favre that we had had in China for millions of years socialistsand socialistic uprisings; that the French Communists were but roughimitators of our Chinese Taipings; that we had had in 1230 a siege atNankin which had lasted seven years, etc. In short, these Europeans areonly beginning again our history with less grandeur and more barbarity. 

VERSAILLES, _May 15, 1871_. 

My mission is ended; I could return to China; but all that I see hereinterests me extremely. This civil war immediately succeeding a foreignwar is a very curious occurrence. There is here, for a Chinaman, anexcellent opportunity of study, on the spot and from life, of Europeancivilization. 

VERSAILLES, _May 24, 1871_. 

Paris is burning, and on the terrace of the palace of Saint-Cloud, inthe midst of the ruins of that palace, I passed my day looking at Parisburn. It is a dead, destroyed, and annihilated city. 

PARIS, _June 10, 1871_. 

Not at all. It is still the most beautiful city in Europe, and the mostbrilliant, and the most gay. I shall spend some time in Paris. 

PARIS, _June 29, 1871_. 

Yesterday M. Thiers, in the Bois de Boulogne, held a review of a hundredthousand men. Will there always be a France?

IN THE EXPRESS

"When one bears the name of Luynes or La Trémoille, I can readilyunderstand the desire to continue the Luynes or the La Trémoilles; butreally when one is named Chamblard, what possible object can there bein--Eh? Answer. "

In this fashion young Raoul Chamblard talked while comfortably settledback in a large red velvet arm-chair. This happened on the 26th ofMarch, 1892, in one of the parlor-cars of the express to Marseilles, which had left Paris at 8. 50 that morning. It was now five minutes pastnine. The train with much racket was crossing the bridge of Charentin. Young Chamblard was talking to his friend, Maurice Révoille, who, aftera six weeks' leave, was going to join his regiment in Algeria. 

The lieutenant of light cavalry responded to his friend's question witha vague gesture. Raoul Chamblard continued:

"However, it's my father's fixed idea. There must be Chamblards afterme. And as papa has but one son, it's to me he looks to do what isnecessary. "

"Well, do what is necessary. "

"But I am only twenty-four, my dear fellow, and to marry at twenty-fouris hard. It seems to me that I'm still entitled to a little more fun, and even a good deal. "

"Well, have your fun. "

"That's just what I've done up to now. I have had a first-rate time! ButI've taste only for expensive amusements. I don't know how to enjoymyself without money, and I haven't a cent. Do you understand? Not acent!"

"You? You are very rich. "

"A great mistake! Upon coming of age, three years ago, I spent what wasleft me by my mother. Mother wasn't very rich; she was worth six hundredthousand francs, not more. Papa made almost a love-match. The sixhundred thousand francs vanished in three years, and could I decently doanything else as the son of my father? He is powerfully rich!"

"That's what's said. "

"And it's very true. He has a dozen millions which are quite his own, and can't be hurt by an accident; and his bank still goes on, and bringshim in, one year with another, besides the interest on his dozenmillions, three or four hundred thousand francs more. Nothing is moresolid than the Chamblard bank; it's honest, it's venerable. Papa isn'tfair to me, but I'm fair to him. When you have a father in business, it's a good thing when you go out not to be exposed to meet eyes whichseem to say to you, 'My dear fellow, your father has swindled me. ' Papahas but one passion: from five to seven every day he plays piquet at hisclub, at ten sous a point, and as he is an excellent player, he winsseven times out of ten. He keeps an account of his games with the samescrupulous exactitude he has in all things, and he was telling the daybefore yesterday that piquet this year had brought him in six thousandfive hundred francs over and above the cost of the cards. He has a seatin the orchestra at the opera, not for the ballet, but for the musiconly; he never goes on the stage--neither do I, for that matter. Dancersdon't attract me at all; they live in Batignolles, in Montmartre; theyalways walk with their mothers; they completely lack charm. In short, myfather is what one calls a good man. You see I continue to be fair tohim. Besides, I'm always right. Yes, it's a very good thing to have anhonorable father, and Papa Chamblard is a model of all virtues, and heaccumulates for me with a zeal! but I think, just at present, heaccumulates a little too much. He has cut off my income. No marriage, no money. That's brief and decisive. That's his programme. And he hashunted up a wife for me--when I say one, I should say three. "

"Three wives!"

"Yes. One morning he came to me and said: 'This must end. Look, here's alist--three splendid matches. ' There were the names, the relations, thedowries--it was even arranged in the order of the dowries. I had toyield and consent to an interview with Number One. That took place atthe Salon in the Champs Elysées. Ah, my boy, Number One--dry, flat, bony, sallow!"

