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THE JEALOUSIES OF A COUNTRY TOWN 
 AND 
 
 THE COMMISSION IN LUNACY 
 

 
 
 
 Digitized by the Internet Archive 
 in 2021 with funding from a 
 University of North Carolina at Chapel Hil 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 https://archive.org/details/completeworksofh 14bal: 
 

 

 
The Jealousies of a 
 
 Country ‘Town 
 
 Colonial Press Company 
 Boston and New York 
 
 
 
 ee - a R we ea ee 
 
Copyrighted, 1901 
 By JoHN D. AvIL- 
 
 All rights reserved 
 
 
 
INTRODUCTION 
 
 THE two stories of Les Rivalités are more closely connected 
 than it was always Balzac’s habit to connect the tales which 
 he united under a common heading. Not only are both de- 
 voted to the society of Alencon—a town and neighborhood 
 to which he had evidently strong, though it is not clearly 
 known what, attractions—not only is the Chevalier de Valois 
 a notable figure in each; but the community, imparted by the 
 elaborate study of the old noblesse in each case, is even greater 
 than either of these ties could give. Indeed, if instead of 
 Les Rivalités the author had chosen some label indicating 
 the study of the noblesse qui s’en va, it might almost have 
 been preferable. He did not, however; and though in a man 
 who so constantly changed his titles and his arrangements 
 the actual ones are not excessively authoritative, they have 
 authority. 
 
 La Viele Fille, despite a certain tone of levity—which, 
 to do Balzac justice, is not common with him, and which 
 is rather hard upon the poor heroine—is one of the best and 
 liveliest things he ever did. The opening picture of the 
 Chevalier, though, like other things of its author’s, especially 
 in his overtures, liable to the charge of being elaborated a 
 little too much, is one of the very best things of its kind, and 
 is a sort of locus classicus for its subject. The whole picture 
 of country town society is about as good as it can be; and 
 the only blot that I know is to be found in the sentimental 
 Athanase, who was not quite within Balzac’s province, ex- 
 
 BAD (vii) 
 
 ty \ tA ne, 
 
 V5 , & me Seer ea 
 ne aye Stay 
 
viii INTRODUCTION 
 
 tensive as that province is. If we compare Mr. Augustus 
 Moddle, we shall see one of the not too numerous instances 
 in which Dickens has a clear advantage over Balzac; and 
 if it be retorted that Balzac’s object was not to present a 
 merely ridiculous object, the rejoinder is not very far to seek. 
 Such a character, with such a fate as Balzac has assigned to 
 him, must be either humorously grotesque or unfeignedly 
 pathetic, and Balzac has not quite made Athanase either. 
 
 He is, however, if he is a failure, about the only failure in 
 the book, and he is atoned for by a whole bundle of successes. 
 Of the Chevalier, little more need be said. Balzac, it 
 must be remembered, was the oldest novelist of distinct 
 genius who had the opportunity of delineating the survivors 
 of the ancien régime from the life, and directly. It is certain 
 —even if we hesitate at believing him quite so familiar with 
 all the classes of higher society from the Faubourg down- 
 wards, as he would have us believe him—that he saw some- 
 thing of most of them, and his genius was unquestionably 
 of the kind to which a mere thumbnail study, a mere passing 
 view, suffices for the acquisition of a thorough working 
 knowledge of the object. In this case the Chevalier has 
 served, and not improperly served, as the original of a thou- 
 sand after-studies. His rival, less carefully projected, is also 
 perhaps a little less alive. Again, Balzac was old enough 
 to have foregathered with many men of the Revolution. But 
 the most characteristic of them were not long-lived, the 
 “little window” and other things having had a bad effect on 
 them; and most of those who survived had, by the time he 
 was old enough to take much notice, gone through metamor- 
 phoses of Bonapartism, Constitutional Liberalism, and what 
 not, But still du Bousquier 1s alive, as well as all the minor 
 
INTRODUCTION ix 
 
 assistants and spectators in the battle for the old maid’s hand. 
 Suzanne, that tactful and graceless Suzanne to whom we are 
 introduced first of all, is very much alive; and for all her 
 gracelessness, not at all disagreeable. [ am only sorry that 
 she sold the counterfeit presentment of the Princess Goritza 
 after all. 
 
 Le Cabinet des Antiques, in its Alencon scenes, is a worthy 
 pendant to La Vieille Fille. The old-world honor of the 
 Marquis d’Esgrignon, the thankless sacrifices of Armande, 
 the prisca fides of Maitre Chesnel, present pictures for which, 
 out of Balzac, we can look only in Jules Sandeau, and which 
 in Sandeau, though they are presented with a more poetical 
 touch, have less masterly outline than here. One takes—or, 
 at least, I take—less interest in the ignoble intrigues of the 
 other side, except in so far as they menace the fortunes of a 
 worthy house unworthily represented. Victurnien d’Es- 
 grignon, like his companion, Savinien de Portenduére (who, 
 however, is, in every respect, a very much better fellow), does 
 not argue in Balzac any high opinion of the fils de famille. 
 He is, in fact, an extremely feeble youth, who does not seem to 
 have got much real satisfaction out of the escapades, for 
 which he risked not merely his family’s fortune, but his own 
 honor, and who would seem to have been a rake, not from 
 natural taste and spirit and relish, but because it seemed to 
 him to be the proper thing to be. But the beginnings of the 
 fortune of the aspiring and intriguing Camusots are ad- 
 mirably painted; and Madame de Maufrigneuse, that rather 
 doubtful divinity, who appears so frequently in Balzac, here 
 acts the dea ex machina with considerable effect. And we end 
 well (as we generally do when Blondet, whom Balzac seems 
 more than once to adopt as mask, is the narrator), in the 
 
x INTRODUCTION 
 
 last glimpse of Mlle. Armande left alone with the remains 
 of her beauty, the ruins of everything dear to her—and 
 God. 
 
 These two stories were written at no long interval, yet, 
 for some reason or other, Balzac did not at once unite them. 
 La Vieille Fille first appeared in November and December 
 1836 in the Presse, and was inserted next year in the Scénes 
 de la Vie de Province. It had three chapter divisions. The 
 second part did not appear all at once. Its first instalment, 
 under the general title, came out in the Chronique de Paris 
 even before the Viele Fille appeared in March 1836; the 
 completion was not published (under the title of Les Rivalités 
 en Province) till the autumn of 1838, when the Constitu- 
 tionnel served. as its vehicle. There were eight chapter divi- 
 sions in this latter. The whole of the Cabinet was published 
 in book form (with Gambara to follow it) in 1839. There 
 were some changes here; and the divisions were abolished 
 when the whole book in 1844 entered the Comédie. One of 
 the greatest mistakes which, in my humble judgment, the 
 organizers of the édition définitwe have made, is their adop- 
 tion of Balzac’s never executed separation of the pair and 
 deletion of the excellent joint-title Les Rivalités. 
 
 LD’Interdiction belongs with the Honorine group in Scénes 
 de la Vie Privée, being placed here for purpose of con- 
 venience. It is good in its own way. It is indeed impossible 
 to say that there is not in the manner, though perhaps there 
 may be none in the fact, of the Marquis d’Espard’s restitu- 
 tion, and the rest of it, a little touch of the madder side of 
 Quixotism; and one sees all the speculative and planning 
 Balzac in that notable scheme of the great work on China, 
 which brought in far, far more, I fear, than any work on 
 
INTRODUCTION xi 
 
 China ever has or is likely to bring in to its devisers. But 
 the conduct of Popinot, in his interview with the Marquise, 
 is really admirable. The great scenes of fictitious finesse 
 do not always “come off ;” we do not invariably find ourselves 
 experiencing that sense of the ability of his characters which 
 the novelist appears to entertain, and expects us to entertain 
 likewise. But this is admirable; it is, with Charles de 
 Bernard’s Le Gendre, perhaps the very best thing of the kind 
 to be found anywhere. This story would serve to show any 
 intelligent critic that genius of no ordinary kind had passed 
 that way. 
 
 L’Interdiction first appeared in the Chronique de Paris 
 in 1836; was at first separated from the Htudes Philoso- 
 phiques to be a Scéne de la Vie Parisienne. Gass 
 

 
CONTENTS 
 
 PAGE 
 
 INTRODUCTION - - - - vii 
 
 THE JEALOUSIES OF A COUNTRY TOWN: 
 
 THE OLD MAID - 3 m = I 
 
 THE COLLECTION OF ANTIQUITIES - - 147 
 
 THE COMMISSION IN LUNACY - - 303 
 

 
ILLUSTRATIONS 
 
 PHOTOGRAVURES 
 
 ‘“‘AH, SUSANNE, IS THAT YOU?”? (II) 
 
 HE LISTENED PATIENTLY ... TO TALES 
 OF THE LITTLE WOES OF LIFE IN A 
 
 COUNTRY TOWN - 
 
 AT ONCE HE TURNED TO LOOK AT ATH- 
 
 ANASE - = = 
 
 ‘“WHAT IS IT, MONSIEUR?’’ SHE ASKED, 
 
 POSING IN HER DISORDER 
 
 Frontispiece 
 
 PAGE 
 
 - 242 
 

 
THE JEALOUSIES OF A COUNTRY TOWN 
 
 THE OLD MAID 
 
 To M. Eugéne Auguste Georges Louis Midy de la Greneraye 
 Surville, Civil Engineer of the Corps Royal, a token of affection 
 from his brother-in-law. DE BALZzac. 
 
 PLENTY of people must have come across at least one 
 Chevalier de Valois in the provinces; there was one in 
 Normandy, another was extant at Bourges, a third flourished 
 at Alencon in the year 1816, and the South very likely pos- 
 sessed one of its own. But we are not here concerned with 
 the numbering of the Valois tribe. Some of them, no doubt, 
 were about as much of Valois as Louis XIV. was a Bourbon; 
 and every Chevalier was so slightly acquainted with the rest, 
 that it was anything but politic to mention one of them when 
 speaking to another. All of them, however, agreed to leave 
 the Bourbons in perfect tranquillity on the throne of France, 
 for it is a little too well proven that Henri IV. succeeded to 
 the crown in default of heirs male in the Orléans, otherwise 
 the Valois branch; so that if any Valois exist at all, they must 
 be descendants of Charles of Valois, Duke of Angouléme, and 
 Marie Touchet; and even there the direct line was extinct 
 (unless proof to the contrary is forthcoming) in the person 
 of the Abbé de Rothelin. As for the Valois Saint-Remy, 
 descended from Henri II., they likewise came to an end with 
 the too famous Lamothe-Valois of the Diamond Necklace 
 affair. 
 
 Every one of the Chevaliers, if information is correct, was, 
 like the Chevalier of Alencon, an elderly noble, tall, lean, and 
 without fortune. The Bourges Chevalier had emigrated, the 
 
 (1) 
 
2 THE JEALOUSIES OF A COUNTRY TOWN 
 
 Touraine Valois went into hiding during the Revolution, and 
 the Alencon Chevalier was mixed up in the Vendean war, 
 and implicated to some extent in Chouannerie. The last- 
 named gentleman spent the most part of his youth in Paris, 
 where, at the age of thirty, the Revolution broke in upon his 
 career of conquests. Accepted as a true Valois by persons 
 of the highest quality in his province, the Chevalier de Valois 
 d’Alengon (like his namesakes) was remarkable for his fine 
 manners, and had evidently been accustomed to move in the 
 best society. 
 
 He dined out every day, and played cards of an evening, 
 and, thanks to one of his weaknesses, was regarded as a great 
 wit; he had a habit of relating a host of anecdotes of the 
 times of Louis Quinze, and those who heard his stories for the 
 first time thought them passably well narrated. The Chevalier 
 de Valois, moreover, had one virtue; he refrained from repeat- 
 ing his own good sayings, and never alluded to his conquests, 
 albeit his smiles and airs were delightfully indiscreet. ‘The 
 old gentleman took full advantage of the old-fashioned 
 Voltairean noble’s privilege of staying away from Mass, but 
 his irreligion was very tenderly dealt with out of regard for 
 his devotion to the Royalist cause. 
 
 One of his most remarkable graces (Molé must have 
 learned it of him) was his way of taking snuff from an old- 
 fashioned snuff-box with a portrait of a lady on the lid. The 
 Princess Goritza, a lovely Hungarian, had been famous for 
 her beauty towards the end of the reign of Louis XV.; and 
 the Chevalier could never speak without emotion of the 
 foreign great lady whom he loved in his youth, for whom he 
 had fought a duel with M. de Lauzun. | 
 
 But by this time the Chevalier had lived fifty-eight years, 
 and if he owned to but fifty of them, he might safely indulge 
 himself in that harmless deceit. Thin, fair-complexioned 
 men, among other privileges, retain that youthfulness of shape 
 which in men, as in women, contributes as much as anything 
 to stave off any appearance of age. And, indeed, it is a fact 
 that all the life, or rather, all the grace, which is the expres- 
 
THE JEALOUSIES OF A COUNTRY TOWN 3 
 
 sion of life, lies in the figure. Among the Chevalier’s per- 
 sonal traits, mention must be made of the portentous nose 
 with which Nature had endowed him. It cut a pallid 
 countenance sharply into two sections which seemed to have 
 nothing to do with each other; so much so, indeed, that only 
 one-half of his face would flush with the exertion of digestion 
 after dinner; all the glow being confined to the left side, a 
 phenomenon worthy of note in times when physiology is so 
 much occupied with the human heart. M. de Valois’ health 
 was not apparently robust, judging by his long, thin legs, 
 lean frame, and sallow complexion; but he ate like an ogre, 
 alleging, doubtless by way of excuse for his voracity, that he 
 suffered from a complaint known in the provinces as a “hot 
 liver.” The flush on his left cheek confirmed the story; but 
 in a land where meals are developed on the lines of thirty or 
 forty dishes, and last for four hours at a stretch, the 
 Chevalier’s abnormal appetite might well seem to be a special 
 mark of the favor of Providence vouchsafed to the good town. 
 That flush on the left cheek, according to divers medical 
 authorities, is a sign of prodigality of heart; and, indeed, the 
 Chevalier’s past record-of gallantry might seem to confirm 
 a professional dictum for which the present chronicler (most 
 fortunately) is in nowise responsible. But in spite of these 
 symptoms, M. de Valois was of nervous temperament, and in 
 consequence long-lived; and if his liver was hot, to use the 
 old-fashioned phrase, his heart was not a whit less inflamma- 
 ble. If there was a line worn here and there in his face, and 
 a silver thread or so in his hair, an experienced eye would 
 have discerned in these signs and tokens the stigmata of 
 desire, the furrows traced by past pleasure. And, in fact, in 
 his face, the unmistakable marks of the crow’s foot and the 
 serpent’s tooth took the shape of the delicate wrinkles so 
 prized at the court of Cytherea. 
 
 Everything about the gallant Chevalier revealed the “ladies’ 
 man.” So minutely careful was he over his ablutions, that 
 it was a pleasure to see his cheeks; they might have been 
 brushed over with some miraculous water. That portion of 
 
4 THE JEALOUSIES OF A COUNTRY TOWN 
 
 his head which the hair refused to hide from view shone like 
 ivory. His eyebrows, like his hair, had a youthful look, so 
 carefully was their growth trained and regulated by the comb. 
 A naturally fair skin seemed to be yet further whitened by 
 some mysterious preparation; and while the Chevalier never 
 used scent, there was about him, as it were, a perfume of 
 youth which enhanced the freshness of his looks. His hands, 
 that told of race, were as carefully kept as if they belonged 
 to some coxcomb of the gentler sex; you could not help notic- 
 ing those rose-pink neatly-trimmed finger-nails. Indeed, but 
 for his lordly superlative nose, the Chevalier would have 
 looked like a doll. 
 
 It takes some resolution to spoil this portrait with the ad- 
 mission of a foible; the Chevalier put cotton wool in his ears, 
 and. still continued to wear ear-rings—two tiny negroes’ heads 
 set with brilliants. They were of admirable workmanship, 
 it igtrue, and their owner was so far attached to the singular 
 appendages, that he used to justify his fancy by saying “that 
 his sick headaches had left him since his ears were pierced.” 
 He used to suffer from sick headaches. The Chevalier is not 
 held up as a flawless character; but even if an old bachelor’s 
 heart sends too much blood to his face, is he never therefore 
 to be forgiven for his adorable absurdities? Perhaps (who 
 knows?) there are sublime secrets hidden away beneath them. 
 And besides, the Chevalier de Valois made amends for his 
 negroes’ heads with such a variety of other and different 
 charms, that society ought to have felt itself sufficiently com- 
 pensated. He really was at great pains to conceal his age and 
 to make himself agreeable. 
 
 First and foremost, witness the extreme care which he gave 
 to his linen, the one distinction in dress which a gentleman 
 may permit himself in modern days. The Chevalier’s linen 
 was invariably fine and white, as befitted a noble. His coat, 
 though remarkably neat, was always somewhat worn, but spot- 
 less and uncreased. The preservation of this garment 
 bordered on the miraculous in the opinion of those who 
 noticed the Chevalier’s elegant indifference on this head; not 
 
THH JEALOUSIES OF A COUNTRY TOWN d 
 
 that he went so far as to scrape his clothes with broken glass 
 (a refinement invented by the Prince of Wales), but he set 
 himself to carry out the first principles of dress as laid down 
 by Englishmen of the very highest and finest fashion, and this 
 with a personal element of coxcombry which Alencon was 
 scarcely capable of appreciating. Does the world owe no 
 esteem to those that take such pains for it? And what was 
 ali this labor but the fulfilment of that very hardest of sayings 
 in the Gospel, which bids us return good for evil? The fresh- 
 ness of the toilet, the care for dress, suited well with the 
 Chevalier’s blue eyes, ivory teeth, and bland personality ; still, 
 the superannuated Adonis had nothing masculine in his ap- 
 pearance, and it would seem that he employed the illusion 
 of the toilet to hide the ravages of other than military 
 campaigns. | 
 
 To tell the whole truth, the Chevalier had a voice singularly 
 at variance with his delicate fairness. So full was it and 
 sonorous, that you would have been startled by the sound of it 
 unless, with certain observers of human nature, you held the 
 theory that the voice was only what might be expected of such 
 a nose. With something less of volume than a giant double- 
 bass, it was a full, pleasant baritone, reminding you of the 
 hautboy among musical instruments, sweet and resistant, deep 
 and rich. 
 
 M. de Valois had discarded the absurd costume still worn 
 by a few antiquated Royalists, and frankly modernized his 
 dress. He always appeared in a maroon coat with gilt but- 
 tons, loosely-fitting breeches with gold buckles at the knees, 
 a white sprigged waistcoat, a tight stock, and a collarless 
 shirt ; this being a last vestige of eighteenth century costume, 
 which its wearer was the less willing to relinquish because it 
 enabled him to display a throat not unworthy of a lay abbe. 
 Square gold buckles of a kind unknown to the present genera- 
 tion shone conspicuous upon his patent leather shoes. ‘T'wo 
 watch chains hung in view in parallel lines from a couple of 
 fobs, another survival of an eighteenth century mode which 
 the incroyable did not disdain to copy in the time of the 
 
6 THE JEALOUSIES OF A COUNTRY TOWN 
 
 Directory. This costume of a transition period, reuniting 
 two centuries, was worn by the Chevalier with the grace of an 
 old-world marquis, a grace lost to the French stage since 
 Molé’s last pupil, Fleury, retired from the boards and took his 
 secret with him. 
 
 The old bachelor’s private life, seemingly open to all eyes, 
 was in reality inscrutable. He lived in a modest lodging 
 (to say the least of it) up two pairs of stairs in a house in the 
 Rue du Cours, his landlady being the laundress most in re- 
 quest in Alencon—which fact explains the extreme elegance 
 of the Chevalier’s linen. Ill luck was so to order it that 
 Alengon one day could actually believe that he had 
 not always conducted himself as befitted a man of his 
 quality, and that in his old age he privately married one 
 Césarine, the mother of an infant which had the impertinence 
 to come without being called. 
 
 “He gave his hand to her who for so long had lent her 
 hand to iron his linen,” said a certain M. du Bousquier. 
 
 The sensitive noble’s last days were the more vexed by 
 this unpleasant scandal, because, as shall be shown in the 
 course of this present Scene, he had already lost a long- 
 cherished hope for which he had made many a sacrifice. 
 
 Mme. Lardot’s two rooms were let to M. le Chevalier de 
 Valois at the moderate rent of a hundred francs per annum. 
 The worthy gentleman dined out every night, and only came 
 home to sleep; he was therefore at charges for nothing but 
 his breakfast, which always consisted of a cup of chocolate 
 with butter and fruit, according to the season. A fire was 
 never lighted in his rooms except in the very coldest winters, 
 and then only while he was dressing. Between the hours of 
 eleven and four M. de Valois took his walks abroad, read the 
 newspapers, and paid calls. 
 
 When the Chevalier first settled in Alencon, he magnani- 
 mously owned that he had nothing but an annuity of six 
 hundred livres paid in quarterly instalments by his old man 
 of business, with whom the certificates were deposited. This 
 was all that remained of his former wealth. And every three 
 
THE JEALOUSIES OF A COUNTRY TOWN 7 
 
 months, in fact, a banker in the town paid him a hundred and 
 fifty francs remitted by one M. Bordin of Paris, the last of 
 the procureurs du Chatelet. 'These particulars everybody 
 knew, for the Chevalier had taken care to ask his confidant 
 to keep the matter a profound secret. He reaped the 
 fruits of his misfortunes. A cover was laid for him 
 in all the best houses in Alengon; he was asked to every 
 evening party. His talents as a card-player, a teller of 
 anecdotes, a pleasant and well-bred man of the world, were so 
 thoroughly appreciated that an evening was spoiled if the 
 connoisseur of the town was not present. The host and 
 hostess and all the ladies present missed his little approving 
 grimace. “You are adorably well dressed,’ from the old 
 bachelor’s lips, was sweeter to a young woman in a ballroom 
 than the sight of her rival’s despair. 
 
 There were certain old-world expressions which no one 
 could pronounce so well. “My heart,” “my jewel,’ “my little 
 love,’ “my queen,” and all the dear diminutives of the year 
 1770 took an irresistible charm from M. de Valois’ lips; in 
 short, the privilege of superlatives was his. His compli- 
 ments, of which, moreover, he was chary, won him the good- 
 will of the elderly ladies; he flattered every one down to the 
 officials of whom he had no need. 
 
 He was so fine a gentleman at the card-table, that his be- 
 havior would have marked him out anywhere. He never com- 
 _ plained; when his opponents lost he praised their play; he 
 never undertook the education of his partners by showing 
 them what they ought to have done. If a nauseating discus- 
 sion of this kind began while the cards were making, the 
 Chevalier brought out his snuff-box with a gesture worthy of 
 Molé, looked at the Princess Goritza’s portrait, took off the 
 lid in a stately manner, heaped up a pinch, rubbed 
 it to a fine powder between finger and thumb, blew off 
 the light particles, shaped a little cone in his hand, 
 and by the time the cards were dealt he had replenished 
 the cavities in his nostrils and replaced the Princess 
 in his waistcoat pocket—always to the left-hand side, 
 
8 THE JEALOUSIES OF A COUNTRY TOWN 
 
 None but a noble of the Gracious as distinguished from 
 the Great Century could have invented such a compromise 
 between a disdainful silence and an epigram which would - 
 have passed over the heads of his company. The Chevalier 
 took dull minds as he found them, and knew how to turn 
 them to account. His irresistible evenness of temper caused 
 many a one to say, “I admire the Chevalier de Valois!” 
 Everything about him, his conversation and his manner, 
 seemed in keeping with his mild appearance. He was care- 
 ful to come into collision with no one, man or woman. In- 
 dulgent with deformity as with defects of intellect, he listened 
 patiently (with the help of the Princess Goritza) to tales of 
 the little woes of life in a country town; to anecdotes of the 
 undercooked egg at breakfast, or the sour cream in the coffee; 
 to small grotesque details of physical ailments; to tales of 
 dreams and visitations and wakings with a start. The 
 Chevalier was an exquisite listener. He had a languishing 
 glance, a stock attitude to denote compassion; he put in his 
 “Ohs” and “Poohs” and “What-did-you-dos ?” with charming 
 appropriateness. ‘Till his dying day no one ever suspected 
 that while these avalanches of nonsense lasted, the Chevalier 
 in his own mind was rehearsing the warmest passages of an 
 old romance, of which the Princess Goritza was the heroine. 
 Has any one ever given a thought to the social uses of extinct 
 sentiment ?—or guessed in how many indirect ways love bene- 
 fits humanity ? 
 
 Possibly this listener’s faculty sufficiently explains the 
 Chevalier’s popularity ; he was always the spoiled child of the 
 town, although he never quitted a drawing-room without 
 carrying off about five livres in his pocket. Sometimes he 
 lost, and he made the most of’ his losses, but it very seldom 
 happened. All those who knew him say with one accord that 
 never in any place have they met with so agreeable a mummy, 
 not even in the Egyptian museum at Turin. Surely in no 
 known country of the globe did parasite appear in such a 
 benignant shape. Never did selfishness in its most concen- 
 trated form show itself so inoffensive, so full of good offices 
 

 
 
 
hey 
 
 ane fa 
 
 
 
THE Tite da SLES OF A COUNTRY TOWN 9 
 
 as in this gentleman; the Chevalier’s egoism was as good as 
 another man’s devoted friendship. If any person went to 
 ask M. de Valois to do some trifling service which the worthy 
 Chevalier could not perform without inconvenience, that per- 
 son never went away without conceiving a great liking for 
 him, and departed fully convinced that the Chevalier could 
 do nothing in the matter, or might do harm if he meddled 
 with it. 
 
 To explain this problematical existence the chronicler is 
 bound to admit, while Truth—that ruthless debauchee—has 
 caught him by the throat, that latterly after the three sad, 
 glorious Days of July, Alencon discovered that M. de Valois’ 
 winnings at cards amounted to something like a hundred 
 and fifty crowns every quarter, which amount the ingenious 
 Chevalier intrepidly remitted to himself as an annuity, so 
 that he might not appear to be without resources in a country 
 with a great turn for practical details. Plenty of his friends 
 —he was dead by that time, please to remark—plenty of his 
 friends denied this in toto, they maintained that the stories 
 were fables and slanders set in circulation by the Liberal 
 party and that M. de Valois was an honorable and worthy 
 gentleman. Luckily for clever gamblers, there will always 
 be champions of this sort for them among the onlookers. 
 Feeling ashamed to excuse wrongdoing, they stoutly deny 
 that wrong has been done. Do not accuse them of wrong: 
 headedness ; they have their own sense of self-respect, and the 
 Government sets them an example of the virtue which consists 
 in burying its dead by night without chanting a 7’e Deum 
 over a defeat. And suppose that M. de Valois permitted him- 
 self a neat stratagem that would have won Gramont’s esteem, 
 a smile from Baron de Feeneste, and a shake of the hand 
 from the Marquis de Moncade, was he any the less the 
 pleasant dinner guest, the wit, the unvarying card-player, 
 the charming retailer of anecdotes, the delight of Alengon? 
 In what, moreover, does the action, lying, as it does, outside 
 the laws of right and wrong, offend against the elegant code 
 of a man of birth and breeding? When so many people are 
 
10 THE JEALOUSIES OF A COUNTRY TOWN 
 
 obliged to give pensions to others, what more natural than 
 of one’s own accord to allow an annuity to one’s own best 
 friend? But Laius is dead. . . 
 
 After some fifteen years of this aul of life, the Chevalier 
 had amassed ten thousand and some odd hundred francs. 
 When the Bourbons returned, he said that an old friend of 
 his, M. le Marquis de Pombreton, late a lieutenant in the 
 Black Musketeers, had returned a loan of twelve hundred 
 pistoles with which he emigrated. The incident made a 
 sensation. It was quoted afterwards as a set-off against droll 
 stories in the Constitutionnel of the ways in which some 
 émigrés paid their debts. The poor Chevalier used to blush 
 all over the right side of his face whenever this noble trait 
 in the Marquis de Pombreton came up in conversation. At 
 the time every one rejoiced with M. de Valois; he used to 
 consult capitalists as to the best way of investing this wreck 
 of his former fortune; and, putting faith in the Restoration, 
 invested it all in Government stock when the funds had fallen 
 to fifty-six francs twenty-five centimes. MM. de Lenon- 
 court, de Navarreins, de Verneuil, de Fontaine, and La Bil- 
 lardiére, to whom he was known, had obtained a pension of 
 a hundred crowns for him from the privy purse, he said, and 
 the Cross of St. Louis. By what means the old Chevalier 
 obtained the two solemn confirmations of his title and quality, 
 no one ever knew; but this much is certain, the Cross of 
 St. Louis gave him brevet rank as a colonel on a retiring pen- 
 sion, by reason of his services with the Catholic army in the 
 West. 
 
 Besides the fiction of the annuity, to which no one gave 
 a thought, the Chevalier was now actually possessed of a 
 genuine income of a thousand francs. But with this im- 
 provement in his circumstances he made no change in his life 
 or manners ; only—the red ribbon looked wondrous well on his 
 maroon coat; it was a finishing touch, as it were, to this 
 portrait of a gentleman. Ever since the year 1802 the 
 Chevalier had sealed his letters with an ancient gold seal, 
 engraved roughly enough, but not so badly but that the Cas- 
 
THE JEALOUSIES OF A COUNTRY TOWN 11 
 
 térans, d’Esgrignons, and Troisvilles might see that he bore 
 the arms of France impaled with his own, to wit, France per 
 pale, gules two bars gemelles, a cross of five mascles con- 
 joined or, on a chief sable a cross pattee argent over all; 
 with a knight’s casquet for crest and the motto—VALgzo. 
 With these noble arms the so-called bastard Valois was en- 
 titled to ride in all the royal coaches in the world. 
 
 Plenty of people envied the old bachelor his easy life, made 
 up of boston, trictrac, reversis, whist, and piquet; of good 
 play, dinners well digested, pinches of snuff gracefully taken, 
 and quiet walks abroad. Almost all Alencon thought that 
 his existence was empty alike of ambitions and cares; but 
 where is the man whose life is quite as simple as they sup- 
 pose who envy him? 
 
 In the remotest country village you shall find human mol- 
 lusks, rotifers inanimate to all appearance, which cherish a 
 passion for lepidoptera or conchology, and are at infinite pains 
 to acquire some new butterfly, or a specimen of Concha 
 Veneris. And the Chevalier had not merely shells and but- 
 terflies of his own, he cherished an ambitious desire with a 
 pertinacity and profound strategy worthy of a Sixtus V. He 
 meant to marry a rich old maid; in all probability because a 
 wealthy marriage would be a stepping-stone to the high 
 spheres of the Court. This was the secret of his royal bear- 
 ing and prolonged abode in Alencon. 
 
 Very early one Tuesday morning in the middle of spring 
 in the year 716 (to use his own expression), the Chevalier 
 was just slipping on his dressing-gown, an old-fashioned green 
 silk damask of a flowered pattern, when, in spite of the cotton 
 in his ears, he heard a girl’s light footstep on the stairs. 
 In another moment some one tapped discreetly three times 
 on the door, and then, without waiting for an answer, a 
 very handsome damsel slipped like a snake into the old 
 bachelor’s apartment. 
 
 “Ah, Suzanne, is that you?” said the Chevalier de Valois, 
 continuing to strop his razor. “What are you here for, dear 
 little jewel of mischief?” 
 
12 THE JEALOUSIES OF A COUNTRY TOWN 
 
 “T have come to tell you something which perhaps will 
 give you as much pleasure as annoyance.” 
 
 “Ts it something about Césarine ?” 
 
 “Much I trouble myself about your Césarine,” pouted she, 
 half careless, half in earnest. 
 
 The charming Suzanne, whose escapade was to exercise 
 so great an influence on the lives of all the principal charac- 
 tersin this story, was one of Mme. Lardot’s laundry girls. And 
 now for a few topographical details. 
 
 The whole ground floor of the house was given up to the 
 laundry. The little yard was a drying-ground where em- 
 broidered handkerchiefs, collarettes, muslin slips, cuffs, frilled 
 shirts, cravats, laces, embroidered petticoats, all the fine wash- 
 ing of the best houses in the town, in short, hung out along 
 the lines of hair rope. The Chevalier used to say that he was 
 kept informed of the progress of the receiver-general’s wife’s 
 flirtations by the number of slips thus brought to light; and 
 the amount of frilled shirts and cambric cravats varied 
 directly with the petticoats and collarettes. By this system 
 of double entry, as it were, he detected all the assignations 
 in the town; but the Chevalier was always discreet, he never 
 let fall an epigram that might have closed a house to him. 
 And yet he was a witty talker! For which reason you may be 
 sure that M. de Valois’ manners were of the finest, while 
 his talents, as so often happens, were thrown away upon a 
 narrow circle. Still, for he was only human after all, he 
 sometimes could not resist the pleasure of a searching side 
 glance which made women tremble, and nevertheless they 
 liked him when they found out how profoundly discreet he 
 was, how full of sympathy for their pretty frailties. 
 
 Mme. Lardot’s forewoman and factotum, an alarmingly 
 ugly spinster of five-and-forty, occupied the rest of the second 
 floor with the Chevalier. Her door on the landing was 
 exactly opposite his; and her apartment, like his own, con- 
 sisted of two rooms, looking respectively upon the street and 
 the yard. Above, there was nothing but the attics where 
 the linen was dried in winter. Below lodged Mme. Lardot’s 
 
THD JEALOUSIES OF A COUNTRY TOWN 13 
 
 grandfather. The old man, Grévin by name, had been a 
 privateer in his time, and had served under Admiral Simeuse 
 in the Indies; now he was paralyzed and stone deaf. Mme. 
 Lardot herself occupied the rooms beneath her forewoman, 
 and so great was her weakness for people of condition, that 
 she might be said to be blind where the Chevalier was con- 
 cerned. In her eyes, M. de Valois was an absolute monarch, a 
 king that could do no wrong ;even if one of her own work-girls 
 had been said to be guilty of finding favor in his sight, she 
 would have said, “He is so amiable!” 
 
 And so, if M. de Valois, like most people in the provinces, 
 lived in a glass house, it was secret as a robber’s cave so far as 
 he at least was concerned. A born confidant of the little 
 intrigues of the laundry, he never passed the door—which al- 
 most always stood ajar—without bringing something for his 
 pets—chocolate, bonbons, ribbons, laces, a gilt cross, and the 
 jokes that grisettes love. Wherefore the little girls adored the 
 Chevalier. . Women can tell by instinct whether a man is 
 attracted to anything that wears a petticoat; they know at 
 once the kind of man who enjoys the mere sense of their 
 presence, who never thinks of making blundering demands 
 of repayment for his gallantry. In this respect womankind 
 has a canine faculty; a dog in any company goes straight 
 to the man who respects animals. The Chevalier de Valois in 
 his poverty preserved something of his former life; he was 
 - as unable to live without some fair one under his protection 
 as any grand seigneur of a bygone age. He clung to the 
 traditions of the petite maison. He loved to give to women, 
 and women alone can receive gracefully, perhaps because it is 
 always in their power to repay. 
 
 In these days, when every lad on leaving school tries his 
 hand at unearthing symbols or sifting legends, is it not ex- 
 traordinary that no one has explained that portent, the 
 Courtesan of the Eighteenth Century? What was she but the 
 tournament of the Sixteenth in another shape? In 1550 the 
 knights displayed their prowess for their ladies; in 1750 they 
 displayed their mistresses at Longchamps; to-day they run 
 
14 THE JEALOUSIES OF A COUNTRY TOWN 
 
 their horses over the course. The noble of every age has 
 done his best to invent a life which he, and he only, can live. 
 The painted shoes of the Fourteenth Century are the talons 
 rouges of the Highteenth; the parade of a mistress was one 
 fashion in ostentation; the sentiment of chivalry and the 
 knight errant was another. 
 
 The Chevalier de Valois could no longer ruin himself for 
 a mistress, so for bonbons wrapped in bank-bills he politely 
 offered a bag of genuine cracknels; and to the credit of Alen- 
 con, be it said, the cracknels caused far more pleasure to the 
 recipients than M. d’Artois’ presents of carriages or silver- 
 gilt toilet sets ever gave to the fair Duthé. There was not a 
 girl in the laundry but recognized the Chevalier’s fallen great- 
 ness, and kept his familiarities in the house a profound 
 secret. 
 
 In answer to questions, they always spoke gravely of the 
 Chevalier de Valois; they watched over him. Jor others he 
 became a venerable gentleman, his life was a flower of 
 sanctity. But at home they would have lighted on his 
 shoulders like paroquets. 
 
 The Chevalier liked to know the intimate aspects of family 
 life which laundresses learn; they used to go up to his room 
 of a morning to retail the gossip of the town; he called them 
 his “gazettes in petticoats,” his “living feuilletons.” M. 
 Sartine himself had not such intelligent spies at so cheap a 
 rate, nor yet so loyal in their rascality. Remark, moreover, 
 that the Chevalier thoroughly enjoyed his breakfasts. 
 
 Suzanne was one of his favorites. A clever and ambitious 
 girl with the stuff of a Sophie Arnould in her, she was be- 
 sides as beautiful as the loveliest courtesan that Titian ever 
 prayed to pose against a background of dark velvet as a model 
 for his Venus. Her forehead and all the upper part of her 
 face about the eyes were delicately moulded; but the contours 
 of the lower half were cast in a commoner mould. Hers 
 was the beauty of a Normande, fresh, plump, and brilliant- 
 complexioned, with that Rubens fleshiness which should be 
 combined with the muscular development of a Farnese Her- 
 
THE JEALOUSIES OF A COUNTRY TOWN 15 
 
 cules: ‘This was no Venus de’ Medici, the graceful feminine 
 counterpart of Apollo. 
 
 “Well, child,” said the Chevalier, “tell me your adventures 
 little or big.” 
 
 The Chevalier’s fatherly benignity with these grisettes 
 would have marked him out anywhere between Paris and 
 Pekin. The girls put him in mind of the courtesans of an- 
 other age, of the illustrious queens of opera of European 
 fame during a good third of the eighteenth century. Certain 
 it is that he who had lived for so long in a world of women 
 now as dead and forgotten as the Jesuits, the buccaneers, the 
 abbés, and the farmers-general, and all great things generally 
 —certain it is that the Chevalier had acquired an irresistible 
 good humor, a gracious ease, an unconcern, with no trace of 
 egoism discernible in it. So might Jupiter have appeared 
 to Alemena—a king that chooses to be a woman’s dupe, and. 
 flings majesty and its thunderbolts to the winds, that he may 
 squander Olympus in follies, and “little suppers,’ and 
 feminine extravagance; wishful, of all things, to be far 
 enough away from Juno. 
 
 The room in which the Chevalier received company was 
 bare enough, with its shabby bit of tapestry to do duty as a 
 carpet, and very dirty, old-fashioned easy-chairs; the walls 
 were covered with a cheap paper,on which the countenances of 
 Louis X VI. and his family, framed in weeping willow, appear- 
 ed at intervals among funeral urns, bearing the sublime testa- 
 ment by way of inscription, amid a whole host of sentimental 
 emblems invented by Royalism under the Terror; but in spite 
 of all this, in spite of the old flowered green silk dressing- 
 gown, in spite of its owner’s air of dilapidation, a certain 
 fragrance of the eighteenth century clung about the Chevalier 
 de Valois as he shaved himself before the old-fashioned toilet 
 glass, covered with cheap lace. All the graceless graces of his 
 youth seemed to reappear; he might have had three hundred 
 thousand francs’ worth of debts to his name, and a chariot at 
 his door. He looked a great man, great as Berthier in the 
 Retreat from Moscow issuing the order of the day to bat- 
 talions which were no more, 
 
16 THE JEALOUSIES OF A COUNTRY TOWN 
 
 “M. le Chevalier,” Suzanna replied archly, “it seems to me 
 that I have nothing to tell you—you have only to look!” 
 
 So saying, she turned and stood sidewise to prove her words 
 by ocular demonstrations ; and the Chevalier, deep old gentle- 
 man, still holding his razor across his chin, cast his right eye 
 downwards upon the damsel, and pretended to understand. 
 
 “Very good, my little pet, we will have a little talk to- 
 gether presently. But you come first, it seems, to me.” 
 
 “But, M. le Chevalier, am I to wait till my mother beats 
 me and Mme. Lardot turns me away? If Ido not go to Paris 
 at once, I shall never get married here, where the men are so 
 ridiculous.” 
 
 “These things cannot be helped, child! Society changes, 
 and women suffer just as much as the nobles from the shock- 
 ing confusion which ensues. Topsy-turvydom in politics 
 ends in topsy-turvy manners. Alas! woman soon will cease 
 to be woman” (here he took the cotton wool out of his ears to 
 continue his toilet). “Women will lose a great deal by 
 plunging into sentiment; they will torture their nerves, and 
 there will be an end of the good old ways of our time, when a 
 little pleasure was desired without blushes, and accepted 
 without more ado, and the vapors” (he polished the earrings 
 with the negroes’ heads)—“‘the vapors were only known as 
 a means of getting one’s way; before long they will take the 
 proportions of a complaint only to be cured by an infusion 
 of orange-blossoms.” (The Chevalier burst out laughing.) 
 “Marriage, in short,” he resumed, taking a pair of tweezers to 
 pluck out a gray hair, “marriage will come to be a very dull 
 institution indeed, and it was so joyous in my time. The 
 reign of Louis Quatorze and Louis Quinze, bear this in mind, 
 my child, saw the last of the finest manners in the 
 world.” 
 
 “But, M. le Chevalier,” urged the girl, “it is your little 
 Suzanne’s character and reputation that is at stake, and you 
 are not going to forsake her, I hope!” 
 
 “What is all this?” cried the Chevalier, with a finishing 
 touch to his hair; “I would sooner lose my name!” 
 
THE JEALOUSIES OF A COUNTRY TOWN PAT 
 
 “Ah!” said Suzanne. 
 
 “Listen to me, little masquerader.” He sat down in a large, 
 low chair, a duchess, as it used to be called, which Mme. Lar- 
 dot had picked up somewhere for her lodger. Then he drew 
 the magnificent Suzanne to him till she stood between his 
 knees ; and Suzanne submitted—Suzanne who held her head 
 so high in the streets, and had refused a score of overtures 
 from admirers in Alencon, not so much from self-respect as 
 in disdain of their pettiness. Suzanne so brazenly made the 
 most of the supposed consequences of her errors, that the old 
 sinner, who had fathomed so many mysteries in persons far 
 more astute than Suzanne, saw the real state of affairs at 
 once. He knew well enough that a grisette does not laugh 
 when disgrace is really in question, but he scorned to throw 
 down the scaffolding of an engaging fib with a touch. 
 