"Then why did your father--"

"Why? Because she was the daughter, and only daughter, of a wealthymanufacturer from Roubaix. It was splendid! We each started with ahundred thousand francs income, and that was to be, in the course oftime, after realized expectations, a shower of millions! It made papasupremely happy--the thought that all his millions in Paris would oneday make an enormous heap with all those Roubaix millions. Millionsdon't frighten me, but on the condition that they surround a pretty, avery pretty and stylish woman--a great deal of style! That's _my_programme. I want to be able to take my wife to the theatres withouthaving to blush before the box-openers. "

"What do you mean? Before the box-openers?"

"Why, certainly. I am known, and I've a reputation to keep up. You see, the openers are always the same--always; and of course they know me. They've been in the habit of seeing me, during the last three or fouryears, come with the best-known and best-dressed women in Paris. Whichis to say, that I should never dare present myself before them with thatcreature from Roubaix. They would think I had married for money. I triedto explain that delicately to papa, but one can't make him hear reason. There are things which he doesn't understand, which he can't understand. I have no grudge against him; he's of his time, I'm of mine. In short, Ideclared resolutely that I would never marry Number One. Notice that Idiscoursed most sensibly with papa. I said to him: 'You want me to havea home' (home is his word), 'but when I should have placed in that homea fright such as to scare the sparrows, my home would be a horror to me, and I should be forced, absolutely forced, to arrange a home outside. Thus I should have a household at home and a household outside, and it'sthen that the money would fly!' But papa won't listen to anything! Hedoesn't understand that I must have a little wife who is pretty, Parisian pretty--that is to say, original, gay, jolly, who is looked aton the street, and stared at through opera-glasses at the theatre, whowill do me honor, and who will set me off well. I must be able tocontinue my bachelor life with her, and as long as possible. And thenthere's another thing that I can't tell papa. His name is Chamblard--itisn't his fault; only, in consequence, I too am named Chamblard, andit's not very agreeable, with a name like that, to try to get on insociety. And a pretty, a very pretty, woman is the best passport. There, look at Robineau. He has just been received into the little club of theRue Royale. And why? It's not the Union or the Jockey; but never mind, one doesn't get in there as into a hotel. And why was Robineaureceived?"

"I don't know. "

"It's because he has married a charming woman, and this charming womanis a skater of the first rank. She had a tremendous success on the iceat the Bois de Boulogne. In the society columns of all the papers therewas mention of the exquisite, delightful, and ideal Mme. Robineau. Shewas in the swim at one stroke. And Robineau, he too was in the swim. Hewas a member of the little club six weeks later! Papa, he doesn'tunderstand the importance of these things; one can't reason with himabout it; it's all Greek to him. However, as he had absolutely cut offmy supplies, I had to submit, and consent to an interview with NumberTwo. "

"And what was Number Two like?"

"Ah, my dear fellow, what was she like! She was the daughter of a richmerchant of Antwerp. A Belgian article! First a provincial, and then aforeigner! Papa doesn't like Parisians. Mamma was from Châtellerault, and she was indeed a saint. Number Two happened to be in Paris; so lastnight, at the Opéra Comique, they showed me a Fleming, who was veryblond, very insipid, very masculine--a Rubens, a true Rubens; agiantess, a colossal woman, a head taller than I, which is to say thatmaterially one could not take her in a lower stage-box, and those arethe only boxes I like. On leaving the theatre I told papa that Iwouldn't have Number Two any more than Number One, and that I had hadenough, and that I wouldn't see Number Three. The discussion was heated. Papa went off banging doors and repeating, 'No more money!' I saw thatit was serious. I went to bed, but I couldn't sleep--I thought; but Icould think of nothing to save me from the fat hands of the Antwerpgirl. Suddenly, towards three in the morning, I had an inspiration--Ihad an idea that I can call, if you'll permit it, a stroke of genius. "

"I'll permit it. "

"Yes, genius. I knew that you left to-day for Marseilles, and thismorning I departed, English fashion, without explanation, and in alittle while, at the first stop, at Laroche--I have looked at thetime-table, I have thought of everything--I shall send the followingdespatch to my father, " and Raoul triumphantly pulled a paper out of hispocket. "It's all ready. Listen. 'M. Chamblard, 8 Rue Rougemont, Paris, Laroche station. I left on the express for Marseilles with Maurice. I amgoing to make a voyage around the world. I sha'n't be more than sixmonths. I have engaged by telegraph a state-room on the _Traonaddy_which leaves to-morrow for Singapore. Anything rather than a Flemishalliance! Farewell. With regrets for leaving you, your affectionate son, Raoul Chamblard. ' My telegram's all right, isn't it?"