 “We are slandering ourselves,” said he, and there was an 
 inimitable subtlety in his smile. “We are as well conducted 
 as the fair one whose name we bear; we can marry without 
 fear. But we do not want to vegetate here; we long for 
 Paris, where charming creatures can be rich if they are clever, 
 and we are not a fool. So we should like to find out whether 
 the City of Pleasure has young Chevaliers de Valois in store 
 for us, and a carriage and diamonds and an opera box. There 
 are Russians and English and Austrians that are bringing 
 millions to spend in Paris, and some of that money mamma 
 settled on us as a marriage portion when she gave us our 
 good looks. And besides, we are patriotic; we should like to 
 help France to find her own money in these gentlemen’s 
 pockets. Eh! eh! my dear little devil’s lamb, all this is not 
 bad. The neighbors will cry out upon you a little at first 
 perhaps, but success will make everything right. The real 
 crime, my child, is poverty; and you and I both suffer for it. 
 As we are not lacking in intelligence, we thought we might 
 turn our dear little reputation to account to take in 
 an old bachelor, but the old bachelor, sweetheart, knows the 
 alpha and omega of woman’s wiles; which is to say, that you 
 would find it easier to put a grain of salt upon a sparrow’s 
 
18 THE JEALOUSIES OF A COUNTRY TOWN 
 tail than to persuade me to believe that I have had any share 
 in your affair. 
 
 “Go to Paris, my child, go at the expense of a bachelor’s 
 vanity; I am not going to hinder you, I will help you, for 
 the old bachelor, Suzanne, is the cash-box provided by nature 
 for a young girl. But do not thrust me into the affair. 
 Now, listen, my queen, understanding life so well as you do— 
 you see, you might do me a good deal of harm and give me 
 trouble; harm, because you might spoil my marriage in a 
 place where people are so particular; trouble on your account, 
 because you will get yourself in a scrape for nothing, a scrape 
 entirely of your own invention, sly girl; and you know, my 
 pet, that I have no money left, | am as poor as a church 
 mouse. Ah! if I were to marry Mlle. Cormon, if I were rich 
 again, | would certainly rather have you than Césarine. You 
 were always fine gold enough to gild lead, it seemed to me; 
 you were made to be a great lord’s love; and as I knew you 
 were a clever girl, [ am not at all surprised by this trick of 
 yours, I expected as much. Tor a girl, this means that you 
 burn your boats. It is no common mind, my angel, that can 
 do it; and for that reason you have my esteem,” and he be- 
 stowed confirmation upon her cheek after the manner of a 
 bishop, with two fingers. 
 
 “But, M. le Chevalier, I do assure you that you are mis- 
 taken, and. * she blushed, and dared not finish her sen- 
 tence, at a glance he had seen through her, and read her 
 plans from beginning to end. 
 
 “Yes, I understand, you wish me to believe you. Very 
 well, I believe. But take my advice and go to M. du 
 Bousquier. You have taken M. du Bousquier’s linen home 
 from the wash for five or six months, have you not ?—Very 
 good. I do not ask to know what has happened between 
 you; but I know him, he is vain, he is an old bachelor, he is 
 very rich, he has an income of two thousand five hundred 
 livres, and spends less than eight hundred. If you are the 
 clever girl that I take you for, you will find your way to Paris 
 at his expense. Go to him, my pet, twist him round your 
 
 
 
THD JEALOUSIES OF A COUNTRY TOWN 19 
 
 fingers, and of all things, be supple as silk, and make a 
 double twist and a knot at every word; he is just the man 
 to be afraid of a scandal; and if he knows that you can make 
 him sit on the stool of repentance In short, you under- 
 stand, threaten to apply to the ladies of the charitable fund. 
 He is ambitious besides. Well and good, with a wife to help 
 him there should be nothing beyond a man’s reach; and are 
 you not handsome enough and clever enough to make your 
 husband’s fortune? Why, plague take it, you might hold 
 your own with a court lady.” 
 
 The Chevalier’s last words let the light into Suzanne’s 
 brain; she was burning with impatience to rush off to du 
 Bousquier ; but as she could not hurry away too abruptly, she 
 helped the Chevalier to dress, asking questions about Paris as 
 she did so. As for the Chevalier, he saw that his remarks 
 had taken effect, and gave Suzanne an excuse to go, asking 
 her to tell Césarine to bring up the chocolate that Mme. Lar- 
 dot made for him every morning, and Suzanne forthwith 
 slipped off in search of her prey. 
 
 And here follows du Bousquier’s biography.—He came of 
 an old Alencon family in a middle rank between the burghers 
 and the country squires. On the death of his father, a 
 magistrate in the criminal court, he was left without resource, 
 and, like most ruined provincials, betook himself to Paris to 
 seek his fortune. When the Revolution broke out, du 
 Bousquier was a man of affairs; and in those days (in spite 
 of the Republicans, who are all up in arms for the honesty 
 of their government, the word “affairs” was used very loosely. 
 Political spies, jobbers, and contractors, the men who ar- 
 ranged with the syndics of communes for the sale of the 
 property of émigrés, and then bought up land at low prices 
 to sell again,—all these folk, like ministers and generals, 
 were men of affairs. 
 
 From 1793 to 1799 du Bousquier held contracts to supply 
 the army with forage and provisions. During those years he 
 lived in a splendid mansion; he was one of the great 
 capitalists of the time; he went shares with Ouvrard; kept 
 
 
 
20 THE JEALOUSINS OF A COUNTRY TOWN 
 
 open house and led the scandalous life of the times. A 
 Cincinnatus, reaping where he had not sowed, and rich with 
 stolen rations and sacks of corn, he kept petites maisons and 
 a bevy of mistresses, and gave fine entertainments to the 
 directors of the Republic. Citizen du Bousquier was one of 
 Barras’ intimates; he was on the best of terms with Fouché, 
 and hand and glove with Bernadotte. He thought to be a 
 Minister of State one day, and threw himself heart and soul 
 into the party that secretly plotted against Bonaparte before 
 the battle of Marengo. And but for Kellermann’s charge 
 and the death of Desaix, du Bousquier would have played a 
 great part in the state. He was one of the upper members 
 of the permanent staff of the promiscuous government which 
 was driven by Napoleon’s luck to vanish into the side-scenes 
 OL TO5* 
 
 The victory unexpectedly won by stubborn fighting ended 
 in the downfall of this party; they had placards ready 
 printed, and were only waiting for the First Consul’s defeat 
 to proclaim a return to the principles of the Mountain. 
 
 Du Bousquier, feeling convinced that a victory was im- 
 possible, had two special messengers on the battlefield, and 
 speculated with the larger part of his fortune for a fall in 
 the funds. The first courier came with the news that Mélas 
 was victorious ; but the second arriving four hours afterwards, 
 at night, brought the tidings of the Austrian defeat. Du 
 Bousquier cursed Kellermann and Desaix; the First Consul 
 owed him millions, he dared not curse him. But between the 
 chance of making millions on the one hand, and stark ruin 
 on the other, he lost his head. For several days he was half 
 idiotic; he had undermined his constitution with excesses 
 to such an extent that the thunderbolt left him helpless. 
 He had something to hope from the settlement of his claims 
 upon the Government; but in spite of bribes, he was made to 
 feel the weight of Napoleon’s displeasure against army con- 
 tractors who speculated on his defeat. M. de Fermon, so 
 pleasantly nicknamed “Hermons la caisse,” left du Bousquier 
 
 * See Une Ténébreuse Affaire. 
 
THD JEALOUSIES OF A COUNTRY TOWN 21 
 
 without a penny. The First Consul was even more incensed 
 by the immorality of his private life and his connection with 
 Barras and Bernadotte than by his speculations on the 
 Bourse; he erased M. du Bousquier’s name from the lst of 
 Receivers-general, on which a last remnant of credit had 
 placed him for Alencon. 
 
 Of all his former wealth, nothing now remained to du 
 Bousquier save an income of twelve hundred francs from the 
 funds, an investment entirely due to chance, which saved him 
 from actual want. His creditors, knowing nothing of the re- 
 sults of his liquidation, only left him enough in consols to 
 bring in a thousand francs per annum; but their claims were 
 paid in full after all, when the outstanding debts had been col- 
 lected, and the Hétel de Beauséant, du Bousquier’s town 
 house, sold besides. So, after a close shave of bankruptcy, the 
 sometime speculator emerged with his name intact. Preceded 
 by a tremendous reputation due to his relations with former 
 heads of government departments, his manner of life, his brief 
 day of authority, and final ruin through the First Consul, the 
 man interested the city of Alencon, where Royalism was 
 secretly predominant. Du Bousquier, exasperated against 
 Bonaparte, with his tales of the First Consul’s pettiness, of 
 Josephine’s lax morals, and a whole store of anecdotes of ten 
 
 i years of Revolution, seen from within, met with a good re- 
 
 ception. 
 
 - It was about this period of his life that du Bousquier, now 
 well over his fortieth year, came out as a bachelor of thirty- 
 six. He was of medium height, fat as became a contractor, 
 and willing to display a pair of calves that would have done 
 eredit to a gay and gallant attorney. He had strongly 
 marked features; a flattened nose with tufts of hair in the 
 equine nostrils, bushy black brows, and eyes beneath them 
 that looked out shrewd as M. de Talleyrand’s own, though 
 they had lost something of their brightness. He wore his 
 brown hair very long, and retained the side-whiskers 
 (nageoires, as they were called) of the time of the Republic. 
 You had only te look at his fingers, tufted at every joint, or at 
 
22 THE JEALOUSIES OF A COUNTRY TOWN 
 
 the blue knotted veins that stood out upon his hands, to see 
 the unmistakable signs of a very remarkable muscular de- 
 velopment; and, in truth, he had the chest of the Farnese 
 Hercules, and shoulders fit to bear the burden of the national 
 debt; you never see such shoulders nowadays. His was a 
 luxuriant virility admirably described by an eighteenth cen- 
 tury phrase which is scarcely intelligible to-day; the gal- 
 lantry of a bygone age would have summed up du Bousquier 
 as a “payer of arrears”’—un vrai payeur darrérages. 
 
 Yet, as in the case of the Chevalier de Valois, there were 
 sundry indications at variance with the ex-contractor’s general 
 appearance. His vocal powers, for instance, were not in 
 keeping with his muscles; not that it was the mere thread of 
 a voice which sometimes issues from the throats of such two- 
 footed seals; on the contrary, it was loud but husky, some- 
 thing lke the sound of a saw cutting through damp, soft 
 wood; it was, in fact, the voice of a speculator brought to 
 grief. For a long while du Bousquier wore the costume in 
 vogue in the days of his glory: the boots with turned-down 
 tops, the while silk stockings, the short cloth breeches, ribbed 
 with cinnamon color, the blue coat, the waistcoat a la 
 Robespierre. 
 
 His hatred of the First Consul should have been a sort 
 of passport into the best Royalist houses of Alencon; but the 
 seven or eight families that made up the local Faubourg 
 Saint-Germain into which the Chevalier de Valois had the 
 entrance, held aloof. Almost from the first, du Bousquier 
 had aspired to marry one Mlle. Armande, whose brother was 
 one of the most esteemed nobles of the town; he thought to 
 make this brother play a great part in his own schemes, 
 for he was dreaming of a brilliant return match in politics. 
 He met with a refusal, for which he consoled himself with 
 such compensation as he might find among some half-score of 
 retired manufacturers of Point d’Alencgon, owners of grass 
 lands or cattle, or wholesale linen merchants, thinking 
 that among these chance might put a good match in his way. 
 Indeed, the old bachelor had centered all his hopes on a pros- 
 
THE JEALOUSIES OF A COUNTRY TOWN 23 
 
 pective fortunate marriage, which a man, eligible in sc many 
 ways, might fairly expect to make. For he was not without 
 a certain financial acumen, of which not a few availed them- 
 selves. He pointed out business speculations as a ruined 
 gambler gives hints to new hands; and he was expert at dis- 
 covering the resources, chances, and management of a con- 
 cern. People looked upon him as a good administrator. It 
 was an often-discussed question whether he should not be 
 mayor of Alencon, but the recollection of his Republican 
 jobberies spoiled his chances, and he was never received at 
 the prefecture. 
 
 Every successive government, even the government of the 
 Hundred Days, declined to give him the coveted appoint- 
 ment, which would have assured his marriage with an elderly 
 spinster whom he now had in his mind. It was his detestation 
 of the Imperial Government that drove him into the Royalist 
 camp, where he stayed in spite of insults there received; but 
 when the Bourbons returned, and still he was excluded from 
 the prefecture, that final rebuff filled him with a hatred deep 
 as the profound secrecy in which he wrapped it. Outwardly, 
 he remained patiently faithful to his opinions; secretly, he 
 became the leader of the Liberal party in Alencon, the in- 
 visible controller of elections; and, by his cunningly devised 
 manceuvres and underhand methods, he worked no little harm 
 to the restored Monarchy. 
 
 When a man is reduced to live through his intellect alone, 
 his hatred is something as quiet as a little stream; in- 
 significant to all appearance, but unfailing. This was the 
 case with du Bousquier. His hatred was like a negro’s, so 
 placid, so patient, that it deceives the enemy. For fifteen 
 years he brooded over a revenge which no victory, not even the 
 Three Days of July 1830, could sate. 
 
 When the Chevalier sent Suzanne to du Bousquier, he had 
 his own reasons for so doing. The Liberal and the Royalist 
 divined each other, in, spite of the skilful dissimulation which 
 hid their common aim from the rest of the town. 
 
 The two old bachelors were rivals. Both of them had 
 
24 THE JEALOUSIES OF A COUNTRY TOWN 
 
 planned to marry the Demoiselle Cormon, whose name came 
 up in the course of the Chevalier’s conversation with Suzanne. 
 Both of them, engrossed by their idea, and masquerading in 
 indifference, were waiting for the moment when some chance 
 should deliver the old maid to one or other of them. 
 And the fact that they were rivals in this way would have 
 been enough to make enemies of the pair even if each had not 
 been the living embodiment of a political system. 
 
 Men take their color from their time. This pair of rivals 
 is a case in point; the historic tinge of their characters stood 
 out in strong contrast in their talk, their ideas, their costume. 
 The one, blunt and energetic, with his burly abrupt ways, curt 
 speech, dark looks, dark hair, and dark complexion, alarming 
 in appearance, but impotent in reality as insurrection, was 
 the Republic personified; the other, bland and ‘polished, 
 elegant and fastidious, gaining his ends slowly but surely by 
 diplomacy, and never unmindful of geod taste, was the typical 
 old-world courtier. They met on the same ground almost 
 every evening. It was a rivalry always courteous and urbane 
 on the part of the Chevalier, less ceremonious on du Bous- 
 quier’s, though he kept within the limits prescribed by Alen- 
 con, for he had no wish to be driven ignominiously from the 
 field. The two men understood each other well; but no one else 
 saw what was going on. In spite of the minute and curious 
 interest which provincials take in the small details of which 
 their lives are made up, no one so much as suspected that the 
 two men were rivals. 
 
 M. le Chevalier’s position was somewhat the stronger; he 
 had never proposed for Mlle. Cormon, whereas du Bousquier 
 had declared himself after a rebuff from one of the noblest 
 families, and had met with a second refusal. Still, the 
 Chevalier thought so well of his rival’s chances, that he con- 
 sidered it worth while to deal him a coup de Jarnac, a 
 treacherous thrust from a weapon as finely tempered as 
 Suzanne. He had fathomed du Bousquier; and, as will 
 shortly be seen, he was not mistaken in any of his con- 
 jectures. 
 
THE JEALOUSIES OF A COUNTRY TOWN 25 
 
 Suzanne tripped away down the Rue du Cours, along the 
 Rue de la Porte de Séez and the Rue du Bercail to the Rue 
 du Cygne, where du Bousquier, five years ago, had bought a 
 small countrified house built of the gray stone of the dis- 
 trict, which is used like granite in Normandy, or Breton schist 
 in the West. The sometime forage-contractor had established 
 himself there in more comfort than any other house in the 
 town could boast, for he had brought with him some relics 
 of past days of splendor; but provincial manners and customs 
 were slowly darkening the glory of the fallen Sardanapalus. 
 ‘The vestiges of past luxury looked about as much out of place 
 in the house as a chandelier in a barn. Harmony, which 
 links the works of man or of God together, was lacking in all 
 things large or small. A ewer with a metal lid, such as you 
 only see on the outskirts of Brittany, stood on a handsome 
 chest of drawers; and while the bedroom floor was covered 
 with a fine carpet, the window-curtains displayed a flower 
 pattern only known to cheap printed cottons. The stone 
 mantelpiece, daubed over with paint, was out of all keeping 
 with a handsome clock disgraced by a shabby pair of candle- 
 sticks. Local talent had made an unsuccessful attempt to 
 paint the doors in vivid contrasts of startling colors; while 
 the staircase, ascended by all and sundry in muddy boots, had 
 not been painted at all. In short, du Bousquier’s house, 
 like the time which he represented, was a confused mixture of 
 grandeur and squalor. 
 
 Du Bousquier was regarded as well-to-do, but he led the 
 parasitical life of the Chevalier de Valois, and he is always 
 rich enough that spends less than his income. His one serv- 
 ant was a country bumpkin, a dull-witted youth enough; but 
 he had been trained, by slow degrees, to suit du Bousquier’s 
 requirements, until he had learned, much as an ourang-outang 
 might learn, to scour floors, black boots, brush clothes, and to 
 come for his master of anevening with a lantern if it was dark, 
 and a pair of sabots if it rained. On great occasions, du 
 Bousquier made him discard the blue-checked cotton blouse 
 with loose sagging pockets behind, which always bulged with 
 
26 THE JEALOUSIES OF A COUNTRY TOWN 
 
 a handkerchief, a clasp knife, apples, or “stickjaw.” Ar- 
 rayed in a regulation suit of clothes, he accompanied his 
 master to wait at table, and over-ate himself afterwards with 
 the other servants. Like many other mortals, René had only 
 stuff enough in him for one vice, and his was gluttony. Du 
 Bousquier made a reward of this service, and in return his 
 Breton factotum was absolutely discreet. 
 
 “What, have you come our way, miss?” René asked when 
 he saw Suzanne in the doorway. “It is not your day; we have 
 not got any linen for Mme. Lardot.” 
 
 “Big stupid!’ laughed the fair Suzanne, as she went up 
 the stairs, leaving René to finish a porringer full of buck- 
 wheat bannocks boiled in milk. 
 
 Du Bousquier was still in bed, ruminating his plans for 
 fortune. To him, as to all who have squeezed the orange of 
 pleasure, there was nothing left but ambition. Ambition, 
 like gambling, is inexhaustible. And, moreover, given a good 
 constitution, the passions of the brain will always outlive 
 the heart’s passions. 
 
 “Here I am!” said Suzanne, sitting down on the bed; the 
 curtain-rings grated along the rods as she swept them sharply 
 back with an imperious gesture. 
 
 “Quésaco, my charmer?” asked du Bousquier, sitting up- 
 right. 
 
 “Monsieur,” Suzanne began, with much gravity, “you must 
 be surprised to see me come in this way; but, under the cir- 
 cumstances, it is no use my minding what people will say.” 
 
 “What is all this about?” asked du Bousquier, folding his 
 arms. 
 
 “Why, do you not understand?” returned Suzanne. “I 
 know” (with an engaging little pout), “I know how ridiculous 
 it is when a poor girl comes to bother a man about things that 
 you think mere trifles. But if you really knew me, monsieur, 
 if you only knew all that I would do for a man, if he cared 
 about me as I could care about you, you would never repent 
 of marrying me. It is not that I could be of so much use to 
 you here, by the way; but if we went to Paris, you should see 
 
THD JEALOUSIES OF A COUNTRY TOWN 27 
 
 how far I could bring a man of spirit with such brains as 
 yours, and especially just now, when they are re-making the 
 Government from top to bottom, and the foreigners are the 
 masters. Between ourselves, does this thing in question really 
 matter after all? Is it not a piece of good fortune for which 
 you would be glad to pay a good deal one of these days? 
 For whom are you going to think and work?” 
 
 “For myself, to be sure!” du Bousquier answered brutally. 
 
 “Old monster! you shall never be a father!” said Suzanne, 
 with a ring in her voice which turned the words to a prophecy 
 and a curse. 
 
 “Come, Suzanne, no nonsense; I am dreaming still, I 
 think.” 
 
 “What more do you want in the way of reality?” cried 
 Suzanne, rising to her feet. Du Bousquier scrubbed his head 
 with his cotton nightcap, which he twisted round and round 
 with a fidgety energy that told plainly of prodigious mental 
 ferment. 
 
 “He actually believes it!” Suzanne said within herself. 
 “And his vanity is tickled. Good Lord, how easy it is to take 
 them in!” 
 
 “Suzanne! What the deuce do you want me to do? It 
 is so extraordinary . . . I that thought The fact 
 is. . . . But no, no, it can’t be——” 
 
 “Do you mean that you cannot marry me?” 
 
 “Oh, as to that, no. I am not free.” 
 
 “Ts it Mlle. Armande or Mlle. Cormon, who have both 
 refused you already? Look here, M. du Bousquier, it is not 
 as if I was obliged to get gendarmes to drag you to the 
 registrar’s office to save my character. There are plenty that 
 would marry me, but I have no intention whatever of taking 
 a man that does not know my value. You may be sorry some 
 of these days that you behaved like this; for if you will not 
 take your chance to-day, not for gold, nor silver, nor any- 
 thing in this world will I give it you again.” 
 
 “But, Suzanne—are you sure—— ?” 
 
 “Sir, for what do you take me?” asked the girl, draping 
 
 
 
28 THE JHALOUSIES OF A COUNTRY TOWN 
 
 herself in her virtue. “I am not going to put you in mind of 
 the promises you made, promises that have been the ruin of a 
 poor girl, when all her fault was that she looked too high 
 and loved too much.” 
 
 But joy, suspicion, self-interest, and a host of contending 
 emotions had taken possession of du Bousquier. For a long 
 time past he had made up his mind that he would marry Mlle. 
 Cormon; for after long ruminations over the Charter, he 
 saw that it opened up magnificent prospects to his ambition 
 through the channels of a representative government. His 
 marriage with that mature spinster would raise his social 
 position very much; he would acquire great influence in 
 Alencon. And here this wily Suzanne had conjured up a 
 storm, which put him in a most awkward dilemma. But for 
 that private hope of his, he would have married Suzanne out 
 of hand, and put himself openly at the head of the Liberal 
 party in the town. Such a marriage meant the final re- 
 nunciation of the best society, and a drop into the ranks of the 
 wealthy tradesmen, shopkeepers, rich manufacturers, and 
 graziers who, beyond a doubt, would carry him as their can- 
 didate in triumph. Already du Bousquier caught a glimpse 
 of the Opposition benches. He did not attempt to hide his 
 solemn deliberations ; he rubbed his hand over his head, made 
 a wisp of the cotton nightcap, and a damaging confession of 
 the nudity beneath it. As for Suzanne, after the wont of 
 those who succeed beyond their utmost hopes, she sat dum- 
 founded. To hide her amazement at his behavior, she drooped 
 like a hapless victim before her seducer, while within herself 
 she laughed like a grisette on a frolic. 
 
 “My dear child, I will have nothing to do with hanky- 
 panky of this sort.” 
 
 This brief formula was the result of his cogitations. The 
 ex-contractor to the Government prided himself upon belong- 
 ing to that particular school of cynic philosophers which 
 declines to be “taken in” by women, and includes the whole 
 sex in one category as suspicious characters. Strong-minded 
 men of this stamp, weaklings are they for the most part, have 
 
THE JEALOUSIES OF A COUNTRY TOWN 29 
 
 a catechism of their own in the matter of womankind. Every 
 woman, according to them, from the Queen of France to the 
 milliner, is at heart a rake, a hussy, a dangerous creature, not 
 to say a bit of a rascal, a liar in grain, a being incapable of a 
 serious thought. For du Bousquier and his like, woman is a 
 maleficent bayadére that must be left to dance, and sing, and 
 laugh. ‘They see nothing holy, nothing great in woman; for 
 them she represents, not the poetry of the senses, but gross 
 sensuality. They are like gluttons who should mistake the 
 kitchen for the dining-room. On this showing, a man must 
 be a consistent tyrant, unless he means to be enslaved. And 
 in this respect, again, du Bousquier and the Chevalier de 
 Valois stood at opposite poles. 
 
 As he delivered himself of the above remark, he flung his 
 nightcap to the foot of the bed, much as Gregory the Great 
 might have flung down the candle while he launched the 
 thunders of an excommunication; and Suzanne learned that 
 the old bachelor wore a false front. 
 
 “Bear in mind, M. du Bousquier, that by coming here I 
 have done my duty,” she remarked majestically. “Remember 
 that I was bound to offer you my hand and to ask for yours; | 
 but, at the same time, remember that I have behaved with the 
 dignity of a self-respecting woman; I did not lower myself so 
 far as to cry like a fool; I did not insist; I have not worried 
 you at all. Now you know my position. You know that I 
 - cannot stay in Alencon. If I do, my mother will beat me; 
 and Mme. Lardot is as high and mighty over principles as 
 if she washed and ironed with them. She will turn me away. 
 And where am I to go, poor work-girl that I am? To the 
 hospital? Am I to beg for bread? NotI. I would sooner 
 fling myself into the Brillante or the Sarthe. Now, would it 
 not be simpler for me to go to Paris? Mother might find 
 some excuse for sending me, an uncle wants me to come, or 
 an aunt is going to die, or some lady takes an interest in me. 
 It is just a question of money for the traveling expenses and 
 —you know what fe 
 
 This news was immeasurably more important to du Bous- 
 
 
 
30 THH JEALOUSINS OF A COUNTRY TOWN 
 
 quier than to the Chevalier de Valois, for reasons which no 
 one knew as yet but the two rivals, though they will appear in 
 the course of the story. At this point, suffice it to say that 
 Suzanne’s fib had thrown the sometime forage-contractor’s 
 ideas into such confusion that he was incapable of thinking 
 seriously. But for that bewilderment, but for the secret joy 
 in his heart (for a man’s own vanity is a swindler that never 
 lacks a dupe), it must have struck him that any honest girl, 
 with a heart still unspoiled, would have died a hundred deaths 
 rather than enter upon such a discussion, or make a demand 
 for money. He must have seen the look in the girl’s eyes, 
 seen the gambler’s ruthless meanness that would take a life to 
 gain money for a stake. 
 
 “Would you really go to Paris?” he asked. 
 
 The words brought a twinkle to Suzanne’s gray eyes, but it 
 was lost upon du Bousquier’s self-satisfaction. 
 
 “T would indeed, sir.” 
 
 But at this du Bousquier broke out into a singular lament. 
 He had just paid the balance of the purchase-money for his 
 house; and there was the painter, and the glazier, and the 
 bricklayer, and the carpenter. Suzanne let him talk; she 
 was waiting for the figures. Du Bousquier at last proposed 
 three hundred francs, and at this Suzanne got up as if to 
 go. 
 “Eh, what! Where are you going?” du Bousquier cried 
 uneasily.—“A fine thing to be a bachelor,” he said to himself. 
 “T’ll be hanged if I remember doing more than rumple the 
 girl’s collar; and hey presto! on the strength of a joke she 
 takes upon herself to draw a bill upon you, point-blank !” 
 
 Suzanne meanwhile began to cry. “Monsieur,” she said, 
 “T am going to Mme. Granson, the treasurer of the Maternity 
 Fund; she pulled one poor girl in the same straits out of 
 the water (as you may say) to my knowledge.” 
 
 “Mme. Granson ?” 
 
 “Yes. She is related to Mlle. Cormon, the lady patroness 
 of the society. Asking your pardon, some ladies in the town 
 have started a society that will keep many a poor creature 
 
THD JEALOUSIES OF A COUNTRY TOWN 31 
 
 from making away with her child, like that pretty Faustine 
 of Argentan did; and paid for it with her life at Mortagne 
 just three years ago.” 
 
 “Here, Suzanne,” returned du Bousquier, holding out a 
 key, “open the desk yourself. There is a bag that has been 
 opened, with six hundred francs still left in it. It is all I 
 have.” 
 
 Du Bousquier’s chopfallen expression plainly showed how 
 little goodwill went with his compliance. 
 
 “An old thief!” said Suzanne to herself. “I will tell 
 tales about his false hair!’ Mentally she compared him with 
 that delightful old Chevalier de Valois; he had given her 
 nothing, but he understood her, he had advised her, he had 
 the welfare of his grisettes at heart. 
 
 “If you are deceiving me, Suzanne,” exclaimed the object 
 of this unflattering comparison, as he watched her hand in 
 the drawer, “you shall ‘ 
 
 “So, monsieur, you would not give me the money if I 
 asked you for it?” interrupted she with queenly insolence. 
 
 Once recalled to the ground of gallantry, recollections of 
 his prime came back to the ex-contractor. He grunted as- 
 sent. Suzanne took the bag and departed, first submitting 
 her forehead to a kiss which he gave, but in a manner which 
 seemed to say, “This is an expensive privilege; but it is 
 better than being brow-beaten by counsel in a court of law 
 as the seducer of a young woman accused of child murder.” 
 
 Suzanne slipped the bag into a pouch-shaped basket on her 
 arm, execrating du Bousquier’s stinginess as she did so, for 
 she wanted a thousand francs. If a girl is once possessed 
 by a desire, and has taken the first step in trickery ana deceit, 
 she will go to great lengths. As the fair clear-starcher took 
 her way along the Rue du Bercail, it suddenly occurred to 
 her that the Maternity Fund under Mlle. Cormon’s presidency 
 would probably make up the sum which she regarded as 
 sufficient for a start, a very large amount in the eyes of an 
 Alencon grisette. And besides, she hated du Bousquier, and 
 du Bousquier seemed frightened when she talked of confess- 
 
 
 
| 
 
 32 THE JEALOUSIES OF A COUNTRY TOWN 
 
 ing her so-called strait to Mme. Granson. Wherefore 
 Suzanne determined that whether or no she made a farthing 
 out of the Maternity Fund, she would entangle du Bousquier 
 in the inextricable undergrowth of the gossip of a country 
 town. There is something of a monkey’s love of mischief in 
 every grisette. Suzanne composed her countenance dolorously 
 and betook herself accordingly to Mme. Granson. 
 
 Mme. Granson was the widow of a leutenant-colonel of 
 artillery who fell at Jena. Her whole yearly income con- 
 sisted of a pension of nine hundred francs for her lifetime, 
 and her one possession besides was a son whose education and 
 maintenance had absorbed every penny of her savings. She 
 lived in the Rue du Bercail, in one of the cheerless ground- 
 floor apartments through which you can see from back to 
 front at a glance as you walk down the main street of any little 
 town. ‘Three steps, rising pyramid fashion, brought you to 
 the level of the house door, which opened upon a passage-way 
 and a little yard beyond, with a wooden-roofed staircase at 
 the further end. Mme. Granson’s kitchen and dining-room 
 occupied the space on one side of the passage, on the other 
 side a single room did duty for a variety of purposes, for 
 the widow’s bedroom among others. Her son, a young man 
 of three-and-twenty, slept upstairs in an attic above the first 
 floor. Athanase Granson contributed six hundred francs to 
 the poor mother’s housekeeping. He was distantly related 
 to Mlle. Cormon, whose influence had obtained him a little 
 post in the registrar’s office, where he was employed in making 
 out certificates of births, marriages, and deaths. 
 
 After this, any one can see the little chilly yellow-curtained 
 parlor, the furniture covered with yellow Utrecht velvet, and 
 Mme. Granson going round the room, after her visitors had 
 left, to straighten the little straw mats put down in front of 
 each chair, so as to save the waxed and polished red brick 
 floor from contact with dirty boots; and, this being accom- 
 plished, returning to her place beside her work-table under 
 the portrait of her lieutenant-general. The becushioned 
 armchair, in which she sat at her sewing, was always drawn 
 
THE JEALOUSIES OF A COUNTRY TOWN 33 
 
 up between the two windows, so that she could look up and 
 down the Rue du Bercail and see every one that passed. She 
 was a good sort of woman, dressed with a homely simplicity 
 in keeping with a pale face, beaten thin, as it were, by many 
 cares. You felt the stern soberness of poverty in every little 
 detail in that house, just as you breathed a moral atmosphere 
 of austerity and upright provincial ways. 
 
 Mother and son at this moment were sitting together in the 
 dining-room over their breakfast—a cup of coffee, bread and 
 butter and radishes. And here, if the reader is to under- 
 stand how gladly Mme. Granson heard Suzanne, some ex- 
 planation of the secret hopes of the household must be given. 
 
 Athanase Granson was a thin, hollow-cheeked young man of 
 medium height, with a white face in which a pair of dark 
 eyes, bright with thought, looked like two marks made with 
 charcoal. The somewhat worn contours of that face, the 
 curving line of the lips, a sharply turned-up chin, a regu- 
 larly cut marble forehead, a melancholy expression caused by 
 the consciousness of power on the one hand and of poverty 
 on the other,—all these signs and characteristics told of im- 
 prisoned genius. So much so indeed, that anywhere but at 
 Alencon his face would have won help for him from dis- 
 tinguished men, or from the women that can discern genius 
 mcognito. For if this was not genius, at least it was the out- 
 ward form that genius takes; and if the strength of a high 
 heart was wanting, it looked out surely from those eyes. And 
 yet, while Athanase could find expression for the loftiest feel- 
 ing, an outer husk of shyness spoiled everything in him, down 
 to the very charm of youth, just as the frost of penury dis- 
 heartened every effort. Shut in by the narrow circle of pro- 
 vincial life, without approbation, encouragement, or any way 
 of escape, the thought within him was dying out before its 
 dawn. And Athanase besides had the fierce pride which pov- 
 erty intensifies in certain natures, the kind of pride by which 
 a man grows great in the stress of battle with men and cir- 
 cumstances, while at the outset it only handicaps him. 
 
 Genius manifests itself in two ways—either by taking its 
 
34 THER JHALOUSIES OF A COUNTRY TOWN 
 
 own as soon as he finds it, like a Napoleon or a Moliére, or 
 by patiently revealing itself and waiting for recognition. 
 Young Granson belonged to the latter class. He was easily © 
 discouraged, ignorant of his value. His turn of mind was 
 contemplative, he lived in thought rather than in action, and 
 possibly, to those who cannot imagine genius without the 
 Frenchman’s spark of enthusiasm, he might have seemed in- 
 complete. But Athanase’s power lay in the world of thought. 
 He was to pass through successive phases of emotion, hidden 
 from ordinary eyes, to one of those sudden resolves which 
 bring the chapter to a close and set fools declaring that “the 
 man is mad.” The world’s contempt for poverty was 
 sapping the life in Athanase. The bow, continually strung 
 tighter and tighter, was slackened by the enervating close 
 air of a solitude with never a breath of fresh air in it. He 
 was giving way under the strain of a cruel and fruit- 
 less struggle. Athanase had that in him which might 
 have placed his name among the foremost names of France; 
 he had known what it was to gaze with glowing eyes over 
 Alpine heights and fields of air whither unfettered genius 
 soars, and now he was pining to death like some caged and 
 starved eagle. 
 
 While he had worked on unnoticed in the town library, he 
 buried his dreams of fame in his own soul lest they should in- 
 jure his prospects; and he carried besides another secret hid- 
 den even more deeply in his heart, the secret love which hol- 
 lowed his cheeks and sallowed his forehead. 
 
 Athanase loved his distant cousin, that Mlle. Cormon, for 
 whom his unconscious rivals du Bousquier and the Chevalier 
 de Valois were lying in ambush. It was a love born of self- 
 interest. Mlle. Cormon was supposed to be one of the richest 
 people in the town; and he, poor boy, had been drawn to love 
 her partly through the desire for material welfare, partly 
 through a wish formed times without number to gild his 
 mother’s declining years ; and partly also through cravings for 
 the physical comfort necessary to men who live an intellectual 
 life. in his own eyes, his love was dishonored by its very 
 
THE JEALOUSIES OF A COUNTRY TOWN 30 
 
 natural origin; and he was afraid of the ridicule which people 
 pour on the love of a young man of three-and-twenty for a wo- 
 man of forty. And yet his love was quite sincere. Much that 
 happens in the provinces would be improbable upon the face of 
 it anywhere else, especially in matters of this kind. | 
 
 But in a country town there are no unforeseen con- 
 tingencies ; there is no coming and going, no mystery, no such 
 thing as chance. Marriage is a necessity, and no family will ac- 
 cept a man of dissolute life. A connection between a young fel- 
 low like Athanase and a handsome girl might seem a natural 
 thing enough in a great city; in a country town it would be 
 enough to ruin a young man’s chances of marriage, especially 
 if he were poor; for when the prospective bridegroom is 
 wealthy an awkward business of this sort may be smoothed 
 over. Between the degradation of certain courses and a 
 sincere love, a man that is not heartless can make but one 
 choice if he happens to be poor; he will prefer the disad- 
 vantages of virtue to the disadvantages of vice. But in a 
 country town the number of women with whom a young man 
 ean fall in love is strictly limited. A pretty girl with 
 a fortune is beyond his reach in a place where every one’s 
 income is known to a farthing. A penniless beauty is equally 
 out of the question. To take her for a wife would be “to 
 marry hunger and thirst,’ as the provincial saying goes. 
 Finally, celibacy has its dangers in youth. These reflections 
 explain how it has come to pass that marriage is the very 
 basis of provincial life. 
 
 Men in whom genius is hot and unquenchable, who are 
 forced to take their stand on the independence of poverty, 
 ought to leave these cold regions; in the provinces thought 
 meets with the persecution of brutal indifference, and no 
 woman cares or dares to play the part of a sister of charity 
 to the worker, the lover of art or sciences. 
 
 Who can rightly understand Athanase’s love for Mlle. Cor- 
 mon? Not the rich, the sultans of society, who can find seragl- 
 ios at their pleasure; not respectability, keeping to the track 
 beaten hard by prejudice; nor yet those women who shut 
 
36 THE JHEALOUSIES OF A COUNTRY TOWN 
 
 their eyes to the cravings of the artist temperament, and, tak- 
 ing it for granted that both sexes are governed by the same 
 laws, insist upon a system of reciprocity in their particular 
 virtues. The appeal must, perhaps, be made to young men 
 who suffer from the repression of young desires just as they 
 are putting forth their full strength; to the artist whose 
 genius is stilled within him by poverty till it becomes a dis- 
 ease ; to power at first unsupported, persecuted, and too often 
 unfriended till it emerges at length triumphant from the 
 twofold agony of soul and body. 
 
 These will know the throbbing pangs of the cancer which 
 was gnawing Athanase. Such as these have raised long, cruel 
 debates within themselves, with the so high end in sight and 
 no means of attaining to it. They have passed through the 
 experience of abortive effort; they have left the spawn of 
 genius on the barren sands. They know that the strength of 
 desire is as the scope of the imagination; the higher the leap, 
 the lower the fall; and how many restraints are broken in such 
 falls! These, like Athanase, catch glimpses of a glorious 
 future in the distance; all that lies between seems but a 
 transparent film of gauze to their piercing sight; but of that 
 film which scarcely obscures the vision, society makes a wall 
 of brass. Urged on by their vocation, by the artist’s instinct 
 within them, they too seek times without number to make a 
 stepping-stone of sentiments which society turns in the same 
 way to practical ends. What! when marriages in the prov- 
 inces are calculated and arranged on every side with a view 
 to securing material welfare, shall it be forbidden to a strug- 
 gling artist or man of science to keep two ends in view, to 
 try to ensure his own subsistence that the thought within him 
 may live? 
 
 Athanase Granson, with such ideas as these fermenting in 
 his head, thought at first of marriage with Mlle. Cormon as a 
 definite solution of the problem of existence. He would be 
 free to work for fame, he could make his mother comfortable, 
 and he felt sure of himself—he knew that he could be faith- 
 ful to Mile. Cormon. But soon his purpose bred a real passion 
 
THD JEALOUSIES OF A COUNTRY TOWN BT 
 
 in him. It was an unconscious process. He set himself to 
 study Mlle. Cormon; then familiarity exercised its spell, and 
 at length Athanase saw nothing but beauties—the defects were 
 all forgotten. 
 
 The senses count for so much in the love of a young man of 
 three-and-twenty. Through the heat of desire woman is seen 
 as through a prism. From this point of view it was a touch 
 of genius in Beaumarchais to make the page Cherubino in the 
 play strain Marcellina to his heart. If you recollect, more- 
 over, that poverty restricted Athanase to a life of great loneli- 
 ness, that there was no other woman to look at, that his eyes 
 were always fastened upon Mlle. Cormon, and that all the 
 light in the picture was concentrated upon her, it seems 
 natural, does it not, that he should love her? The feeling 
 hidden in the depths of his heart could but grow stronger 
 day by day. Desire and pain and hope and meditation, in 
 silence and repose, were filling up Athanase’s soul to the brim ; 
 every hour added its drop. As his senses came to the aid of 
 imagination and widened the inner horizon, Mlle. Cormon 
 became more and more awe-inspiring, and he grew more and 
 more timid. 
 
 The mother had guessed it all. She was a provincial, and 
 she frankly calculated the advantages of the match. Mlle. 
 Cormon might think herself very lucky to marry a young 
 man of twenty-three with plenty of brains, a likely man to 
 do honor to his name and country. Still the obstacles, Atha- 
 nase’s poverty and Mlle. Cormon’s age, seemed to her to be in- 
 surmountable; there was nothing for it that she could see but 
 patience. She had a policy of her own, like du Bousquier and 
 the Chevalier de Valois ; she was on the lookout for her oppor- 
 tunity, waiting, with wits sharpened by self-interest and a 
 mother’s love, for the propitious moment. 
 
 Of the Chevalier de Valois, Mme. Granson had no sus- 
 picion whatsoever; du Bousquier she still credited with views 
 upon the lady, albeit Mlle. Cormon had once refused him. An 
 adroit and secret enemy, Mme. Granson did the ex-contractor 
 untold harm to serve the son to whom she had not spoken a 
 
38 THE JEALOUSIES OF A COUNTRY TOWN 
 
 word. After this, who does not see the importance of Su- 
 zanne’s lie once confided to Mme. Granson? What a weapon . 
 put into the hands of the charitable treasurer of the Maternity 
 Fund! How demurely she would carry the tale from house 
 to house when she asked for subscriptions for the chaste 
 Suzanne! 
 
 At this particular moment Athanase was pensively sitting 
 with his elbow on the table, balancing a spoon on the edge of 
 the empty bowl before him. He looked with unseeing eyes 
 round the poor room, over the walls covered with an old- 
 fashioned paper only seen in wine-shops, at the window-cur- 
 tains with a chessboard pattern of pink-and-white squares, at 
 the red-brick floor, the straw-bottomed chairs, the painted 
 wooden sideboard, the glass door that opened into the kitchen. 
 As he sat facing his mother and with his back to the fire, and 
 as the fireplace was almost opposite the door, the first thing 
 which caught Suzanne’s eyes was his pale face, with the light 
 from the street window falling full upon it, a face framed in 
 dark hair, and eyes with the gleam of despair in them, and a 
 fever kindled by the morning’s thoughts. 
 