"It isn't bad, but do you seriously mean--"

"Yes, I shall go if, before I reach Marseilles, I haven't an answer frompapa; but I shall have one, for two reasons. In the first place, PapaChamblard knows how to reason, and he will say to himself: 'What shall Igain by it? Instead of fooling round with little white women in Paris, he will fool round with little yellow ones at Singapore. ' And thenanother reason, the best one, is that Papa Chamblard adores me, and hecan't do without me, and the little sentimental phrase at the end of mydespatch will appeal to his heart. You'll see how it will turn out. At11. 20 my telegram will leave Laroche; papa will receive it at half-pasttwelve. And I'll bet you ten louis that at Dijon or Mâcon I'll find inthe wire screen of the station a telegram addressed to me, and wordedthus: 'Return; no longer question of Antwerp marriage. ' Papa's telegramwill be brief, because he is saving and suppresses unnecessary words. Will you take the bet?"

"No, I should lose. "

"I think so. Have you the papers?"

"Yes. "

They read three or four papers, Parisian papers, and read them like trueParisians. It took a short fifteen minutes. While reading they exchangedshort remarks about the new ministry, the races at Auteuil, and YvetteGuilbert--particularly about Yvette Guilbert. Young Chamblard had beento hear her the day before, and he hummed the refrain:

 "Un fiacre allait trottinant Cahin-caha Hu dia! Hop là! Un fiacre allait trottinant Jaune avec un cocher blanc. "

And as the light cavalryman had never heard Yvette Guilbert sing the"Fiacre, " young Chamblard threw up his arms and exclaimed: "You neverheard the 'Fiacre, ' and you had three months' leave! What did you do inParis? _I_ know the 'Fiacre' by heart. "

Upon which Raoul began to hum again, and while humming in a voice whichbecame more and more slow, and more and more feeble, he settled backinto his arm-chair, and soon fell into a peaceful slumber, like the bigbaby that he was. 

All at once he was waked up with a start by the stepping of the train, and by the voice of the conductor, who cried, "Ouah! Ouah! Ouah!" Thecry is the same for all stations. This time it was meant for Laroche. And now for the telegram. Young Chamblard ran to the telegraph-office. The immovable operator counted the sixty-seven words of that queerdespatch. "All aboard, all aboard!"

Young Chamblard had scarcely time to jump on the step of his car. 

"Ouf! that's done, " he said to the cavalryman. "Suppose we lunch. "

So they both started on their way to the dining-car. It was quite ajourney, for two parlor-cars separated them from the restaurant-car, andthose two cars were crowded. It was the season for the great pilgrimageof a few Parisians and a good many English towards Nice, Cannes, andMonte Carlo. The express was running very fast, and was pitchingviolently. One needed sea-legs. Then a furious wind beat against thetrain, and wrapped it in clouds of dust, making the crossing of theplatforms particularly disagreeable. 

They advanced, walking with difficulty through the first car, over thefirst crossing, and encountering the first squall, then through thesecond car; but Chamblard, who went ahead, had difficulty in opening thedoor to the second platform. It resisted on account of the force of thewind; finally it yielded, and Raoul received at the same time in hiseyes a cloud of dust, and in his arms a young blonde, who exclaimed, "Oh, excuse me!" while he, too, exclaimed, "Oh, excuse me!" and at thesame time he received the cavalryman on his back, who, also blinded bythe dust, was saying, "Go on, Raoul, go on. "

The two doors of the cars had shut, and they were all three crowded inthe little passage in the wind--young Raoul, young Maurice, and theyoung blonde. 

The "Oh, excuse me" was immediately followed by a "M. Maurice!" whichwas replied to by a "Mlle. Martha!" The little blonde knew thecavalryman, and perceiving that she was almost in the arms of astranger, Mlle. Martha disengaged herself, and backed cleverly towardsthe platform of the car, saying to Maurice, "You're on the train, andyou're going?"

"To Algeria. "

"We to Marseilles. I am getting a shawl for mamma, who is cold. Mammawill be delighted to see you. You will find her in the dining-car. I'llsee you later. "

"But I will accompany you?"

"If you like. "

She walked on, but not without first having slightly bowed to youngChamblard, who had remained there astounded, contemplating Mlle. Marthawith eyes filled with admiration. 

She had time before going to notice that he was a good-looking youngfellow, that he wore a neat little suit, and that he looked at her withstaring eyes; but in those staring eyes a thought could be clearly readthat could not displease her: "Oh, how pretty you are!"

Raoul was, in fact, saying to himself: "My type, exactly my type! Andwhat style--what style in the simplicity of that costume! And the littletoque, a little on one side over the ear--it's a masterpiece! How wellshe knows how to dress! What an effect she would make in an audience!And that little English accent!"

For she had a little English accent; she had even taken a good deal oftrouble for several years to acquire that little accent. She used to sayto her governess, Miss Butler:

"Yes, of course I want to know English, but I wish especially to speakFrench with an English accent. " She had worked for nothing else. She hadbeen, fortunately, rewarded for her perseverance; her littleAnglo-Parisian gibberish was at times quite original. 

While Maurice was retracing his steps with Mlle. Martha, Raoul placedhimself at a table in the dining-car. He soon saw them come back withmamma's shawl. Maurice lingered for a few minutes at the table where themother and the young brother of the little blonde were lunching. Then hecame back to Raoul, who said as soon as he approached:

"Who is she--quick, tell me, who is she? Whenever one pleases I willmarry her--now, on getting down from the train. In my arms! I held herin my arms! Such a waist! A dream! There are, as you must know, slimwaists and slim waists. There are waists which are slim, hard, harsh, stiff, bony, or mechanically made by odious artifices in the corsets. Ihave thoroughly studied the corset question. It's so important! And thenthere's the true slim waist, which is easy, natural, supple. Suppleisn't sufficient for what just slid through my hands a short time ago. Slippery--yes, that's the word. Slippery just expresses my thought--aslippery waist!"

Raoul was quite charmed with what he said. 

"Yes, " he continued, "slippery; and that little pug-nose! and her littleeyes have quite a--a Chinese air! But who is she, who is she?"

"The daughter of one of my mother's friends. "

"Is she rich?"

"Very rich. "

"It's on account of papa that I asked you that, because I would marryher without a dowry. It's the first time I've ever said such a thing onmeeting a young girl. And now the name. "

"Mlle. Martha Derame. "

"Derame, did you say?"

"Yes. "

"Isn't the father a wealthy merchant who has business in Japan andChina?"

"The same. "

"Ah, my dear fellow--no; one only sees such things in the comic playsof the minor theatres, at Cluny or Dejazet. "

"What's the matter with you?"

"What's the matter with me? She's papa's Number Three--yes, NumberThree. The father of that little marvel is one of papa's piquet playersat the club. And I wouldn't see Number Three, and she falls into my armson the platform between Paris and Lyons. You will present me afterlunch, and I shall speak to the mother and tell her all. "

"How, all?"

"Yes, all; that her daughter is papa's Number Three, and that I didn'twant Number One or Two, but that I should like Number Three. Ah, dearboy, how pretty she is--especially her nose, so charmingly turned up. She has just looked at me, and in a certain way; I am sure I don'tdisplease her. Did you mention me, did you tell my name?"

"No. "

"You were wrong. At any rate, right after lunch--Do you know what Ithink? That this affair will go through on wheels. I shall firsttelegraph papa, and then to-morrow--Oh, heavens! I hope there's atelephone between Paris and Marseilles--"

He interrupted himself and called:

"Porter! Porter!"

"Sir. "

"Is there a telephone between Paris and Marseilles?"

"Yes, sir. "

"Ah! That's all Thanks. The telephone, Maurice, there's the telephone!Papa can speak for me to-morrow by telephone. It will be charming!Marriage by express. Express, electric, telephonic, and romanticmarriage, all at the same time. You understand that between a littlephiz like that and a voyage around the world I don't hesitate. But whyhaven't you thought of marrying her?"

"Oh, too wealthy--too wealthy a match for me; and then she is not thekind of little person to go and bury in a garrison town in Algeria. Sheis a Parisian, a true Parisian, who wants to amuse herself, and who willamuse herself. "

"Just what I want, absolutely just what I want. I too wish to amusemyself. She will amuse herself, I shall amuse myself, we will amuseourselves. "

Young Raoul was in a frenzy, and as soon as he had finished his luncheonhe scrawled a new despatch on the restaurant table to his father, and, while writing, talked very excitedly. 

"I'll send my despatch from Dijon, and I'll address it to the club; papawill be there about five o'clock, and also the father of this littlemarvel. They can immediately discuss the affair. Shall I ask for ananswer at Lyons? The time-table, pass me the time-table. Lyons, 5. 25. No, that would be too short. Answer at Marseilles. They stop atMarseilles? Yes? For twenty-four hours? All right, so do I. At whathotel? Hôtel de Noailles? All right, so do I. So answer Hôtel deNoailles. My despatch is very good. You will see. As good as theother--better, even. I've the knack of telegrams to-day. Yes, it's verygood. "

He wrote and wrote; he was inspired, he was animated; he made a few moremistakes than usual in spelling, that was all--it was emotion. He rereadhis despatch with complaisance, he made Maurice read it, who could nothelp thinking the incident funny. Raoul counted the words of hisdespatch--there were about a hundred and fifty--and calling the waiterof the dining-car, he said, "Send this telegram off for me at Dijon. Here are ten francs; there will be two or three over for you. "

Then turning at once to Maurice he asked, "Is that enough?"

"Why certainly. "

"Well, for such a marriage--ah, my dear fellow, you sail to-morrow atwhat time?"