 The grisette surely knows by instinct the pain and sorrow 
 of love; at the sight of Athanase, she felt that sudden electric 
 thrill which comes we know not whence. We cannot explain 
 it; some strong-minded persons deny that it exists, but many 
 a woman and many a man has felt that shock of sympathy. 
 It is a flash, lighting up the darkness of the future, and at the 
 same time a presentiment of the pure joy of love shared by 
 two souls, and a certainty that this other too understands. It 
 is more like the strong, sure touch of a master hand upon the 
 clavier of the senses than anything else. Eyes are riveted by 
 an irresistible fascination, hearts are troubled, the music of 
 joy rings in the ears and thrills the soul; a voice cries, “It is 
 he!” And then—then very likely, reflection throws a douche 
 of cold water over all this turbulent emotion, and there is an 
 end of it. , 
 
 In a moment, swift as a clap of thunder, a broadside of 
 new thoughts poured in upon Suzanne. A lightning flash of 
 
THE JEALOUSIES OF A COUNTRY TOWN 39 
 
 love burned the weeds which had sprung up in dissipation 
 and wantonness. She saw all that she was losing by blighting 
 her name with a lie, the desecration, the degradation of it. 
 Only last evening this idea had been a joke, now it was like a 
 heavy sentence passed upon her. She recoiled before her suc- 
 cess. But, after all, it was quite impossible that anything 
 should come of this meeting; and the thought of Athanase’s 
 poverty, and a vague hope of making money and coming back 
 from Paris with both hands full, to say, “I loved you all along” 
 —or fate, if you will have it so—dried up the beneficent dew. 
 The ambitious damsel asked shyly to speak for a moment with 
 Mme. Granson, who took her into her bedroom. 
 
 When Suzanne came out again she looked once more at 
 Athanase. He was still sitting in the same attitude. She 
 choked back her tears. 
 
 As for Mme. Granson, she was radiant. She had found a 
 terrible weapon to use against du Bousquier at last; she could 
 deal him a deadly blow. So she promised the poor victim of 
 seduction the support of all the ladies who subscribed to. the 
 Maternity Fund. She foresaw a dozen calls in prospect. In 
 the course of the morning and afternoon she would conjure 
 down a terrific storm upon the elderly bachelor’s head. The 
 Chevalier de Valois certainly foresaw the turn that matters 
 were likely to take, but he had not expected anything like the 
 amount of scandal that came of it. 
 
 “We are going to dine with Mlle. Cormon, you know, dear 
 boy,” said Mme. Granson; “take rather more pains with your 
 appearance. It is a mistake to neglect your dress as you do; 
 you look so untidy. Put on your best frilled shirt and your 
 green cloth coat. I have my reasons,” she added, with a 
 mysterious air. “And besides, there will be a great many 
 people; Mlle. Cormon is going to the Prébaudet directly. If 
 a young man is thinking of marrying, he ought to make him- 
 self agreeable in every possible way. If girls would only tell 
 the truth, my boy, dear me! you would be surprised at the 
 things that take their fancy. It is often quite enough if a 
 young man rides by at the head of a company of artillery, or 
 
40 THE JEALOUSIES OF A COUNTRY TOWN 
 
 comes to a dance in a suit of clothes that fits him passably 
 well. A certain way of carrying the head, a melancholy atti- . 
 tude, is enough to set a girl imagining a whole life; we invent 
 a romance to suit the hero; often he is only a stupid young 
 man, but the marriage is made. Take notice of M. de Valois, 
 study him, copy his manners ; see how he looks at ease; he has 
 not a constrained manner, as you have. And talk a little; 
 any one might think that you knew nothing at all, you that 
 know Hebrew by heart.” 
 
 Athanase heard her submissively, but he looked surprised. 
 He rose, took his cap, and went back to his work. 
 
 “Can mother have guessed my secret?” he thought, as he 
 went round by the Rue du Val-Noble where Mlle. Cormon 
 lived, a little pleasure in which he indulged of a morning. 
 His head was swarming with romantic fancies. 
 
 “How little she thinks that going past her house at this 
 moment is a young man who would love her dearly, and be 
 true to her, and never cause her a single care, and leave her 
 fortune entirely in her own hands! Oh me! what a strange 
 fatality it is that we two should live as we do in the same town 
 and within a few paces of each other, and yet nothing can 
 bring us any nearer! How if I spoke to her to-night ?” 
 
 Meanwhile Suzanne went home to her mother, thinking the 
 while of poor Athanase, feeling that for him she could find it 
 in her heart to do what many a woman must have longed to 
 do for the one beloved with superhuman strength; she could 
 have made a stepping-stone of her beautiful body if so he 
 might come to his kingdom the sooner. 
 
 And now we must enter the house where all the actors in 
 this Scene (Suzanne excepted) were to meet that very even- 
 ing, the house belonging to the old maid, the converging 
 point of so many interests. As for Suzanne, that young 
 woman with her well-grown beauty, with courage sufficient to 
 burn her boats, like Alexander, and to begin the battle of life 
 with an uncalled-for sacrifice of her character, she now dis- 
 appears from the stage after bringing about a violently excit- 
 
THB JEALOUSIES OF A COUNTRY TOWN 41 
 
 ing situation. Her wishes, moreover, were more than ful- 
 filled. A few days afterwards she left her native place with a 
 stock of money and fine clothes, including a superb green rep 
 gown and a green bonnet lined with rose color, M. de Valois’ 
 gifts, which Suzanne liked better than anything else, better 
 even than the Maternity Society's money. If the Chevalier 
 had gone to Paris while Suzanne was in her hey-day, she 
 would assuredly have left all for him. 
 
 And so this chaste Susanna, of whom the elders scarcely 
 had more than a glimpse, settled herself comfortably and 
 hopefully in Paris, while all Alencon was deploring the mis- 
 fortunes with which the ladies of the Charitable and Mater- 
 nity Societies had manifested so lively a sympathy. 
 
 While Suzanne might be taken as a type of the handsome 
 Norman virgins who furnish, on the showing of a learned 
 physician, one-third of the supply devoured by the monster, 
 Paris, she entered herself, and remained in those higher 
 branches of her profession in which some regard is paid to 
 appearances. In an age in which, as M. de Valois said, 
 “woman has ceased to be woman,” she was known merely as 
 Mme. du Val-Noble; in other times she would have rivaled 
 an Imperia, a Rhodope, a Ninon. One of the most distin- 
 guished writers of the Restoration took her under his protec- 
 tion, and very likely will marry her some day; he is a journal- 
 ist, and above public opinion, seeing that he creates a new one 
 every six years. 
 
 In almost every prefecture of the second magnitude there 
 is some salon frequented not exactly by the cream of the local 
 society, but by personages both considerable and well consid- 
 ered. The host and hostess probably will be among the fore- 
 most people in the town. To them all houses are open; no 
 entertainment, no public dinner is given, but they are asked 
 to it; but in their salon you will not meet the gens a chateau— 
 lords of the manor, peers of France living on their broad 
 acres, and persons of the highest quality in the department, 
 though these are all on visiting terms with the family, and 
 exchange invitations to dinners and evening parties. The 
 
42 THE JEALOUSIES OF A COUNTRY TOWN 
 
 mixed society to be found there usually consists of the lesser 
 noblesse resident in the town, with the clergy and judicial 
 authorities. It is an influential assemblage. All the wit and 
 sense of the district is concentrated in its solid, unpretentious 
 ranks. Everybody in the set knows the exact amount of his 
 neighbor’s income, and professes the utmost indifference to 
 dress and luxury, trifles held to be mere childish vanity com- 
 pared with the acquisition of a mouchowr a beufs—a pocket- 
 handkerchief of some ten or a dozen acres, purchased after as 
 many years of pondering and intriguing and a prodigious 
 deal of diplomacy. 
 
 Unshaken in its prejudices whether good or ill, the coterie 
 goes on its way without a look before or behind. Nothing — 
 from Paris is allowed to pass without a prolonged scrutiny ; 
 innovations are ridiculous, and consols and cashmere shawls 
 alike objectionable. Provincials read nothing and wish to 
 learn nothing; for them, science, literature, and mechanical 
 invention are as the thing that is not. If a prefect does not 
 suit their notions, they do their best to have him removed; 
 if this cannot be done, they isolate him. So will you see the 
 inmates of a beehive wall up an intruding snail with wax. 
 Finally, of the gossip of the salon, history is made. Young 
 married women put in an appearance there occasionally 
 (though the card-table is the one resource) that their conduct 
 may be stamped with the approval of the coterie and their 
 social status confirmed. 
 
 Native susceptibilities are sometimes wounded by the su- 
 premacy of a single house, but the rest comfort themselves 
 with the thought that they save the expense entailed by the 
 position. Sometimes it happens that no one can afford to keep 
 open house, and then the bigwigs of the place look about them 
 for some harmless person whose character, position, and social 
 standing offer guarantees for the neutrality of the ground, 
 and alarm nobody’s vanity or self-interest. This had been the 
 case at Alencgon. For a long time past the best society of the 
 town has been wont to assemble in the house of the old maid 
 before mentioned, who little suspected Mme. Granson’s de- 
 
THD JEALOUSIES OF A COUNTRY TOWN 43 
 
 signs on her fortune, or the secret hopes of the two elderly 
 bachelors who have just been unmasked. 
 
 Mlle. Cormon was Mme. Granson’s fourth cousin. She 
 lived with her mother’s brother, a sometime vicar-general of 
 the bishopric of Séez; she had been her uncle’s ward, and 
 would one day inherit his fortune. Rose Marie Victoire 
 Cormon was the last representative of a house which, plebeian 
 though it was, had associated and often allied itself with the 
 noblesse, and ranked among the oldest families in the prov- 
 ince. In former times the Cormons had been intendants of 
 the duchy of Alencon, and had given a goodly number of 
 magistrates to the bench, and several bishops to the Church. 
 M. de Sponde, Mile. Cormon’s maternal grandfather, was 
 elected by the noblesse to the States-General ; and M. Cormon, 
 her father, had been asked to represent the Third Estate, but 
 neither of them accepted the responsibility. For the last 
 century, the daughters of the house had married into the 
 noble families of the province, in such sort that the Cormons 
 were grafted into pretty nearly every genealogical tree in the 
 duchy. No burgher family came so near being noble. 
 
 The house in which the present Mlle. Cormon lived had 
 never passed out of the family since it was built by Pierre 
 Cormon in the reign of Henri IV.; and of all the old maid’s 
 worldy possessions, this one appealed most to the greed of her 
 elderly suitors; though, so far from bringing in money, the 
 ancestral home of the Cormons was a positive expense to its 
 owner. But it is such an unusual thing, in the very centre of 
 a country town, to find a house handsome without, convenient 
 within, and free from mean surroundings, that all Alengon 
 shared the feeling of envy. 
 
 The old mansion stood exactly half-way down the Rue du 
 Val-Noble, The Val-Noble, as it was called, probably because 
 the Brillante, the little stream which flows through the town, 
 has hollowed out a little valley for itself in a dip of the land 
 thereabouts. The most noticeable feature of the house was its 
 massive architecture, of the style introduced from Italy by 
 Marie de’ Medici; all the corner-stones and facings were cut 
 
44 THE JEALOUSIES OF A COUNTRY TOWN 
 
 with diamond-shaped bosses, in spite of the difficulty of work- 
 ing in the granite of which it is built. It was a two-storied 
 house with a very high-pitched roof, and a row of dormer 
 windows, each with its carved tympanum standing pictur- 
 esquely enough above the lead-lined parapet with its orna- 
 mental balustrade. A grotesque gargoyle, the head of some 
 fantastic bodyless beast, discharged the rain-water through 
 its jaws into the street below, where great stone slabs, pierced 
 with five holes, were placed to receive it. Hach gable termi- 
 nated in a leaden finial, a sign that this was a burgher’s house, 
 for none but nobles had a right to put up a weathercock in 
 olden times. To right and left of the yard stood the stables 
 and the coach-house; the kitchen, laundry, and wood-shed. 
 One of the leaves of the great gate used to stand open; so 
 that passers-by, looking in through the little low wicket with 
 the bell attached, could see the parterre in the middle of a 
 spacious paved court, and the low-clipped privet hedges which 
 marked out miniature borders full of monthly roses, clove 
 gilliflowers, scabious, and lilies, and Spanish broom; as well 
 as the laurel bushes and pomegranates and myrtles which 
 grew in tubs put out of doors for the summer. 
 
 The scrupulous neatness and tidiness of the place must 
 have struck any stranger, and furnished him with a clue to 
 the old maid’s character. The mistress’ eyes must have been 
 unemployed, careful, and prying; less, perhaps, from any 
 natural bent, than for want of any occupation. Who but an 
 elderly spinster, at a loss how to fill an always empty day, 
 would have insisted that no blade of grass should show itself 
 in the paved courtyard, that the wall-tops should be scoured, 
 that the broom should always be busy, that the coach should 
 never be left with the leather curtains undrawn? Who else, 
 from sheer lack of other employment, could have introduced 
 something like Dutch cleanliness into a little province be- 
 tween Perche, Normandy, and Brittany, where the natives 
 make boast of their crass indifference to comfort? The Che- 
 valier never climbed the steps without reflecting inwardly that 
 the house was fit for a peer of France; and du Bousquier simi- 
 
THE JEALOUSIES OF A COUNTRY TOWN 45 
 
 larly considered that the Mayor of Alencon ought to live there. 
 
 A glass door at the top of the flight of steps gave admit- 
 tance to an ante-chamber lighted by a second glass door oppo- 
 site, above a corresponding flight of steps leading into the 
 garden. This part of the house, a kind of gallery floored with 
 square red tiles, and wainscoted to elbow-height, was a hos- 
 pital for invalid family portraits; one here and there had lost 
 an eye or sustained injury to a shoulder, another stood with a 
 hole in the place where his hat should have been, yet another 
 had lost a leg by amputation. Here cloaks, clogs, overshoes, 
 and umbrellas were left; everybody deposited his belongings 
 in the ante-chamber on his arrival, and took them again at 
 his departure. A long bench was set against either wall for 
 the servants who came of an evening with their lanterns to 
 fetch home their masters and mistresses, and a big stove was 
 set in the middle to mitigate the icy blasts which swept across 
 from door to door. 
 
 This gallery, then, divided the ground floor into two equal 
 parts. The staircase rose to the left on the side nearest the 
 courtyard, the rest of the space being taken up by the great 
 dining-room, with its windows looking out upon the garden, 
 and a pantry beyond, which communicated with the kitchen. 
 To the right lay the salon, hghted by four windows, and a 
 couple of smaller rooms beyond it, a boudoir which gave upon 
 the garden, and a room which did duty as a study and looked 
 into the courtyard. There was a complete suite of rooms on 
 the first floor, beside the Abbé de Sponde’s apartments; while 
 the attic story, in all probability roomy enough, had long 
 since been given over to the tenancy of rats and mice. Mlle. 
 Cormon used to report their nocturnal exploits to the Cheva- 
 lier de Valois, and marvel at the futility of all measures taken 
 against them. 
 
 The garden, about half an acre in extent, was bounded by 
 the Brillante, so called from the mica spangles which glitter 
 in its bed; not, however, in the Val-Noble, for the manu- 
 facturers and dyers of Alencon pour all their refuse into the 
 shallow stream before it reaches this point; and the opposite 
 
46 THE JEALOUSIES OF A COUNTRY TOWN 
 
 bank, as always happens wherever a stream passes through a 
 town, was lined with houses where various thirsty industries 
 were carried on. Luckily, Mlle. Cormon’s neighbors were all 
 of them quiet tradesmen—a baker, a fuller, and one or two 
 cabinet-makers. Her garden, full of old-fashioned flowers, 
 naturally ended in a terrace, by way of a quay, with a short 
 flight of steps down to the water’s edge. Try to picture the 
 wall-flowers growing in blue-and-white glazed jars along the 
 balustrade by the river, behold a shady walk to right and left 
 beneath the square-clipped lime-trees, and you will have some 
 idea of a scene full of unpretending cheerfulness and sober 
 tranquillity ; you can see the views of homely humble life along 
 the opposite bank, the quaint houses, the trickling stream of 
 the Brillante, the garden itself, the linden walks under the 
 garden walls, and the venerable home built by the Cormons. 
 How peaceful, how quiet it was! If there was no ostentation, 
 there was nothing transitory, everything seemed to last for 
 ever there. 
 
 The ground-floor rooms, therefore, were given over to 
 social uses. You breathed the atmosphere of the Province, 
 ancient, unalterable Province. The great square-shaped salon, 
 with its four doors and four windows, was modestly wains- 
 coted with carved panels, and painted gray. On the wall, 
 above the single oblong mirror on the chimney-piece, the 
 Hours, in monochrome, were ushering in the day. For this 
 particular style of decoration, which used to infest the spaces 
 above doors, the artist’s invention devised the eternal Seasons 
 which meet your eyes almost anywhere in central France, till 
 you loathe the detestable Cupids engaged in reaping, skating, 
 sowing seeds, or flinging flowers about. Every window was 
 overarched with a sort of baldachin with green damask cur- 
 tains drawn back with cords and huge tassels. The tapestry- 
 covered furniture, with a darn here and there at the edges of 
 the chairs, belonged distinctly to that period of the eighteenth 
 century when curves and contortions were in the very height 
 of fashion; the frames were painted and varnished, the sub- 
 jects in the medallions on the backs were taken from La Fon- 
 
THD JEALOUSIES OF A COUNTRY TOWN AT 
 
 taine. Four card-tables, a table for piquet, and another for 
 backgammon filled up the immense space. A rock crystal 
 chandelier, shrouded in green gauze, hung suspended from the 
 prominent crossbeam which divided the ceiling, the only 
 plastered ceiling in the house. 'T'wo branched candle-sconces 
 were fixed into the wall above the chimney-piece, where a 
 couple of blue Sévres vases stood on either side of a copper 
 gilt clock which represented a scene taken from Le Déserteur 
 —a proof of the prodigious popularity of Sedaine’s work. 
 It was a group of no less than eleven figures, four inches 
 high; the Deserter emerging from jail escorted by a guard of 
 soldiers, while a young person, swooning in the foreground, 
 held out his reprieve. The hearth and fire-irons were of the 
 same date and style. The more recent family portraits— 
 one or two Rigauds and three pastels by Latour—adorned 
 the wainscot panels. 
 
 The study, paneled entirely in old lacquer work, red and 
 black and gold, would have fetched fabulous sums a few years 
 later; Mlle. Cormon was as far as possible from suspecting 
 its value; but if she had been offered a thousand crowns for 
 every panel, she would not have parted with a single one. It 
 was a part of her system to alter nothing, and everywhere 
 in the provinces the belief in ancestral hoards is very strong. 
 The boudoir, never used, was hung with the old-fashioned 
 chintz so much run after nowadays by amateurs of the 
 “Pompadour style,” as it is called. 
 
 The dining-room was paved with black-and-white stone; 
 it had not been ceiled, but the joists and beams were painted. 
 Ranged round the walls, beneath a flowered trellis, painted in 
 fresco, stood the portentous, marble-topped sideboards, 1n- 
 dispensable in the warfare waged in the provinces against the 
 powers of digestion. The chairs were cane-seated and 
 varnished, the doors of unpolished walnut wood. Everything 
 combined admirably to complete the general effect, the old- 
 world air of the house within and without. The provincial 
 spirit had preserved all as it had always been ; nothing was 
 new or old, young or decrepit. You felt a sense of chilly 
 precision everywhere. 
 
48 THE JEALOUSIES OF A COUNTRY TOWN 
 
 Any tourist in Brittany, Normandy, Maine, or Anjou must 
 have seen some house more or less like this in one or other 
 provincial town; for the Hotel de Cormon was in its way a 
 very pattern and model of burgher houses over a large part 
 of France, and the better deserves a place in this chronicle 
 because it is at once a commentary on the manners of the 
 place and the expression of its ideas. Who does not feel, 
 even now, how much the life within the old walls was one of 
 peaceful routine ? 
 
 For such library as the house possessed you must have de- 
 scended rather below the level of the Brillante. There stood 
 a solidly clasped oak-bound collection, none the worse, nay, 
 rather the better, for a thick coating of dust; a collection 
 kept as carefully as a cider-growing district is wont to keep 
 the products of the presses of Burgundy, Touraine, Gascony, 
 and the South. Here were works full of native force, and 
 exquisite qualities, with an added perfume of antiquity. No 
 one will import poor wines when the cost of carriage is so 
 heavy. 
 
 Mule. Cormon’s whole circle consisted of about a hundred 
 and fifty persons. Of these, some went into the country, some 
 were ill, others from home on business in the department, but 
 there was a faithful band which always came, unless Mlle. 
 Cormon gave an evening party in form; so also did those 
 persons who were bound either by their duties or old habit to 
 live in Alengon itself. All these people were of ripe age. A 
 few among them had traveled, but scarcely any of them had 
 gone beyond the province, and one or two had been implicated 
 in Chouannerie. People could begin to speak freely of the 
 war, now that rewards had come to the heroic defenders of 
 the good cause. M. de Valois had been concerned in the last 
 rising, when the Marquis de Montauran lost his life, be- 
 trayed by his mistress; and Marche-a-Terre, now peacefully 
 driving a grazier’s trade by the banks of the Mayenne, had 
 made a famous name for himself. M. de Valois, during the 
 past six months, had supplied the key to several shrewd tricks 
 played off upon Hulot, the old Republican, commander of a 
 
THE JEALOUSIES OF A COUNTRY TOWN 49 
 
 demi-brigade stationed at Alencon from 1798 till 1800. 
 There was talk of Hulot yet in the countryside.* 
 
 The women made little pretence of dress, except on Wed- 
 nesdays when Mlle. Cormon gave a dinner party, and last 
 week’s guests came to pay their “visit of digestion.” On 
 Wednesday evening the rooms were filled. Guests and visitors 
 came in gala dress; here and there a woman brought 
 her knitting or her tapestry work, and some young ladies un- 
 blushingly drew patterns for point d’Alencgon, by which they 
 supported themselves. Men brought their wives, because 
 there was so few young fellows there; no whisper could pass 
 unnoticed, and therefore there was no danger of love-making 
 for maid or matron. Every evening at six o’clock the lobby 
 was filled with articles of dress, with sticks, cloaks, and lan- 
 terns. very one was so well acquainted, the customs of the 
 house were so primitive, that if by any chance the Abbé de 
 Sponde was in the lime-tree walk, and Mlle. Cormon in her 
 .room, neither Josette the maid nor Jacquelin the man thought 
 it necessary to inform them of the arrival of visitors. The 
 first comer waited till some one else arrived; and when they 
 mustered players sufficiently for whist or boston, the game was 
 begun without waiting for the Abbé de Sponde or Made- 
 moiselle. When it grew dark, Josette or Jacquelin brought 
 lights as soon as the bell rang, and the old Abbé out in the 
 garden, seeing the drawing-room windows illuminated, 
 -hastened slowly towards the house. Every evening the piquet, 
 boston, and whist tables were full, giving an average of 
 twenty-five or thirty persons, including those who came to 
 chat; but often there were as many as thirty or forty, and 
 then Jacquelin took candles into the study and the boudoir. 
 Between eight and nine at night the servants began to fill the 
 ante-chamber ; and nothing short of a revolution would have 
 found any one in the salon by ten o’clock. At that hour the 
 frequenters of the house were walking home through the 
 streets, discussing the points made, or keeping up a conversa- 
 tion begun in the salon. Sometimes the talk turned on a 
 
 * See Les Chouans, 
 
50 THB JEALOUSIES OF A COUNTRY TOWN 
 
 pocket-handkerchief of land on which somebody had an eye, 
 sometimes it was the division of an inheritance and disputes — 
 among the legatees, or the pretensions of the aristocratic set. 
 You see exactly the same thing at Paris when the theatres 
 disgorge. 
 
 Some people who talk a great deal about poetry and un- 
 derstand nothing about it, are wont to rail at provincial 
 towns and provincial ways; but lean your forehead on your 
 left hand, as you sit with your feet on the fire-dogs, and rest 
 your elbow on your knee, and then—if you have fully realized 
 for yourself the level pleasant landscape, the house, the in- 
 terior, the folks within it and their interests, interests that 
 seem all the larger because the mental horizon is so limited 
 (as a grain of gold is beaten thin between two sheets of 
 parchment)—then ask yourself what human life is. Try to 
 decide between the engraver of the hieroglyphic birds on an 
 Egyptian obelisk, and one of these folk in Alengon playing 
 boston through a score of years with du Bousquier, M. de 
 Valois, Mlle. Cormon, the President of the Tribunal, the 
 Public Prosecutor, the Abbé de Sponde, Mme. Granson e 
 tutti quanti. If the daily round, the daily pacing of the 
 same track in the footsteps of many yesterdays, is not ex- 
 actly happiness, it is so much like it that others, driven by 
 dint of storm-tossed days to reflect on the blessings of calm, 
 will say that it is happiness indeed. 
 
 To give the exact measure of the importance of Mlle. Cor- 
 mon’s salon, it will suffice to add that du Bousquier, a born 
 statistician, computed that its frequenters mustered among 
 them a hundred and thirty-one votes in the electoral college, 
 and eighteen hundred thousand livres of income derived from 
 lands in the province. The town of Alencon was not, it is 
 true, completely represented there. The aristocratic section, 
 for instance, had a salon of their own, and the receiver- 
 general’s house was a sort of official inn kept, as in duty 
 bound, by the Government, where everybody who was anybody 
 danced, flirted, fluttered, fell in love, and supped. One or two 
 unclassified persons kept up the communications between 
 
THE JEALOUSIES OF A COUNTRY TOWN 51 
 
 Mlle. Cormon’s salon and the other two, but the Cormon salon 
 criticised all that passed in the opposed camps very severely. 
 Sumptuous dinners gave rise to unfavorable comment; ices 
 at a dance caused searchings of heart; the women’s behavior 
 and dress and any innovations were much discussed. 
 
 Mlle. Cormon being, as it were, the style of the firm, and 
 figure-head of an imposing coterie, was inevitably the object 
 of any ambition as profound as that of the du Bousquier or 
 the Chevalier de Valois. To both gentlemen she meant a 
 seat in the Chamber of Deputies, with a peerage for the 
 Chevalier, a receiver-general’s post for du Bousquier. A 
 salon admittedly of the first rank is every whit as hard to 
 build up in a country town as in Paris. And here was the 
 salon ready made. To marry Mlle. Cormon was to be lord of 
 Alencon. Finally, Athanase, the only one of the three suitors 
 that had ceased to calculate, cared as much for the woman as 
 for her money. 
 
 Is there not a whole strange drama (to use the modern 
 eant phrase) in the relative positions of these four human 
 beings? There is something grotesque, is there not, in the 
 idea of three rival suitors eagerly pressing about an old maid 
 who never so much as suspected their intentions, in 
 spite of ‘her intense and very natural desire to be 
 married? Yet although, things being so, it may 
 seem an extraordinary thing that she should not have 
 married before, it is not difficult to explain how and 
 why, in spite of her fortune and her three suitors, Mlle. 
 Cormon was still unwed. 
 
 From the first, following the family tradition, Mlle. Cor- 
 mon had always wished to marry a noble, but between the 
 years 1789 and 1799 circumstances were very much against 
 her. While she would have wished tc be the wife of a person 
 of condition, she was horribly afraid of the Revolutionary 
 Tribunal; and these two motives weighing about equally, she 
 remained stationary, according to a law which holds equally 
 good in esthetics or statics. At the same time, the condition 
 of suspended judgment is not unpleasant for a girl, so long 
 
52 THE JHALOUSIES OF A COUNTRY TOWN 
 
 as she feels young and thinks that she can choose where she 
 pleases. But, as all France knows, the system of government 
 immediately preceding the wars of Napoleon produced a vast — 
 number of widows; and the number of heiresses was al- 
 together out of proportion to the number of eligible men. 
 When order was restored in the country, in the time of the 
 Consulate, external difficulties made marriage as much of a 
 problem as ever for Rose Marie Victoire. On the one hand, 
 she declined to marry an elderly man; and, on the other, dread 
 of ridicule and circumstances put quite young men out of the 
 question. In those days heads of families married their sons 
 as mere boys, because in this way they escaped the conscrip- 
 tion. With the obstinacy of a landed proprietor, made- 
 moiselle would not hear of marrying a military man; she 
 had no wish to take a husband only to give him back to the 
 Emperor, she wished to keep him for herself. And so, be- 
 tween 1804 and 1815 it was impossible to compete with a 
 younger generation of girls, too numerous already in times 
 when cannon shot had thinned. the ranks of marriageable 
 men. 
 
 Again, apart from Mlle. Cormon’s predilection for birth, 
 she had a very pardonable craze for being loved for her own 
 sake. You would scarcely believe the lengths to which she 
 carried this fancy. She set her wits to work to lay snares for 
 her admirers, to try their sentiments; and that with such suc- 
 cess, that the unfortunates one and all fell into them, and 
 succumbed in the whimsical ordeals through which they 
 passed at unawares. Mlle. Cormon did not study her suitors, 
 she played the spy upon them. A careless word, or a joke, 
 and the lady did not understand jokes very well, was excuse 
 enough to dismiss an aspirant as found wanting. This had 
 neither spirit nor delicacy; that was untruthful and not a 
 Christian ; one wanted to cut down tall timber and coin money 
 under the marriage canopy; another was not the man to make 
 her happy; or, again, she had her suspicions of gout in the 
 family, or took fright at her wooer’s antecedents. Like 
 Mother Church, she would fain see a priest without blemish 
 
THE JEALOUSIES OF A COUNTRY TOWN 53 
 
 at her altar. And then Rose Marie Victoire made the worst 
 of herself, and was as anxious to be loved, with all her facti- 
 tious plainness and imaginary faults, as other women are to 
 be married for virtues which they have not and for borrowed 
 beauty. Mlle. Cormon’s ambition had its source in the finest 
 instincts of womanhood. She would reward her lover by 
 discovering to him a thousand virtues after marriage, as 
 other women reveal the many little faults kept hitherto strenu- 
 ously out of sight. But no one understood. The noble girl 
 came in contact with none but commonplace natures, with 
 whom practical interests came first; the finer calculations of 
 feeling were beyond their comprehension. 
 
 She grew more and more conspicuous as the critical period 
 so ingeniously called “second youth” drew nearer. Her fancy 
 for making the worst of herself with increasing success 
 frightened away the latest recruits; they hesitated to unite 
 their lot with hers. The strategy of her game of hoodman- 
 blind (the virtues to be revealed when the finder’s eyes were 
 opened) was a complex study for which few men have in- 
 clination ; they prefer perfection ready-made. An ever-pres- 
 ent dread of being married for her money made her unrea- 
 sonably distrustful and uneasy. She fell foul of the rich, 
 and the rich could look higher; she was afraid of poor men, 
 she would not believe them capable of that disinterestedness 
 on which she set such store; till at length her rejections and 
 other circumstances let in an unexpected light upon the minds 
 of suitors thus presented for her selection like dried peas on 
 a seedman’s sieve. Every time a marriage project came to 
 nothing, the unfortunate girl, being gradually led to despise 
 mankind, saw the other sex at last in a false light. In- 
 evitably, in her inmost soul, she grew misanthropic, a tinge 
 of bitterness was infused into her conversation, a certain 
 harshness into her expression. And her manners became 
 more and more rigid under the stress of enforced celibacy ; 
 in her despair she sought to perfect herself. It was a noble 
 vengeance. She would polish and cut for God the rough 
 diamond rejected by men. 
 
54 THE JEALOUSIES OF A COUNTRY TOWN 
 
 \ 
 
 Before long public opinion was against Mlle. Cormon. 
 People accept the verdict which a woman passes upon herself . 
 if, being free to marry, she fails to fulfil expectations, or is 
 known to have refused eligible suitors. Every one decides 
 that she has her own reasons for declining marriage, and 
 those reasons are always misinterpreted. ‘There was some 
 hidden physical defect or deformity, they said; but she, poor 
 girl, was pure as an angel, healthy as a child, and overflow- 
 ing with kindness. Nature had meant her to know all the 
 joys, all the happiness, all the burdens of motherhood. 
 
 Yet in her person Mlle. Cormon did not find a natural 
 _ auxiliary to gain her heart’s desire. She had no beauty, save 
 of the kind so improperly called “the devil’s”; that full- 
 blown freshness of youth which, theologically speaking, the 
 Devil never could have possessed; unless, indeed, we are to 
 look for an explanation of the expression in the Devil’s con- 
 tinual desire of refreshing himself. ‘The heiress’ feet were 
 large and flat; when, on rainy days, she crossed the wet streets 
 between her house and St. Leonard’s, her raised skirt dis- 
 played (without malice, be it said) a leg which scarcely 
 seemed to belong to a woman, so muscular was it, with a 
 small, firm, prominent calf like a sailor’s. She had a figure - 
 for a wet nurse. Her thick, honest waist, her strong, plump 
 arms, her red hands; everything about her, in short, was in 
 keeping with the round, expansive contours and portly fair- 
 ness of the Norman style of beauty. Wide open, prominent 
 eyes of no particular color gave to a face, by no means dis- 
 tinguished in its round outlines, a sheepish, astonished ex- 
 pression not altogether inappropriate, however, in an old 
 maid: even if Rose had not been innocent, she must still have 
 seemed so. An aquiline nose was oddly assorted with a low 
 forehead, for a feature of that type is almost invariably found 
 in company with a lofty brow. In spite of thick, red lips, 
 the sign of great kindliness of nature, there were evidently 
 so few ideas behind that forehead, that Rose’s heart could 
 scarcely have been directed by her brain. Kind she must 
 certainly be, but not gracious. And we are apt to judge the 
 
THE JEALOUSIES OF A COUNTRY TOWN D5 
 
 defects of goodness very harshly, while we make the most of 
 the redeeming qualities of vice. 
 
 An extraordinary length of chestnut hair lent Rose Cormon 
 such beauty as belongs to vigor and luxuriance, her chief per- 
 sonal characteristics. In the time of her pretensions she had 
 a trick of turning her face in three-quarters profile to display 
 a very pretty ear, gracefully set between the azure-streaked 
 white throat and the temple, and thrown into relief by thick 
 masses of her hair. Dressed in a ball gown, with her head 
 poised at this angle, Rose might almost seem beautiful. With 
 her protuberant bust, her waist, her high health, she used to 
 draw exclamations of admiration from Imperial officers. 
 “What a fine girl!” they used to say. 
 
 But, as years went on, the stoutness induced by a quiet, 
 regular life distributed itself so unfortunately over her person, 
 that its original proportions were destroyed. No known 
 variety of corset could have discovered the poor spinster’s 
 hips at this period of her existence; she might have been cast 
 in one uniform piece. The youthful proportions of her figure 
 were completely lost; her dimensions had grown so excessive, 
 that no one could see her stoop without fearing that, being 
 so topheavy, she would certainly overbalance herself; but 
 nature had provided a sufficient natural counterpoise, which 
 enabled her to dispense with all adventitious aid from “dress 
 improvers.” Everything about Rose was very genuine. 
 
 Her chin developed a triple fold, which reduced the appar- 
 ent length of her throat, and made it no easy matter to turn 
 her head. She had no wrinkles, she had creases. Wags used 
 to assert that she powdered herself, as nurses powder babies, 
 to prevent chafing of the skin. To a young man, consumed, 
 like Athanase, with suppressed desires, this excessive corpu- 
 lence offered just the kind of physical charm which could not 
 fail to attract youth. Youthful imaginations, essentially in- 
 trepid, stimulated by appetite, are prone to dilate upon the 
 beauties of that living expanse. So does the plump partridge 
 allure the epicure’s knife.. And, indeed, any debt-burdened 
 young man of fashion in Paris would have resigned himself 
 
~~, 
 \ 
 
 56 THE JEALOUSIES OF A COUNTRY TOWN 
 
 readily enough to fulfilling his part of the contract and mak- 
 ing Mlle. Cormon happy. Still the unfortunate spinster had - 
 already passed her fortieth year ! 
 
 At this period of enforced loneliness, after the long, vain 
 struggle to fill her life with those interests that are all in 
 all to woman, she was fortifying herself in virtue by the most 
 strict observance of religious duties; she had turned to the 
 great consolation of well-preserved virginity. A confessor, 
 endowed with no great wisdom, had directed Mlle. Cormon in 
 the paths of asceticism for some three years past, recommend- 
 ing a system of self-scourging calculated, according to modern 
 doctors, to produce an effect the exact opposite of that ex- 
 pected by the poor priest, whose knowledge of hygiene was 
 but limited. These absurd practices were beginning to bring 
 a certain monastic tinge to Rose Cormon’s face; with fre- 
 quent pangs of despair, she watched the sallow hues of middle 
 age creeping across its natural white and red; while the trace 
 of down about the corners of her upper lip showed a distinct 
 tendency to darken and increase like smoke. Her temples 
 grew shiny. She had passed the turning-point, in fact. It 
 was known for certain in Alencon that Mlle. Cormon suffered 
 from heated blood. She inflicted her confidence upon the 
 Chevalier de Valois, reckoning up the number of foot-baths 
 that she took, and devising cooling treatment with him. And 
 that shrewd observer would end by taking out his snuff-box, 
 and gazing at the portrait of the Princess Goritza as he re- 
 marked, “But the real sedative, my dear young lady, would 
 be a good and handsome husband.” 
 
 “But whom could one trust?” returned she. 
 
 But the Chevalier only flicked away the powdered snuff 
 from the creases of his paduasoy waistcoat. To anybody else 
 the proceeding would have seemed perfectly natural, but it 
 always made the poor old maid feel uncomfortable. 
 
 The violence of her objectless longings grew to such a height 
 that she shrank from looking a man in the face, so afraid was 
 she that the thoughts which pierced her heart might be read 
 in her eyes. It was one of her whims, possibly a later de- 
 
THE JEALOUSIES OF A COUNTRY TOWN 57 
 
 velopment of her former tactics, to behave almost ungra- 
 ciously to the possible suitors towards whom she still felt her- 
 self attracted, so afraid was she of being accused of folly. 
 Most people in her circle were utterly incapable of appreciat- 
 ing her motives, so noble throughout ; they explained her man- 
 ner to her coevals in single blessedness by a theory of revenge 
 for some past slight. 
 
 With the beginning of the year 1815 Rose Cormon had 
 reached the fatal age, to which she did not confess. She was 
 forty-two. By this time her desire to be married had 
 reached a degree of intensity bordering on monomania. She 
 saw her chances of motherhood fast shpping away for ever; 
 ‘and, in her divine ignorance, she longed above all things for 
 children of her own. There was not a soul found in Alencon 
 to impute a single unchaste desire to the virtuous girl. She 
 loved love, taking all for granted, without realizing for her- 
 self what love would be—a devout Agnés, incapable of in- 
 venting one of the little shifts of Moliére’s heroine. 
 
 She had been counting upon chance of late. The disband- 
 ing of the Imperial troops and the reconstruction of the 
 King’s army was sending a tide of military men back to their 
 native places, some of them on half-pay, some with pensions, 
 some without, and all of them anxicus to find some way of 
 amending their bad fortune, and of finishing their days in a 
 fashion which would mean the beginning of happiness . 
 for Mlle. Cormon. It would be hard indeed if she could 
 not find a single brave and honorable man among all those 
 who were coming back to the neighborhood. He must have a 
 sound constitution in the first place, he must be of suitable 
 age, and a man whose personal character would serve as a 
 passport to his Bonapartist opinions; perhaps he might even 
 be willing to turn Royalist for the sake of gaining a lost 
 social position. | : 
 
 Supported by these mental calculations, Mlle. Cormon 
 maintained the severity of her attitude for the first few 
 months of the year; but the men that came back to the town 
 were all either too old or too young, or their characters were 
 
58 THE JEALOUSIES OF A COUNTRY TOWN 
 
 too bad, or their opinions too Bonapartist, or their station in 
 life was incompatible with her position, fortune, and habits. 
 The case grew more and more desperate every day. Officers 
 high in the service had used their advantages under Napoleon 
 to marry, and these gentlemen now became Royalists for the 
 sake of their families. In vain had she put up prayers to 
 heaven to send her a husband that she might be happy in 
 Christian fashion; it was written, no doubt, that she should 
 die virgin and martyr, for not a single likely-looking man 
 presented himself. 
 
 In the course of conversation in her drawing-room of an 
 evening, the frequenters of the house kept the police register 
 under tolerably strict supervision; no one could arrive in 
 Alencon but they informed themselves at once as to the new- 
 comer’s mode of life, quality, and fortune. But, at the same 
 time, Alencon is not a town to attract many strangers; it is 
 not on the highroad to any larger city; there are no chance 
 arrivals; naval officers on their way to Brest do not so much 
 as stop in the place. 
 
 Poor Mlle. Cormon at last comprehended that her choice 
 was reduced to the natives. At times her eyes took an almost 
 fierce expression, to which the Chevalier would respond with a 
 keen glance at her as he drew out his snuff-box to gaze at the 
 Princess Goritza. M. de Valois knew that in feminine 
 jurisprudence, fidelity to an old love is a guarantee for the 
 new. But Mlle. Cormon, it cannot be denied, was not very 
 intelligent. His snuff-box strategy was wasted upon her. 
 
 She redoubled her watchfulness, the better to combat the 
 “evil one,” and with devout rigidness and the sternest prin- 
 ciples she consigned her cruel sufferings to the secret places 
 of her life. 
 
 At night, when she was alone, she thought of her lost youth, 
 of her faded bloom, of the thwarted instincts of her nature; 
 and while she laid her passionate longings at the foot of the 
 Cross, together with all the poetry doomed to remain pent 
 within her, she vowed inwardly to take the first man that was 
 willing to marry her, just as he was, without putting him to 
 
THE JEALOUSIES OF A COUNTRY TOWN 59 
 
 any proof whatsoever. Sounding her own dispositions, after 
 a series of vigils, each more trying than the last, in her own 
 mind she went so far as to espouse a_ sub-lieutenant, 
 a tobacco-smoker to boot; nay, he was even head over ears in 
 debt. Him she proposed to transform with care, submission, 
 and gentleness into a pattern for mankind. But only in 
 the silence of night could she plan these imaginary marriages, 
 in which she amused herself with playing the sublime part of 
 guardian angel; with morning, if Josette found her mistress’ 
 bedclothes turned topsy-turvy, mademoiselle had recovered 
 her dignity; with morning, after breakfast, she would have 
 nothing less than a solid landowner, a well-preserved man of 
 forty—a young man, as you may say. 
 