"At two o'clock. "

"Oh, we have plenty of time, then; all will be settled by two o'clock. "

"Oh, settled; you're crazy!"

"Not at all; it's already very far advanced, since it's papa's NumberThree. I only ask one thing of you: present me to the mother shortly. After that let me alone. I'll manage everything; only, at any cost, wemust leave our car and find two arm-chairs in the same car, and near mymother-in-law. "

"Your mother-in-law!"

"That's what I said; my mother-in-law. Once the two arm-chairs areprocured, I am master of the situation. You don't know me. I alreadyknow what I shall say to the mother, what I shall say to my youngbrother-in-law (he is very nice), and what I shall say to my futurebride. I shall have made a conquest of all of them before we reachLyons. Lyons? No; that's going a little fast--say Valence or Montélimar. Pass me the time-table again. Let us settle everything, and leavenothing to chance. Oh, look at her! She has nibbled nuts for the lastfifteen minutes, and how she cracks them--crack! one little bite--andwhat pretty little teeth! She is very pretty even while eating--animportant thing. It's very rare to find women who remain pretty whileeating and sleeping, very rare. Little Adelaide, the red-headed one, youremember, ate stupidly. And this one over there eats brightly; sheeats--crack! another nut--and she looks at me on the sly. I can see thatshe looks at me. All goes well, all goes well!"

In truth, all did go well. At Montbard, 12. 32, Raoul was presented toMme. Derame, who, on hearing the name of Chamblard, had a littleshiver--the shiver of a mother who has a young daughter to marry, andwho says to herself, "Oh, what a splendid match!" Her husband had oftenspoken to her of young Chamblard. 

"Ah, " he used to say to her, "what a marriage for Martha! We speak of itsometimes before and after our piquet, Chamblard and I; but the youngman is restive--doesn't yet wish to settle down. It would be such a goodthing--he is richer than we. Chamblard is once, twice, three timesricher! And Martha isn't easy to marry; she has already refused five orsix desirable matches on all sorts of pretexts. They didn't please her:they were too old, they had no style, they didn't live in fashionableneighborhoods, she didn't wish to go into sugar, or cotton, or wine--oranything, in short. She would accept none other than a young husband, and not too serious. She must have a very rich man who did nothing andloved pleasure. "

How well young Chamblard answered to that description! When there wasquestion of doing nothing, Raoul showed real talent. As soon as onetalked horses, dogs, carriages, hats, dresses, jewelry, races, fencing, skating, cooking, etc. , he showed signs of the rarest and highestcompetence. 

So, as there was general conversation, Raoul was very brilliant. In theneighborhood of Châlons-sur-Saône (3. 10), while relating how he, Chamblard, had invented a marvellous little coupé, he did not say that:that coupé had been offered by him to Mlle. Juliette Lorphelin, of theballet corps at the Folies-Bergère. This coupé was a marvel; besides, itwas very well known; it was called the Chamblard coupé. 

"Small, " he said, "very small. A coupé ought always to be small. " Butwhat a lot of things in such a small space: a drawer for toiletnecessaries, a secret box for money and jewelry, a clock, a thermometer, a barometer, a writing-shelf--and that was not all!

He became animated, and grew excited in speaking of his invention. Martha listened to him eagerly. 

"When you pull up the four wooden shutters you naturally find yourselfin the dark; but the four shutters are mirrors, and as soon as one hasplaced a finger on a little button hidden under the right-hand cushion, six little crystal balls, ingeniously scattered in the tufting of theblue satin of the coupé, become electric lights. The coupé is turnedinto a little lighted boudoir; and not only for five minutes--no, butfor an hour, two hours, if one wishes it; there is a storage-batteryunder the seat. When I submitted this idea to my carriage-maker he wassmitten with envy and admiration. "

Martha, too, was smitten. 

"What a charming man!" she said to herself. "Oh, to have such a coupé!But pearl-gray--I should want it pearl-gray. "

Then they discussed jewelry, dresses, hats, stuffs. And Raoul proved onall those questions, if possible, more remarkable than ever. He had paidso many bills to great dress-makers, great milliners, and greatjewellers! He had been present at so many conferences on the cut of sucha dress or the arrangement of such a costume, at so many scenes oftrying on and draping! And as he drew easily, he willingly threw hisideas on paper, as he said, neatly. He had even designed the costumes ofa little piece--played in I do not know what little theatre--which wasrevolutionary, anarchistic, symbolistic, decadent, end of the century, end of the world. 

He took his little note-book and began to outline with a light hand, inspite of the movement of the train, several of his creations. He hadtact, and thought of everything. "It was, " he said, "for charades playedin society at my friend's, the baron so and so. " He invented the baron, and gave him a resonant name. 

Martha was delighted. Never had a man, since she had been allowed tochat a little with young men, seemed to her to have such an original andinteresting conversation. 

"Lately, " said Raoul, "one of my cousins--she often applies tome--consulted me about a dress for a ball at Nice, during the carnival. This is what I advised her. See, I draw at the same time--look. "

Oh, how she did look!

"I am going to try to make myself well understood. A foundation ofsmooth white satin, clinging, very clinging--blue, I adore blue. "

That pained her; she disliked blue. 

"Yes, very clinging; my cousin has a delightful figure, and can standit. "

He took Martha's figure in with a hasty glance, and the glance seemed tosay, "You could, too. " She understood and blushed, charmed with thatdelicate flattery. Raoul continued:

"Pale, very pale blue satin. Then on my foundation I threw anover-dress of pompadour lace of very soft tones: greens, pinks, mauves, cream, and azure. Very large sleeves with a double puff of blue velvet, wristlets of Venetian point. Am I clear?"

"Oh, very clear, very clear. "

And in an excited voice she repeated:

"A double puff of blue velvet, with wristlets of Venetian point. "

All of a sudden the brakes scraped, and the train came sharply to astop. One heard the cry of "Mâcon! Mâcon!"

"Mâcon already!" said Martha. 

That "_already_" rang delightfully in Raoul's ears. There was much inthat _already_. Raoul profited by the five minutes' stop to complete andfix his little sketch, which was slightly jolted; and he did not noticethat his young brother-in-law had been sent out with a despatch to thetelegraph-office. The despatch had been secretly written by Mme. Derame, and had, too, been directed to the Old Club. 

The train started--4. 11. Raoul had not thought to get down to see ifunder the railing there was not a despatch addressed to him. There wasone, which was to remain eternally at Mâcon. The telegram containedthese words: "Return; no longer question of Antwerp marriage. "

The train ran on and on, and now there was question of another dress--asilk dress, light pink, with a large jabot of lace down the front. Raoulliterally dazzled Martha by his inexhaustible fertility of wiseexpressions and technical terms. 

 * * * * *

While the express passed the Romanèche station (4. 32) father Chamblardcame into the Old Club, went into the card-room, and met father Derame. Piquet? With pleasure. So there they sat, face to face. There were thereeight or ten card-tables--piquet, bezique, whist, etc. The works were infull blast. First game, and papa Derame is rubiconed; the second gamewas going to begin when a footman arrives with a despatch for M. Chamblard. 

"Will you excuse me?"

"Certainly. "

He reads, he becomes red; he rereads, and he gets scarlet. 

It was Raoul's brilliant telegram from Dijon:

"Dear father, I shall not go. Most extraordinary meeting. Your NumberThree--yes, your Number Three--in the train with her mother, and Iwouldn't see her. Ah! if I had known. Strike while the iron's hot; I'mstriking it, strike it too. M. D. Must be at the club, speak to him atonce; tell him that I left to avoid marrying an ugly woman; that I onlywish to make a love-match; that I am head-over-heels in love with hisdaughter. We shall all be to-night at Marseilles, Hôtel de Noailles. GetM. D. To back me up by telegraph to Mme. D. I will talk with youto-morrow over the telephone. I am writing my telegram in thedining-car. At this moment she is nibbling nuts--charming, she ischarming! She fell into my arms on the platform. Till to-morrow at thetelephone, nine o'clock. "

M. Chamblard's agitation did not escape M. Derame. 

"Is it a serious matter?" he asked. 

"Yes. "

"We can stop if you wish. "

"Yes; but first of all, did Mme. And Mlle. Derame leave here thismorning on the express for Marseilles?"

"Yes, at 9. 55. Why do you ask that? Has there been any accident?"

"No, no accident; it can't be called that; on the contrary. Come, comeinto the little parlor. "

He told him everything, showed him the despatch, gave him certainnecessary explanations about the words, such as Number Three. And therethey were, choking, delighted--both the father of the young man and thefather of the young girl. What luck, what a providential meeting!

"But you told me that your son didn't wish to marry. "

"He didn't wish to, but he has seen your daughter, and now he wishes to. Come, hurry up and send a telegram to Marseilles to Mme. Derame. "

"But she will be thunderstruck when I present to her a son-in-law bytelegraph. "

Return of the footman. It was a despatch for M. Derame. He opens it. 

"It's from my wife, from Mâcon, 2. 15. "

"Good, " says M. Chamblard; "all goes well, very well. "

"Very disturbed. Met in the train the son of M. C. , of Rue Rougemont, your club friend. He was presented by Maurice. You often spoke to me ofa possible alliance there. Evidently he thinks her charming. Just atpresent he is talking to her, and looks at her, looks at her. What shallI do? Shall I put a stop to it or allow it to continue? Large fortune, isn't there?"