 The Abbé de Sponde was incapable of giving his niece as- 
 sistance of any sort in schemes for marriage. The good man, 
 aged seventy or thereabouts, referred all the calamities of the 
 Revolution to the design of a Providence prompt to punish 
 a dissolute Church. For which reasons M. de Sponde had long 
 since entered upon a deserted path to heaven, the way trodden 
 by the hermits of old. He led an ascetic life, simply, unobtru- 
 sively, hiding his deeds of charity, his constant prayer and 
 fasting from all other eyes. Necessity was laid upon all 
 priests, he thought, to do as he did; he preached by ex- 
 ample, turning a serene and smiling face upon the world, 
 while he completely cut himself off from worldly interests. 
 All his thoughts were given to thé afflicted, to the needs of 
 the Church, and the saving of his own soul. He left the 
 management of his property to his niece. She paid over his 
 - yearly income to him, and, after a slight deduction for his 
 maintenance, the whole of it went in private almsgiving or in 
 donations to the Church. 
 
 All the Abbé’s affections were centered upon his niece, and 
 she looked upon him as a father. He was a somewhat absent- 
 minded father, however, without the remotest conception of 
 the rebellion of the flesh; a father who gave thanks to God 
 for maintaining his beloved daughter in a state of virginity ; 
 for from his youth up he had held, with St. John Chrysostom, 
 
60 THE JEALOUSIES OF A COUNTRY TOWN 
 
 “that virginity is as much above the estate of marriage as the 
 angels are above man.” 
 
 Mlle. Cormon was accustomed to look up to her uncle; 
 she did not venture to confide her wishes for a change of 
 condition to him; and he, good man, on his side was ac- 
 customed to the ways of the house, and perhaps might not 
 have relished the introduction of a master into it. Absorbed 
 in thoughts of the distress which he relieved, or lost in fathom- 
 less inner depths of prayer, he was often unconscious of what 
 was going on about him; frequenters of the house set this 
 down to absent-mindedness; but while he said little, his 
 silence was neither unsociabie nor ungenial. A tall, spare, 
 grave, and solemn man, his face told of kindly feeling and a 
 great inward peace. His presence in the house seemed as it 
 were to consecrate it. The Abbé entertained a strong liking 
 for that elderly sceptic the Chevalier de Valois. Far apart as 
 their lives were, the two grand wrecks of the eighteenth cen- 
 tury clergy and noblesse recognized each other by generic 
 signs and tokens; and the Chevalier, for that matter, could 
 converse with unction with the Abbé, just as he talked like a 
 father with his grisettes. 
 
 Some may think that Mlle. Cormon would leave no means 
 untried to gain her end; that among other permissible femi- 
 nine artifices, for instance, she would turn to her toilettes, 
 wear low-cut bodices, use, the passive coquetry of a display of 
 the splendid equipment with which she might take the field. 
 On the contrary, she was as heroic and steadfast in her high- 
 necked gown as a sentry in his sentry-box. All her dresses, 
 bonnets, and finery were made in Alencon by two hunchbacked 
 sisters, not wanting in taste. But in spite of the entreaties 
 of the two artists, Mlle. Cormon utterly declined the ad- 
 ventitious aid of elegance; she must be substantial through- 
 out, body and plumage, and possibly her heavy-looking dresses 
 became her not amiss. Laugh who will at her, poor thing. 
 Generous natures, those who never trouble themselves about 
 the form in which good feeling shows itself, but admire it 
 wherever they find it, will see something sublime in this trait. 
 
THE JHALOUSIES OF A COUNTRY TOWN 61 
 
 Perhaps some slight-natured feminine critic may begin to 
 carp, and say that there is no woman in France so simple 
 but that she can angle for a husband; that Mlle. Cormon is 
 one of those abnormal creatures which common-sense for- 
 bids us to take for a type; that the best or the most babyish 
 unmarried woman that has a mind to hook a gudgeon 
 can put forward some physical charm wherewith to bait her 
 line. But when you begin to think that the sublime Apostolic 
 Roman Catholic is still a power in Brittany and the ancient 
 duchy of Alencon, these criticisms fall to the ground. Faith 
 and piety admit no such subtleties. Mlle. Cormon kept to the 
 straight path, preferring the misfortunes of a maidenhood in- 
 finitely prolonged to the misery of untruthfulness, to the sin 
 of small deceit. Armed with self-discipline, such a girl can- 
 not make a sacrifice of a principle; and therefore love (or 
 self-interest) must make a determined effort to find her out 
 and win her. 
 
 Let us have the courage to make a confession, painful in 
 these days when religion is nothing but a means of advance- 
 ment for some, a dream for others; the devout are subject to 
 a kind of moral ophthalmia, which, by the especial grace of 
 Providence, removes a host of small earthly concerns out of 
 the sight of the pilgrim of Eternity. In a word, the devout 
 are apt to be dense in a good many ways. ‘Their stupidity, at 
 the same time, is a measure of the force with which their 
 spirits turn heavenwards; albeit the sceptical M. de Valois 
 maintained that it is a moot point whether stupid women take 
 naturally to piety, or whether piety, on the other hand, has a 
 stupefying effect upon an intelligent girl. 
 
 It must be borne in mind that it is the purest orthodox 
 goodness, ready to drink rapturously of every cup set before it, 
 to submit devoutly to the will of God, to see the print of 
 the divine finger everywhere in the day of life,—that it is 
 catholic virtue stealing like hidden light into the innermost 
 recesses of this History that alone can bring everything into 
 right relief, and widen its significance for those who yet have 
 faith. And, again, if the stupidity is admitted, why should 
 
62 THE JEALOUSIHS OF A COUNTRY TOWN 
 
 the misfortunes of stupidity be less interesting than the woes 
 of genius in a world where fools so overwhelmingly pre- 
 ponderate ? 
 
 To resume. Mlle. Cormon’s divine girlish ignorance of 
 life was an offence in the eyes of the world. She was any- 
 thing but observant, as her treatment of her suitors suffi- 
 ciently showed. At this very moment, .a girl of sixteen who 
 had never opened a novel in her life might have read a hun- 
 dred chapters of romance in Athanase’s eyes. But Mlle. 
 Cormon saw nothing all the while; she never knew that the 
 young man’s voice was unsteady with emotion which he dared 
 not express, and the woman who could invent refinements of 
 high sentiment to her own undoing could not Se the same 
 feelings in Athanase. 
 
 Those who know that qualities of heart and brain are as 
 independent of each other as genius and greatness of soul, 
 will see nothing extraordinary in this Dercholgered 
 phenomenon. A complete human being is so rare a prodigy, 
 that Socrates, that pearl among mankind, agreed with a con- 
 temporary phrenologist that he himself was born to be a very 
 scurvy knave. A great general may save his country at Zu- 
 rich, and yet take a commission from contractors; a banker’s 
 doubtful honesty does not prevent him from being a states- 
 man; a great composer may give the world divine music, and 
 yet forge another man’s signature, and a woman of refined 
 feeling may be excessively weak-minded. In short, a devout 
 woman may have a very lofty soul, and yet have no ears to 
 hear the voice of another noble soul at her side. 
 
 The unaccountable freaks of physical infirmity find a 
 parallel in the moral world. Here was a good creature mak- 
 ing her preserves and breaking her heart till she grew almost 
 ridiculous, because, forsooth, there was no one to eat them 
 but her uncle and herself. Those who sympathized with her 
 for the sake of her good qualities, or, in some cases, on ac- 
 count of her defects, used to laugh over her disappointments. 
 People began to wonder what would become of so fine a prop- 
 erty with all Mlle. Cormon’s savings, and her uncle’s to 
 boot. 
 
THD JEALOUSIES OF A COUNTRY TOWN 63 
 
 It was long since they began to suspect that at bottom, 
 and in spite of appearances, Mlle. Cormon was “an original.” 
 Originality is not allowed in the provinces; originality means 
 that you have ideas which nobody else can understand, and 
 in a country town people’s intellects, like their manner of life, 
 must all be on a level. Even in 1804 Rose’s matri- 
 monial prospects were considered so problematical, that 
 “to marry like Mlle. Cormon” was a current saying in 
 Alengon, and the most ironical way of suggesting Such-an- 
 one would never marry at all. 
 
 The necessity to laugh at some one must indeed be im- 
 perious in France, if any one could be found to raise a smile 
 at the expense of that excellent creature. Not merely did 
 she entertain the whole town, she was charitable, she was 
 good; she was incapable of saying a spiteful word; and more 
 than that, she was so much in unison with the whole spirit 
 of the place, its manners and its customs, that she was gen- 
 erally beloved as the very incarnation of the life of the 
 province; she had imbibed all its prejudices and made its in- 
 terests hers; she had never gone beyond its limits, she adored 
 it ; she was embedded in provincial tradition. In spite of her 
 eighteen thousand livres per annum, a tolerably large income 
 for the neighborhood, she accommodated herself to the ways 
 of her less wealthy neighbors. When she went to her country 
 house, the Prébaudet, for instance, she drove over in an old- 
 fashioned wicker cariole hung with white leather straps, and 
 fitted with a couple of rusty weather-beaten leather curtains, 
 which scarcely closed it in. The equipage, drawn by a fat 
 broken-winded mare, was known all over the town. Jacque- 
 lin, the man-servant, cleaned it as carefully as if it had been 
 the finest brougham from Paris. Mademoiselle was fond of it ; 
 it had lasted her a dozen years, a fact which she was wont to 
 point out with the triumphant joy of contented parsimony. 
 Most people were grateful to her for forbearing to humiliate 
 them by splendor which she might have flaunted before their 
 eyes ; it is even credible that if she had sent for a caléche from 
 Paris, it would have caused more talk than any of her “disap- 
 
64 THE JEALOUSIES OF A COUNTRY TOWN 
 
 pointments.” After all, the finest carriage in the world, like 
 the old-fashioned cariole, could only have taken her to the © 
 Prébaudet; and in the provinces they always keep the end in 
 view, and trouble themselves very little about the elegance of 
 the means, provided that they are sufficient. 
 
 To complete the picture of Mlle. Cormon’s household and 
 domestic life, several figures must be grouped round Mlle. 
 Cormon and the Abbé de Sponde. Jacquelin, and Josette, 
 and Mariette, the cook, ministered to the comfort of uncle and 
 niece. 
 
 Jacquelin, a man of forty, short and stout, dark-haired and 
 ruddy, with a countenance of the Breton sailor type, had 
 been in service in the house for twenty-two years. He waited 
 at table, groomed the mare, worked in the garden, cleaned the 
 Abbé’s shoes, ran errands, chopped firewood, drove the eariole, 
 went to the Prébaudet for corn, hay and straw, and 
 slept like a dormouse in the ante-chamber of an evening. He 
 was supposed to be fond of Josette, and Josette was six-and- 
 thirty. But if she had married him, Mile. Cormon would 
 have dismissed her, and so the poor lovers were fain to save 
 up their wages in silence, and to wait and hope for made- 
 moiselle’s marriage, much as the Jews look for the advent of 
 the Messiah. 
 
 Josette came from the district between Alenecon and 
 Mortagne; she was a fat little woman. Her face, which re- 
 minded you of a mud-bespattered apricot, was not wanting 
 either in character or intelligence. She was supposed to rule 
 her mistress. Josette and Jacquelin, feeling sure of the 
 event, found consolation, presumably by discounting the 
 future. Mariette, the cook, had likewise been in the family 
 for fifteen years ; she was skilled in the cookery of the country 
 and the preparation of the most esteemed provincial dishes. 
 
 Perhaps the fat old bay mare, of the Normandy breed, 
 which Mile. Cormon used to drive to the Prébaudet, ought to 
 count a good deal, for the affection which the five inmates of 
 the house bore the animal amounted to mania. Penelope, 
 for that was her name, had been with them for eighteen years ; 
 
THE JEALOUSIES OF A COUNTRY TOWN 65 
 
 and so well was she cared for, so regularly tended, that Jacque- 
 lin and mademoiselle hoped to get quite another ten years 
 of work out of her. Penelope was a stock subject and source 
 of interest in their lives. It seemed as if poor Mlle. Cormon, 
 with no child of her own, lavished all her maternal affection 
 upon the lucky beast. Almost every human being leading a 
 solitary life in a crowded world will surround himself with 
 a make-believe family of some sort, and Penelope took the 
 place of dogs, cats, or canaries. 
 
 These four faithful servants—for Penelope’s intelligence 
 had been trained till it was very nearly on a par with the 
 wits of the other three, while they had sunk pretty much into 
 the dumb, submissive jog-trot life of the animal—these four 
 retainers came and went and did the same things day after 
 day, with the unfailing regularity of clockwork. But, to use 
 their own expression, “they had eaten their white bread first.” 
 Mlle. Cormon suffered from a fixed idea upon the nerves; 
 and, after the wont of such sufferers, she grew fidgety and 
 hard to please, not by force of nature, but because she had no 
 outlet for her energies. She had neither husband nor 
 children to fill her thoughts, so they fastened upon trifles. 
 She would talk for hours at a stretch of some inconceivably 
 small matter, of a dozen serviettes, for instance, lettered Z, 
 which somehow or other had been put before O. 
 
 “Why, what can Josette be thinking about?” she cried. 
 “Has she no notion what she is doing?” 
 
 Jacquelin chanced to be late in feeding Penelope one after- 
 noon, so every day for a whole week afterwards mademoiselle 
 inquired whether the horse had been fed at two o’clock. Her 
 narrow imagination spent itself on small matters. A layer of 
 dust forgotten by the feather mop, a slice of scorched toast, 
 an omission to close the shutters on Jacquelin’s part when the 
 sun shone in upon furniture and carpets,—all these important 
 trifles produced serious trouble, mademoiselle lost her temper 
 over them. “Nothing was the same as it used to be. The 
 servants of old days were so changed that she did not know 
 them. They were spoilt. She was too good to them,” and 
 
66 THE JEALOUSIES OF A COUNTRY TOWN 
 
 so forth and so forth. One day Josette gave her mistress the 
 Journée du Chrétien instead of the Quinzaine de Paques. The 
 whole town heard of the mistake before night. Mademoiselle 
 had been obliged to get up and come out of church, disturbing 
 whole rows of chairs and raising the wildest conjectures, so 
 that she was obliged-afterwards to give all her friends a full 
 account of the mishap. 
 
 “Josette,” she said mildly, when she had come the whole 
 way home from St. Leonard’s, “this must never happen 
 again.” 
 
 Mlle. Cormon was far from suspecting that it was a very 
 fortunate thing for her that she could vent her spleen in petty 
 squabbles. ‘The mind, like the body, requires exercise; these 
 quarrels were a sort of mental gymnastics. Josette and Jacque- 
 lin took such unevennesses of temper as the agricultural 
 laborer takes the changes of the weather. The three good 
 souls could say among themselves that “It is a fine day,” or 
 “It rains,” without murmuring against the powers above. 
 Sometimes in the kitchen of a morning they would wonder in 
 what humor mademoiselle would wake, much as a farmer 
 studies the morning mists. And of necessity Mlle. Cormon 
 ‘ended by seeing herself in all the infinitely small details which 
 made up her life. Herself and God, her confessor and her 
 washing-days, the preserves to be made, the services of the 
 church to attend, and the uncle to take care of,—all these 
 things absorbed faculties that were none of the strongest. 
 For her the atoms of life were magnified by virtue of anoptical 
 process peculiar to the selfish or the self-absorbed. To so per- 
 fectly healthy a woman, the slightest symptom of indigestion 
 was a positively alarming portent. She lived, moreover, 
 under the ferule of the system of medicine practised by our 
 grandsires ; a drastic dose fit to kill Penelope, taken four times 
 a year, merely gave Mlle. Cormon a fillip. 
 
 What tremendous ransackings of the week’s dietary if 
 Josette, assisting her mistress to dress, discovered a scarcely 
 visible pimple on shoulders that still boasted a satin skin! 
 What triumph if the maid could bring a certain hare to her 
 
THE JEALOUSIES OF A COUNTRY TOWN 67 
 
 mistress’ recollection, and trace the accursed pimple to its 
 origin in that too heating article of food! With what joy the 
 two women would cry, “It is the hare beyond a doubt !” 
 
 “Mariette over-seasoned it,” mademoiselle would add; “I 
 always tell her not to overdo it for my uncle and me, but 
 Mariette has no more memory than i4 
 
 “Than the hare,” suggested Josette. 
 
 “Tt is the truth,” returned mademoiselle; “she has no more 
 memory than the hare; you have just hit it.” 
 
 
 
 Four times in a year, at the beginning of each season, Mlle. 
 Cormon went to spend a certain number of days at the 
 Prébaudet. It was now the middle of May, when she liked 
 to see how her apple-trees had “snowed,” as they say in the 
 cider country, an allusion to the white blossoms strewn in the 
 orchards in the spring. When the circles of fallen petals look 
 like snow-drifts under the trees, the proprietor may hope to 
 have abundance of cider in the autumn. Mlle. Cormon esti- 
 mated her barrels, and at the same time superintended any 
 necessary after-winter repairs, planning out work in the 
 garden and orchard, from which she drew no inconsiderable 
 supplies. Each time of year had its special business. 
 
 Mademoiselle used to give a farewell dinner to her faithful 
 inner circle before leaving, albeit she would see them again 
 at the end of three weeks. All Alencon knew when the 
 journey was to be undertaken. Any one that had fallen behind- 
 hand immediately paid a call, her drawing-room was filled ; 
 everybody wished her a prosperous journey, as if she had been 
 starting for Calcutta. Then, in the morning, all the trades- 
 people were standing in their doorways; every one, great and 
 small, watched the cariole go past, and it seemed as if every- 
 body learned a piece of fresh news when one repeated after 
 another, “So Mile. Cormon is going to the Prébaudet.” 
 
 One would remark, “She has bread ready baked, she has!’ 
 
 And his neighbor would return, “Eh! my lads, she is a good 
 woman ; if property always fell into such hands as hers, there 
 would not be a beggar to be seen in the countryside.” 
 
68 THE JEALOUSIES OF A COUNTRY TOWN 
 
 Or another would exclaim, “Hullo! I should not wonder 
 if our oldest vines are in flower, for there is Mlle. Cormon 
 setting out for the Prébaudet. How comes it that she is so 
 little given to marrying?” 
 
 “T should be quite ready to marry her, all the same,” a wag 
 would answer. “The marriage is ‘half made—one side is 
 willing, but the other isn’t. Pooh! the oven is heating for 
 M. du Bousquier.” : 
 
 “M. du Bousquer? She has refused him.” 
 
 At every house that evening people remarked solemnly, 
 “Mlle. Cormon has gone.” 
 
 Or perhaps, “So you have let MUe. Cormon go!” 
 
 The Wednesday selected by Suzanne for making a scandal 
 chanced to be this very day of leave-taking, when Mlle. Cor- 
 mon nearly drove Josette to distraction over the packing of 
 the parcels which she meant to take with her. A good deal 
 that was done and said in the town that morning was like to 
 lend additional interest to the farewell gathering at night. 
 While the old maid was busily making preparations for her 
 journey; while the astute Chevalier was playing his game of 
 piquet in the house of Mlle. Armande de Gordes, sister of the 
 aged Marquis de Gordes, and queen of the aristocratic salon, 
 Mme. Granson had sounded the alarm bell in half a score of 
 houses. ‘There was not a soul but felt some curiosity to see 
 what sort of figure the seducer would cut that evening; and to 
 Mme. Granson and the Chevalier de Valois it was an impor- 
 tant matter to know how Mlle. Cormon would take the news, 
 in her double quality of marriageable spinster and lady presi- 
 dent of the Maternity Fund. As for the unsuspecting du 
 Bousquier, he was taking the air on the Parade. He was just 
 beginning to think that Suzanne had made a fool of him; and 
 this suspicion only confirmed the rules which he had laid 
 down with regard to womankind. 
 
 On these high days the cloth was laid about half-past three 
 in the Maison Cormon. Four o’clock was the state dinner 
 hour in Alencon, on ordinary days they dined at two, as in the 
 time of the Empire; but, then, they supped! 
 
> 
 
 THE JEALOUSIES OF A COUNTRY TOWN 69 
 
 Mile. Cormon always felt an inexpressible sense of satisfac- 
 tion when she was dressed to receive her guests as mistress of 
 her house. It was one of the pleasures which she most relished, 
 be it said without malice, though egoism certainly lay beneath 
 the feeling. When thus arrayed for conquest, a ray of hope 
 slid across the darkness of her soul; a voice within her cried 
 that nature had not endowed her so abundantly in vain, that 
 surely some enterprising man was about to appear for her. 
 She felt the younger for the wish, and the fresher for her 
 toilet; she looked at her stout figure with a certain elation; 
 and afterwards, when she went downstairs to submit salon, 
 study, and boudoir to an awful scrutiny, this sense of satisfac- 
 tion still remained with her. To and fro she went, with the 
 naive contentment of the rich man who feels conscious at every 
 moment that he is rich and will lack for nothing all his life 
 long. She looked round upon her furniture, the eternal furni- 
 ture, the antiquities, the lacquered panels, and told herself 
 that such fine things ought to have a master. 
 
 After admiring the dining-room, where the space was 
 filled by the long table with its snowy cloth, its score of 
 covers symmetrically laid; after going through the roll-call 
 of a squadron of bottles ordered up from the cellar, and mak- 
 ing sure that each bore an honorable label; and finally, after 
 a most minute verification of a score of little slips of paper 
 on which the Abbé had written the names of the guests with a 
 trembling hand—it was the sole occasion on which he took an 
 active part in the household, and the place of every guest 
 always gave rise to grave discussion—after this review, Mlle. 
 Cormon in her fine array went into the garden to join her 
 uncle; for at this pleasantest hour of the day he used to walk 
 up and down the terrace beside the Brillante, listening to the 
 twittering of the birds, which, hidden closely among the 
 leaves in the lime-tree walk, knew no fear of boys or sports- 
 men. 
 
 Mlle. Cormon never came out to the Abbé during these 
 intervals of waiting without asking some hopelessly absurd 
 question, in the hope of drawing the good man into a discus- 
 
70 THE JEALOUSIES OF A COUNTRY TOWN 
 
 sion which might interest him. Her reasons for so doing must 
 be given, for this very characteristic trait adds the finishing | 
 touch to her portrait. 
 
 Mlle. Cormon considered it a duty to talk; not that she 
 was naturally loquacious, for, unfortunately, with her dearth 
 of ideas and very limited stock of phrases, it was difficult to 
 hold forth at any length; but she thought that in this way she 
 was fulfilling the social duties prescribed by religion, which 
 bids us be agreeable to our neighbor. It was a duty which 
 weighed so much upon her mind, that she had submitted this 
 case of conscience out of the Child’s Guide to Manners to her 
 director, the Abbé Couturier. Whereupon, so far from being 
 disarmed by the penitent’s humble admission of the violence 
 of her mental struggles to find something to say, the old 
 ecclesiastic, being firm in matters of discipline, read her a 
 whole chapter out of St. Francois de Sales on the Duties of a 
 Woman in the World; on the decent gaiety of the pious Chris- 
 tian female, and the duty of confining her austerities to her- 
 self; a woman, according to this authority, ought to be amiable 
 in her home and to act in such a sort that her neighbor never 
 feels dull in her company. After this Mlle. Cormon, with a 
 deep sense of duty, was anxious to obey her director at any 
 cost. He had bidden her to discourse agreeably, so every time 
 the conversation languished she felt the perspiration breaking 
 out over her with the violence of her exertions to find some- 
 thing to say which should stimulate the flagging interest. She 
 would come out with odd remarks at such times. Once she 
 revived, with some success, a discussion on the ubiquity of the 
 apostles (of which she understood not a syllable) by the un- 
 expected observation that “You cannot be in two places at 
 once unless you are a bird.” With such conversational cues as 
 these, the lady had earned the title of “dear, good Mlle. 
 Cormon” in her set, which phrase, in the mouth of local wits, 
 might be taken to mean that she was as ignorant as a carp, 
 and a bit of a “natural;” but there were plenty of people of 
 her own calibre to take the remark literally, and reply, “Oh 
 yes, Mile. Cormon is very good.” 
 
THE JEALOUSIES OF A COUNTRY TOWN 71 
 
 Sometimes (always in her desire to be agreeable to her 
 guests and fulfil her duties as a hostess) she asked such ab- 
 surd questions that everybody burst out laughing. She wanted 
 to know, for example, what the Government did with the taxes 
 which it had been receiving all these years; or how it was 
 that the Bible had not been printed in the time of Christ, see- 
 ing that it had been written by Moses. Altogether she was on 
 a par with the English country gentleman, and member 
 of the House of Commons, who made the famous speech in 
 which he said, “I am always hearing of Posterity; I should 
 very much like to know what Posterity has done for the 
 country.” 
 
 On such occasions, the heroic Chevalier de Valois came to 
 the rescue, bringing up all the resources of his wit and tact 
 at the sight of the smiles exchanged by pitiless smatterers. 
 He loved to give to woman, did this elderly noble; he lent his 
 wit to Mlle. Cormon by coming to her assistance with a para- 
 dox, and covered her retreat so well, that sometimes it seemed 
 as if she had said nothing foolish. She once owned seriously 
 that she did not know the difference between an ox and a bull. 
 The enchanting Chevalier stopped the roars of laughter by 
 saying that oxen could never be more than uncles to the 
 bullocks. Another time, hearing much talk of cattle-breeding 
 and its difficulties—a topic which often comes up in conversa- 
 tion in the neighborhood of the superb du Pin stud—she so 
 far grasped the technicalities of horse breeding to ask, “Why, 
 if they wanted colts, they did not serve a mare twice a year.” 
 The Chevalier drew down the laughter upon himself. 
 
 “Tt is quite possible,” said he. The company pricked up 
 their ears. 
 
 “The fault lies with the naturalists,” he continued; “they 
 have not found out how to breed mares that are less than 
 eleven months in foal.” 
 
 Poor Mlle. Cormon no more Nuder ood the meaning of the 
 words than the difference between the ox and the bull. The 
 Chevalier met with no gratitude for his pains; his chivalrous 
 services were beyond the reach of the lady’s comprehension. 
 
72 THE JEALOUSIES OF A COUNTRY TOWN 
 
 She saw that the conversation grew livelier; she was relieved 
 to find that she was not so stupid as she imagined. A day 
 came at last when she settled down in her ignorance, like the 
 Duc de Brancas; and the hero of Le Distrait, it may be re- 
 membered, made himself so comfortable in the ditch after his 
 fall, that when the people came to pull him out, he asked what 
 they wanted with him. Since a somewhat recent period Mlle. 
 Cormon had lost her fears. She brought out her conversa- 
 tional cues with a self-possession akin to that solemn manner 
 —the very coxcombry of stupidity—which accompanies the 
 fatuous utterances of British patriotism. 
 
 As she went with stately steps towards the terrace there- 
 fore, she was chewing the cud of reflection, seeking for some 
 question which should draw her uncle out of a silence 
 which always hurt her feelings; she thought that he felt dull. 
 
 “Uncle,” she began, hanging on his arm, and nestling joy- 
 ously close to him (for this was another of her make-believes, 
 “Tf I had a husband, I should do just so!” she thought) — 
 “Uncle, if everything on earth happens by the will of God, 
 there must be a reason for everything.” 
 
 ““Assuredly,” the Abbé de Sponde answered gravely. He 
 loved his niece, and submitted with angelic patience to be torn 
 from his meditations. 
 
 “Then if I never marry at all, it will be because it is the 
 will of God?” 
 
 “Yes, my child.” 
 
 “But still, as there is nothing to prevent me from marrying 
 to-morrow, my will perhaps might thwart the will of God ?”’ 
 
 “That might be so, if we really knew God’s will,” returned 
 the sub-prior of the Sorbonne. “Remark, my dear, that you 
 insert an if.” 
 
 Poor Rose was bewildered. She had hoped to lead her 
 uncle to the subject of marriage by way of an argument ad 
 omnipotentem. But the naturally obtuse are wont to adopt 
 the remorseless logic of childhood, which is to say, they pro- 
 ceed from the answer to another question, a method frequently 
 found embarrassing. 
 
THH JHALOUSIES OF A COUNTRY TOWN 73 
 
 “But, uncle,” she persisted, “God cannot mean women never 
 to marry; for if He did, all of them ought to be either un- 
 married or married. Their lots are distributed unjustly.” 
 
 “My child,” said the good Abbé, “you are finding fault with 
 the Church, which teaches that celibacy is a more excellent 
 way to God.” 
 
 “But if the Church was right, and everybody was a good 
 Catholic, there would soon be no more people, uncle.” 
 
 “You are too ingenious, Rose; there is no need to be so in- 
 genious to be happy.” 
 
 Such words brought a smile of satisfaction to poor Rose’s 
 lips and confirmed her in the good opinion which she began 
 to conceive of herself. Behold how the world, like our friends 
 and enemies, contributes to strengthen our faults. At this 
 moment guests began to arrive, and the conversation was in- 
 terrupted. On these high festival occasions, the disposition 
 of the rooms brought about little familiarities between the 
 servants and invited guests. Mariette saw the President of 
 the Tribunal, a triple expansion glutton, as he passed by her 
 kitchen. 
 
 “Oh, M. du Ronceret, I have been making cauliflower au 
 gratin on purpose for you, for mademoiselle knows how fond 
 you are of it. ‘Mind you do not fail with it, Mariette,’ she 
 said ; ‘M. le Président is coming.’ ” 
 
 “Good Mlle. Cormon,” returned the man of law. “Mari- 
 ette, did you baste the cauliflowers with gravy instead of 
 stock? It is more savory.” And the President did not dis- 
 dain to enter the council-chamber where Mariette ruled the 
 roast, nor to cast an epicure’s eye over her preparations, and 
 give his opinion as a master of the craft. 
 
 “Good-day, mademe,” said Josette, addressing Mme. Gran- 
 son, who sedulously cultivated the waiting-woman. “Made- 
 moiselle has not forgotten you; you are to have a dish of fish.” 
 
 As for the Chevalier de Valois, he spoke to Mariette with 
 the jocularity of a great noble unbending to an inferior: 
 
 “Well, dear cordon bleu, I would give you the Cross of the 
 Legion of Honor if I could; tell me, is there any dainty 
 morsel for which one ought to save oneself ?” 
 
74 THE JEALOUSIES OF A COUNTRY TOWN 
 
 “Yes, yes, M. de Valois, a hare from the Prébaudet; it 
 weighed fourteen pounds!” 
 
 “That’s a good girl,” said the Chevalier, patting Josette on 
 the cheek with two fingers. “Ah! weighs fourteen pounds, 
 does 1t ?” 
 
 Du Bousquier was not of the party. Mlle. Cormon treated 
 him hardly, faithful to her system before described. In the 
 very bottom of her heart she felt an inexplicable drawing 
 towards this man of fifty, whom she had once refused. Some- 
 times she repented of that refusal, and yet she had a pre- 
 sentiment that she should marry him after all, and a dread of 
 him which forbade her to wish for the marriage. These ideas 
 stimulated her interest in du Bousquier. ‘The Republican’s 
 herculean proportions produced an effect upon her which she 
 would not admit to herself; and the Chevalier de Valois and 
 Mme. Granson, while they could not explain Mlle. Cormon’s 
 inconsistencies, had detected naive, furtive glances, sufficiently 
 clear in their significance to set them both on the watch to 
 ruin the hopes which du Bousquier clearly entertained in spite 
 of a first check. 
 
 Two guests kept the others waiting, but their official duties 
 excused them both. One was M. du Coudrai, registrar of 
 mortgages; the other, M. Choisnel, had once acted as land- 
 steward to the Marquis de Gordes. Choisnel was the notary 
 of the old noblesse, and received everywhere among them with 
 the distinction which his merits deserved ; he had besides a not 
 inconsiderable private fortune. When the two late comers ar- 
 rived, Jacquelin, the man-servant, seeing them turn to go into 
 the drawing-room, came forward with, “ ‘They’ are all in the 
 garden.” 
 
 The registrar of mortgages was one of the most amiable 
 men in the town. There were but two things against him— 
 he had married an old woman for her money in the first place, 
 and in the second it was his habit to perpetrate outrageous 
 puns, at which he was the first to laugh. But, doubtless, the 
 stomachs of the guests were growing impatient, for at first 
 sight he was hailed with that faint sigh which usually wel- 
 
THH JEALOUSIES OF A COUNTRY TOWN 75 
 
 comes last comers under such circumstances. Pending’ the 
 official announcement of dinner, the company strolled up and 
 down the terrace by the Brillante, looking out over the stream 
 with its bed of mosaic and its water-plants, at the so pictur- 
 esque details of the row of houses huddled together on the 
 opposite bank; the old-fashioned wooden balconies, the 
 tumble-down window sills, the balks of timber that shored 
 up a story projecting over the river, the cabinet-maker’s work- 
 shop, the tiny gardens where odds and ends of clothing were 
 hanging out to dry. It was, in short, the poor quarter of a 
 country town, to which the near neighborhood of the water, 
 a weeping willow drooping over the bank, a rosebush or so, 
 and a few flowers, had lent an indescribable charm, worthy of 
 a landscape painter’s brush. 
 
 The Chevalier meanwhile was narrowly watching the faces 
 of the guests. He knew that his firebrand had very success- 
 fully taken hold of the best coteries in the town; but no one 
 spoke openly of Suzanne and du Bousquier and the great news 
 as yet. The art of distilling scandal is possessed by pro- 
 vincials in a supreme degree. It was felt that the time was 
 not yet ripe for open discussion of the strange event. Every 
 one was bound to go through a private rehearsal first. So it 
 was whispered : 
 
 “Have you heard ?” 
 
 ReViag ?7 
 
 “Du Bousquier ?” 
 
 “And the fair Suzanne.” 
 
 “Does Mlle. Cormon know anything ?” 
 
 Noi? 
 
 «Ah 2 
 
 This was gossip piano, presently destined to swell into a 
 crescendo when they were ready to discuss the first dish of 
 scandal. 
 
 All of a sudden the Chevalier confronted Mme. Granson. 
 That lady had sported her green bonnet, trimmed with au- 
 riculas; her face was beaming. Was she simply longing to 
 begin the concert? Such news is as good as a gold-mine to be 
 
4G THE JEALOUSIES OF A COUNTRY TOWN 
 
 worked in the monotonous lives of these people; but the ob- 
 servant and uneasy Chevalier fancied that he read something 
 more in the good lady’s expression—to wit, the exultation of 
 self-interest! At once he turned to look at Athanase, and 
 detected in his silence the signs of profound concentration of 
 some kind. In another moment the young man’s glance at 
 Mlle. Cormon’s figure, which sufficiently resembled a pair of 
 regimental kettledrums, shot a sudden light across the Cheva- 
 lier’s brain. By that gleam he could read the whole past. 
 
 “Head!” he said to himself, “what a slap in the face I have 
 laid myself out to get!” 
 
 He went across to offer his arm to Mlle. Cormon, so that he 
 might afterwards take her in to dinner. She regarded the 
 Chevalier with respectful esteem; for, in truth, with his name 
 and position in the aristocratic constellations of the province, 
 he was one of the most brilliant ornaments of her salon. In 
 her heart of hearts, she had longed to be Mme. de Valois at 
 any time during the past twelve years. The name was like a 
 branch for the swarming thoughts of her brain to cling about 
 —he fulfilled all her ideals as to the birth, quality, and ex- 
 ternals of an eligible man. But while the Chevalier de Valois 
 was the choice of heart and brain and social ambition, the 
 elderly ruin, curled though he was like a St. John of a proces- 
 sion-day, filled Mlle. Cormon with dismay; the heiress saw 
 nothing but the noble; the woman could not think of him as 
 a husband. ‘The Chevalier’s affectation of indifference to mar- 
 riage, and still more his unimpeachable character in a house- 
 ful of work-girls, had seriously injured him, contrary to his 
 own expectations. The man of quality, so clear-sighted in the 
 matter of the annuity, miscalculated on this subject; and 
 Mlle. Cormon herself was not aware that her private reflec- 
 tions upon the too well-conducted Chevalier might have been 
 translated by the remark, “What a pity that he is not a little 
 bit of a rake!” 
 
 Students of human nature have remarked these leanings of 
 the saint towards the sinner, and wondered at a taste so little 
 in accordance, as they imagine, with Christian virtue. But, to 
 

 

 
THE JEALOUSIES OF A COUNTRY TOWN TT 
 
 go no further, what nobler destiny for a virtuous woman than 
 the task of cleansing, after the manner of charcoal, the turbid 
 waters of vice? How is it that nobody has seen that these 
 generous creatures, confined by their principles to strict con- 
 Jugal fidelity, must naturally desire a mate of great practical 
 experience? A reformed rake makes the best husband. And 
 so it came to pass that the poor spinster must sigh over the 
 chosen vessel, offered her as it were in two pieces. Heaven 
 alone could weld the Chevalier de Valois and du Bousquier 
 in one. 
 
 If the significance of the few words exchanged between the 
 Chevalier and Mlle. Cormon is to be properly understood, it is 
 necessary to put other matters before the reader. ‘Two very 
 serious questions were dividing Alencon into two camps, and, 
 moreover, du Bousquier was mixed up in both affairs in some 
 mysterious way. ‘The first of these debates concerned the curé. 
 He had taken the oath of allegiance in the time of the Revolu- 
 tion, and now was living down orthodox prejudices by setting 
 an example of the loftiest goodness. He was a Cheverus on a 
 smaller scale, and so much was he appreciated, that when he 
 died the whole town wept for him. Mlle. Cormon and the 
 Abbé de Sponde belonged, however, to the minority, to the 
 Church sublime in its orthodoxy, a section which was to the 
 Court of Rome as the Ultras were shortly to be to the Court 
 of Louis XVIII. The Abbé, in particular, declined to recog- 
 nize the Church that had submitted to force and made terms 
 with the Constitutionnels. So the curé was never seen in the 
 salon of the Maison Cormon, and the sympathies of its fre- 
 quenters were with the officiating priest of St. Leonard’s, the 
 aristocratic church in Alencon. Du Bousquier, that rabid Lib- 
 eral under a Royalist’s skin, knew how necessary it is to find 
 standards to rally the discontented, who form, as it were, the 
 back-shop of every opposition, and therefore he had already 
 enlisted the sympathies of the trading classes for the curé. 
 
 Now for the second affair. The same blunt diplomatist was 
 the secret instigator of a scheme for building a theatre, an 
 idea which had only lately sprouted in Alengon. Du Bous- 
 
 % 
 
78 THE JEALOUSIES OF A COUNTRY TOWN 
 
 quier’s zealots knew not their Mahomet, but they were more 
 ardent in their defence of what they believed to be their own 
 plan. Athanase was one of the very hottest of the partisans 
 in favor of the theatre; in the mayor’s office for several days 
 past he had been pleading for the cause which all the younger 
 men had taken up. 
 
 To return to the Chevalier. He offered his arm to Mlle. 
 Cormon, who thanked him with a radiant glance for this at- 
 tention. For all answer, the Chevalier indicated Athanase by 
 a meaning look. 
 
 “Mademoiselle,” he began, “as you have such well-balanced 
 judgment in matters of social convention, and as that young 
 man is related to you in some way of 
 
 “Very distantly,” she broke in. 
 
 “Ought you not to use the influence which you possess with 
 him and his mother to prevent him from going utterly to the 
 bad? He is not very religious as it is; he defends that per- 
 jured priest; but that is nothing. It is a much more serious 
 matter ; is he not plunging thoughtlessly into opposition with- 
 out realizing how his conduct may affect his prospects? He 
 is scheming to build this theatre; he is the dupe of that Re- 
 publican in disguise, du Bousquier-——” 
 
 “Dear me, M. de Valois, his mother tells me that he is so 
 clever, and he has not a word to say for himself; he always 
 stands planted before you like a statute——” 
 
 “Of limitations,” cried the registrar. “I caught that fly- 
 ing.—I present my devoars to the Chevalier de Valois,” he 
 added, saluting’ the latter with the exaggeration of Henri 
 Monnier as “Joseph Prudhomme,” an admirable type of the 
 class to which M. du Coudrai belonged. 
 
 M. de Valois, in return, gave him the abbreviated patroniz- 
 ing nod of a noble standing on his dignity; then he drew Mlle. 
 Cormon further along the terrace by the distance of several 
 flower-pots, to make the registrar understand that he did not 
 wish to be overheard. 
 
 Then, lowering his voice, he bent to say in Mlle. Cormon’s 
 ear: “How can you expect that lads educated in these de- 
 
 
 
THE JEALOUSIES OF A COUNTRY TOWN 79 
 
 testable Imperial Lyceums should have any ideas? Great 
 ideas and a lofty love can only come of right courses and 
 nobleness of life. It is not difficult to foresee, from the look 
 of the poor fellow, that he will be weak in his intellect and 
 come to a miserable end. See how pale and haggard he 
 looks !” 
 
 “His mother says that he works far too hard,” she replied 
 innocently. “He spends his nights, think of it! in reading 
 books and writing. What good can it possibly do a young 
 man’s prospects to sit up writing at night ?” 
 
 “Why, it exhausts him,” said the Chevalier, trying to bring 
 the lady’s thoughts back to the point, which was to disgust 
 her with Athanase. “The things that went on in those Im- 
 perial Lyceums were something really shocking.” 
 
 “Oh yes,” said the simple lady. “Did they not make them 
 walk out with drums in front? The masters had no more 
 religion than heathens; and they put them in uniform, poor 
 boys, exactly as if they had been soldiers. What notions!” 
 
 “And see what comes of it,” continued the Chevalier, indi- 
 eating Athanase. “In my time, where was the young man 
 that could not look a pretty woman in the face? Now, he 
 lowers his eyes as soon as he sees you. That young man 
 alarms me, because I am interested in him. Tell him not to 
 intrigue with Bonapartists, as he is doing, to build this 
 theatre ; if these little youngsters do not raise an insurrection 
 and demand it (for insurrection and constitution, to my mind, 
 are two words for the same thing), the authorities will build 
 it. And tell his mother to look after him.” 
 
 “Oh, she will not allow him to see these half-pay people or 
 to keep low company, I am sure. I will speak to him about 
 it,” said Mlle. Cormon; “he might lose his situation at the 
 mayor’s office. And then what would they do, he and his 
 mother? It makes you shudder.” 
 
 As M. de Talleyrand said of his wife, so said the Cheva- 
 lier within himself at that moment, as he looked at the lady: 
 
 “Tf there is a stupider woman, I should like to see her. On 
 the honor of a gentleman, if virtue makes a woman so stupid 
 
80 THE JEALOUSIES OF A COUNTRY TOWN 
 
 as this, is it not a vice? And yet, what an adorable wife she 
 would make for a man of my age! What principle! What 
 ignorance of life!” 
 
 Please to bear in mind that these remarks were addressed 
 to the Princess Goritza during the manipulation of a pinch 
 of snuff. 
 