M. Derame in his turn showed his despatch to M. Chamblard. Theycontinued to talk, in high good-humor and in excellent accord, and wenton with their game of piquet only after having sent the following twotelegrams to the Hôtel de Noailles:

First despatch to Mme. Derame: "If it pleases you, if it pleases her, yes. Enormous fortune. "

Second despatch to Raoul: "Have spoken to D. He is telegraphing to Mme. D. He approves, so do I. "

A footman carried the two despatches at the same time to thetelegraph-office in the Place de la Bourse, and during the time that, running over the wires along the railroad, they passed the expresstowards half-past six in the neighborhood of Saint-Rambert, the Derames, Raoul, and Maurice, in the best possible spirits and in most perfectharmony, dined at the same table, and Martha looked at Raoul, and Raoullooked at Martha, and Mme. Derame said to herself: "Martha's falling inlove; I know her, she is falling in love. She fell in love just so lastyear at a ball with a little youth who was very dandified, but withoutfortune. This time, luckily, yes--Edward told me so--there is plenty ofmoney; so, naturally, if Martha is willing we are. "

The train ran on, and on, and on; and Raoul talked, and talked, andtalked. He even let slip practical thoughts, raised himself up togeneral ideas, and developed with force the theory that the first dutyof a woman was to be, in all things, refined elegance. He explained, with endless detail, what the life of an absolutely correct fashionablewoman was, what it was to be an absolutely fashionable woman. Hetriumphantly took _his fashionable woman_ from Paris to Trouville, fromTrouville to Lake Como, from Lake Como to Monte-Carlo. He drew thetrunks of the fashionable woman, marvellous trunks, which were heaped upin the vestibules of first-class hotels. Besides, he had also invented atrunk. 

Then, very tactfully, he put Martha through a little examination, whichhad nothing in common with the examinations of the Sorbonne or the Hôtelde Ville. 

"Did she skate?" That's what he wanted to know first! He was himself avery distinguished skater. He needed a sport-loving wife. He had butjust pronounced the word skating when suddenly the young brother (howprecious little brothers sometimes are) exclaimed: "Ah, it's sister whoskates well! She makes figures-of-eight. And who swims well, too--like afish!"

She skated, she swam, she was sport-loving. Raoul said to the younggirl, with deep enthusiasm: "I congratulate you. A woman who can't swimisn't a woman. "

And he added, with increasing energy:

"A woman who can't skate isn't a woman. "

When he had a strong thought, he willingly used it again in a brief butstriking form. 

Martha's face beamed with joy. She was really a woman. Never had asweeter word been said to her. 

Night had come; it was necessary, therefore, to tear one's self awayfrom that exquisite conversation, and return to the parlor-car. YoungDerame was going to sleep; so they began to prepare for the trip throughthe train. 

Here is the platform, the platform of the morning, the platform of thefirst meeting. She walks ahead of him, and in a whisper he says to her, "It's here that this morning--"

She turns round, and smiling repeats, "Yes, it's here that thismorning--"

Always with that little English accent which never leaves her, even whenshe is most agitated. 

_It is here that this morning_--That was all, and it said all. Adelightful evening. No more rain, no more dust. Already there was thesoft, balmy air of the South. The moon lit that idyl at full speed. Spring-time everywhere, in the sky and in the hearts. 

"She loves me, " he said to himself. 

"He adores me, " she said to herself. 

How right they were to give themselves up thus, without a struggle, without resistance, to the inclination which carried them, quitenaturally, towards each other. There had been between them, from thefirst word, so perfect, so complete a community of tastes, ideas, andsentiments. They were so well made, this little puppet and this littledoll, to roll off, both together, gloriously in the "Chamblard coupé, "so well matched to walk in the world, accomplishing mechanically, automatically, at the right hour, in the prescribed costume, everywherewhere it was correct to take pleasure, all the functions of fashionablelife, and all the rituals of worldly worship. 

They arrive in the parlor-car. The shades are drawn over the lamps;travellers are stiff, drowsy, and asleep in the big red arm-chairs. 

"Change places, " Raoul whispers to Maurice; "sit beside her. I am goingto sit by the mother; I must speak to her. "

Maurice lent himself to this manoeuvre with perfect docility, Marthadid not understand it. Why did he abandon her? Why was he talking to hermother, and so low, so low that she couldn't hear? What was he saying?What was he saying?

This is what he said between Montélimar, 8. 35, and Pierrelatte, 8. 55:

"Listen to me, madam, listen to me. I am an honest man; I wish, Iought, to let you know the situation, the entire situation. Let us firstsettle an important point. My father knows M. Derame. "

"Yes, yes, I know. "

"Another more important point. Let us mention the essential thingsfirst. My father is very rich. "

"I know, I know that too. "

"Good, then, very good. I continue. I left Paris this morning, and Ihave here in my pocket a ticket for cabin No. 27 on the _Traonaddy_, which leaves to-morrow at four o'clock from the Bay of Joliette forSuez, Aden, Colombo, and Singapore, and I shall go on board to-morrow atfour o'clock if you don't let me hope to become your son-in-law. "

"Sir!"