 ‘Mme. Granson felt instinctively that the Chevalier was 
 talking of Athanase. In her eagerness to know what he had 
 been saying, she followed Mlle. Cormon, who walked up to 
 the young man in question, putting out six feet of dignity in 
 front; but at that very moment Jacquelin announced that 
 “Mademoiselle was served,” and the mistress of the house shot 
 an appealing glance at the Chevalier. But the gallant reg- 
 istrar of mortgages was beginning to see a something in M. de 
 Valois’ manner, a glimpse of the barrier which the noblesse 
 were about to raise between themselves and the bourgeoisie ; 
 so, delighted with a chance to cut out the Chevalier, he crooked 
 his arm, and Mlle. Cormon was obliged to take it. M. de 
 Valois, from motives of policy, fastened upon Mme. Granson. 
 
 “Mlle. Cormon takes the liveliest interest in your dear 
 Athanase, my dear lady,” he said, as they slowly followed in 
 the wake of the other guests, “but that interest is falling off 
 through your son’s fault. He is lax and Liberal in his opin- 
 ions; he is agitating for this theatre; he is mixed up with the 
 Bonapartists; he takes the part of the Constitutionnel curé. 
 This line of conduct may cost him his situation. You know 
 how carefully his Majesty’s government is weeding the service. 
 If your dear’ Athanase is once cashiered, where will he find 
 employment? He must not get into bad odor with the author- 
 ities.” 
 
 “Oh, M. le Chevalier,” cried the poor startled mother, “what 
 do I not owe you for telling me this! You are right; my boy 
 is a tool in the hands of a bad set; I will open his eyes to his 
 position.” 
 
 It was long since the Chevalier had sounded Athanase’s 
 character at a glance. He saw in the depths of the young 
 man’s nature the scarcely malleable material of Republican 
 
THE JEALOUSIES OF A COUNTRY TOWN 81 
 
 convictions ; a lad at that age will sacrifice everything for such 
 ideas if he is smitten with the word Liberty, that so vague, so 
 little comprehended word which is like a standard of revolt 
 for those at the bottom of the wheel for whom revolt means 
 revenge. Athanase was sure to stick to his opinions, for he 
 had woven them, with his artist’s sorrows and his embittered 
 views of the social framework, into his political creed. He 
 was ready to sacrifice his future at the outset for these 
 opinions, not knowing that he, like all men of real ability, 
 would have seen reason to modify them by the time he reached 
 the age of six-and-thirty, when a man has formed his own 
 conclusions of life, with its intricate relations and interde- 
 pendences. If Athanase was faithful to the opposition in 
 Alengon, he would fall into disgrace with Mlle. Cormon. Thus. 
 far the Chevalier saw clearly. 
 
 And so this little town, so peaceful in appearance, was to the 
 full as much agitated internally as any congress of diplomates, 
 when craft and guile and passion and self-interest are met 
 to discuss the weightiest questions between empire and em- 
 pire. 
 
 Meanwhile the guests gathered about the table were eating 
 their way through the first course as people eat in the prov- 
 inces, without a blush for an honest appetite; whereas, in 
 Paris, it would appear that our jaws are controlled by sump- 
 tuary edicts which deliberately set the laws of anatomy at de- 
 fiance. We eat with the tips of our teeth in Paris, we filch the 
 pleasures of the table, but in the previnces things are taken 
 more naturally; possibly existence centres a little too much 
 about the great and universal method of maintenance to which 
 God condemns all his creatures. It was at the end of the first 
 course that Mlle. Cormon brought out the most celebrated of 
 all her conversational cues; it was talked of for two years 
 afterwards; it is quoted even now, indeed, in the sub-bour- 
 geois strata of Alencon whenever her marriage is under dis- 
 cussion. Over the last entrée but one, the conversation waxed 
 lively and wordy, turning, as might have been expected, upon 
 the affair of the theatre and the curé. In the first enthusiasm 
 
82 THE JEALOUSIES OF A COUNTRY TOWN 
 
 of Royalism in 1816, those extremists, who were afterwards 
 called les Jésuites du pays, were for expelling the Abbé 
 Francois from his cure. M. de Valois suspected du Bousquier 
 of supporting the priest and instigating the intrigues; at any 
 rate, the noble Chevalier piled the burdens on du Bousquier’s 
 back with his wonted skill; and du Bousquier, being unrepre- 
 sented by counsel, was condemned and put in the pillory. 
 Among those present, Athanase was the only person sufficient- 
 ly frank to stand up for the absent, and he felt that he was not 
 in a position to bring out his ideas before these Alengon mag- 
 nates, of whose intellects he had the meanest opinion. Only 
 in the provinces nowadays will you find young men keeping 
 a respectful countenance before people of a certain age with- 
 out daring to have a fling at their elders or to contradict them 
 too flatly. To resume. On the advent of some delicious canards 
 aux olives, the conversation first decidedly flagged, and then 
 suddenly dropped dead. Mlle. Cormon, emulous of her own 
 poultry, invented another canard in her anxiety to defend du 
 Bousquier, who had been represented as an arch-concocter of 
 intrigue, and a man to set mountains fighting. 
 
 “For my own part,” said she, “I thought that M. du Bous- 
 quier gave his whole attention to childish matters.” 
 
 Under the circumstances, the epigram produced a tre- 
 mendous effect. Mlle. Cormon had a great success; she 
 brought the Princess Goritza face downwards on the table. 
 The Chevalier, by no means expecting his Dulcinea to say 
 anything so much to the purpose, could find no words to ex- 
 press his admiration; he applauded after the Italian fashion, 
 noiselessly, with the tips of his fingers. 
 
 “She is adorably witty,” he said, turning to Mme. Granson. 
 “T have always said that she would unmask her batteries some 
 day.” 
 
 “But when you know her very well, she is charming,” said 
 the widow. 
 
 “All women, madame, have esprit when you know them 
 well.” 
 
 When the Homeric laughter subsided, Mlle. Cormon asked 
 
THE JEALOUSIES OF A COUNTRY TOWN 83 
 
 for an explanation of her success. Then the chorus of scandal 
 grew toa height. Du Bousquier was transformed into a bach- 
 elor Pére Gigogne; it was he who filled the Foundling Hos- 
 pital; the immorality of his life was laid bare at last; it was 
 all of a piece with his Paris orgies, and so forth and so forth. 
 Led by the Chevalier de Valois, the cleverest of conductors 
 of this kind of orchestra, the overture was something mag- 
 nificent. 
 
 “T do not know,” said he, with much indulgence, “what 
 there could possibly be to prevent a du Bousquier from mar- 
 rying a Mademoiselle Suzanne whatever-it-is—what do you 
 eall her?—Suzette! I only know the children by sight, though 
 I lodge with Mme. Lardot. If this Suzon is a tall, fine-look- 
 ing forward sort of girl with gray eyes, a slender figure, and 
 little feet—I have not paid much attention to these things, 
 but she seemed to me to be very insolent and very much 
 du Bousquier’s superior in the matter of manners. Besides, 
 Suzanne has the nobility of beauty; from that point of view, 
 she would certainly make a marriage beneath her. The Em- 
 peror Joseph, you know, had the curiosity to go to see the du 
 Barry at Luciennes. He offered her his arm; and when the 
 poor courtesan, overcome by such an honor, hesitated to take 
 it, ‘Beauty is always a queen,’ said the Emperor. Remark that 
 the Emperor Joseph was an Austrian German,” added the 
 Chevalier; “but, believe me, that Germany, which we think 
 of as a very boorish country, is really a land of noble chivalry 
 and fine manners, especially towards Poland and Hungary, 
 where there are-———’” Here the Chevalier broke off, fearing 
 to make an allusion to his own happy fortune in the past; 
 he only took up his snuff-box and confided the rest to the 
 Princess, who had smiled on him for thirty-six years. 
 
 “The speech was delicately considerate for Louis XV.,” said 
 du Ronceret. | 
 
 “But we are talking of the Emperor Joseph, I believe,” re- 
 turned Mlle. Cormon, with a little knowing air. 
 
 “Mademoiselle,” said the Chevalier, seeing the wicked 
 glances exchanged by the President, the registrar, and the 
 
g 
 
 84 THE JEALOUSIES OF A COUNTRY TOWN 
 
 notary, “Mme. du Barry was Louis Quinze’s Suzanne, a fact 
 known well enough to us scapegraces, but which young ladies 
 are not expected to know. Your ignorance shows that the 
 diamond is flawless. ite corruptions of history have not so 
 much as touched you.” 
 
 At this the Abbé de Sponde looked graciously upon M. de 
 Valois and bent his head in laudatory Ten 
 
 “Do you not know history, mademoiselle,” asked the regis- 
 trar. : 
 “Tf you muddle up Louis XV. and Suzanne, how can you 
 expect me to know your history?” was Mlle. Cormon’s angelic 
 reply. She was so pleased! The dish was empty and the con- 
 versation revived to such purpose that everybody was laughing 
 with their mouths full at her last observation. 
 
 “Poor young thing!” said the Abbé de Sponde. “When 
 once trouble comes, that love grown divine called charity is as 
 blind as the pagan love, and should see nothing of the causes 
 of the trouble. You are President of the Maternity Society, 
 Rose; this child will need help; it will not be easy for her to 
 find a husband.” 
 
 “Poor child!” said Mlle. Cormon. 
 
 “Is du Bousquier going to marry her, do you suppose?” 
 asked the President of the Tribunal. 
 
 “It would be his duty to do so if he were a decent man,” 
 said Mme. Granson; “but, really, my dog has better notions 
 of decency rf 
 
 “And yet Azor is a great forager,” put in the registrar, 
 trying a joke this time as a change from a pun. 
 
 They were still talking of du Bousquier over the dessert. 
 He was the butt of uncounted playful jests, which grew more 
 and more thunder-charged under the influence of wine. Led 
 off by the registrar, they followed up one pun with another. 
 Du Bousquier’s character was now ap-parent; he was not a 
 father of the church, nor a reverend father, nor yet a con- 
 script father, and so on and so on, till the Abbé de Sponde 
 said, “In any case, he is not a foster father, ” with a gravity 
 that checked the laughter. 
 
 
 
THE JEALOUSIES OF A COUNTRY TOWN 85 
 
 “Nor a heavy father,” added the Chevalier. 
 
 The Church and the aristocracy had descended into the 
 arena of word-play without loss of dignity. 
 
 “Hush!” said the registrar, “I can hear du Bousquier’s 
 boots creaking; he is in over shoes over boots, and no mis- 
 take.” 
 
 It nearly always happens that when a man’s name is in 
 every one’s mouth, he is the last to hear what is said of him; 
 the whole town may be talking of him, slandering him or cry- 
 ing him down, and if he has no friends to repeat what other 
 people say of him, he is not likely to hear it. So the blame- 
 less du Bousquier, du Bousquier who would fain have been 
 guilty, who wished that Suzanne had not lied to him, was 
 supremely unconscious of all that was taking place. Nobody 
 had spoken to him of Suzanne’s revelations; for that matter, 
 everybody thought it indiscreet to ask questions about the 
 affair, when the man most concerned sometimes possesses sc- 
 crets which compel him to keep silence. So when people ad- 
 journed for coffee to the drawing-room, where several evening 
 visitors were already assembled, du Bousquier wore an irre- 
 sistible and slightly fatuous air. 
 
 Mlle. Cormon, counseled by confusion, dared not look 
 towards the terrible seducer. She took possession of Atha- 
 nase and administered a lecture, bringing out the oddest as- 
 sortment of the commonplaces of Royalist doctrines and edify- 
 ing truisms. As the unlucky poet had no snuff-box with a por- 
 trait of a princess on the lid to sustain him under the shower- 
 bath of foolish utterances, it was with a vacant expression that 
 he heard his adored lady. His eyes were fixed on that enor- 
 mous bust, which maintained the absolute repose character- 
 istic of great masses. Desire wrought a kind of intoxication 
 in him. The old maid’s thin, shrill voice became low music 
 for his ears; her platitudes were fraught with ideas. 
 
 Love is an utterer of false coin; he is always at work trans- 
 forming common copper into gold louis; sometimes, also, he 
 makes his seeming halfpence of fine gold. 
 
 “Well, Athanase, will you promise me?” 
 
&6 THE JEALOUSIES OF A COUNTRY TOWN 
 
 The final phrase struck on the young man’s ear; he woke 
 with a\start from a blissful dream. 
 
 “What, mademoiselle?” returned he. 
 
 Mlle. Cormon rose abruptly and glanced across at du Bous- 
 quier. At that moment he looked like the brawny fabulous 
 deity whose likeness you behold upon Republican three-frane 
 pieces. She went over to Mme. Granson and said in a confi- - 
 dential tone: 
 
 “Your son is weak in his intellect, my poor friend. That 
 lyceum has been the ruin of him,” she added, recollecting how 
 the Chevalier de Valois had insisted on the bad education 
 given in those institutions. 
 
 Here was a thunderbolt! Poor Athanase had had his 
 chance of flinging fire upon the dried stems heaped up in the 
 old maid’s heart, and he had not known it! If he had but 
 listened to her, he might have made her understand; for in 
 Mule. Cormon’s present highly-wrought mood a word would 
 have been enough, but the very force of the stupefying crav- 
 ings of love-sick youth had spoiled his chances ; so sometimes a 
 child full of life kills himself through ignorance. 
 
 “What can you have been saying to Mlle. Cormon?” asked 
 his mother. 
 
 “Nothing.” 
 
 “Nothing ?—I will have this cleared up,” she said, and 
 put off serious business to the morrow; du Bousquier was 
 hopelessly lost, she thought, and the speech troubled her very 
 little. 
 
 Soon the four card-tables received their complement of 
 players. Four persons sat down to piquet, the most expensive 
 amusement of the evening, over which a good deal of money 
 changed hands. M. Choisnel, the attorney for the crown, and 
 a couple of ladies went to the red-lacquered cabinet for a game 
 of tric-trac. The candles in the wall-sconces were lighted, 
 and then the flower of Mlle. Cormon’s set blossomed out about 
 the fire, on the settees, and about the tables. Hach new couple, 
 on entering the room, made the same remark to Mlle. Cormon, 
 “So you are going to the Prébaudet to-morrow ?” 
 
THB JEALOUSIES OF A COUNTRY TOWN 87 
 
 “Yes, I really must,” she said, in answer to each. 
 
 All through the evening the hostess wore a preoccupied air. 
 Mme. Granson was the first to see that she was not at all like 
 herself. Mlle. Cormon was thinking. 
 
 “What are you thinking about, cousin?’ Mme. Gran- 
 son asked at last, finding her sitting in the boudoir. 
 
 “T am thinking of that poor girl. Am I not patroness of 
 the Maternity Society? I will go now to find ten crowns for 
 you.” 
 
 “Ten crowns!” exclaimed Mme. Granson. “Why, you have 
 never given so much to any one before!’ 
 
 “But, my dear, it is so natural to have a child.” 
 
 This improper cry from the heart struck the treasurer of 
 the Maternity Society dumb from sheer astonishment. Du 
 Bousquier had actually gone up in Mlle. Cormon’s opinion ! 
 
 “Really,” began Mme. Granson, “du Bousquier is not 
 merely a monster—he is a villain into the bargain. When a 
 man has spoiled somebody else’s life, it is his duty surely to 
 make amends. It should be his part rather than ours to res- 
 cue this young person; and when all comes to all, she is a 
 bad girl, it seems to me, for there are better men in Alengon 
 than that cynic of a du Bousquier. A girl must be shameless 
 indeed to have anything to do with him.” 
 
 “Cynic? Your son, dear, teaches you Latin words that are 
 quite beyond me. Certainly I do not want to make excuses 
 for M. du Bousquier; but explain to me why it is immoral 
 for a woman to prefer one man to another ?” 
 
 “Dear cousin, suppose now that you were to marry my 
 Athanase; there would be nothing but what was very natural 
 in that. He is young and good-looking ; he has a future before 
 him; Alencon will be proud of him some day. But—every 
 one would think that you took such a young man as your 
 husband for the sake of greater conjugal felicity. Slanderous 
 tongues would say that you were making a sufficient provision 
 of bliss for yourself. There would be jealous women to bring 
 charges of depravity against you. But what would it matter 
 to you? You would be dearly loved—loved sincerely. If 
 
& 
 
 88 THE JEALOUSIES OF A COUNTRY TOWN 
 
 Athanase seemed to you to be weak of intellect, my dear, it is 
 because he has too many ideas. Extremes meet. He is as clean 
 in his life as a girl of fifteen; he has not wallowed in the pol- 
 lutions of Paris. . . . Well, now, change the terms, as 
 my poor husband used to say. It is relatively just the same 
 situation as du Bousquier’s and Suzanne’s. But what would 
 be slander in your case is true in every way of du Bousquier. 
 Now do you understand ?” 
 
 “No more than if you were talking Greek,’ said Rose 
 Cormon, opening wide eyes and exerting all the powers of her 
 understanding. 
 
 “Well, then, cousin, since one must put dots on all the 2’s, 
 it is quite out of the question that Suzanne should love du 
 Bousquier. And when the heart counts for nothing in such 
 an affair sf 
 
 “Why, really, cousin, how should people love if not with 
 their hearts ?” 
 
 At this Mme. Granson thought within herself, as the Cheva- 
 lier had thought : 
 
 “The poor cousin is too innocent by far. This goes beyond 
 the permissible ” Aloud she said, “Dear girl, it seems to 
 me that a child is not conceived of spirit alone.” 
 
 “Why, yes, dear, for the Holy Virgin % 
 
 “But, my dear, good girl, du Bousquier is not the Holy 
 Ghost.” 
 
 “That is true,” returned the spinster ; “he is a man—a man 
 dangerous enough for his friends to recommend him strongly 
 to marry.” 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 “You, cousin, might bring that about df 
 “Oh, how?” cried the spinster, with a glow of Christian 
 charity. 
 
 “Decline to receive him until he takes a wife. For the sake 
 of religion and morality, you ought to make an example of 
 him under the circumstances.” 
 
 “We will talk of this again, dear Mme. Granson, when I 
 come back from the Prébaudet. I will ask advice of my uncle 
 and the Abbé Couturier,” and Mlle. Cormon went back to 
 
THD JEALOUSIES OF A COUNTRY TOWN 89 
 
 the large drawing-room. The liveliest hour of the evening 
 had begun. 
 
 The lights, the groups of well-dressed women, the serious 
 and magisterial air of the assembly, filled Mlle. Cormon with 
 pride in the aristocratic appearance of the rooms, a pride in 
 which her guests all shared. There were plenty of people who 
 thought that the finest company of Paris itself was no finer. 
 At that moment du Bousquier, playing a rubber with M. de 
 Valois and two elderly ladies, Mme. du Coudrai and Mme. du 
 Ronceret, was the object of suppressed curiosity. Several 
 women came up on the pretext of watching the game, and 
 gave him such odd, albeit furtive, glances that the old bach- 
 elor at last began to think that there must be something amiss 
 with his appearance. 
 
 “Can it be that my toupet is askew?” he asked himself. 
 And he felt that all-absorbing uneasiness to which the elderly 
 bachelor is peculiarly subject. A blunder gave him an excuse 
 for leaving the table at the end of the seventh rubber. 
 
 “T cannot touch a card but I lose,” he said ; “I am decidedly 
 too unlucky at cards.” 
 
 “You are lucky in other respects,” said the Chevalier, with 
 a knowing look. Naturally, the joke made the round of the 
 room, and every one exclaimed over the exquisite breeding 
 shown by the Prince Talleyrand of Alengon. 
 
 “There is no one like M. de Valois for saying such things,” 
 said the niece of the curé of St. Leonard’s. 
 
 Du Bousquier went up to the narrow mirror above “The 
 Deserter,” but he could detect nothing unusual. 
 
 Towards ten o’clock, after innumerable repetitions of the 
 same phrase with every possible variation, the long ante- 
 chamber began to fill with visitors preparing to embark ; Mlle. 
 Cormon convoying a few favored guests as far as the perron 
 for a farewell embrace. Knots of guests.took their departure, 
 some in the direction of the Brittany road and the chateau, 
 and others turning toward the quarter by the Sarthe. And 
 then began the exchange of remarks with which the streets 
 had echoed at the same hour for a score of years. There was 
 the inevitable, “Mlle. Cormon looked very well this evening.” 
 
 \ 
 
30 THE JEALOUSIES OF A COUNTRY TOWN 
 
 “Mlle. Cormon? She looked strange, I thought.” | 
 “How the Abbé stoops, poor man! And how he goes to. 
 sleep—did you see? He never knows where the cards are 
 now; his mind wanders.” 
 “We shall be very sorry to lose him.” 
 “Tt is a fine night. We shall have a fine day to-morrow.” — 
 “Fine weather for the apples to set.” 
 “You beat us to-night; you always do when M. de Valois 
 your partner.” | 
 “Then how much did he win?” 
 “To-night? Why, he won three or four francs. He never 
 loses.” 
 
 “Faith, no. There are three hundred and sixty-five days in 
 the year, you know; at that rate, whist is as good as a farm) 
 for him.” 
 
 “Oh! what bad luck we had to-night!” 
 
 “You are very fortunate, monsieur and madame, here you 
 are at your own doorstep, while we have half the town to 
 cross.” 
 
 “T do not pity you; you could keep a carriage if you liked, 
 you need not go afoot.” 
 
 “Ah! monsieur, we have a daughter to marry (that means 
 one wheel), and a son to keep in Paris, and that takes the 
 other.” 
 
 “Are you still determined to make a magistrate of him ?” 
 
 “What can one do? You must do something with a boy,, 
 and besides, it is no disgrace to serve the King.” 
 
 Sometimes a discussion on cider or flax was continued on 
 the way, the very same things being said at the same season 
 year after year. If any observer of human nature had lived 
 in that particular street, their conversation would have sup- 
 plied him with an almanac. At this moment, however, the 
 talk was of a decidedly Rabelaisian turn; for du Bousquier, 
 walking on ahead by himself, was humming the well-known 
 tune “Femme sensible, entends-tu le ramage?” without a sus- 
 picion of its appropriateness. Some of the party held that du 
 Bousquier was uncommonly long-headed, and that people 
 
 i 
 
 ™M 
 
THD JEALOUSIES OF A COUNTRY TOWN 91 
 
 judged him unjustly. President du Ronceret inclined towards 
 this view since he had been confirmed in his post by a new 
 royal decree. The rest regarded the forage-contractor as a 
 dangerous man of lax morals, of whom anything might be ex- 
 pected. In the provinces, as in Paris, public men are very 
 much in the position of the statue in Addison’s ingenious 
 fable. The statue was erected at a place where four roads 
 met; two cavaliers coming up on opposite sides declared, the 
 one that it was white, the other that it was black, until they 
 came to blows, and both of them lying on the ground discov- 
 ered that it was black on one side and white on the other, 
 while a third cavalier coming up to their assistance affirmed 
 that it was red. 
 
 When the Chevalier de Valois reached home, he said to 
 himself: “It is time to spread a report that I am going to 
 marry Mlle. Cormon. The news shall come from the d’Es- 
 grignon’s salon; it shall go straight to the Bishop’s palace at 
 Séez and come back through one of the vicars-general to the 
 euré of St. Leonard’s. He will not fail to tell the Abbé 
 Couturier, and in this way Mlle. Cormon will receive the shot 
 well under the water-line. The old Marquis d’Esgrignon is 
 sure to ask the Abbé de Sponde to dinner to put a stop to gos- 
 sip which might injure Mlle. Cormon if I fail to come for- 
 ward; or me, if she refuses me. The Abbé shall be well and 
 duly entangled; and after a call from Mlle. de Gordes, in 
 the course of which the grandeur and the prospects of the alli- 
 ance will be put before Mlle. Cormon, she is not likely to hold 
 out. The Abbé will leave her more than a hundred thousand 
 crowns; and as for her, she must have put by more than a 
 hundred thousand livres by this time; she has her house, the 
 Prébaudet, and some fifteen thousand livres per annum. One 
 word to my friend the Comte de Fontaine, and I am Mayor 
 of Alencon, and deputy; then, once seated on the right-hand 
 benches, the way to a peerage is cleared by a well-timed cry 
 of ‘Cloture, or ‘Order.’ ” 
 
 When Mme. Granson reached home, she had a warm ex- 
 planation with her son. He could not be made to understand 
 
92 THE JEALOUSIES OF A COUNTRY TOWN 
 
 the connection between his political opinions and his love. 
 It was the first quarrel which had troubled the peace of the 
 poor little household. 
 
 Next morning, at nine o’clock, Mlle. Cormon, packed into 
 the cariole with Josette by her side, drove up the Rue Saint- 
 Blaise on her way to the Prébaudet, looking like a pyramid 
 above an ocean of packages. And the event which was to 
 surprise her there and hasten on her marriage was unseen as 
 yet by Mme. Granson, or du Bousquier, or M. de Valois, or by 
 Mlle. Cormon herself. Chance is the greatest artist of all. 
 
 On the morrow of mademoiselle’s arrival at the Prébaudet, 
 she was very harmlessly engaged in taking her eight o’clock 
 breakfast, while she listened to the reports of her bailiff and 
 gardener, when Jacquelin, in a great flurry, burst into the 
 dining-room. 
 
 “Mademoiselle,” cried he, “M. ’ Abbé has sent an express 
 messenger to you; that boy of Mother Grosmort’s has come 
 with a letter. The lad left Alencgon before daybreak, and yet 
 here he is! He came almost as fast as Penelope. Ought he 
 to have a glass of wine?” 
 
 “What can have happened, Josette? Can uncle be 
 
 “He would not have written if he was,” said the woman, 
 guessing her mistress’ fears. 
 
 Mlle. Cormon glanced over the first few lines. 
 
 “Quick! quick!” she cried. “Tell Jacquelin to put Penel- 
 ope in.—Get ready, child, have everything packed in half an 
 hour, we are going back to town,’ she added, turning to 
 Josette. 
 
 “Jacquelin!” called Josette, excited by the expression of 
 Mlle. Cormon’s face. Jacquelin on receiving his orders came 
 back to the house to expostulate. 
 
 — “But, mademoiselle, Penelope has only just been fed.” 
 
 “ih! what does that matter to me? I want to start this 
 moment.” 
 
 “But, mademoiselle, it is going to rain.” 
 
 “Very well. We shall be wet through.” 
 
 29 
 
 39 
 
 
 
THE JEALOUSIES OF A COUNTRY TOWN 93 
 
 “The house is on fire,” muttered Josette, vexed because her 
 mistress said nothing, but read her letter through to the end, 
 and then began again at the beginning. 
 
 “Just finish your coffee at any rate. Don’t upset yourself! 
 See how red you are in the face.” 
 
 “Red in the face, Josette!” exclaimed Mlle. Cormon, going 
 up to the mirror; and as the quick-silvered sheet had come 
 away from the glass, she beheld her countenance doubly dis- 
 torted. “Oh, dear!” she thought, “I shall look ugly !—Come, 
 come, Josette, child, help me to dress. I want to be ready be- 
 fore Jacquelin puts Penelope in. If you cannot put all the 
 things into the chaise, I would rather leave them here than 
 lose a minute.” 
 
 If you have fully comprehended the degree of monomania 
 to which Mlle. Cormon had been driven by her desire to marry, 
 you will share her excitement. Her worthy uncle informed 
 her that M. de Troisville, a retired soldier from the Russian 
 service, the grandson of one of his best friends, wishing to 
 settle down in Alencon, had asked for his hospitality for the 
 sake of the Abbé’s old friendship with the mayor, his grand- 
 father, the Vicomte de Troisville of the reign of Louis XY. 
 M. de Sponde, in alarm, begged his niece to come home at 
 once to help him to entertain the guest and to do the honors 
 of the house; for as there had been some delay in forwarding 
 the letter, M. de Troisville might be expected to drop in upon 
 him that very evening. 
 
 How was it possible after reading that letter to give any 
 attention to affairs at the Prébaudet? The tenant and the 
 bailiff, beholding their mistress’ dismay, lay low and waited 
 for orders. When they stopped her passage to ask for in- 
 structions, Mlle. Cormon, the despotic old maid, who’ saw 
 to everything herself at the Prébaudet, answered them with an 
 “As you please,” which struck them dumb with amazement. 
 This was the mistress who carried administrative zeal to such 
 lengths that she counted the fruit and entered it under head- 
 ings, so that she could regulate the consumption by the quan- 
 tity of each sort! 
 
94 THE JEALOUSIES OF A COUNTRY TOWN 
 
 “T must be dreaming, I think,” said Josette, when she saw 
 her mistress flying upstairs like some elephant on which God 
 should have bestowed wings. 
 
 In a little while, in spite of the pelting rain, mademoiselle 
 was driving away from the Prébaudet, leaving her people to 
 have things all their own way. Jacquelin dared not take it 
 upon himself to drive the placid Penelope any faster than her 
 usual jog-trot pace; and the old mare, something like the fair 
 queen after whom she was named, seemed to take a step back 
 for every step forward. Beholding this, mademoiselle bade 
 Jacquelin, in a vinegar voice, to urge the poor astonished 
 beast to a gallop, and to use the whip if necessary, so ap- 
 palling was the thought that M. de Troisville might arrive be- 
 fore the house was ready for him. A grandson of an old 
 friend of her uncle’s could not be much over forty, she 
 thought; a military man must infallibly be a bachelor. She 
 vowed inwardly that, with her uncle’s help, M. de Troisville 
 should not depart in the estate in which he entered the 
 ‘Maison Cormon. Penelope galloped; but mademoiselle, 
 absorbed in dresses and dreams of a wedding night, toid 
 Jacquelin again and again that he was standing still. She 
 fidgeted in her seat, without vouchsafing any answer to 
 Josette’s questions, and talked to herself as if she were re- 
 volving mighty matters in her mind. 
 
 At last the cariole turned into the long street of Alencon, 
 known as the Rue Saint-Blaise if you come in on the side 
 of Mortagne, the Rue de la Porte de Séez by the time you 
 reach the sign of the Three Moors, and lastly as the Rue du 
 Bercail, when it finally debouches into the highroad into 
 Brittany. If Mlle. Cormon’s departure for the Prébaudet 
 made a great noise in Alencon, anybody can imagine the 
 hubbub caused by her return on the following day, with the 
 driving rain lashing her face. Everybody remarked 
 Penelope’s furious pace, Jacquelin’s sly looks, the earliness 
 of the hour, the bundles piled up topsy-turvy, the lively con- 
 versation between mistress and maid, and, more than all 
 things, the impatience of the party. 
 
THE JHALOUSIES OF A COUNTRY TOWN 95 
 
 The Troisville estates lay between Alencon and Mortagne. 
 Josette, therefore, knew about the different branches of the 
 family. A word let fall by her mistress just as they reached 
 the pavé of Alencgon put Josette in possession of the facts, 
 and a discussion sprang up, in the course of which the two 
 women settled between themselves that the expected guest 
 must be a man of forty or forty-two, a bachelor, neither rich 
 nor poor. Mademoiselle saw herself Vicomtesse de Trois- 
 ville. 
 
 “And here is uncle telling me nothing, knowing nothing, 
 and wanting to know nothing! Oh,solike uncle! He would 
 forget his nose if it was not fastened to his face.” 
 
 Have you not noticed how mature spinsters, under these 
 circumstances, grow as intelligent, fierce, bold, and full of 
 promises as a Richard III.? To them, as to clerics in liquor, 
 nothing is sacred. 
 
 In one moment, from the upper end of the Rue Saint-Blaise 
 to the Porte de Séez, the town of Alencon heard of Mlle. 
 Cormon’s return with aggravating circumstances, heard with 
 a mighty perturbation of its vitals and trouble of the organs 
 of life public and domestic. Cook-maids, shopkeepers, and 
 passers-by carried the news from door to door; then, without 
 delay, it circulated in the upper spheres, and almost simulta- 
 neously the words, “Mlle. Cormon has come back,” exploded 
 like a bomb in every house. 
 
 Meanwhile Jacquelin climbed down from his wooden bench 
 in front, polished by some process unknown to cabinet-makers, 
 and with his own hands opened the great gates with the 
 rounded tops. They were closed in Mlle. Cormon’s absence 
 as a sign of mourning; for when she went away her house 
 was shut up, and the faithful took it in turn to show 
 hospitality to the Abbé de Sponde. (M. de Valois used to 
 pay his debt by an invitation to dine at the Marquis 
 d’Esgrignon’s.) Jacquelin gave the familiar call to Penelope 
 standing in the middle of the road; and the animal, ac- 
 customed to this manceuvre, turned into the courtyard, steer- 
 ing clear of the flower-bed, till Jacquelin took the bridle and 
 
96 THE JEALOUSIES OF A COUNTRY TOWN 
 
 walked round with the chaise to the steps before the 
 door. 
 
 “Mariette!” called Mlle. Cormon. 
 
 “Mademoiselle?” returned Mariette, engaged in shutting 
 the gates. 
 
 “Has the gentleman come?” 
 
 “No, mademoiselle.” 
 
 “And is my uncle here?” 
 
 “He is at the church, mademoiselle.” 
 
 Jacquelin and Josette were standing on the lowest step of 
 the flight, holding out their hands to steady their mistress’ 
 descent from the cariole; she, meanwhile, had hoisted herself 
 upon the shaft, and was clutching at the curtains, before 
 springing down into their arms. It was two years since 
 she had dared to trust herself upon the iron step of double 
 strength, secured to the shaft by a fearfully made contriv- 
 ance with huge bolts. - 
 
 From the height of the steps, mademoiselle surveyed her 
 courtyard with an air of satisfaction. | 
 
 “There, there, Mariette, let the great gate alone and come 
 here.” 
 
 “There is something up,” Jacquelin said to Mariette as she 
 came past the chaise. 
 
 “Let us see now, child, what is there in the house?” said 
 Mlle. Cormon, collapsing on the bench in the long ante- 
 chamber as if she were exhausted. 
 
 “Just nothing at all,” replied Mariette, hands on hips. 
 “Mademoiselle knows quite well that M. ’Abbé always dines 
 out when she is not at home; yesterday I went to bring him 
 back from Mlle. Armande’s.” . 
 
 “Then where is he?” 
 
 “M. ?Abbé? He is gone to church; he will not be back 
 till three o’clock.” 
 
 “Uncle thinks of nothing! Why couldn’t he have sent 
 you to market? Go down now, Mariette, and, without throw- 
 ing money away, spare for nothing, get the best, finest, and 
 daintiest of everything. Go to the coach office and ask where 
 
THE JEALOUSIES OF A COUNTRY TOWN o7 
 
 people send orders for patés. And I want cray-fish from the 
 brooks along the Brillante. What time is it ?” 
 
 “Nine o’clock all but a quarter.” 
 
 “Oh dear, oh dear; don’t lose any time in chattering, 
 Mariette. The visitor my uncle is expecting may come at any 
 moment; pretty figures we should cut if he comes to break- 
 fast.” 
 
 Mariette, turning round, saw Penelope in a lather, and 
 gave Jacquelin a glance which said, “Mademoiselle means to 
 put her hand on a husband this time.” 
 
 Mlle. Cormon turned to her housemaid. “Now, it is our 
 turn, Josette; we must make arrangements for M. de Trois- 
 ville to sleep here to-night.” 
 
 How gladly those words were uttered! ‘We must arrange 
 for M. de Troisville” (pronounced Tréville) “to sleep here 
 to-night!” | How much lay in those few words! Hope 
 poured like a flood through the old maid’s soul. 
 
 “Will you put him in the green chamber ?” 
 
 “The Bishop’s room? No,” said mademoiselle, “it is too 
 near mine. It is very well for his Lordship, a holy man.” 
 
 “Give him your uncle’s room.” 
 
 “It looks so bare; it would not do.” 
 
 “Lord, mademoiselle, you could have a bed put up in the 
 boudoir in a brace of shakes; there is a fireplace there. 
 Moreau will be sure to find a bedstead in his warehouse that 
 will match the hangings as nearly as possible.” 
 
 “You are right, Josette. Very well; run round to Moreau’s 
 and ask his advice about everything necessary ; I give you 
 authority. If the bed, M. de Troisville’s bed, can be set up by 
 this evening, so that M. de Troisville shall notice nothing, 
 supposing that M. de Troisville should happen to come in 
 while Moreau is here, I am quite willing. If Moreau can- 
 not promise that, M. de Troisville shall sleep in the green 
 chamber, although M. de Troisville will be very near me.” 
 
 Josette departed ; her mistress called her back. 
 
 “Tell Jacquelin all about it,” she exclaimed in a stern and 
 awful voice; “let him go to Moreau. How about my dress? 
 
98 THE JHALOUSIHS OF A COUNTRY TOWN 
 
 Suppose M. de Troisville came and caught me like this, with- 
 out uncle here to receive him!—Oh, uncle! uncle!—Come 
 Josette, you shall help me to dress.” 
 
 “But how about Penelope?” the woman began imprudently. 
 Mlle. Cormon’s eyes shot sparks for the first and last time in 
 her life. 
 
 “It is always Penelope! Penelope this, Penelope that! 
 Is Penelope mistress here?” 
 
 “She is all of a lather, and she has not been fed.” 
 
 “Eh! and if she dies, let her die! ” eried Mile. Cormon 
 —‘“so long as I am married,” she added in her own mind. 
 
 Josette stood stockstill a moment in amazement, such a 
 remark was tantamount to murder; then, at a sign from her 
 mistress, she dashed headlong down the steps into the yard. 
 
 “Mademoiselle is possessed, Jacquelin !” were Josette’s first 
 words. 
 
 And in this way, everything that occurred throughout the 
 day led up to the great climax which was to change the whole 
 course of Mlle. Cormon’s life. The town was already turned 
 upside down by five aggravating circumstances which at- 
 tended the lady’s sudden return, to wit—the pouring rain; 
 Penelope’s panting pace and sunk flanks covered with foam ; 
 the earliness of the hour; the untidy bundles; and the 
 spinster’s strange, sacred looks. But when Mariette invaded 
 the market to carry off everything that she could lay her 
 hands on; when Jacquelin went to inquire for a bedstead of 
 the principal upholsterer in the Rue Porte de Séez, close by 
 the church; here, indeed, was material on which to build the 
 gravest conjecture! ‘The strange event was discussed on the 
 Parade and the Promenade; every one was full of it, not ex- 
 cepting Mlle. Armande, on whom the Chevalier de Valois hap- 
 pened to be calling at the time. 
 
 Only two days ago Alencon had been stirred to its depths 
 by occurrences of such capital importance, that worthy 
 matrons were still exclaiming that it was like the end of the 
 world! And now, this last news was summed up in all houses 
 by the inquiry, “What can be happening at the Cormons’ ?” 
 
 
 
THE JEALOUSIES OF A COUNTRY TOWN 99 
 
 The Abbé de Sponde, skilfully questioned when he emerged 
 from St. Leonard’s to take a walk with the Abbé Couturier 
 along the Parade, made reply in the simplicity of his heart, 
 to the effect that he expected a visit from the Vicomte de 
 _ Troisville, who had been in the Russian service during the 
 Emigration, and now was coming back to settle in Alencon. 
 A kind of labial telegraph, at work that afternoon between 
 two and five o’clock, informed all the inhabitants of Alencon 
 that Mlle. Cormon at last had found herself a husband by 
 advertisement. She was going to marry the Vicomte de 
 Troisville. Some said that “Moreau was at work on a bed- 
 stead already.” In some places the bed was six feet long. 
 It was only four feet at Mme. Granson’s house in the Rue du 
 Bercail. At President du Ronceret’s, where du Bousquier 
 was dining, it dwindled into a sofa. The tradespeople said 
 that it cost eleven hundred francs. It was generally thought 
 that this was like counting your chickens before they were 
 hatched. 
 
 Further away, it was said that the price of carp had gone 
 up. Mariette had swooped down upon the market and 
 created a general scarcity. Penelope had dropped down at 
 the upper end of the Rue Saint-Blaise; the death was calied 
 in question at the receiver-general’s; nevertheless at the pre- 
 fecture it was known for a fact that the animal fell dead 
 just as she turned in at the gate of the Hétel Cormon, so 
 swiftly had the old maid come down upon her prey. The 
 saddler at the corner of the Rue de Séez, in his anxiety to 
 know the truth about Penelope, was hardy enough to call in 
 to ask if anything had happened to Mlle. Cormon’s chaise. 
 Then from the utmost end of the Rue Saint-Blaise, to the 
 furthermost parts of the Rue du Bercail, it was known that, 
 thanks to Jacquelin’s care, Penelope, dumb victim of her 
 mistress’ intemperate haste, was still alive, but she seemed 
 to be in a bad way. 
 
 All along the Brittany road the Vicomte de Troisville was 
 a penniless younger son, for the domains of Perche belonged 
 to the Marquis of that ilk, a peer of France with two children. 
 
100 THE JEALOUSIES OF A COUNTRY TOWN 
 
 The match was a lucky thing for an impoverished émigré; 
 as for the Vicomte himself, that was Mlle. Cormon’s affair. 
 Altogether the match received the approval of the aristocratic 
 section on the Brittany road; Mlle. Cormon could not have 
 put her fortune to a better use. 
 
 Among the bourgeoisie, on the other hand, the Vicomte de 
 Troisville was a Russian general that had borne arms against 
 France. He was bringing back a large fortune made at the 
 court of St. Petersburg. He was a “foreigner,” one of the 
 “Allies” detested by the Liberals. The Abbé de Sponde had 
 manceuvred the match on the sly. Every person who had 
 any shadow of a right of entrance to Mlle. Cormon’s drawing- 
 room vowed to be there that night. 
 
 While the excitement went through the town, and all but 
 put Suzanne out of people’s heads, Mlle. Cormon herself was 
 not less excited; she felt as she had never felt before. She 
 looked round the drawing-room, the boudoir, the cabinet, the 
 dining-room, and a dreadful apprehension seized upon her. 
 Some mocking demon seemed to show her the old-fashioned 
 splendor in a new light; the beautiful furniture, admired ever 
 since she was a child, was suspected, nay, convicted, of being 
 out of date. She was shaken, in fact, by the dread that 
 catches almost every author by the throat when he begins to 
 read his own work aloud to some exigent or jaded critic. Be- 
 fore he began, it was perfect in his eyes; now the novel situa- 
 tions are stale; the finest periods turned with such secret 
 relish are turgid or halting; the metaphors are mixed or 
 grotesque ; his sins stare him in the face. Even so, poor Mlle. 
 Cormon shivered to think of the smile on M. de Troisville’s 
 lips when he looked round that salon, which looked like a 
 Bishop’s drawing-room, unchanged for one possessor after 
 another. She dreaded his cool survey of the ancient dining- 
 room; in short, she was afraid that the picture might look the 
 older for the ancient frame. How if all these old things 
 should tinge her with their age? The bare thought of it 
 made her flesh creep. At that moment she would have given 
 one-fourth of her savings for the power of renovating her 
 
THE JEALOUSIES OF A COUNTRY TOWN 101 
 
 house at a stroke of a magic wand. Where is the general so 
 conceited that he will not shudder on the eve of an action? 
 She, poor thing, was between an Austerlitz and a Water- 
 loo. 
 
 “Mme. la Vicomtesse de Troisville,” she said to herself, 
 “what a fine name! Our estates will pass to a good house, 
 at any rate.” 
 
 Her excitement fretted her. It sent a thrill through every 
 fibre of every nerve to the least of the ramifications and the 
 papille so well wadded with flesh. Hope tingling in her 
 veins set all the blood in her body in circulation. She felt 
 capable, if need was, of conversing with M. de ‘Trois- 
 ville. 
 
 Of the activity with which Josette, Mariette, Jacquelin, 
 Moreau, and his assistants set about their work, it is needless 
 to speak. Ants rescuing their eggs could not have been busier 
 than they. Everything, kept so neat and clean with daily 
 care, was starched and ironed, scrubbed, washed, and polished. 
 The best china saw the light. Linen damask cloths and 
 serviettes docketed A B C D emerged from the depths where 
 they lay shrouded in triple wrappings and defended by 
 bristling rows of pins. The rarest shelves of that oak-bound 
 library were made to give account of their contents; and 
 finally, mademoiselle offered up three bottles of liqueurs to 
 the coming guest, three bottles bearing the label of the most 
 famous distiller of over-sea—Mme. Amphoux, name dear to 
 connoisseurs. 
 
 Mile. Cormon was ready for battle, thanks to the devo- 
 tion of her lieutenants. The munitions of war, the heavy 
 artillery of the kitchen, the batteries of the pantry, the 
 victuals, provisions for the attack, and body of reserves, had 
 all been brought up in array. Orders were issued to Jacque- 
 lin, Mariette, and Josette to wear their best clothes. The 
 garden was raked over. Mademoiselle only regretted that 
 she could not come to an understanding with the night- 
 ingales in the trees, that they might warble their sweetest 
 songs for the occasion. At length, at four o’clock, just as 
 
102 THE JEALOUSINS OF A COUNTRY TOWN 
 
 the Abbé came in, and mademoiselle was beginning to think 
 that she had brought out her daintiest linen and china and 
 made ready the most exquisite of dinners in vain, the crack 
 of a postilion’s whip sounded outside in the Val-Noble. 
 
 “Tt is he!” she thought, and the lash of the whip struck her 
 in the heart. 
 
 And indeed, heralded by all this tittle-tattle, a certain post- 
 chaise, with a single gentleman inside it, had made such a 
 prodigious sensation as it drove down the Rue Saint-Blaise 
 and turned into the Rue du Cours, that several small urchins 
 and older persons gave chase to the vehicle, and now were 
 standing in a group about the gateway of the Hotel Cormon 
 to watch the postilion drive in. Jacquelin, feeling that his 
 own marriage was in the wind, had also heard the crack of 
 the whip, and was out in the yard to throw open the gates. 
 The postilion (an acquaintance) was on his mettle, he turned 
 the corner to admiration, and came to a stand before the 
 flight of steps. And, as you can understand, he did not go 
 until Jacquelin had duly and properly made him tipsy. 
 
 The Abbé came out to meet his guest, and in a trice the 
 chaise was despoiled of its occupant, robbers in a hurry could 
 not have done their work more nimbly; then the chaise was 
 put into the coach-house, the great door was closed, and in 
 a few minutes there was not a sign of M. de Troisville’s ar- 
 rival. Never did two chemicals combine with a greater alac- 
 rity than that displayed by the house of Cormon to absorb the 
 Vicomte de Troisville. As for mademoiselle, if she had been 
 a lizard caught by a shepherd, her heart could not have beat 
 faster. She sat heroically in her low chair by the fireside; 
 Josette threw open the door, and the Vicomte de Troisville, 
 followed by the Abbé de Sponde, appeared before her. 
 
 “This is M. le Vicomte de Troisville, niece, a grandson of 
 an old school-fellow of mine.——M. de Troisville, my niece, 
 Mile. Cormon.” 
 
 “Dear uncle, how nicely he puts it,” thought Rose Marie 
 Victoire. 
 
 The Vicomte de Troisville, to describe him in a few words, 
 
THE JEALOUSIES OF A COUNTRY TOWN 103 
 
 was a du Bousquier of noble family. Between the two men 
 there was just that difference which separates the gentle- 
 man from the ordinary man. If they had been standing side 
 by side, even the most furious Radical could not have denied 
 the signs of race about the Vicomte. There was all the dis- 
 tinction of refinement about his strength, his figure had 
 lost nothing of its magnificent dignity. Blue-eyed, 
 dark-haired, and olive-skinned, he could not have been more 
 than six-and-forty. You might have thought him a hand- 
 some Spaniard preserved in Russian ice. His manner, gait, 
 and bearing, and everything about him, suggested a diplomate, 
 and a diplomate that has seen Europe. He looked like a 
 gentleman in his traveling dress. 
 
 M. de Troisville seemed to be tired. The Abbé rose to 
 conduct him to his room, and was overcome with astonishment 
 when Rose opened the door of the boudoir, now transformed 
 into a bedroom. Then uncle and niece left the noble visitor 
 leisure to attend to his toilet with the help of Jacquelin, who 
 brought him all the luggage which he needed. While M. de 
 Troisville was dressing, they walked on the terrace by the 
 Brillante. The Abbé, by a strange chance, was more absent- 
 minded than usual, and Mlle. Cormon no less preoccupied, so 
 they paced to and fro in silence. Never in her life had Mlle. 
 Cormon seen so attractive a man as this Olympian Vicomte. 
 She could not say to herself, like a German girl, “I have found 
 my Ideal!” but she felt that she was in love from head to 
 foot. “The very thing for me,” she thought. On a sudden 
 she fled to Mariette, to know whether dinner could be put 
 back a little without serious injury. 
 
 “Uncle, this M. de Troisville is very pleasant,” she said 
 when she came back again. 
 
 “Why, my girl, he has not said a word as yet,” returned 
 the Abbé, laughing. 
 
 “But one can tell by his general appearance. Is he a 
 bachelor ?” 
 
 “T know nothing about it,” replied her uncle, his thoughts 
 full of that afternoon’s discussion with the Abbé Couturier 
 
104 THE JEALOUSIES OF A COUNTRY TOWN 
 
 on Divine Grace. “M. de Troisville said in his letter that 
 he wanted to buy a house here—If he were married, he 
 would not have come alone,” he added carelessly. It never en- 
 tered his head that his niece could think of marriage for her- 
 self. 
 
 “Ts he rich ?” 
 
 “He is the younger son of a younger branch. His grand- 
 father held a major’s commission, but this young man’s 
 father made a foolish marriage.” 
 
 “Young man!” repeated his niece. “Why, he is quite five- 
 and-forty, uncle, it seems to me.” She felt an uncontrol- 
 lable desire to compare his age with hers. 
 
 “Yes,” said the Abbé. “But to a poor priest at seventy a 
 man of forty seems young, Rose.” 
 
 By this time all Alencon knew that M. le Vicomte de Trois- 
 ville had arrived at the Hétel Cormon. 
 
 The visitor very soon rejoined his host and hostess, and be- 
 gan to admire the view of the Brillante, the garden, and the 
 house. 
 
 “Monsieur Abbé,” he said, “to find such a place as this 
 would be the height of my ambition.” . 
 
 The old maid wished to read a declaration in the speech. 
 She lowered her eyes. 
 
 “You must be very fond of it, mademoiselle,’ continued 
 the Vicomte. 
 
 “How could I help being fond of it? It has been in our 
 family since 1574, when one of our ancestors, an Intendant 
 of the Duchy of Alencgon, bought the ground and built the 
 house. It is laid on piles.” 
 
 Jacquelin having announced that dinner was ready, M. de 
 Troisville offered his arm. The radiant spinster tried not to 
 lean too heavily upon him; she was still afraid that he might 
 think her forward. 
 
 “Everything is quite in harmony here,” remarked the 
 Vicomte as they sat down to table. 
 
 “Yes, the trees in our garden are full of birds that give us 
 music for nothing. Nobody molests them; the nightingales 
 sing there every night,” said Mlle. Cormon. 
 
THE JEALOUSIES OF A COUNTRY TOWN 105 
 
 “T am speaking of the inside of the house,” remarked the 
 Vicomte; he had not troubled himself to study his hostess 
 particularly, and was quite unaware of her vacuity.—“Yes, 
 everything contributes to the general effect; the tones of 
 color, the furniture, the character of the house,’ added he, 
 addressing Mlle. Cormon. 
 
 “It costs a great deal, though,” replied that excellent 
 spinster, “the rates are something enormous.” The word 
 “contribute” had impressed itself on her mind. 
 
 “Ah! then are the rates high here?” asked the Vicomte, 
 too full of his own ideas to notice the absurd non 
 sequitur. 
 
 “I do not know,” said the Abbé. “My niece manages her 
 own property and mine.” 
 
 “The rates are a mere trifle if people are well-to-do,” struck 
 in Mile. Cormon, anxious not to appear stingy. “As to the 
 furniture, I leave things as they are. I shall never make 
 any changes here; at least I shall not, unless I marry, and 
 in that case everything in the house must be arranged to suit 
 the master’s taste.” 
 
 “You are for great principles, mademoiselle,” smiled the 
 Vicomte ; “somebody will be a lucky man.” 
 
 “Nobody ever made me such a pretty speech before,” 
 thought Mlle. Cormon. 
 
 The Vicomte complimented his hostess upon the appoint- 
 ments of the table and the housekeeping, admitting that he 
 thought that the provinces were behind the times, and found 
 himself in most delectable quarters. 
 
 “Delectable, good Lord! what does it mean?” thought she. 
 “Where is the Chevalier de Valois to reply to him? De-lect- 
 able? Is it made up of several words? There! courage; 
 perhaps it is Russian, and if so I am not obliged to say any- 
 thing.”—Then she added aloud, her tongue unloosed by an 
 eloquence which almost every human creature can find in a 
 great crisis—‘“We have the most brilliant society here, Mon- 
 sieur le Vicomte. You will be able to judge for yourself, 
 for it assembles in this very house; on some of our acquaint- 
 
106 THE JEALOUSIES OF A COUNTRY TOWN 
 
 ances we can always count; they will have heard of my re- 
 turn no doubt, and will be sure to come to see me. There is 
 the Chevalier de Valois, a gentleman of the old court, a man 
 of infinite wit and taste; then there is M. le Marquis 
 d’Esgrignon and Mlle. Armande, his sister”—she bit her lip 
 and changed her mind—“a—a remarkable woman in her way. 
 She refused all offers of marriage so as to leave her fortune to 
 her brother and his son.” 
 
 “Ah! yes; the d’Esgrignons, I remember them,” said the 
 Vicomte. 
 
 “Alencon is very gay,” pursued mademoiselle, now that she 
 had fairly started off. “There is so much going on; the Re- 
 ceiver-General gives dances; the Prefect is a very pleasant 
 man; his lordship the Bishop occasionally honors us with a 
 visit——~” 
 
 “Come!” said the Vicomte, smiling as he spoke, “I have 
 done well, it seems, to come creeping back like a hare (un 
 lievre) to die in my form.” 
 
 “Tt is the same with me,” replied mademoiselle; “I am 
 like a creeper (le lierre), I must cling to something or die.” 
 
 The Vicomte took the saying thus twisted for a joke, and 
 smiled. 
 
 “Ah!” thought his hostess, “that is all right, he understands 
 me.” 
 
 The conversation was kept up upon generalities. Under 
 pressure of a strong desire to please, the strange, mysterious, 
 indefinable workings of consciousness brought all the 
 Chevalier de Valois’ tricks of speech uppermost in Mlle. Cor- 
 mon’s brain. It fell out, as it sometimes does in a duel, when 
 the Devil himself seems to take aim; and never did duelist hit 
 his man more fairly and squarely than the old maid. The 
 Vicomte de Troisville was too well mannered to praise the 
 excellent dinner, but his silence was panegyric in itself! As 
 he drank the delicious wines with which Jacquelin plied him, 
 he seemed to be meeting old friends with the liveliest 
 pleasure; for your true amateur does not applaud, he en- 
 joys. He informed himself curiously of the prices of land, 
 
 
 
THE JEALOUSIES OF A COUNTRY TOWN 107 
 
 houses, and sites; he drew from mademoiselle a long descrip- 
 tion of the property between the Brillante and the Sarthe. 
 He was amazed that the town and the river lay so far apart, 
 and showed the greatest interest in local topography. The 
 Abbé sat silent, leaving all the conversation to his niece. 
 And, in truth, mademoiselle considered that she interested M. 
 de T'roisville; he smiled graciously at her, he made far more 
 progress with her in the course of a single dinner than the 
 most ardent of her former wooers in a whole fortnight. For 
 which reasons, you may be certain that never was guest so 
 cosseted, so lapped about with small attentions and observ- 
 ances. He might have been a much loved lover, new come 
 home to the house of which he was the delight. 
 
 Mademoiselle forestalled his wants. She saw when he 
 needed bread, her eyes brooded over him; if he turned his 
 head, she adroitly supplemented his portion of any dish which 
 he seemed to like; if he had been a glutton, she would have 
 killed him. What a delicious earnest of all that she counted 
 upon doing for her lover! She made no silly blunders of 
 self-depreciation this time! She went gallantly forward, full 
 sail, and all flags flying; posed as the queen of Alengon, and 
 vaunted her preserves. Indeed, she fished for compliments, 
 talking about herself as if her trumpeter were dead. And 
 she saw that she pleased the Vicomte, for her wish to please 
 had so transformed her, that she grew almost feminine. It 
 was not without inward exultation that she heard footsteps 
 while they sat at dessert ; sounds of going and coming in the 
 ante-chamber and noises in the salon; and knew that the usual 
 company was arriving. She called the attention of her uncle 
 and M. de Troisville to this fact as a proof of the affection in 
 which she was held, whereas it really was a symptom of the 
 paroxysm of curiosity which convulsed the whole town. Im- 
 patient to show herself in her glory, she ordered coffee and 
 the liqueurs to be taken to the salon, whither Jacquelin went 
 to display to the élite of Alencon the splendors of a Dresden 
 china service, which only left the cupboard twice in a twelve- 
 month. All these circumstances were noted by people dis- 
 posed to criticise under their breath. 
 
108 THE JEALOUSIES OF A COUNTRY TOWN 
 
 “Head!” cried du Bousquier, “nothing but Mme. 
 Amphoux’s liqueurs, which only come out on the four great 
 festival days!” 
 
 “Decidedly, this match must have been arranged by cor- 
 respondence for a year past,” said M. le Président du Ron- 
 ceret. ‘The postmaster here has been receiving letters with 
 an Odessa postmark for the last twelve months.” 
 
 Mme. Granson shuddered. M. le Chevalier de Valois had 
 eaten a heavy dinner, but he felt the pallor spreading over his 
 left cheek; felt, too, that he was betraying his secret, and 
 said, “It is cold to-day, do you not think? I am freezing.” 
 
 “Tt is the neighborhood of Russia,” suggested du Bousquier. 
 And the Chevalier looked at his rival as who should say, 
 “Well put in!” 
 
 Mlle. Cormon was so radiant, so triumphant, that she looked 
 positively handsome, it was thought. Nor was this unwonted 
 brilliancy wholly due to sentiment; ever since the morning 
 the blood had been surging through her veins; the presenti- 
 ments of a great crisis at hand affected her nerves. It needed 
 a combination of circumstances to make her so little like her- 
 self. With what joy did she not solemnly introduce the 
 Vicomte to the Chevalier, and the Chevalier to the Vicomte; 
 all Alencon was presented to M. de Troisville, and M. de 
 Troisville made the acquaintance of all Alencon. It fell 
 out, naturally enough, that the Vicomte and the Chevalier, 
 two born aristocrats, were in sympathy at once; they 
 recognized each other for inhabitants of the same social 
 sphere. They began to chat as they stood by the fire. A 
 circle formed about them listening devoutly to their conversa- 
 tion, though it was carried on sotto voce. Fully to realize the 
 scene, imagine Mlle. Cormon standing with her back to the 
 chimney-piece, busy preparing coffee for her supposed suitor. 
 
 M. pe Vatoris. “So M. le Vicomte is coming to settle 
 here, people say.” 
 
 M. DE TrorsvinttE. “Yes, monsieur. I have come to look 
 for a house.” (Mlle. Cormon turns, cup in hand.) “And 
 I must have a large one”—(Mlle. Cormon offers the cup of 
 
THE JEALOUSIES OF A COUNTRY TOWN 109 
 
 coffee) “to hold my family.” (The room grows dark before 
 the old maid's eyes.) 
 
 M. bE Vators. “Are you married?” 
 
 M. DE TROISVILLE. “Yes, I have been married for sixteen 
 years. My wife is the daughter of the Princess Scher- 
 belloff.” 
 
 Mlle. Cormon dropped like one thunderstruck. Du Bous- 
 quier, seeing her reel, sprang forward, and caught her in his 
 arms. Somebody opened the door to let him pass out with his 
 enormous burden. The mettled Republican, counseled by 
 Josette, summoned up his strength, bore the old maid to her 
 room, and deposited her upon the bed. Josette, armed with 
 a pair of scissors, cut the stay-laces, drawn outrageously tight. 
 Du Bousquier, rough and ready, dashed cold water over Mlle. 
 Cormon’s face and the bust, which broke from its bounds like 
 Loire in flood. The patient opened her eyes, saw du Bous- 
 quier, and gave a cry of alarmed modesty. Du Bousquier 
 withdrew, leaving half-a-dozen women in possession, with 
 Mme. Granson at their head, Mme. Granson beaming with 
 joy. 
 What had the Chevalier de Valois done? ‘True to his 
 system, he had been covering the retreat. 
 
 “Poor Mlle. Cormon!” he said, addressing M. de Troisville, 
 but looking round the room, quelling the beginnings of an 
 outbreak of laughter with his haughty eyes. “She is dread- 
 fully troubled with heated blood. She would not be bled be- 
 fore going to the Prébaudet (her country house), and this is 
 the result of the spring weather.” 
 
 “She drove over in the rain this morning,” said the Abbé 
 de Sponde. “She may have taken a little cold, and socaused the 
 slight derangement of the system to which she is subject. 
 But she will soon get over it.” 
 
 “She was telling me the day before yesterday that she had 
 not had a recurrence of it for three months; she added at the 
 time that it was sure to play her a bad turn,” added the 
 Chevalier. 
 
 “Ah! so you are married!” thought Jacquelin, watching M. 
 de Troisville, who was sipping his coffee. 
 
110 THE JEALOUSIES OF A COUNTRY TOWN 
 
 The faithful man-servant made his mistress’ disappoint- 
 ment his own. He guessed her feelings. He took away the | 
 liqueurs brought out for a bachelor, and not for a Russian 
 woman’s husband. All these little things were noticed with 
 amusement. 
 
 The Abbé de Sponde had known all along why M. de Trois- 
 ville had come to Alencon, but in his absent-mindedness he 
 had said nothing about it; it had never entered his mind that 
 his niece could take the slightest interest in that gentleman. 
 As for the Vicomte, he was engrossed by the object of his 
 journey; like many other married men, he was in no great 
 hurry to introduce his wife into the conversation; he had had 
 no opportunity of saying that he was married; and besides, 
 he thought that Mlle. Cormon knew his history. Du Bous- 
 quier reappeared, and was questioned without mercy. One 
 of the six women came down, and reported that Mlle. Cormon 
 was feeling much better, and that her doctor had come; but 
 she was to stay in bed, and it appeared that she ought to be 
 bled at once. The salon soon filled. In Mlle. Cormon’s absence, 
 the ladies were free to discuss the tragi-comic scene which had 
 just taken place; and duly they enlarged, annotated, em- 
 bellished, colored, adorned, embroidered, and bedizened the 
 tale which was to set all Alencon thinking of the old maid 
 on the morrow. 
 
 Meanwhile, Josette upstairs was saying to her mistress, 
 “That good M. du Bousquier! How he carried you up- 
 stairs! What a fist! Really, your illness made him quite 
 pale. He loves you still.” 
 
 And with this final phrase, the solemn and terrible day 
 came to a close. 
 
 Next day, all morning long, the news of the comedy, with 
 full details, circulated over Alencon, raising laughter every- 
 where, to the shame of the town be it said. Next day, Mlle. 
 Cormon, very much the better for the blood-letting, would 
 have seemed sublime to the most hardened of those who jeered 
 at her, if they could but have seen her noble dignity and the 
 
THE JEALOUSIES OF A COUNTRY TOWN 111 
 
 Christian resignation in her soul, as she gave her hand to the 
 unconscious perpetrator of the hoax, and went in to breakfast. 
 Ah! heartless wags, who were laughing at her expense, why 
 could you not hear her say to the Vicomte: 
 
 “Mme. de Troisville will have some difficulty in finding a 
 house to suit her. Do me the favor of using my house, mon- 
 sieur, until you have made all your arrangements.” 
 
 “But I have two girls and two boys, mademoiselle. We 
 should put you to a great deal of inconvenience.” 
 
 “Do not refuse me,” said she, her eyes full of apprehension 
 and regret. 
 
 “T made the offer, however you might decide, in my letter ; 
 but you did not take it,” remarked the Abbé. 
 
 “What, uncle! did you know ?——” 
 
 Poor thing, she broke off. Josette heaved a sigh, and 
 neither M. de Troisville nor the uncle noticed anything. 
 
 After breakfast, the Abbé de Sponde, carrying out the plan 
 agreed upon over night, took the Vicomte to see houses for 
 sale and suitable sites for building. Mlle. Cormon was left 
 alone in the salon. 
 
 “T am the talk of the town, child, by this time,” she said, 
 looking piteously at Josette. 
 
 “Well, mademoiselle, get married.” 
 
 “But, my girl, I am not at all prepared to make a choice.” 
 
 “Bah! I should take M. du Bousquier if I were you.” 
 
 “M. de Valois says that he is such a_ Republican, 
 Josette.” 
 
 “Your gentlemen don’t know what they are talking about; 
 they say that he robbed the Republic, so he can’t have been at 
 all fond of it,” said Josette, and with that she went. 
 
 “That girl is amazingly shrewd,” thought Mlle. Cormon, 
 left alone to her gnawing perplexity. 
 
 She saw that the only way of silencing talk was to marry 
 at once. This last so patently humiliating check was enough 
 to drive her to extreme measures; and it takes a great deal to 
 force a feeble-minded human being out of a groove, be it 
 good or bad. Both the old bachelors understood the position 
 
 
 
112 THE JEALOUSIES OF A COUNTRY TOWN 
 
 of affairs, both made up their minds to call in the morning 
 to make inquiries, and (in their own language) to press the 
 point. 
 
 M. de Valois considered that the occasion demanded a 
 scrupulous toilet; he took a bath, he groomed himself with un- 
 usual care, and for the first time and the last Césarine 
 saw him applying “a suspicion of rouge” with incredible 
 skill. 
 
 Du Bousquier, rough and ready Republican that he was, 
 inspired by dogged purpose, paid no attention to his appear- 
 ance, he hurried round, and came in first. The fate of men, 
 like the destinies of empires, hangs on small things. History 
 records all such principal causes of great failure or success— 
 a Kellermann’s charge at Marengo, a Blicher coming up at 
 the battle of Waterloo, a Prince HKugéne slighted by Louis 
 XIV., a curé on the battlefield of Denain; but nobody profits 
 by the lesson to be diligently attentive to the little trifles of 
 his own life. Behold the results.—The Duchesse de Langeais 
 in L’Histowre des Treize entering a convent for want of ten 
 minutes’ patience; Judge Popinot in L’Interdiction putting 
 off his inquiries as to the Marquis d’Espard till to-morrow; 
 Charles Grandet coming home by way of Bordeaux instead of 
 Nantes—and these things are said to happen by accident and 
 mere chance! The few moments spent in putting on that 
 suspicion of rouge wrecked M. de Valois’ hopes. Only in 
 such a way could the Chevalier have succumbed. He had 
 lived for the Graces, he was foredoomed to die through them. 
 Even as he gave a last look in the mirror, the burly du Bous- 
 quier was entering the disconsolate old maid’s drawing-room. 
 His entrance coincided with a gleam of favor in the lady’s 
 mind, though in the course of her deliberations the Chevalier 
 had decidedly had the advantage. 
 
 “Tt is God’s will,” she said to herself when du Bousquier ap- 
 peared. 
 
 “Mademoiselle, I trust you will not take my importunity 
 in bad part; I did not like to trust that great stupid of a 
 René to make inquiries, and came myself.” 
 
THE JEALOUSIES OF A COUNTRY TOWN 113 
 
 “T am perfectly well,” she said nervously; then, after a 
 pause, and in a very emphatic tone, “Thank you, M. du 
 Bousquier, for the trouble that you took and that I gave you 
 yesterda 4 
 
 She recollected how she had lain in du Bousquier’s arms, 
 and the accident seemed to her to be a direct order from 
 heaven. For the first time in her life a man had seen her 
 with her belt wrenched apart, her stay-laces cut, the jewel 
 shaken violently out of its case. 
 
 “IT was so heartily glad to carry you, that I thought you a 
 light weight,” said he. 
 
 At this Mlle. Cormon looked at du Bousquier as she never 
 looked at any man in the world before; and thus encouraged, 
 the ex-contractor for forage flung a side glance that went 
 straight to the old maid’s heart. 
 
 “It is a pity,’ added he, “that this has not given me the 
 right to keep you always.” (She was listening with rapture 
 in her face.) “You looked dazzling as you lay swooning 
 there on the bed; I never saw such a fine woman in my life, 
 and I have seen a good many.—There is this about a stout 
 woman, she is superb to look at, she has only to show herself, 
 she triumphs.” 
 
 “You mean to laugh at me,” said the old maid; “that is 
 not kind of you, when the whole town is perhaps putting a 
 bad construction on things that happened yesterday.” 
 
 “Tt is as true as that my name is du Bousquier, made- 
 moiselle. My feelings towards you have never changed; your 
 first rejection did not discourage me.” 
 
 The old maid lowered her eyes. There was a pause, a 
 painful ordeal for du Bousquier. Then Mlle. Cormon made 
 up her mind and raised her eyelids; she looked up tenderly 
 at du Bousquier through her tears. 
 
 “Tf this is so, monsieur,” she said, in a tremulous voice, “I 
 only ask you to allow me to lead a Christian life, do not ask 
 me to change any of my habits as to religion, leave me free 
 to choose my directors, and I will give you my hand,” holding 
 it out to him as she spoke. 
 
 
 
114 THE JEALOUSIES OF A COUNTRY TOWN 
 
 Du Bousquier caught the plump, honest hand that held so 
 
 many frances, and kissed it respectfully. | 
 
 “But I have one thing more to ask,” added Mlle. Cormon, 
 suffering him to kiss her hand. 
 
 “It is granted, and if it is impossible, it shall be done” (a 
 reminiscence of Beaujon). 
 
 “Alas!” began the old maid, “for love of me you must bur- 
 den your soul with a sin which I know is heinous; falsehood 
 is one of the seven deadly sins; but still you can make a con- 
 fession, can you not? We will both of us do penance.” They 
 looked tenderly at each other at those words. 
 
 “Perhaps,” continued Mlle. Cormon, “after all, it is one of 
 those deceptions which the Church calls venial - 
 
 “Ts she going to tell me that she is in Suzanne’s plight ?” 
 thought du Bousquier. “What luck! ” Aloud he said, 
 “Well, mademoiselle ?” 
 
 “And you must take it upon you——” 
 
 “What ?” 
 
 “To say that this marriage was agreed upon between us 
 six months ago.” 
 
 “Charming woman!” exclaimed the forage-contractor, and 
 by his manner he implied that he was prepared to make even 
 this sacrifice; “a man only does thus much for the woman he 
 has worshiped for ten years.” 
 
 “In spite of my severity?” asked she. 
 
 “Yes, in spite of your severity.” 
 
 “M. du Bousquier, I have misjudged you.” Again she held 
 out her big, red hand, and again du Bousquier kissed it. 
 
 At that very moment the door opened, and the betrothed 
 couple, turning their heads, perceived the charming but too 
 tardy Chevalier. 
 
 “Ah! fair queen,” said he, “so you have risen ?” 
 
 Mile. Cormon smiled at him, and something clutched at 
 her heart. M. de Valois, grown remarkably young and ir- 
 resistible, looked like Lauzun entering La Grande Made- 
 moiselle’s apartments. 
 
 “Ah! my dear du Bousquier!” he continued, half laugh- 
 
 
 
 
 
THE JEALOUSIES OF A COUNTRY TOWN 115 
 
 ingly, so sure was he of success. “M. de Troisville and the 
 Abbé de Sponde are in front of your house, looking it over 
 like a pair of surveyors.” 
 
 “On my word,” said du Bousquier, “if the Vicomte de 
 -Troisville wants it, he can have it for forty thousand francs. 
 It is of no use whatever to me.—Always, if mademoiselle 
 has no objection, that must be ascertained first—Made- 
 moiselle, may I tell?—Yes?—Very well, my dear Chevalier, 
 you shall be the first to hear’—-Mlle. Cormon dropped her 
 eyes—“‘of the honor and the favor that mademoiselle is doing 
 me; I have kept it a secret for more than six months. We 
 are going to be married in a very few days, the contract is 
 drawn up, we shall sign it to-morrow. So, you see, that I 
 have no further use for my house in the Rue du Cygne. I 
 am quietly on the lookout for a purchaser, and the Abbé de 
 Sponde, who knew this, naturally took M. de T'roisville to 
 see it.” 
 
 There was such a color of truth about this monstrous fib 
 that the Chevalier was quite taken in by it. My dear 
 Chevalier was a return for all preceding defeats; it was like 
 the victory won at Pultowa by Peter the Great over Charles 
 XII. And thus du Bousquier enjoyed a delicious revenge for 
 hundreds of pin-pricks endured in silence; but in his triumph 
 he forgot that he was not a young man, he passed his fingers 
 through the false toupet, and—it came off in his hand! 
 
 “T congratulate you both,’ said the Chevalier, with an 
 agreeable smile; “I wish that you may end like the fairy 
 stories, ‘They lived very happily and had a fine—family of 
 children!’ ”’ Here he shaped a cone of snuff in his palm be- 
 fore adding mockingly, “But, monsieur, you forgot that— 
 er—you wear borrowed plumes.” 
 
 Du Bousquier reddened. The false toupet was ten inches 
 awry. Mlle. Cormon raised her eyes to the face of her 
 betrothed, saw the bare cranium, and bashfully looked down 
 again. Never toad looked more venomously at a victim than 
 du Bousquier at the Chevalier. 
 
 “A pack of aristocrats that look down on me!” he thought. 
 “J will crush you all some of these days.” 
 
116 THE JEALOUSIES OF A COUNTRY TOWN 
 
 The Chevalier de Valois imagined that he had regained all 
 the lost ground. But Mlle. Cormon was not the woman to 
 understand the connection between the Chevalier’s congratu- 
 lation and the allusion to the false toupet; and, for that 
 matter, even if she had understood, her hand had been given. 
 M. de Valois saw too clearly that all was lost. Meantime, as 
 the two men stood without speaking, Mlle. Cormon innocently 
 studied how to amuse them. 
 
 “Play a game of reversis,” suggested she, without any mali- 
 cious intention. 
 
 Du Bousquier smiled, and went as future master of the 
 house for the card-table. Whether the Chevalier de Valois 
 had lost his head, or whether he chose to remain to study the 
 causes of his defeat and to remedy it, certain it is that he al- 
 lowed himself to be led like a sheep to the slaughter. But 
 he had just received the heaviest of all bludgeon blows; and 
 a noble might have been excused if he had been at any rate 
 stunned by it. Very soon the worthy Abbé de Sponde and 
 M. de Troisville returned, and at once Mlle. Cormon hurried 
 into the ante-chamber, took her uncle aside, and told him in 
 a whisper of her decision. Then, hearing that the house in 
 the Rue du Cygne suited M. de Troisville, she begged her 
 betrothed to do her the service of saying that her uncle knew 
 that the place was for sale. She dared not confide the fib to 
 the Abbé, for fear that he should forget. The falsehood was 
 destined to prosper better than if it had been a virtuous 
 action. All Alencon heard the great news that night. For 
 four days the town had found as much to say as in the 
 ominous days of 1814 and 1815. Some laughed at the idea, 
 others thought it true; some condemned, others approved the 
 marriage. The bourgeoisie of Alencon regarded it as a con- 
 quest, and they were the best pleased. 
 
 The Chevalier de Valois, next day, among his own circle, 
 brought out this cruel epigram, “The Cormons are ending as 
 they began; stewards and contractors are all on a footing.” 
 
 The news of Mlle. Cormon’s choice went to poor Athanase’s 
 heart; but he showed not a sign of the dreadful tumult surg- 
 
THE JEALOUSIES OF A COUNTRY TOWN 1i7 
 
 ing within. He heard of the marriage at President du Ron- 
 ceret’s while his mother was playing a game of boston. Mme. 
 Granson, looking up, saw her son’s face in the glass; he 
 looked white, she thought, but then he had been pale ever since 
 vague rumors had reached him in the morning. Mlle. Cor- 
 mon was the card on which Athanase staked his life, and chill 
 presentiments of impending catastrophe already wrapped him 
 about. When intellect and imagination have exaggerated a 
 calamity till it becomes a burden too heavy for shoulders and 
 brow to bear, when some long-cherished hope fails utterly, 
 and with it the visions which enable a man to forget the 
 fierce vulture cares gnawing at his heart; then, if that man 
 has no belief in himself, in spite of his powers; no belief in 
 the future, in spite of the Power Divine—he is broken in 
 pieces. Athanase was a product of education under the 
 Empire. Fatalism, the Emperor’s creed, spread downwards 
 to the lowest ranks of the army, to the very schoolboys at their 
 desks. Athanase followed Mme. du Ronceret’s play with a 
 stolidity which might so easily have been taken for indiffer- 
 ence, that Mme. Granson fancied she had been mistaken as 
 to her son’s feelings. 
 
 Athanase’s apparent carelessness explained his refusal to 
 sacrifice his\ so-called “Liberal” opinions. This word, then 
 recently coined for the Emperor Alexander, proceeded into the 
 language, I believe, by way of Mme. de Staél through Benja- 
 min Constant. 
 
 After that fatal evening the unhappy young man took to 
 haunting one of the most picturesque walks along the Sarthe; 
 every artist who comes to Alencon sketches it from that point 
 of view, for the sake of the watermills, and the river gleaming 
 brightly out among the fields, between the shapely well-grown 
 trees on either side. Flat though the land may be, it lacks 
 none of the subdued peculiar charm of French landscape; 
 for in France your eyes are never wearied by glaring HKastern 
 sunlight, nor saddened by too continual mist. It is a lonely 
 spot. Dwellers in the provinces care nothing for beautiful 
 scenery, perhaps because it is always about them, perhaps 
 
118 THE JHALOUSIES OF A COUNTRY TOWN 
 
 because there is a sense lacking in them. If there is such a 
 thing as a promenade, a mall, or any spot from which you see 
 a beautiful view, it is sure to be the one unfrequented part of 
 the town. Athanase liked the loneliness, with the water like a 
 living presence in it, and the fields just turning green in the 
 warmth of the early spring sunlight. Occasionally some one 
 who had seen him sitting at a poplar foot, and received an 
 intent gaze from his eyes, would speak to Mme. Granson 
 about him. 
 
 “There is something the matter with your son.” 
 
 “T know what he is about,” the mother would say with a 
 satisfied air, hinting that he was meditating some great work. 
 
 Athanase meddled no more in politics; he had no opin- 
 ions; and yet, now and again, he was merry enough, merry at 
 the expense of others, after the wont of those who stand alone 
 and apart in contempt of public opinion. The young fellow 
 lived so entirely outside the horizon of provincial ideas and 
 amusements, that he was interesting to few people; he did not 
 so much as rouse curiosity. ‘Those who spoke of him to his 
 mother did so for her sake, not for his. Not a creature in 
 Alencgon sympathized with Athanase; the Sarthe received the 
 tears which no friend, no loving woman dried. If the 
 magnificent Suzanne had chanced to pass that way, how much 
 misery might have been prevented—the two young creatures 
 would have fallen in love. 
 
 And yet Suzanne certainly passed that way. Her ambition 
 had been first awakened by a sufficiently marvelous tale of 
 things which happened in 1799; an old story of adventures 
 begun at the sign of the Three Moors had turned her childish 
 brain. ‘They used to tell how an adventuress, beautiful as an 
 angel, had come from Paris with a commission from Fouché 
 to ensnare the Marquis de Montauran, the Chouan leader sent 
 over by the Bourbons; how she met him at that very inn of 
 the Three Moors as he came back from his Mortagne expedi- 
 tion; and how she won his love, and gave him up to his 
 enemies. The romantic figure of this woman, the power of 
 beauty, the whole story of Marie de Verneuil and the Marquis 
 
THE JEALOUSIES OF A COUNTRY TOWN 119 
 
 de Montauran, dazzled Suzanne, till, as she grew older, she 
 too longed to play with men’s lives. A few months after the 
 flight, she could not resist the desire to see her native place 
 again, on her way to Brittany with an artist. She wanted to 
 see. Fougéres, where the Marquis de Montauran met his 
 death; and thought of making a pilgrimage to the scenes of 
 stories told to her in childhood of that War in the West, so 
 little known even yet. She wished, besides, to revisit Alencon 
 with such splendor in her surroundings, and so completely 
 metamorphosed, that nobody should know her again. She in- 
 tended to put her mother beyond the reach of want in one 
 moment, and, in some tactful way, to send a sum of money 
 to poor Athanase—a sum which for genius in modern days is 
 the equivalent of a Rebecca’s gift of horse and armor to an 
 Ivanhoe of the Middle Ages. 
 
 A month went by. Opinions as to Mlle. Cormon’s marriage 
 fluctuated in the strangest way. There was an incredulous 
 section which strenuously denied the truth of the report, and 
 a party of believers who persistently affirmed it. At the end 
 of a fortnight, the doubters received a severe check. Du 
 Bousquier’s house was sold to M. de Troisville for forty-three 
 thousand francs. M. de Troisville meant to live quite quietly 
 in Alencon; he intended to return to Paris after the death 
 of the Princess Scherbelloff, but until the inheritance fell in 
 he would spend his time in looking after his estates. This 
 much appeared to be fact. But the doubting faction declined 
 to be crushed. Their assertion was that, married or no, du 
 Bousquier had done a capital stroke of business, for his house 
 only stood him in a matter of twenty-seven thousand francs. 
 The believers were taken aback by this peremptory decision 
 on the part of their opponents. “Choisnel, Mlle. Cormon’s 
 notary, had not heard a word of marriage settlements,” added 
 the incredulous. 
 
 But on the twentieth day the unshaken believers enjoyed | 
 a signal victory over the doubters. M. Lepresseur, the 
 Liberal notary, went to Mlle. Cormon’s house, and the con- 
 tract was signed. This was the first of many sacrifices 
 
120 THE JEALOUSIES OF A COUNTRY TOWN 
 
 which Rose made to her husband. The fact was that du 
 Bousquier detested Choisnel; he blamed the notary for Mlle. © 
 Armande’s refusal in the first place, as well as for his previous 
 rejection by Mlle. Cormon, who, as he believed, had followed 
 Mlle. Armande’s example. He managed Mlle. Cormon so 
 well, that she, noble-hearted woman, believing that she had 
 misjudged her future husband, wished to make reparation 
 for her doubts, and sacrificed her notary to her love. Still 
 she submitted the contract to Choisnel, and he—a man 
 worthy of Plutarch—defended Mlle. Cormon’s interests by 
 letter. This was the one cause of delay. 
 
 Mlle. Cormon received a good many anonymous letters. 
 She was informed, to her no small astonishment, that Suzanne 
 was as honest a woman as she was herself; and that the 
 seducer in the false toupet could not possibly have played the 
 part assigned to him in such an adventure. Mlle. Cormon 
 scorned anonymous letters; she wrote, however, to Suzanne 
 with a view to gaining light on the creeds of the Maternity 
 Society. Suzanne probably had heard of du Bousquier’s 
 approaching marriage; she confessed to her stratagem, sent 
 a thousand francs to the Fund, and damaged the forage-con- 
 tractor’s character very considerably. Mlle. Cormon called 
 an extraordinary meeting of the Maternity Charity, and the 
 assembled matrons passed a resolution that henceforward the 
 Fund should give help after and not before misfortunes 
 befell. 
 
 In spite of these proceedings, which supplied the town with 
 tidbits of gossip to discuss, the banns were published at the 
 church and the mayor’s office. It was Athanase’s duty to make 
 out the needful documents. The betrothed bride had gone 
 to the Prébaudet, a measure taken partly by way of conven- 
 tional modesty, partly for general security. Thither du Bous- 
 quier went every morning, fortified by atrocious and sumptu- 
 ous bouquets, returning in the evening to dinner. 
 
 At last, one gray rainy day in June, the wedding took place; 
 and Mlle. Cormon and the Sieur du Bousquier, as the in- 
 credulous faction called him, were married at the parish 
 
THE JEALOUSIES OF A COUNTRY TOWN 121 
 
 ehurch in the sight of all Alencon. Bride and bridegroom 
 drove to the mayor’s office, and afterwards to the church, in a 
 caléche—a splendid equipage for Alengcon. Du Bousquier had 
 it sent privately from Paris. The loss of the old cariole was 
 a kind of calamity for the whole town. The saddler of the 
 Porte de Séez lost an income of fifty francs per annum for 
 repairs; he lifted up his voice and wept. With dismay the 
 town of Alencon beheld the luxury introduced by the Maison 
 Cormon; every one feared a rise of prices all round, an in- 
 crease of house rent, an invasion of Paris furniture. There 
 were some whose curiosity pricked them to the point of giving 
 Jacquelin ten sous for a nearer sight of so startling an innova- 
 tion in a thrifty province. A pair of Normandy horses like- 
 wise caused much concern. 
 
 “Tf we buy horses for ourselves in this way, we shall not 
 sell them long to those that come to buy of us,” said du 
 Ronceret’s set. 
 
 The reasoning seemed profound, stupid though it was, in so 
 far as it prevented the district from securing a monopoly of 
 money from outside. In the political economy of the prov- 
 inces the wealth of nations consists not so much in a brisk 
 circulation of money as in hoards of unproductive coin. 
 
 At length the old maid’s fatal wish was fulfilled. Penelope 
 sank under the attack of pleurisy contracted forty days before 
 the wedding. Nothing could save her. Mme. Granson, Mari- 
 ette, Mme. du Coudrai, Mme. du Ronceret—the whole town, 
 in fact—noticed that the bride came into church with the 
 left foot foremost, an omen all the more alarming because the 
 word Left even then had acquired a political significance. 
 The officiating priest chanced to open the mass-book at the 
 De profundis. And so the wedding passed off, amid presages 
 so ominous, so gloomy, so overwhelming, that nobody was 
 found to augur well of it. Things went from bad to worse. 
 There was no attempt at a wedding party; the bride and 
 bridegroom started out for the Prébaudet. Paris fashions 
 were to supplant old customs! In the evening Alengon said 
 its say as to all these absurdities; some persons had reckoned 
 
122 THE JEALOUSIES OF A COUNTRY TOWN 
 
 upon one of the usual provincial jollifications, which they con- 
 sidered they had a right to expect, and these spoke their minds 
 pretty freely. But Mariette and Jacquelin had a merry wed- 
 ding, and they alone in all Alencon gainsaid the dismal proph- 
 ecies. 
 