"Don't move, madam, don't move. Mlle. Martha is pretending to sleep, butshe isn't sleeping; she is watching us, and I haven't said all yet. I ambut just beginning. You are going to answer me--oh, I know it--that youdon't know me, that Mlle. Martha doesn't know me. Allow me to tell youthat Mlle. Martha and myself know each other better than three-fourthsof engaged couples on the day of their marriage. You know how it isusually done. A rapid glance from afar in a theatre--one brings goodlorgnettes, one examines. 'How do you like him?' 'Fairly, fairly. 'Then, several days later, at a ball, in the midst of the figures of thequadrille, several gasping, breathless phrases are exchanged. Then ameeting in a picture-gallery. There, there is more intimacy, because ittakes place in a small room. It happened to me with a young provincial. I had pegged away that morning at the Joanne guide, so as to be able tofind something to say about the Raphaels and the Murillos. And at theend of several interviews of that sort it is over, one has madeacquaintance, one suits the other, and the marriage is decided. Mlle. Martha and I are already old comrades. In the first place, to beginwith, this morning at half-past eleven she fell into my arms. "

"My daughter in your arms!"

"Don't jump, madam; Mlle. Martha will see you jump. "

Martha had, in fact, closely followed the scene with half-shut eyes, andsaid to herself, "Good gracious! what is he telling mamma? She isobliged to hold on to the arms of her seat to keep herself from jumpingup. "

"Yes, madam, in my arms; by the greatest, by the most fortunate ofaccidents, we stumbled over each other on one of the platforms of thetrain. And since I have seen her, not in the false light of a theatreor a gallery, but in the full glare of sunlight. I have seen her atlunch, munching nuts with the prettiest teeth there are in the world; Ihave seen her, just now, in the moonlight; and I know that she skates, and I know that she swims, and I know she would like to have apearl-gray coupé, and she ought to have it. And now I admire her in thesemi-obscurity. Ravishing! isn't she ravishing?"

"Sir, never has a mother found herself--"

"In such a situation? I acknowledge it, madam, and for that very reasonyou must get out of the situation quickly; it's evident that it can't beprolonged. "

"That's true--"

"Here is what I propose to you. You go to the Hôtel de Noailles; I, too, naturally. You have all the morning to-morrow to talk to Mlle. Martha, and the telephone to talk through to M. Derame. You know who I am. Youhave seen me, too, in the daylight. I have talked--talked a great deal. You could, you and Mlle. Martha, find out what I am, what I think. Well, to-morrow--what time do you expect to breakfast to-morrow?"

"But I don't know. I assure you that I am choking, upset, overcome. "

"Let us settle on an hour all the same; eleven o'clock--will you, ateleven?"

"If you wish. "

"Well, to-morrow at eleven o'clock I shall be in the dining-room of thehotel. If you say 'Go' I shall go; if you say 'Stay' I shall stay. Don'tanswer me; take time to reflect; it's worth while. Till to-morrow, madam, till to-morrow at eleven. "

 * * * * *

In the morning very interesting communications passed between Paris andMarseilles. 

When Mme. Derame entered the dining-room of the hotel at eleven o'clock, Raoul went straight to her, and the cavalryman, always adroit in hismanoeuvres, had taken possession of Mlle. Martha. A short dialogueensued between Raoul and Mme. Derame, who was much agitated. 

"They tell me there are boats every fortnight between Indo-China andMarseilles--you could put off your departure--merely taking anotherboat--"

"Ah, thanks, madam, thanks!"

 * * * * *

At two o'clock the Derames and young Chamblard accompanied Maurice tothe boat for Africa. On the deck of the steamer Raoul said to hisfriend:

"It's understood that you are to be best man. On arriving, ask yourcolonel for leave at once. It will take place, I think, in six weeks. "

Raoul was mistaken. It was decidedly an express marriage; five weekswere sufficient. 

When they were mounting the steps of the Madeleine, Raoul said toMartha:

"Twelve o'clock. "

"What are you thinking of?"

"Ah, you too. "

"Twelve, the hour of the platform, isn't it?"

"Yes, that's it. "

They began to laugh, but quickly became serious, and made anirreproachable entry into church. 

They were looked at eagerly, and on all sides the following remarks wereexchanged:

"You know it's a love-match. " "Yes, it appears it was a meeting on thetrain. " "A lightning-stroke!" "What a charming affair!" "And so rare!""Oh yes, so rare! A love-match! A true love-match!"

THE END