 Bu Bousquier wished to spend the profit made by the sale 
 of his house on restoring and modernizing the Hotel Cormon. 
 He had quite made up his mind to stay for some months at 
 the Prébaudet, whither he brought his uncle de Sponde. The 
 news spread dismay through Alencon; every one felt that du 
 Bousquier was about to draw the country into the downward 
 path of domestic comfort. The foreboding grew to a fear one 
 morning when du Bousquier drove over from the Prébaudet 
 to superintend his workmen at the Val-Noble; and the towns- 
 people beheld a tilbury, harnessed to a new horse, and René 
 in livery by his master’s side. Du Bousquier had invested his 
 wife’s savings in the funds which stood at sixty-seven francs 
 fifty centimes. This was the first act of the new administra- 
 tion. In the space of one year, by constantly speculating for 
 a rise, he made for himself a fortune almost as considerable 
 as his wife’s. But something else happened in connection 
 with this marriage to make it seem yet more inauspicious, and 
 put all previous overwhelming portents and alarming innova- 
 tions into the background. 
 
 It was the evening of the wedding day. Athanase and his 
 mother were sitting in the salon by the little fire of brush- 
 wood (or régalades, as they say in the patois), which the 
 servant had lighted after dinner. 
 
 “Well,” said Mme. Granson, “we will go to President du 
 Ronceret’s to-night, now that we have no Mlle. Cormon. 
 Goodness me! I shall never get used to calling her Mme. du 
 Bousquier ; that name makes my lips sore.” 
 
 Athanase looked at his mother with a sad constraint; he 
 could not smile, and he wanted to acknowledge, as it were, 
 the artless thoughtfulness which soothed the wound it could 
 not heal. 
 
 “Mamma,” he began—it was several years since he had 
 
THH JEALOUSIES OF A COUNTRY TOWN 1238 
 
 used that word, and his tones were so gentle that they sounded 
 like the voice of his childhood—“‘mamma, dear, do not let us 
 go out just yet; it is so nice here by the fire!” 
 
 It was a supreme cry of mortal anguish; the mother heard 
 it and did not understand. 
 
 “Let us stay, child,’ she said. “I would certainly rather 
 talk with you and listen to your plans than play at boston and 
 perhaps lose my money.” 
 
 “You are beautiful to-night; I like to look at you. And 
 besides, the current of my thoughts is in harmony with this 
 poor little room, where we have been through so much trouble 
 —you and I.” 
 
 “And there is still more in store for us, poor Athanase, until 
 your work succeeds. For my own part, I am used to poverty ; 
 but, oh, my treasure, to look on and see your youth go by 
 while you have no joy of it! Nothing but work in your life! 
 That thought is like a disease for a mother. It tortures me 
 night and morning. I wake up to it. Ah, God in heaven! 
 what have I done? What sin of mine is punished with this?” 
 
 » She left her seat, took a little chair, and sat down beside 
 Athanase, nestling close up to his side, till she could lay her 
 head on her child’s breast. Where a mother is truly a mother, 
 the grace of love never dies. Athanase kissed her on the eyes, 
 on the gray hair, on the forehead, with the reverent love that 
 fain would lay the soul where the lips are laid. 
 
 “T shall never succeed,” he said, trying to hide the fatal 
 purpose which he was revolving in his mind. 
 
 “Pooh! you are not going to be discouraged? Mind can do 
 all things, as you say. With ten bottles of ink, ten reams of 
 paper, and a strong will, Luther turned Europe upside down. 
 Well, and you are going to make a great name for yourself; 
 you are going to use to good ends the powers which he used 
 for evil. Did you not say so? Now I remember what you 
 say, you see; I understand much more than you think; for 
 you still lie so close under my heart, that your least little 
 thought thrills through it, as your slightest movement did 
 once.” 
 
124 THE JEALOUSIES OF A COUNTRY TOWN 
 
 “T shall not succeed here, you see, mamma, and I will not 
 have you looking on while I am struggling and heartsore and — 
 in anguish. Mother, let me leave Alengon; I want to go 
 through it all away from you.” 
 
 “T want to be at your side always,” she said proudly. “Suf- 
 fering alone! you without your mother! your poor mother 
 that would be your servant if need were, and keep out of sight 
 for fear of injuring you, if you wished it, and never accuse 
 you of pride! No, no, Athanase, we will never be parted !” 
 
 Athanase put his arms about her and held her with a pas- 
 sionate tight clasp, as a dying man might cling to life. 
 
 “And yet I wish it,” he said. “If we do not part, it is all 
 over with me. . . . The double pain—yours and mine— 
 would kill me. It is better that I should live, is it not?” 
 
 Mme. Granson looked with haggard eyes into her son’s 
 face. 
 
 “So this is what you have been brooding over! They said 
 truth. Then you are going away?” 
 
 eV agi: 
 
 “But you are not going until you have told me all about it, 
 and without giving me any warning? You must have some 
 things to take with you, and money. ‘There are some louis 
 d’or sewed into my petticoat; you must have them.” 
 
 Athanase burst into tears. 
 
 “That was all that I wanted to tell you,” he said after a 
 while. “Now, I will see you to the President’s house.” 
 
 Mother and son went out together. Athanase left Mme. 
 Granson at the door of the house where she was to spend the 
 evening. He looked long at the shafts of light that escaped 
 through chinks in the shutters. He stood there glued to the 
 spot, while a quarter of an hour went by, and it was with 
 almost delirious joy that he heard his mother say, “Grand 
 independence of hearts.” 
 
 “Poor mother, I have deceived her!” he exclaimed to him- 
 self as he reached the river. 
 
 He came down to the tall poplar on the bank where he had 
 been wont to sit and meditate during the last six weeks. Two 
 
THE JHALOUSIES OF A COUNTRY TOWN 125 
 
 big stones lay there; he had brought them himself for a seat. 
 And now, looking out over the fair landscape lying in the 
 moonlight, he passed in review all the so glorious future that 
 should have been his. He went through cities stirred to en- 
 thusiasm by his name; he heard the cheers of crowded streets, 
 breathed the incense of banquets, looked with a great yearning 
 over that life of his dreams, rose uplifted and radiant in glori- 
 ‘ous triumph, raised a statue to himself, summoned up all his 
 illusions to bid them farewell in a last Olympian carouse. 
 The magic could only last for a little while; it fled, it had 
 vanished for ever. In that supreme moment he clung fo his 
 beautiful tree as if it had been a friend; then he put the 
 stones, one in either pocket, and buttoned his overcoat. His 
 hat he had purposely left at home. He went down the bank 
 to look for a deep spot which he had had in view for some 
 time; and slid in resolutely, trying to make as little noise as 
 possible. There was scarcely a sound. 
 
 When Mme. Granson came home about half-past nine that 
 night, the maid-of-all-work said nothing of Athanase, but 
 handed her a letter. Mme. Granson opened it and read: 
 
 “T have gone away, my kind mother; do not think hardly 
 of me.” That was all. 
 
 “A pretty thing he has done!” cried she. “And how about 
 his linen and the money? But he will write, and I shall find 
 him. The poor children always think themselves wiser than 
 their fathers and mothers.” And she went to bed with a quiet 
 mind. 
 
 The Sarthe had risen with yesterday’s rain. Fishers and 
 anglers were prepared for this, for the swollen river washes 
 down the eels from the little streams on its course. It so hap- 
 pened that an eel-catcher had set his lines over the very spot 
 where poor Athanase had chosen to drown himself, thinking 
 that he should never be heard of again; and next morning, 
 about six o’clock, the man drew out the young dead body. 
 
 One or two women among Mme. Granson’s few friends 
 went to prepare the poor widow with all possible care to re- 
 ceive the dreadful yield of the river. The news of the suicide, 
 
126 THE JEALOUSIES OF A COUNTRY TOWN 
 
 as might be expected, produced a tremendous sensation. Only 
 last evening the poverty-stricken man of genius had not a 
 single friend; the morning after his death scores of voices 
 cried, “I would so willingly have helped him!’ So easy is it 
 to play a charitable part when no outlay is involved. The 
 Chevalier de Valois, in the spirit of revenge, explained the 
 suicide. It was a boyish, sincere, and noble passion for Mlle. 
 Cormon that drove Athanase to take his own life. And when 
 the Chevalier had opened Mme. Granson’s eyes, she saw a 
 multitude of little things to confirm this view. ‘The story 
 grew touching; women cried over it. 
 
 Mme. Granson sorrowed with a dumb concentration of grief 
 which few understood. For mothers there are two ways of 
 bereavement. It often happens that every one else can under- 
 stand the greatness of her loss; her boy was admired and ap- 
 preciated, young or handsome, with fair prospects before him 
 or brilliant successes won already ; every one regrets him, every 
 one shares her mourning, and the grief that is widely spread 
 is not so hard to bear. ‘Then there is the loss that one under- 
 stands. No one else knew her boy and all that he was; his 
 smiles were for her alone; she, and she only, knew how much 
 perished with that life, too early cut short. Such sorrow hides 
 itself; beside that darkness other woe grows pale; no words 
 can describe it; and, happily, there are not many women who 
 know what it is to have those heart-strings finally severed. 
 
 Hven before Mme. du Bousquier came back to town, her 
 obliging friend, Mme. du Ronceret, went to fling a dead body 
 down among the roses of her new-wedded happiness, to let 
 her know what a love she had refused. Ever so gently the 
 Présidente squeezed a shower of drops of wormwood over the 
 honey of the first month of married life. And as Mme. du 
 Bousquier returned, it so happened that she met Mme. Gran- 
 son at the corner of the Val-Noble, and the look in the heart- 
 broken mother’s eyes cut her to the quick. It was a look from 
 a woman dying of grief, a thousand curses gathered up into 
 one glance of malediction, a thousand sparks in one gleam of 
 hate. It frightened Mme. du Bousquier; it boded ill, and in- 
 voked ill upon her. 
 
THD JEALOUSIES OF A COUNTRY TOWN 127 
 
 Mme. Granson had belonged to the party most opposed to 
 the curé; she was a bitter partisan of the priest of St. Leon- 
 ard’s; but on the very evening of the tragedy she thought of 
 the rigid orthodoxy of her own party, and she shuddered. She 
 herself laid her son in his shroud, thinking all the while of the 
 Mother of the Saviour ; then with a soul quivering with agony, 
 she betook herself to the house of the perjured priest. She 
 found him busy, the humble good man, storing the hemp and 
 flax which he gave to poor women and girls to spin, so that no 
 worker should ever want work, a piece of wise charity which 
 had saved more than one family that could not endure to beg. 
 He left his hemp at once and brought his visitor into the 
 dining-room, where the stricken mother saw the frugality of 
 her own housekeeping in the supper that stood waiting for the 
 curé. 
 
 “M. l’Abbé,” she began, “I have come to entreat you if 
 
 She burst into tears, and could not finish the sentence. 
 
 “T know why you have come,” answered the holy man, “and 
 I trust to you, madame, and to your relative Mme. du Bous- 
 quier to make it right with his Lordship at Séez. Yes, I will 
 pray for your unhappy boy; yes, I will say masses; but we 
 must avoid all scandal, we must give no occasion to ill-dis- 
 posed people to gather together in the church. . . . I 
 myself, alone, and at night 4 
 
 “Yes, yes, as you wish, if only he is laid in consecrated 
 ground !” she said, poor mother; and taking the priest’s hand 
 in hers, she kissed it. 
 
 And so, just before midnight, a bier was smuggled into the 
 parish church. Four young men, Athanase’s friends, carried 
 it. There were a few little groups of veiled and black-clad 
 women, Mme. Granson’s friends, and some seven or eight lads 
 that had been intimate with the dead. The bier was covered 
 with a pall, torches were lit at the corners, and the curé read 
 the office for the dead, with the help of one little choir boy 
 whom he could trust. Then the suicide was buried, noise- 
 lessly, in a corner of the churchyard, and a dark wooden cross 
 with no name upon it marked the grave for the mother. 
 Athanase lived and died in the shadow. 
 
 
 
 
 
128 THE JEALOUSIES OF A COUNTRY TOWN 
 
 Not a voice was raised against the curé; his Lordship at 
 Séez was silent ; the mother’s piety redeemed her son’s impious 
 deed. 
 
 Months afterwards, moved by the inexplicable thirst of sor- 
 row which drives the unhappy to steep their lips in their bitter 
 cup, the poor woman went to see the place where her son 
 drowned himself. Perhaps she felt instinctively that there 
 were thoughts to be gathered under the poplar tree; perhaps, 
 too, she longed to see all that his eyes had seen for the last 
 time. The sight of the spot would kill many a mother; while 
 again there are some who can kneel and worship there.—There 
 are truths on which the patient anatomist of human nature 
 cannot insist too much; verities against which education and 
 laws and systems of philosophy are shattered. It is absurd— 
 let us repeat it again and again—to try to lay down hard-and- 
 fast rules in matters of feeling; the personal element comes 
 in to modify feeling as it arises, and a man’s character in- 
 fluences his most instinctive actions. 
 
 Mme. Granson, by the river-side, saw a woman at some dis- 
 tance—a woman who came nearer, till she reached the fatal 
 spot, and exclaimed: 
 
 “Then this is the place !” 
 
 One other woman in the world wept there as the mother 
 was weeping, and that woman was Suzanne. She had heard 
 of the tragedy on her arrival that morning at the Three Moors. 
 If poor Athanase had been alive, she might have done what 
 poor and generous people dream of doing, and the rich never 
 think of putting in practice; she would have enclosed a thou- 
 sand francs with the words, “Money lent by your father to a 
 comrade who now repays you.” During her journey Suzanne 
 had thought of this angelic way of giving. She looked up 
 and saw Mme. Granson. 
 
 “T loved him,” she said; then she hurried away. 
 
 Suzanne, true to her nature, did not leave Alencon till she 
 had changed the bride’s wreath of orange flowers to water- 
 lilies. She was the first to assert that Mme. du Bousquier 
 would be Mlle. Cormon, as long as she lived. And with one 
 
THE JEALOUSIES OF A COUNTRY TOWN 129 
 
 jibe she avenged both Athanase and the dear Chevalier de 
 Valois. 
 
 Alengon beheld another and more piteous suicide. Athanase 
 was promptly forgotten by a world that willingly, and indeed 
 of necessity, forgets its dead as soon as possible; but the poor 
 Chevalier’s existence became a kind of death-in-life, a suicide 
 continued morning after morning during fourteen years. 
 Three months after du Bousquier’s marriage, people remarked, 
 not without astonishment, that the Chevalier’s linen was turn- 
 ing yellow, and his hair irregularly combed. M. de Valois was 
 no more, for a disheveled M. de Valois could not be said to be 
 himself. An ivory tooth here and there deserted from the 
 ranks, and no student of human nature could discover to what 
 corps they belonged, whether they were native or foreign, ani- 
 mal or vegetable ; nor whether, finally, they had been extracted 
 by old age, or were merely lying out of sight and out of mind 
 in the Chevalier’s dressing-table drawer. His cravat was 
 wisped, careless of elegance, into a cord. The negroes’ heads 
 grew pale for lack of soap and water. ‘The lines on the 
 Chevalier’s face deepened into wrinkles and darkened as his 
 complexion grew more and more like parchment ; his neglected 
 nails were sometimes adorned with an edge of black velvet. 
 Grains of snuff lay scattered like autumn leaves in the furrows 
 of his waistcoat. The cotton in his ears was but seldom re- 
 newed. Melancholy, brooding on his brow, spread her sallow 
 hues through his wrinkles; in short, time’s ravages, hitherto 
 so carefully repaired, began to appear in rifts and cracks in 
 the noble edifice. Here was proof of the power of the mind 
 over matter! The blond cavalier, the jewne premier, fell into 
 decay when hope failed. 
 
 Hitherto the Chevalier’s nose had made a peculiarly elegant 
 appearance in public; never had it been seen to distil a drop 
 of amber, to let fall a dark wafer of moist rappee; but now, 
 with a snuff-bedabbled border about the nostrils, and an un- 
 sightly stream taking advantage of the channel hollowed above 
 the upper lip, that nose, which no longer took pains to please, 
 revealed the immense trouble that the Chevalier must have 
 
130 THE JHALOUSIES OF A COUNTRY TOWN 
 
 formerly taken with himself. In this neglect you saw 
 the extent, the greatness and persistence of the man’s designs 
 upon Mlle. Cormon. The Chevalier was crushed by a pun 
 from du Coudrai, whose dismissal he however procured. It 
 was the first instance of vindictiveness on the part of the 
 urbane gentleman; but then the pun was atrocious, worse by 
 a hundred cubits than any other ever made by the registrar 
 of mortgages. M. du Coudrai, observing this nasal revolution, 
 had nicknamed the Chevalier “Nérestan” (nez-restant). 
 
 Latterly the Chevalier’s witticisms had been few and far 
 between ; the anecdotes went the way of the teeth, but his appe- 
 tite continued as good as ever; out of the great shipwreck of 
 hopes he saved nothing but his digestion; and while he took 
 his snuff feebly, he despatched his dinner with an avidity 
 alarming to behold. You may mark the extent of the havoc 
 wrought in his ideas in the fact that his colloquies with the 
 Princess Goritza grew less and less frequent. He came to 
 Mlle. Armande’s one day with a false calf in front of his shins. 
 The bankruptcy of elegance was something painful, I protest ; 
 all Alencon was shocked by it. It scared society to see an 
 elderly young man drop suddenly into his dotage, and from 
 sheer depression of spirits pass from fifty to ninety years. 
 And besides, he had betrayed his secret. He had been waiting 
 and lying in wait for Mlle. Cormon. For ten long years, per- 
 severing sportsman that he was, he had been stalking the 
 game, and he had missed his shot. The impotent Republic 
 had won a victory over a valiant Aristocracy, and that in full 
 flood of Restoration! The sham had triumphed over the real; 
 spirit was vanquished by matter, diplomacy by insurrection ; 
 and as a final misfortune, a grisette in an outbreak of bad 
 temper, let out the secret of the Chevalier’s levées ! 
 
 At once he became a man of the worst character. The 
 Liberal party laid all du Bousquier’s foundlings on the Cheva- 
 lier’s doorstep, while the Faubourg Saint-Germain of Alencon 
 boastingly accepted them; laughed and cried, “The dear 
 Chevalier! What else could he do?” Saint-Germain pitied 
 the Chevalier, took him to its bosom, and smiled more than 
 
THE JEALOUSIES OF A COUNTRY TOWN 131 
 
 ever upon him; while an appailing amount of unpopularity 
 was drawn down upon du Bousquier’s head. Hleven persons 
 seceded from the salon Cormon and went over to the d’Hs- 
 grignons. 
 
 But the especial result of the marriage was a more sharply- 
 marked division of parties in Alengon. The Maison d’Hs- 
 grignon represented undiluted aristocracy ; for the Troisvilles 
 on their return joined the clique. The Maison Cormon, skil- 
 fully influenced by du Bousquier, was not exactly Liberal, 
 nor yet resolutely Royalist, but of that unlucky shade of 
 opinion which produced the 221 members, so soon as the po- 
 litical struggle took a definite shape, and the greatest, most 
 august, and only real power of Kingship came into collision 
 with that most false, fickle, and tyrannical power which, when 
 wielded by an elective body, is known as the power of Parlia- 
 ment. 
 
 The third salon, the salon du Ronceret, out and out Radical 
 in its politics, was secretly allied with the Maison Cormon. 
 
 With the return from the Prébaudet, a life of continual 
 suffering began for the Abbé de Sponde. He kept all that he 
 endured locked within his soul, uttering not a word of com- 
 plaint to his niece; but to Mlle. Armande he opened his heart, 
 admitting that taking one folly with another, he should have 
 preferred the Chevalier. M. de Valois would not have had 
 the bad taste to thwart a feeble old man with but a few days 
 to live. Du Bousquier had pulled the old home to pieces. 
 
 “Mademoiselle,” the old ‘Abbé said as the thin tears fell 
 from his faded old eyes, “the lime-tree walk, where I have 
 been used to meditate these fifty years, is gone. My dear lime- 
 trees have all been cut down! Just as I am nearing the end 
 of my days the Republic has come back again in the shape of 
 a horrible revolution in the house.” 
 
 “Your niece must be forgiven,’ said the Chevalier de- 
 Valois. “Republicanism is a youthful error; youth goes out 
 to seek for liberty, and finds tyranny in its worst form—the 
 tyranny of the impotent rabble. Your niece, poor thing, has 
 not been punished by the thing wherein she sinned.” 
 
132 THE JEALOUSIES OF A COUNTRY TOWN 
 
 “What is to become of me in a house with naked women 
 dancing all over the walls? Where shall I find the lime-tree 
 walks where I used to read my breviary ?” 
 
 Like Kant, who lost the thread of his ideas when somebody 
 cut down the fir-tree on which he fixed his eyes as he medi- 
 tated, the good Abbé pacing up and down the shadowless al- 
 leys could not say his prayers with the same uplifting of soul. 
 Du Bousquier had laid out an English garden! 
 
 “Tt looked nicer,’ Mme. du Bousquier said. Not that she 
 really thought so, but the Abbé Couturier had authorized her 
 to say and do a good many things that she might please her 
 husband. 
 
 With the restoration, all the glory departed from the old 
 house, and all its quaint, cheerful, old-world look. If the 
 Chevalier de Valois’ neglect of his person might be taken as 
 a sort of abdication, the bourgeois majesty of the salon Cor- 
 mon passed away when the drawing-room was decorated with 
 white and gold; and blue silk curtains and mahogany otto- 
 mans made their appearance. In the dining-room, fitted up 
 in the modern style, the dishes were somehow not so hot, nor 
 the dinners quite what they had been. M. du Coudrai said 
 that the puns stuck fast in his throat when he saw the painted 
 figures on the walls and felt their eyes upon him. Without, 
 the house was provincial as ever; within, the forage-contractor 
 of the Directory made himself everywhere felt. All over the 
 house you saw the stockbroker’s bad taste; stucco pilasters, 
 glass doors, classic cornices, arid decoration—a medley: of 
 every imaginable style and ill-assorted magnificence. 
 
 Alengon criticised such unheard-of luxury for a fortnight, 
 and grew proud of it at the end of a few months. Several 
 rich manufacturers refurnished their houses in consequence, 
 and set up fine drawing-rooms. Modern furniture made its 
 appearance; astral lamps might even be seen in some places. 
 
 The Abbé de Sponde was the first to see the unhappiness 
 which lay beneath the surface of his dear child’s married life. 
 The old dignified simplicity which ruled their way of living 
 was gone; du Bousquier gave two balls every month in the 
 
THE JEALOUSIES OF A COUNTRY TOWN 138 
 
 course of the first winter. The venerable house—oh, to think 
 of it!—echoed with the sound of violins and worldly gaiety. 
 The Abbé, on his knees, prayed while the merriment lasted. 
 _ The politics of the sober salon underwent a gradual change 
 for the worse. The Abbé de Sponde divined du Bousquier ; 
 he shuddered at his nephew’s dictatorial tone. He saw tears 
 in his niece’s eyes when the disposal of her fortune was taken 
 out of her hands; her husband left her only the control of 
 the linen, the table, and such things as fall to a woman’s lot. 
 Rose had no more orders to give. Jacquelin, now coachman 
 exclusively, took his orders from no one but his master; René, 
 the groom, did likewise, so did the man-cook imported from 
 Paris; Mariette was only the kitchen-maid; and Mme. du 
 Bousquier had no one to tyrannize over but Josette. 
 
 Does any one know how much it costs to give up the de- 
 licious exercise of authority? If the triumph of will is one of 
 the most intoxicating of the great man’s joys, to have one’s 
 own way is the whole hfe of narrow natures. No one but a 
 cabinet minister fallen into disgrace can sympathize with 
 Mme. du Bousquier’s bitter pain when she saw herself reduced 
 to a cipher in her own house. She often drove out when she 
 would rather have stayed at home; she saw company which 
 she did not like; she who had been free to spend as she pleased, 
 and had never spent at all, had lost the control of the money 
 which she loved. Impose limits, and who does not wish to go 
 beyond them? Is there any sharper suffering than that which 
 comes of thwarted will? 
 
 But these beginnings were the roses of life. Every con- 
 cession was counseled by poor Rose’s love for her husband, 
 and at first du Bousquier behaved admirably to his wife. He 
 was very good to her; he brought forward sufficient reasons 
 for every encroachment. The room, so long left empty, echoed 
 with the voices of husband and wife in fireside talk. And so, 
 for the first few years of married life, Mme. du Bousquier 
 wore a face of content, and that little air of emancipation 
 and mystery often seen in a young wife after a marriage of 
 
 love. She had no more trouble with “heated blood.” This 
 
134 THE JEALOUSIES OF A COUNTRY TOWN 
 
 countenance of hers routed scoffers, gave the lie to gossip con- 
 cerning du Bousquier, and put observers of human nature at 
 fault. 
 
 Rose Marie Victoire was so afraid lest she should lose her 
 husband’s affection or drive him from her side by setting her 
 will against his, that she would have made any sacrifice, even 
 of her uncle if need be. And the Abbé de Sponde, deceived 
 by Mme. du Bousquier’s poor foolish little joys, bore his own 
 discomforts the more easily for the thought that his niece was 
 happy. 
 
 At first Alencon shared this impression. But there was 
 one man less easy to deceive than all the rest of Alengon put 
 together. The Chevalier de Valois had taken refuge on the 
 Mons Sacer of the most aristocratic section, and spent his time 
 with the d’Esgrignons. He lent an ear to the scandal and 
 tittle-tattle ; night and day he studied how to have his revenge 
 before he died. The perpetrator of puns had been already 
 brought low, and he meant to stab du Bousquier to the heart. 
 
 The poor Abbé, knowing as he did the cowardliness of his 
 niece’s first and last love, shuddered as he guessed his nephew’s 
 hypocritical nature and the man’s intrigues. Du Bousquier, 
 be it said, put some constraint upon himself; he had an eye 
 to the Abbé’s property, and had no wish to annoy his wife’s 
 uncle in any way, yet he dealt the old man his death-blow. 
 
 If you can translate the word Intolerance by Firmness of 
 Principle; if you can forbear to condemn in the old Roman 
 Catholic Vicar-General that stoicism which Scott has taught 
 us to revere in Jeanie Deans’ Puritan father; if, finally, you 
 can recognize in the Roman Church the nobility of a Potius 
 mor. quam fedart which you admire in a Republican—then 
 you can understand the anguish that rent the great Abbé de 
 Sponde when he saw the apostate in his nephew’s drawing- 
 room ; when he was compelled to meet the renegade, the back- 
 slider, the enemy of the Church, the aider and abettor of the 
 Oath to the Constitution. It was du Bousquier’s private ambi- 
 tion to lord it over the countryside; and as a first proof of his 
 power, he determined to reconcile the officiating priest of St. 
 
 a 
 
THH JEALOUSIES OF A COUNTRY TOWN 135 
 
 Leonard’s with the curé of Alencon. He gained his object. 
 His wife imagined that peace had been made where the stern 
 Abbé saw no peace, but surrender of principle. M. de Sponde 
 was left alone in the faith. The Bishop came to du Bous- 
 quier’s house, and appeared satisfied with the cessation of hos- 
 tilities. The Abbé Francois’ goodness had conquered every 
 one—every one except the old Roman of the Roman Church, 
 who might have cried with Cornélie, “Ah, God! what virtues 
 you make me hate!” The Abbé de Sponde died when ortho- 
 doxy expired in the diocese. 
 
 In 1819 the Abbé de Sponde’s property raised Mme. du 
 Bousquier’s income from land to twenty-five thousand livres 
 without counting the Prébaudet or the house in the Val- 
 Noble. About the same time du Bousquier returned the 
 amount of his wife’s savings (which she had made over to 
 him), and instructed her to invest the moneys in purchases 
 of land near the Prébaudet, so that the estate, including the 
 Abbé de Sponde’s adjoining property, was one of the largest 
 in the department. As for du Bousquier, he invested his 
 money with the Kellers, and made a journey to Paris four 
 times a year. Nobody knew the exact amount of his private 
 fortune, but at this time he was supposed to be one of the 
 wealthiest men in the department of the Orne. A dexterous 
 man, and the permanent candidate of the Liberal party, he 
 always lost his election by seven or eight votes under the 
 Restoration. Ostensibly he repudiated his connection with 
 the Liberals, offering himself as a Ministerial-Royalist candi- 
 date; but although he succeeded in gaining the support of 
 the Congrégation and of the magistrature, the repugnance of 
 the administration was too strong to be overcome. 
 
 Then the rabid Republican, frantic with ambition, con- 
 ceived the idea of beginning a struggle with the Royalism 
 and Aristocracy of the country, just as they were carrying all 
 before them. He gained the support of the clergy by an ap- 
 pearance of piety very skilfully kept up; always going with 
 his wife to mass, giving money to the convents, and support- 
 ing the confraternity of the Sacré-Coeur; and whenever a dis- 
 
136 THE JEALOUSIES OF A COUNTRY TOWN 
 
 pute arose between the clergy and the town, or the department, 
 or the State, he was very careful to take the clerical side. 
 And so, while secretly supported by the Liberals, he gained 
 the influence of the Church; and as a Constitutional-Royalist 
 kept close beside the aristocratic section, the better to ruin 
 it. And ruin it he did. He was always on the watch for any 
 mistake on the part of those high in rank or in office under 
 the Government; with the support of the bourgeoisie he car- 
 ried out all the improvements which the nobles and officials 
 ought to have undertaken and directed, if the imbecile jeal- 
 ousies of place had not frustrated their efforts. Constitu- 
 tional opinion carried him through in the affair of the curé, 
 in the theatre question, and in all the various schemes of im- 
 provement which du Bousquier first prompted the Liberals to 
 make, and afterwards supported in the course of debate, de- 
 claring himself in favor of any measures for the good of the 
 country. He brought about an industrial revolution; and his 
 detestation of certain families on the highroad to Brittany 
 rapidly increased the material prosperity of the province. 
 
 And so he paved the way for his revenge upon the gens @ 
 chateaux in general, and the d’Esgrignons in particular; 
 some day, not so very far distant, he would plunge a poisoned 
 blade into the very heart of the clique. He found capital to 
 revive the manufacture of point d’Alencon and to increase the 
 linen trade. Alengon began to spin its own flax by machinery. 
 And while his name was associated with all these interests, 
 and written in the hearts of the masses, while he did all that 
 Royalty left undone, du Bousquier risked not a farthing of 
 his own. With his means, he could afford to wait while 
 enterprising men with little capital were obliged to give up 
 and leave the results of their labors to luckier successors. He 
 posed as a banker. A Laffitte on a small scale, he became a 
 sleeping partner in all new inventions, taking security for his 
 money. And as a public benefactor, he did remarkably well 
 for himself. He was a promoter of insurance companies, a 
 patron of new public conveyances; he got up memorials for 
 necessary roads and bridges. The authorities, being left be- 
 
THE JEALOUSIES OF A COUNTRY TOWN 137 
 
 hind in this way, regarded this activity in the light of an en- 
 croachment; they blundered, and put themselves in the 
 wrong, for the prefecture was obliged to give way for the good 
 of the country. 
 
 Du Bousquier embittered the provincial noblesse against 
 the court nobles and the peerage. He helped, in short, to 
 bring it to pass that a very large body of Constitutional- 
 Royalists supported the Journal des Débats and M. de Cha- 
 teaubriand in a contest with the throne. It was an ungrateful 
 opposition based on ignoble motives which contributed to 
 bring about the triumph of the bourgeoisie and the press in 
 1830. Wherefore du Bousquier, like those whom he repre- 
 sented, had the pleasure of watching a funeral procession of 
 Royalty* pass through their district without a single demon- 
 stration of sympathy from a population alienated from them 
 in ways so numerous that they cannot be indicated here. 
 
 Then the old Republican, with all that weight of masses 
 on his conscience, hauled down the white flag above the town- 
 hall amid the applause of the people. For fifteen years he 
 had acted a part to satisfy his vendetta, and no man in France 
 beholding the new throne raised in August 1830 could feel 
 more intoxicated than he with the joy of revenge. For him, 
 the succession of the younger branch meant the triumph of the 
 Revolution ; for him, the hoisting of the Tricolor flag was the 
 resurrection of the Mountain; and this time the nobles should 
 be brought low by a surer method than the guillotine, in that 
 its action should be less violent. A peerage for life only; a Na- 
 tional Guard which stretches the marquis and the grocer from 
 the corner shop on the same camp bed; the abolition of entail 
 demanded by a bourgeois barrister; a Catholic Church de- 
 prived of its supremacy; in short, all the legislative inven- 
 tions of August 1830 simply meant for du Bousquier the 
 principles of 1793 carried out in a most ingenious manner. 
 
 Du Bousquier has been receiver-general of taxes since 1830. 
 He relied for success upon his old connections with Egalité 
 Orléans (father of Louis Philippe) and M. de Folman, stew- 
 
 *Charles X. on his way to England. 
 
138 THE JEALOUSIES OF A COUNTRY TOWN 
 
 ard of the Dowager Duchess. He is supposed to have an in- 
 come of eighty thousand livres. In the eyes of his fellow- 
 countrymen, Monsieur du Bousquier is a man of substance, 
 honorable, upright, obliging, unswerving in his principles. 
 To him, Alengon owes her participation in the industrial 
 movement which makes her, as it were, the first link in a 
 chain which some day perhaps may bind Brittany to the state 
 of things which we nickname “modern civilization.”’ In 1816 
 Alengon boasted but two carriages, properly speaking; ten 
 years afterwards, caléches, coupés, landaus, cabriolets, and 
 tilburies were rolling about the streets without causing any 
 astonishment. At first the townsmen and landowners were 
 alarmed by the rise of prices, afterwards they discovered that 
 the increased expenditure produced a corresponding increase 
 in their incomes. | 
 
 Du Ronceret’s prophetic words, ““Du Bousquier is a very 
 strong man,” were now taken up by the country. But, unfor- 
 tunately for du Bousquier’s wife, the remark is a shocking 
 misnomer. Du Bousquier the husband is a very different 
 person from du Bousquier the public man and politician. The 
 great citizen, so liberal in his opinions, so easy humored, so 
 full of love for his country, is a despot at home, and has not 
 a particle of love for his wife. The Cromwell of the Val-Noble 
 is profoundly astute, hypocritical, and crafty; he behaves to 
 those of his own household as he behaved to the aristocrats on 
 whom he fawned, until he could cut their throats. Like his 
 friend Bernadotte, he has an iron hand in a velvet glove. His 
 wife gave him no children. Suzanne’s epigram, and the 
 Chevalier de Valois’ insinuations, were justified ; but the Lib- 
 erals and Constitutional-Royalists among the townspeople, 
 the little squires, the magistrature, and the “clericals” (as the 
 Constitutionnel used to say), all threw the blame upon Mme. 
 du Bousquier. M. du Bousquier had married such an elderly 
 wife, they said; and besides, how lucky it was for her, poor 
 thing, for at her age bearing a child meant such a risk. If, 
 in periodically recurrent despair, Mme. du Bousquier confided 
 her troubles with tears to Mme. du Coudrai or Mme. du 
 Ronceret-— 
 
THE JEALOUSIES OF A COUNTRY TOWN 139 
 
 “Why you must be mad, dear!” those ladies would reply. 
 “You do not know what you want; a child would be the death 
 of you.” 
 
 Men like M. du Coudrai, who followed du Bousquier’s lead 
 because they fastened their hopes to his success, would prompt 
 their wives to sing du Bousquier’s praises; and Rose must 
 listen to speeches that wounded like a stab. 
 
 “You are very fortunate, dear, to have such a capable hus- 
 band; some men have no energy, and can neither manage 
 their own property nor bring up their children ; you are spared 
 these troubles.” 
 
 Or, “Your husband is making you queen of the district, 
 fair lady. He will never leave you at a loss; he does every- 
 thing in Alencon.” 
 
 “But I should like him to take less trouble for the public 
 and rather is 
 
 “My dear Mme. du Bousquier, you are very hard to please ; 
 all the women envy you your husband.” 
 
 Unjustly treated by a world which condemned her without 
 a hearing, she found ample scope for the exercise of Christian 
 virtues in her inner life. She who lived in tears always 
 turned a serene face upon the world. For her, pious soul, 
 was there not sin in the thought which was always pecking at 
 her heart—“I loved the Chevalier de Valois, and I am du 
 Bousquier’s wife!” Athanase’s love rose up like a remorse to 
 haunt her dreams. After her uncle’s death and the revelation 
 of all that he had suffered, the future grew yet more dreadful 
 as she thought how grieved he would have been by such 
 changes of political and religious doctrine. Unhappiness often 
 falls like a thunderbolt, as upon Mme. Granson, for instance ; 
 but Rose’s misery gradually widened out before her as a drop 
 of oil spreads over stuff, slowly saturating every fibre. 
 
 The Chevalier de Valois was the malignant artificer of her 
 misfortune. He had it on his mind to snatch his opportunity 
 and undeceive Mme. du Bousquier as to one of her articles of 
 faith ; for the Chevalier, a man of experience, saw through du 
 Bousquier the married man, as he had seen through du Bous- 
 
 
 
140 THE JEALOUSIES OF A COUNTRY TOWN 
 
 quier the bachelor. But it was not easy to take the astute ~ 
 Republican by surprise. His salon, naturally, was closed to 
 the Chevalier de Valois, as to all others who discontinued 
 their visits to the Maison Cormon at the time of his marriage. 
 And besides, du Bousquier was above the reach of ridicule; 
 he possessed an immense fortune, he was king of Alengon; 
 and as for his wife, he cared about her much as Richard III. 
 might have cared for the loss of the horse with which he 
 thought to win the battle. To please her husband, Mme. du 
 Bousquier had broken with the Maison d’Esgrignon, but some- 
 times, when he was away at Paris for a few days, she paid 
 Mlle. Armande a visit. 
 
 Two years after Mme. du Bousquier’s marriage, just at the 
 time of the Abbé’s death, Mlle. Armande went up to her as 
 she came out of church. Both women had been to St. Leon- 
 ard’s to hear a messe novre said for M. de Sponde; and Mlle. 
 Armande, a generous-natured woman, thinking that she ought 
 to try to comfort the weeping heiress, walked with her as far 
 as the Parade. From the Parade, still talking of the beloved 
 and lost, they came to the forbidden Hotel d’Esgrignon, and 
 Mlle. Armande drew Mme. du Bousquier into the house by 
 the charm of her talk. Perhaps the poor broken-hearted 
 woman loved to speak of her uncle with some one whom her 
 uncle had loved so well. And besides, she wished to receive 
 the old Marquis’ greetings after an interval of nearly three 
 years. it was half-past one o’clock; the Chevalier de Valois 
 had come to dinner, and with a bow he held out both hands. 
 
 “Ah! well, dear, good, and well-beloved lady,” he said trem- 
 ulously, “we have lost our sainted friend. Your mourning is 
 ours. Yes; your loss is felt as deeply here as under your roof 
 —more deeply,” he added, alluding to du Bousquier. 
 
 A funeral oration followed, to which every one contributed 
 his phrase; then the Chevalier, gallantly taking the lady’s 
 hand, drew it under his arm, pressed it in the most adorable 
 way, and led her aside into the embrasure of a window. 
 
 “You are happy, at any rate?” he asked with a fatherly tone 
 in his voice. 
 
THE JEALOUSIES OF A COUNTRY TOWN 141 
 
 “Yes,” she said, lowering her eyes. 
 
 Hearing that “Yes,” Mme. de Troisville (daughter of the 
 Princess Scherbelloff) and the old Marquise de Castéran came 
 up; Mile. Armande also joined them, and the group took a 
 turn in the garden till dinner should be ready. Mme. du 
 Bousquier was so stupid with grief that she did not notice 
 that a little conspiracy of curiosity was on foot among the 
 ladies. 
 
 “We have her here, let us find out the answer to the riddle,” 
 the glances exchanged among them seemed to say. 
 
 “You should have children to make your happiness com- 
 plete,’ began Mlle. Armande, “a fine boy like my nephew 
 
 23 
 
 Tears came to Mme. du Bousquier’s eyes. 
 
 “YT have heard it said that it was entirely your own fault 
 if you had none,” said the Chevalier, “that you were afraid of 
 the risk.” 
 
 “I!” she cried, innocently; “I would endure a hundred 
 years in hell to have a child.” 
 
 The subject thus broached, Mme. la Vicomtesse de Trois- 
 ville and the dowager Marquise de Castéran steered the con- 
 versation with such exceeding tact, that they entangled poor 
 Rose until, all unsuspectingly, she revealed the secrets of her 
 married life. Mlle. Armande laid her hand on the Chevalier’s 
 arm, and they left the three matrons to talk confidentially. 
 Then Mme. du Bousquier’s mind was disabused with regard 
 to the deception of her marriage; and as she was still “a 
 natural,’ she amused her confidantes with her irresistible 
 naiveté. Before long the whole town was in the secret of du 
 Bousquier’s manceuvres, and knew that Mlle. Cormon’s mar- 
 riage was a mockery; but after the first burst of laughter, 
 Mme. du Bousquier gained the esteem and sympathy of every 
 woman in it. While Mlle. Cormon rushed unsuccessfully at 
 opportunities of establishing herself, every one had laughed ; 
 but people admired her when they knew the position in which 
 she was placed by the severity of her religious principles. 
 “Poor, dear Mile. Cormon!” was replaced by “poor Mme. du 
 Bousquier |” 
 
142 THE JEALOUSIES OF A COUNTRY TOWN 
 
 In this way the Chevalier made du Bousquier both ridicu- 
 lous and very unpopular for a while, but the ridicule died 
 down with time; the slander languished when everybody had 
 cut his joke; and besides, it seemed to many persons that the 
 mute Republican had a right to retire at the age of fifty-seven. 
 But if du Bousquier previously hated the Maison d’Hsgrignon, 
 this incident so increased his rancor that he was pitiless after- 
 wards in the day of vengeance. Mme. du Bousquier received 
 orders never to set foot in that house again; and by way of 
 reprisals, he inserted the following paragraph in the Orne 
 Courier, his own new paper: 
 
 “A REWARD of rente to bring in a thousand francs will be 
 paid to any person who shall prove that one M. de Pombreton 
 existed either before or after the Emigration.” 
 
 Though Mme. du Bousquier’s happiness was essentially 
 negative, she saw that her marriage had its advantages. Was 
 it not better to take an interest in the most remarkable man 
 in the place than to live alone? After all, du Bousquier was 
 better than the dogs, cats, and canaries on which old maids 
 centre their affections; and his feeling for his wife was some- 
 thing more genuine and disinterested than the attachment 
 of servants, confessors, and legacy-hunters. At a still later 
 period she looked upon her husband as an instrument in God’s 
 hands to punish her for the innumerable sins which she dis- 
 covered in her desires for marriage; she regarded herself as 
 justly rewarded for the misery which she had brought on 
 Mme. Granson, and for hastening her own uncle’s end. Obedi- 
 ent to a religious faith which bade her kiss the rod, she praised 
 her husband in public; but in the confessional, or over her 
 prayers at night, she often wept and entreated God to pardon 
 the apostate who said one thing and thought another, who 
 wished for the destruction of the order of nobles and the 
 Church, the two religions of the Maison Cormon. Living in 
 an uncongenial atmosphere, compelled to suppress herself, 
 compelled likewise by a sense of duty to make her husband 
 
THE JEALOUSIES OF A COUNTRY TOWN 143 
 
 happy, and to injure him in nothing, she became attached to 
 him with an indefinable affection, perhaps the result of use 
 and wont. Her life was a perpetual contradiction. She felt 
 the strongest aversion for the conduct and opinions of the 
 man she had married, and yet it was her duty to take a tender 
 interest in him; and if, as often happened, du Bousquier ate 
 her preserves, or thought that the dinner was good, she was 
 in the seventh heaven. She saw that his comfort was secured 
 even in the smallest details. If he left the wrapper of his 
 newspaper on the table, there it must remain. 
 
 “Leave it, René,’ she would say, “the master had some 
 reason for putting it there.” 
 
 Did du Bousquier go on a journey? She fidgeted over his 
 traveling cloak and his linen; she took the most minute pre- 
 cautions for his material comfort. If he was going over to the 
 Prébaudet, she began to consult the weather glass twenty-four 
 hours beforehand. A sleeping dog has eyes and ears for his 
 master, and so it was with Mme. du Bousquier; she used to 
 watch the expression of her husband’s face to read his wishes. 
 And if that burly personage, vanquished by duty-prescribed 
 love, caught her by the waist and kissed her on the forehead, 
 exclaiming, ““You are a good woman!” tears of joy filled the 
 poor creature’s eyes. It is probable that du Bousquier felt it 
 incumbent upon him to make compensations which won Rose 
 Marie Victoire’s respect ; for the Church does not require that 
 an assumption of wifely devotion should be carried quite so 
 far as Mme. du Bousquier thought necessary. And yet when 
 she listened to the rancorous talk of men who took Constitu- 
 tional-Royalism as a cloak for their real opinions, the woman 
 of saintly life uttered not a word. She foresaw the downfall 
 of the Church, and shuddered. Very occasionally she would 
 hazard some foolish remark, promptly cut in two by a look 
 from du Bousquier. In the end this life at cross-purposes had 
 a benumbing influence on Mme. du Bousquier’s wits; she 
 found it both simpler and more dignified to keep her mind to 
 herself, and led outwardly a mere animal existence. She grew 
 slavishly submissive, making a virtue of the abject condition 
 
144 THE JEALOUSIES OF A COUNTRY TOWN 
 
 to which her husband*had reduced her; she did her husband’s 
 will without murmuring in the least. The timid sheep walked 
 in the way marked out by the shepherd; never leaving the 
 bosom of the Church, practising austerities, without a thought 
 of the Devil, his pomps and works. And so, within herself 
 she united the purest Christian virtues, and du Bousquier 
 truly was one of the luckiest men in the kingdom of France 
 and Navarre. 
 
 “She will be a simpleton till her last sigh,” said the cruel 
 ex-registrar (now cashiered). But, all the same, he dined 
 at her table twice a week. 
 
 The’story would be singularly incomplete if it omitted to 
 mention a last coincidence; the Chevalier de Valois and 
 Suzanne’s mother died at the same time. 
 
 The Chevalier died with the Monarchy in August 1830. 
 He went to Nonancourt to join the funeral procession ; piously 
 making one of the King’s escort to Cherbourg, with the Trois- 
 villes, Castérans, d’Esgrignons, Verneuils, and the rest. He 
 had brought with him his little hoard of savings and the 
 principal which brought him in his annual income, some fifty 
 thousand franes in all, which he offered to a faithful friend 
 of the elder branch to convey to His Majesty. His own death 
 was very near, he said; the money had come to him through 
 the King’s bounty; and, after all, the property of the last of 
 the Valois belonged to the Crown. History does not say 
 whether the Chevalier’s fervent zeal overcame the repugnance 
 of the Bourbon who left his fair kingdom of France without 
 taking one farthing into exile; but the King surely must 
 have been touched by the old noble’s devotion; and this much 
 is at least certain—Césarine, M. de Valois’ universal legatee, 
 inherited scarcely six hundred livres of income at his death. 
 The Chevalier came back to Alencon, broken-hearted and 
 spent with the fatigue of the journey, to die just as Charles 
 X. set foot on foreign soil. 
 
 Mme. du Val-Noble and her journalist protector, fearing 
 reprisals from the Liberals, were glad of an excuse to return 
 wncognito to the village where the old mother died. Suzanne 
 
THE JEALOUSIES OF A COUNTRY TOWN 145 
 
 attended the sale of the Chevalier’s furniture to buy some relic 
 of her first good friend, and ran up the price of the snuff-box 
 to the enormous amount of a thousand francs. The Princess 
 Goritza’s portrait alone was worth that sum. ‘T'wo years 
 afterwards, a young man of fashion, struck with its marvelous 
 workmanship, obtained it of Suzanne for his collection of 
 fine eighteenth century snuff-boxes; and so the delicate toy 
 which had been the confidant of the most courtly of love 
 affairs, and the delight of an old age till its very end, is now 
 brought into the semi-publicity of a collection. If the dead 
 could know what is done after they are gone, there would be 
 a flush at this moment on the Chevalier’s left cheek. 
 
 If this history should inspire owners of sacred relics with 
 a holy fear, and set them drafting codicils to provide for the 
 fate of such precious souvenirs of a happiness now no more, 
 by giving them into sympathetic hands; even so an enormous 
 service would have been rendered to the chivalrous and senti- 
 mental section of the public; but it contains another and a 
 much more exalted moral. . . . Does it not show that a 
 new branch of education is needed? Is it not an appeal to 
 the so enlightened solicitude of Ministers of Public Instruc- 
 tion to create chairs of anthropology, a science in which Ger- 
 many is outstripping us? 
 
 Modern myths are even less understood of the people than 
 ancient myths, eaten up with myths though we may be. 
 Fables crowd in upon us on every side, allegory is pressed into 
 service on all occasions to explain everything. If fables are 
 the torches of history, as the humanist school maintains, they 
 may be a means of securing empires from revolution, if only 
 professors of history will undertake that their interpretations 
 thereof shall permeate the masses in the departments. If 
 Mlle. Cormon had had some knowledge of literature; if there 
 had been a professor of anthropology in the department of 
 the Orne; if (a final if) she had read her Ariosto, would the 
 appalling misfortune of her marriage have befallen her? She 
 would, perhaps, have found out for herself why the Italian 
 poet makes his heroine Angelica prefer Medoro (a suave 
 
146 THE JEALOUSIES OF A COUNTRY TOWN 
 Chevalier de Valois) to Orlando, who had lost his mare, and 
 could do nothing but work himself into a fury. Might not 
 Medoro be taken as an allegorical figure as the courtier of 
 woman’s sovereignty, whereas Orlando is revolution personi- 
 fied, an undisciplined, furious, purely destructive force, in- 
 capable of producing anything? ‘This is the opinion of one 
 of M. Ballanche’s pupils; we publish it, declining all respon- 
 sibility. 
 
 As for the tiny negroes’ heads, no information of any kind 
 concerning them is forthcoming. Mme. du Val-Noble you 
 may see any day at the Opera. Thanks to the primary edu- 
 cation given to her by the Chevalier de Valois, she looks al- 
 most like a woman who makes a necessity of virtue, while in 
 truth she only exists by virtue of necessity. 
 
 Mme. du Bousquier is still living, which is to say, is it not, 
 that her troubles are not yet over? At sixty, when women 
 can permit themselves to make admissions, talking confiden- 
 tially to Mme. du Coudrai, whose husband was reinstated in 
 August 1830, she said that the thought that she must die with- 
 out knowing what it was to be a wife and mother was more 
 than she could bear. 
 
 PARIs, October 1836. 
 
THE JHALOUSIES OF A COUNTRY TOWN 147 
 
 THE COLLECTION OF ANTIQUITIES 
 
 To Baron Von Hammer-Purgstall 
 Member of the Aulic Council, Author of the History of the 
 
 Ottoman Empire. 
 
 Dear Baron,—You have taken so warm an interest in my long, 
 vast “History of French Manners in the Nineteenth Century,” 
 you have given me so much encouragement to persevere with 
 my work, that you have given me a right to associate your name 
 with some portion of it. Are you not one of the most important 
 representatives of conscientious, studious Germany? Will not 
 your approval win for me the approval of others, and protect 
 this attempt of mine? So proud am I to have gained your good 
 opinion, that I have striven to deserve it by continuing my labors 
 with the unflagging courage characteristic of your methods of 
 study, and of that exhaustive research among documents with- 
 out which you could never have given your monumental work 
 to the world of letters. Your sympathy with such labor as you 
 yourself have bestowed upon the most brilliant civilization of 
 the East, has often sustained my ardor through nights of toil 
 given to the details of our modern civilization. And will not 
 you, whose naive kindliness can only be compared with that 
 of our own La Fontaine, be glad to know of this? 
 
 May this token of my respect for you and your work find you 
 at Dobling, dear Baron, and put you and yours in mind of one 
 of your most sincere admirers and friends. DE BALZAC, 
 
148 THE JEALOUSIES OF A COUNTRY TOWN 
 
 ' Turmre stands a house at a corner of a street, in the middle 
 of a town, in one of the least important prefectures in France, 
 but the name of the street and the name of the town must be 
 suppressed here. Every one will appreciate the motives of 
 this sage reticence demanded by convention; for if a writer 
 takes upon himself the office of annalist of his own time, he is 
 bound to touch on many sore subjects. The house was called 
 the Hétel d’Esgrignon; but let d’Esgrignon be considered a 
 mere fancy name, neither more nor less connected with real 
 people than the conventional Belval, Floricour, or Derville of 
 
 the stage, or the Adalberts and Mombreuses of romance. After — 
 
 all, the names of the principal characters will be quite as 
 much disguised; for though in this history the chronicler 
 
 would prefer to conceal the facts under a mass of contradic- 
 
 tions, anachronisms, improbabilities, and absurdities, the 
 truth will out in spite of him. You uproot a vine-stock, as 
 you imagine, and the stem will send up lusty shoots after you 
 have ploughed your vineyard over. 
 
 The “Hotel d’Esgrignon” was nothing more nor less than 
 the house in which the old Marquis lived; or, in the style of 
 ancient documents, Charles Marie Victor Ange Carol, Marquis 
 d’Esgrignon. It was only an ordinary house, but the towns- 
 people and tradesmen had begun by calling it the Hdtel 
 d’Esgrignon in jest, and ended after a score of years by giv- 
 ing it that name in earnest. 
 
 The name of Carol, or Karawl, as the Thierrys would have 
 spelt it, was glorious among the names of the most powerful 
 chieftains of the Northmen who conquered Gaul and estab- 
 lished the feudal system there. Never had Carol bent his head 
 before King or Communes, the Church or Finance. In- 
 trusted in the days of yore with the keeping of a French 
 March, the title of marquis in their family meant no shadow 
 of imaginary office; it had been a post of honor with duties to 
 discharge. Their fief had always been their domain. Pro- 
 vincial nobles were they in every sense of the word; they 
 might boast of an unbroken line of great descent; they had 
 been neglected by the court for two hundred years; they were 
 
 Se a a ae ee 
 
THE JEALOUSIES OF A COUNTRY TOWN 149 
 
 lords paramount in the estates of a province where the people 
 looked up to them with superstitious awe, as to the image 
 of the Holy Virgin that cures the toothache. The house of 
 d’Esgrignon, buried in its remote border country, was pre- 
 served as the charred piles of one of Cesar’s bridges are 
 maintained intact in a river bed. For thirteen hundred 
 years the daughters of the house had been married without a 
 dowry or taken the veil; the younger sons of every genera- 
 tion had been content with their share of their mother’s 
 dower and gone forth to be captains or bishops; some had 
 made a marriage at court; one cadet of the house became an 
 admiral, a duke, and a peer of France, and died without issue. 
 Never would the Marquis d’Esgrignon of the elder branch ac- 
 cept the title of duke. 
 . “I hold my marquisate as His Majesty holds the realm of 
 France, and on the same conditions,” he told the Constable 
 de Luynes, a very paltry fellow in his eyes at that time. 
 You may be sure that d’Hsgrignons lost their heads on the 
 scaffold during the troubles. The old blood showed itself 
 proud and high even in 1789. The Marquis of that day 
 would not emigrate; he was answerable for his March. The 
 reverence in which he was held by the countryside saved his 
 head; but the hatred of the genuine sans-culottes was strong 
 _ enough to compel him to pretend to fly, and for a while he 
 _ lived in hiding. Then, in the name of the Sovereign People, 
 the d’Esgrignon lands were dishonored by the District, and 
 _ the woods sold by the Nation in spite of the personal protest 
 ' made by the Marquis, then turned of forty. Mlle. 
 _ dEsgrignon, his half-sister, saved some portions of the fief, 
 _ thanks to the young steward of the family, who claimed on 
 her behalf the partage de présuccession, which is to say, the 
 _ right of a relative to a portion of an émigré’s lands. To 
 - Mile. d’Esgrignon, therefore, the Republic made over the 
 castle itself and a few farms. Chesnel, the faithful steward, 
 _ was obliged to buy in his own name the church, the parsonage 
 house, the castle gardens, and other places to which his 
 patron was attached—-the Marquis advancing the money. 
 
150 THE JEALOUSIES OF A COUNTRY TOWN 
 
 The slow, swift years of the Terror went by, and the Mar- 
 quis, whose character had won the respect of the whole 
 country, decided that he and his sister ought to return to the 
 castle and improve the property which Maitre Chesnel—for 
 he was now a notary—had contrived to save for them out of 
 the wreck. Alas! was not the plundered and dismantled 
 castle all too vast for a lord of the manor shorn of all his 
 ancient rights; too large for the landowner whose woods had 
 been sold piecemeal, until he could scarce draw nine thousand 
 franes of income from the pickings of his old estates? 
 
 It was in the month of October 1800 that Chesnel brought 
 the Marquis back to the old feudal castle, and saw with deep 
 emotion, almost beyond control, his patron standing in the 
 midst of the empty courtyard, gazing round upon the moat, - 
 now filled up with rubbish, and the castle towers razed to 
 the level of the roof. The descendant of the Franks looked 
 for the missing Gothic turrets and the picturesque weather 
 vanes which used to rise above them; and his eyes turned to 
 the sky, as if asking of heaven the reason of this social up- 
 heaval. No one but Chesnel could understand the profound 
 anguish of the great d’Esgrignon, now known as Citizen 
 Carol. For a long while the Marquis stood in silence, drink- 
 ing in the influences of the place, the ancient home of his 
 forefathers, with the air that he breathed; then he flung out 
 a most melancholy exclamation. 
 
 “Chesnel,” he said, “we will come back again some day 
 when the troubles are over; I could not bring myself to live 
 here until the edict of pacification has been published; they 
 will not allow me to set my scutcheon on the wall.” 
 
 He waved his hand toward the castle, mounted his horse, 
 and rode back beside his sister, who had driven over in the 
 notary’s shabby basket-chaise. 
 
 The Hotel d’Esgrignon in the town had been demolished ; 
 a couple of factories now stood on the site of the aristocrat’s 
 house. So Maitre Chesnel spent the Marquis’ last bag of 
 louis on the purchase of the old-fashioned, building in the 
 square, with its gables, weather-vane, turret, and dovecote. 
 
THE JEALOUSIES OF A COUNTRY TOWN 151 
 
 Once it had been the courthouse of the bailiwick, and sub- 
 sequently the présidial; it had belonged to the d’Esgrignons 
 from generation to generation; and now, in consideration of 
 five hundred louis d’or, the present owner made it over with 
 the title given by the Nation to its rightful lord. And so, 
 half in jest, half in earnest, the old house was christened the 
 Hotel d’Esgrignon. 
 
 In 1800 little or no difficulty was made over erasing names 
 from the fatal list, and some few émigrés began to return. 
 Among the very first nobles to come back to the old town were 
 the Baron de Nouastre and his daughter. They were com- 
 pletely ruined. M. d’Esgrignon generously offered them the 
 shelter of his roof; and in his house, two months later, the 
 Baron died, worn out with grief. The Nouastres came of the 
 best blood of the province; Mlle. de Nouastre was a girl of 
 two-and-twenty; the Marquis d’Esgrignon married her to 
 continue his line. But she died in childbirth, a victim to the 
 unskilfulness of her physician, leaving, most fortunately, a 
 son to bear the name of the d’Esgrignons. The old Marquis 
 —he was but fifty-three, but adversity and sharp distress hae 
 added months to every year—the poor old Marquis saw the 
 death of the loveliest of human creatures, a noble woman ir 
 whom the charm of the feminine figures of the sixteentk 
 century lived again, a charm now lost save to men’s imagina-~ 
 tions. With her death the joy died out of his old age. It 
 was one of those terrible shocks which reverberate through 
 every moment of the years that follow. For a few moments 
 he stood beside the bed where his wife lay, with her hands 
 folded like a saint, then he kissed her on the forehead, turned. 
 away, drew out his watch, broke the mainspring, and hung 
 it up beside the hearth. It was eleven o’clock in the 
 morning. 
 
 “Mlle. @’Esgrignon,” he said, “let us pray God that this 
 hour may not prove fatal yet again to our house. My uncle 
 the archbishop was murdered at this hour; at this hour also 
 my father died. ‘i 
 
 He knelt down beside the bed and buried his face in the 
 
 
 
152 THE JEALOUSIES OF A COUNTRY TOWN 
 
 coverlet; his sister did the same, in another moment they 
 both rose to their feet. Mlle. d’Esgrignon burst into 
 tears; but the old Marquis looked with dry eyes at the 
 child, round the room, and again on his dead wife. 
 To the stubbornness of the Frank he united the fortitude of a 
 Christian. 
 
 These things came to pass in the second year of the nine- 
 teenth century. Mlle. d’Hsgrignon was then twenty-seven 
 years of age. She was a beautiful woman. An ex-contractor 
 for forage to the armies of the Republic, a man of the district, 
 with an income of six thousand francs, persuaded Chesnel to 
 carry a proposal of marriage to the lady. The Marquis and 
 his sister were alike indignant with such presumption in their 
 man of business, and Chesnel was almost heartbroken; he 
 could not forgive himself for yielding to the Sieur du 
 Croisier’s blandishments. The Marquis’ manner with his old 
 servant changed somewhat; never again was there quite the 
 old affectionate kindliness, which might almost have been 
 taken for friendship. From that time forth the Marquis was 
 grateful, and his magnanimous and sincere gratitude con- 
 tinually wounded the poor notary’s feelings. To some 
 sublime natures gratitude seems an excessive payment; they 
 would rather have that sweet equality of feeling which springs 
 from similar ways of thought, and the blending of two spirits 
 by their own choice and will. And Maitre Chesnel had 
 known the delights of such high friendship; the Marquis had 
 raised him to his own level. The old noble looked on the good 
 notary as something more than a servant, something less than 
 a child; he was the voluntary liege man of the house, a 
 serf bound to his lord by all the ties of affection. There was 
 no balancing of obligations; the sincere affection on either 
 side put them out of the question. 
 
 In the eyes of the Marquis, Chesnel’s official dignity was 
 as nothing; his old servitor was merely disguised as a notary. 
 As for Chesnel, the Marquis was now, as always, a being of a 
 divine race; he believed in nobility; he did not blush to re- 
 member that his father had thrown open the doors of the 
 salon to announce that “My Lord Marquis is served.” His 
 
THB JEALOUSIES OF A COUNTRY TOWN 153 
 
 devotion to the fallen house was due not so much io his creed 
 as to egoism; he looked on himself as one of the family. So 
 his vexation was intense. Once he had ventured to allude to 
 _ his mistake in spite of the Marquis’ prohibition, and the old 
 noble answered gravely—“Chesnel, before the troubles you 
 would not have permitted yourself to entertain such injurious 
 suppositions. What can these new doctrines be if they have 
 spoiled you?” 
 
 Maitre Chesnel Aad gained the confidence of the whole 
 town; people looked up to him; his high integrity and con- 
 siderable fortune contributed to make isn a person of im- 
 portance. From that time forth he felt a very decided 
 aversion for the Sieur du Croisier; and though there was 
 little rancor in his composition, he set others against the 
 sometime forage-contractor. Du Croisier, on the other hand, 
 was a man to bear a grudge and nurse a vengeance for a 
 score of years. He hated Chesnel and the d’Esgrignon family 
 with the smothered, all-absorbing hate only to be found in a 
 country town. His rebuff had simply ruined him with the: 
 malicious provincials among whom he had come to live, think- 
 ing to rule over them. It was so real a disaster that he was 
 not long in feeling the consequences of it. He betook himself 
 in desperation to a wealthy old maid, and met with a second 
 refusal. Thus failed the ambitious schemes with which he 
 had started. He had lost his hope of a marriage with Mlle. 
 d@’Esgrignon, which would have opened the Faubourg Saint- 
 Germain of the province to him; and after the second re- 
 jection, his credit fell away to such an extent that it was 
 almost as much as he could do to keep his position in the 
 second rank. 
 
 In 1805, M. de la Roche-Guyon, the oldest son of an ancient 
 family which had previously intermarried with the 
 d’Esgrignons, made proposals in form through Maitre Chesnel 
 for Mlle. Marie Armande Claire d’Esgrignon. She declined 
 to hear the notary. 
 
 “You must have guessed before now that I am a mother, 
 dear Chesnel,” she said; she had just put her nephew, a fine 
 little boy of five, to bed. 
 
154 THE JEALOUSIES OF A COUNTRY TOWN 
 
 The old Marquis rose and went up to his sister, but just 
 returned from the cradle; he kissed her hand reverently, and 
 as he sat down again, found words to say: 
 
 “My sister, you are a d’Esgrignon.” 
 
 A quiver ran through the noble girl; the tears stood in her 
 eyes. M. d’Esgrignon, the father of the present Marquis, had 
 married a second wife, the daughter of a farmer of taxes 
 ennobled by Louis XIV. It was a shocking mésalliance in 
 the eyes of his family, but fortunately of no importance, 
 since a daughter was the one child of the marriage. Armande 
 knew this. Kind as her brother had always been, he looked 
 on her as a stranger in blood. And this speech of his had 
 just recognized her as one of the family. 
 
 And was not her answer the worthy crown of eleven years 
 of her noble life? Her every action since she came of age had 
 borne the stamp of the purest devotion; love for her brother 
 was a sort of religion with her. 
 
 “T shall die Mlle. d’Esgrignon,” she said simply, turning 
 to the notary. 
 
 “For you there could be no fairer title,” returned Chesnel, 
 meaning to convey a compliment. Poor Mlle. d’Hsgrignon 
 reddened. 
 
 “You have blundered, Chesnel,” said the Marquis, flattered 
 by the steward’s words, but vexed that his sister had been 
 hurt. “A d’Esgrignon may marry a Montmorency; their 
 descent is not so pure as ours. The d’Esgrignons bear or, 
 two bends, gules,’ he continued, “and nothing during nine 
 hundred years has changed their scutcheon; as it was at first, 
 so it is to-day. Hence our device, Cuil est nostre, taken at a 
 tournament in, the reign of Philip Augustus, with the sup- 
 porters, a knight in armor or on the right, and a lion gules 
 on the left.” 
 
 “I do not remember that any woman I have ever met has 
 struck my imagination as Mlle. d’Esgrignon did,” said Emile 
 Blondet, to whom contemporary literature is indebted for 
 this history among other things. “Truth to tell, I was a 
 
THE JEALOUSIES OF A COUNTRY TOWN 155 
 
 boy, a mere child at the time, and perhaps my memory-pict- 
 ures of her owe something of their vivid color to a boy’s 
 natural turn for the marvelous. 
 
 “Tf I was playing with other children on the Parade, and 
 she came to walk there with her nephew Victurnien, the 
 sight of her in the distance thrilled me with very much the 
 effect of galvanism on a dead body. Child as I was, I felt 
 as though new life had been given me. 
 
 “Mlle. Armande had hair of tawny gold; there was a deli- 
 cate fine down on her cheek, with a silver gleam upon it which 
 I loved to catch, putting myself so that I could see the out- 
 lines of her face lit up by the daylight, and feel the fascina- 
 tion of those dreamy emerald eyes, which sent a flash of fire 
 through me whenever they fell upon my face. I used to pre- 
 tend to roll on the grass before her in our games, only to try 
 to reach her little feet, and admire them on a closer view. 
 The soft whiteness of her skin, her delicate features, the 
 clearly cut lines of her forehead, the grace of her slender 
 figure, took me with a sense of surprise, while as yet I did not 
 know that her shape was graceful, nor her brows beautiful, 
 nor the outline of her face a perfect oval. I admired as 
 children pray at that age, without too clearly understanding 
 why they pray. When my piercing gaze attracted her notice, 
 when she asked me (in that musical voice of hers, with more 
 volume in it, as it seemed to me, than all other voices), ‘What 
 are you doing, little one? Why do you look at me?’—I used 
 to come nearer and wriggle and bite my finger-nails, and 
 redden and say, ‘I do not know.’ And if she chanced to 
 stroke my hair with her white hand, and ask me how old I 
 was, I would run away and call from a distance, ‘Eleven !’ 
 
 “Every princess and fairy of my visions, as I read the 
 Arabian Nights, looked and walked like Mlle. d’Esgrignon ; 
 and afterwards, when my drawing-master gave me heads from 
 the antique to copy, I noticed that their hair was braided like 
 Mile. d’Esgrignon’s. Still later, when the foolish fancies had 
 vanished one by one, Mlle. Armande remained vaguely in my 
 memory as a type; that Mlle. Armande for whom men made 
 
156 THH JEALOUSIES OF A COUNTRY TOWN 
 
 way respectfully, following the tall brown-robed figure with 
 their eyes along the Parade and out of sight. Her ex- © 
 quisitely graceful form, the rounded curves sometimes revealed 
 by a chance gust of wind, and always visible to my eyes in 
 spite of the ample folds of stuff, revisited my young man’s 
 dreams. Later yet, when I came to think seriously over cer- 
 tain mysteries of human thought, it seemed to me that the 
 feeling of reverence was first inspired in me by something 
 expressed in Mlle. d’Esgrignon’s face and bearing. ‘The won- 
 derful calm of her face, the suppressed passion in it, the 
 dignity of her movements, the saintly hfe of duties fulfilled, 
 —all this touched and awed me. Children are more suscepti- 
 ble than people imagine to the subtle influences of ideas; 
 they never make game of real dignity; they feel the charm of 
 real graciousness, and beauty attracts them, for childhood it- 
 self is beautiful, and there are mysterious ties between things 
 of the same nature. 
 
 “Mlle. d’Esgrignon was one of my religions. To this day 
 I can never climb the staircase of some old manor-house but 
 my foolish imagination must needs picture Mlle. Armande 
 standing there, like the spirit of feudalism. I can never read 
 old chronicles but she appears before my eyes in the shape of 
 some famous woman of old times; she is Agnés Sorel, Marie 
 Touchet, Gabrielle; and I lend her all the love that was lost 
 in her heart, all the love that she never expressed. The 
 angel shape seen in glimpses through the haze of childish 
 fancies visits me now sometimes across the mists of 
 dreams.” ue 
 
 Keep this portrait in mind.} it is a faithful picture and 
 sketch of character. Mlle. d’Esgrignon is one of the most in- 
 structive figures in this story; she affords an example of the 
 mischief that may be done by the purest goodness for lack 
 of intelligence. 
 
 ‘Two-thirds of the émigrés returned to France during 1804 
 and 1805, and almost every exile from the Marquis d’Esgri- 
 gnon’s province came back to the land of his fathers. There 
 
THE JEALOUSIES OF A COUNTRY TOWN 157 
 
 were certainly defections. Men of good birth entered the 
 service of Napoleon, and went into the army or held places 
 at the Imperial court, and others made alliances with the 
 upstart families. All those who cast in their lots with the 
 Hmpire retrieved their fortunes and recovered their estates, 
 thanks to the Emperor’s munificence; and these for the most 
 part went to Paris and stayed there. But some eight or nine 
 families still remained true to the proscribed noblesse and 
 loyal to the fallen monarchy. The La Roche-Guyons, 
 Nouastres, Verneuils, Castérans, Troisvilles, and the rest were 
 some of them rich, some of them poor; but money, more or 
 less, scarcely counted for anything among them. ‘They took 
 an antiquarian view of themselves; for them the age and 
 preservation of the pedigree was the one all-important mat- 
 ter; precisely as, for an amateur, the weight of metal in a 
 coin is a small matter in comparison with clean lettering, a 
 flawless stamp, and high antiquity. Of these families, the 
 Marquis d’Esgrignon was the acknowledged head. His house 
 became their cénacle. There His Majesty, Emperor and 
 King, was never anything but “M. de Bonaparte” ; there “the 
 King” meant Louis XVIII., then at Mittau; there the*De- 
 partment was still the Province, and the prefecture the im- 
 tendance. 
 
 The Marquis was honored among them for his admirable 
 behavior, his loyalty as a noble, his undaunted courage; even 
 as he was respected throughout the town for his misfortunes, 
 his fortitude, his steadfast adherence to his political convic- 
 tions. ‘The man so admirable in adversity was invested with 
 all the majesty of ruined greatness. His chivalrous fair- 
 mindedness was so well known, that litigants many a time had 
 referred their disputes to him for arbitration. All gently 
 bred Imperalists and the authorities themselves showed as 
 much indulgence for his prejudices as respect for his personal 
 character; but there was another and a large section of the 
 new society which was destined to be known after the Res- 
 toration as the Liberal party; and these, with du Croisier as 
 their unacknowledged head, laughed at an aristocratic oasis 
 
158 THE JEALOUSIES OF A COUNTRY TOWN 
 
 which nobody might enter without proof of irreproachable 
 descent. Their animosity was all the more bitter because 
 honest country squires and the higher officials, with a good 
 many worthy folk in the town, were of the opinion that ali 
 the best society thereof was to be found in the Marquis 
 d’Esgrignon’s salon. The prefect himself, the Emperor’s 
 chamberlain, made overtures to the d’Esgrignons, humbly 
 sending his wife (a Grandlieu) as ambassadress. 
 
 Wherefore, those excluded from the miniature provincial 
 Faubourg Saint-Germain nicknamed the salon “The Collec- 
 tion of Antiquities,’ and called the Marquis himself “M. 
 Carol.” The receiver of taxes, for instance, addressed his 
 applications to “M. Carol (ci-devant des Grignons),” mali- 
 ciously adopting the obsolete way of spelling. 
 
 “For my own part,” said Hmile Blondet, “if I try to recall 
 my childhood memories, I remember that the nickname of‘Col- 
 lection of Antiquities’ always made me laugh, in spite of 
 my respect—my love, I ought to say—for Mlle. d’Esgrignon. 
 The Hotel d’Esgrignon stood at the angle of two of the 
 busiest thoroughfares in the town, and not five hundred paces 
 away from the market place. Two of the drawing-room 
 windows looked upon the street and two upon the square; 
 the room was like a glass cage, every one who came past could 
 look through it from side to side. I was only a boy of twelve 
 at the time, but I thought, even then, that the salon was one 
 of those rare curiosities which seem, when you come to think 
 of them afterwards, to le just on the borderland between 
 reality and dreams, so that, you can scarcely tell to which 
 side they most belong. 
 
 “The room, the ancient Hall of Audience, stood above a 
 row of cellars with grated air-holes, once the prison cells of 
 the old court-house, now converted into a kitchen. I do not 
 know that the magnificent lofty chimney-piece of the Louvre, 
 with its marvelous carving, seemed more wonderful 
 to me than the vast open hearth of the salon d’Esgrignon 
 when I saw it for the first time. It was covered like a 
 
THE JEALOUSIES OF A COUNTRY TOWN 159 
 
 melon with a network of tracery. Over it stood an equestrian 
 portrait of Henri III., under whom the ancient duchy of ap- 
 panage reverted to the crown; it was a great picture executed 
 _ in low relief, and set in a carved and gilded frame. The ceil- 
 ing spaces between the chestnut cross-beams in the fine old 
 roof were decorated with scroll-work patterns; there was a 
 little faded gilding still left along the angles. The walls 
 were covered with Flemish tapestry, six scenes from the 
 Judgment of Solomon, framed in golden garlands, with satyrs 
 and cupids playing among the leaves. The parquet floor 
 had been laid down by the present Marquis, and Chesnel had 
 picked up the furniture at sales of the wreckage of old cha- 
 teaux between 1793 and 1795; so that there were Louis 
 Quatorze consoles, tables, clock-cases, andirons, candle-sconces 
 and tapestry-covered chairs, which marvelously completed a 
 stately room, large out of all proportion to the house. 
 Luckily, however, there was an equally lofty ante-chamber, 
 the ancient Salle des Pas Perdus of the présidial, which 
 communicated likewise with the magistrate’s deliberating 
 chamber, used by the d’Esgrignons as a dining-room. 
 “Beneath the old paneling, amid the threadbare braveries 
 of a bygone day, some eight or ten dowagers were drawn up 
 in state in a quavering line; some with palsied heads, others 
 dark and shriveled like mummies; some erect and stiff, others 
 bowed and bent, but all of them tricked out in more or less 
 fantastic costumes as far as possible removed from the fashion 
 of the day, with be-ribboned caps above their curled and 
 powdered ‘heads,’ and old discolored lace. No painter how- 
 ever earnest, no caricature however wild, ever caught the 
 haunting fascination of those aged women; they come back to 
 me in dreams; their puckered faces shape themselves in 
 my memory whenever I meet an old woman who puts me in 
 mind of them by some faint resemblance of dress or feature. 
 And whether it is that misfortune has initiated me into the 
 secrets of irremediable and overwhelming disaster; whether 
 that I have come to understand the whole range of human 
 feelings, and, best of all, the thoughts of Old Age and Regret ; 
 
160 THE JEALOUSIES OF A COUNTRY TOWN 
 
 whatever the reason, nowhere and never again have I seen 
 among the living or in the faces of the dying the wan look of 
 certain gray eyes that I remember, nor the dreadful bright- 
 ness of others that were black. 
 
 “Neither Hoffmann nor Maturin, the two weirdest imagina- 
 tions of our time, ever gave me such a thrill of terror as I 
 used to feel when I watched the automaton movements of 
 those bodies sheathed in whalebone. The paint on actors’ 
 . faces never caused me a shock; I could see below it the rouge 
 in grain, the rouge de naissance, to quote a comrade at least 
 as malicious as I can be. Years had leveled those women’s 
 faces, and at the same time furrowed them with wrinkles, till 
 they looked like the heads on wooden nutcrackers carved in 
 Germany. Peeping in through the window-panes, I gazed at 
 the battered bodies, and ill-jointed limbs (how they were 
 fastened together, and, indeed, their whole anatomy was a 
 mystery I never attempted to explain) ; I saw the lantern jaws, 
 the protuberant bones, the abnormal development of the hips; 
 and the movements of these figures as they came and went 
 seemed to me no whit less extraordinary than their sepulchral 
 immobility as they sat round the card-tables. 
 
 “The men looked gray and faded like the ancient tapestries 
 on the wall, in dress they were much more like the men of 
 the day, but even they were not altogether convincingly alive. 
 Their white hair, their withered waxen-hued faces, their de- 
 vastated foreheads and pale eyes, revealed their kinship to 
 the women, and neutralized any effects of reality borrowed 
 from their costume. 
 
 “The very certainty of finding all these folk seated at or 
 among the tables every day at the same hours invested them at 
 length in my eyes with a sort of spectacular interest as it 
 were; there was something theatrical, something unearthly 
 about them. 
 
 “Whenever, in after times, | have gone through museums 
 of old furniture in Paris, London, Munich, or Vienna, with 
 the gray-headed custodian who shows you the splendors of 
 time past, I have peopled the rooms with figures from the 
 
THE JEALOUSIES OF A COUNTRY TOWN 161 
 
 Collection of Antiquities. Often, as little schoolboys of 
 eight or ten we used to propose to go and take a look at 
 the curiosities in their glass cage, for the fun of the thing. 
 But as soon as I caught sight of Mlle. Armande’s sweet face, 
 I used to tremble; and there was a trace of jealousy in my ad- 
 miration for the lovely child Victurnien, who belonged, as we 
 all instinctively felt, to a different and higher order of being 
 from our own. It struck me as something indescribably 
 strange that the young fresh creature should be there in that 
 cemetery awakened before the time. We could not have ex- 
 plained our thoughts to ourselves, yet we felt that we were 
 bourgeois and insignificant in the presence of that proud 
 court.” 
 
 The disasters of 1813 and 1814, which brought about the 
 downfall of Napoleon, gave new life to the Collection of Antiq- 
 uities, and what was more than life, the hope of recovering 
 their past importance; but the events of 1815, the troubles of 
 the foreign occupation, and the vacillating policy of the 
 Government until the fall of M. Decazes, all contributed to 
 defer the fulfilment of the expectations of the personages so 
 vividly described by Blondet. This story, therefore, only be- 
 gins to shape itself in 1822. 
 
 In 1822 the Marquis d’Esgrignon’s fortunes had not im- 
 proved in spite of the changes worked by the Restoration in 
 the condition of émigrés. Of all nobles hardly hit by Revolu- 
 tionary legislation, his case was the hardest. Like other 
 great families, the d’Esgrignons before 1789 derived the 
 greater part of their income from their rights as lords of the 
 manor in the shape of dues paid by those who held of them ; 
 and, naturally, the old seigneurs had reduced the size of the 
 holdings in order to swell the amounts paid in quit-rents and 
 heriots. Families in this position were hopelessly ruined. 
 They were not affected by the ordinance by which Louis 
 XVIII. put the émigrés into possession of such of their lands 
 as had not been sold; and at a later date it was impossible 
 that the law of indemnity should indemnify them. Their sup- 
 
162 THE JEALOUSIES OF A COUNTRY TOWN 
 
 pressed rights, as everybody knows, were revived in the shape 
 of a land tax known by the very name of domaines, but the 
 money went into the coffers of the State. 
 
 The Marquis by his position belonged to that small section 
 of the Royalist party which would hear of no kind of com- 
 promise with those whom they styled, not Revolutionaries, but 
 revolted subjects, or, in more parliamentary language, they 
 had no dealings with Liberals or Constitutionnels. Such 
 Royalists, nicknamed Ultras by the opposition, took for 
 leaders and heroes those courageous orators of the Right, who 
 from the very beginning attempted, with M. de Polignac, to 
 protest against the charter granted by Louis XVIII. This 
 they regarded as an ill-advised edict extorted from the Crown 
 by the necessity of the moment, only to be annulled later on. 
 And, therefore, so far from co-operating with the King to 
 bring about a new condition of things, the Marquis d’Esgri- 
 gnon stood aloof, an upholder of the straitest sect of the 
 Right in politics, until such time as his vast fortune should 
 be restored to him. Nor did he so much as admit the thought 
 of the indemnity which filled the minds of the Villéle minis- 
 try, and formed a part of a design of strengthening the 
 Crown by putting an end to those fatal distinctions of owner- 
 ship which still lingered on in spite of legislation. 
 
 The miracles of the Restoration of 1814, the still greater 
 miracle of Napoleon’s return in 1815, the portents of a 
 second flight of the Bourbons, and a second reinstatement 
 (that almost fabulous phase of contemporary history), all 
 these things took the Marquis by surprise at the age of sixty- 
 seven. At that time of life, the most high-spirited men of 
 their age were not so much vanquished as worn 
 out in the struggle with the Revolution; their activity, 
 in their remote provincial retreats, had turned into a 
 passionately held and immovable conviction; and _ al- 
 most all of them were shut in by the enervating, easy round 
 of daily hfe in the country. Could worse luck befall a 
 political party than this—to be represented by old men at a 
 time when its ideas are already stigmatized as old-fashioned ? 
 
THE JHALOUSIES OF A COUNTRY TOWN 163 
 
 When the legitimate sovereign appeared to be firmly seated 
 on the throne again in 1818, the Marquis asked himself what 
 a man of seventy should do at court; and what duties, what 
 office he could discharge there? The noble and high-minded 
 d’Esgrignon was fain to be content with the triumph of the 
 Monarchy and Religion, while he waited for the results of 
 that unhoped-for, indecisive victory, which proved to be sim- 
 ply an armistice. He continued as before, lord-paramount 
 of his salon, so felicitously named the Collection of 
 Antiquities. 
 
 But when the victors of 1793 became the vanquished in 
 their turn, the nickname given at first in jest began to be used 
 in bitter earnest. The town was no more free than other 
 country towns from the hatreds and jealousies bred of party 
 spirit. Du Croisier, contrary to all expectation, married the 
 
 rich old maid who had refused him at first; carrying her off 
 
 from his rival, the darling of the aristocratic quarter, a cer- 
 tain Chevalier whose illustrious name will be sufficiently hid- 
 den by suppressing it altogether, in accordance with the 
 usage formerly adopted in the place itself, where he was 
 known by his title only. He was “the Chevalier” in the 
 town, as the Comte d’Artois was ““Monsieur” at court. Now, 
 not only had. that marriage produced a war after the pro- 
 vincial manner, in which all weapons are fair; it had hastened 
 the separation of the great and little noblesse, of the aristo- 
 cratic and bourgeois social elements, which had been united 
 for a little space by the heavy weight of Napoleonic rule. 
 After the pressure was removed, there followed that sudden 
 revival of class divisions which did so much harm to the 
 country. 
 
 The most national of all sentiments in France is vanity. 
 The wounded vanity of the many induced a thirst for 
 Equality ; though, as the most ardent innovator will some day 
 discover, Equality is an impossibility. The Royalists pricked 
 the Liberals in the most sensitive spots, and this happened 
 especially in the provinces, where either party accused the 
 
 other of unspeakable atrocities. In those days the blackest 
 
164 THE JEALOUSIES OF A COUNTRY TOWN 
 
 deeds were done in politics, to secure public opinion on one 
 side or another, to catch the votes of that public of fools 
 which holds up hands for those that are clever enough to 
 serve out weapons to them. Individuals are identified with 
 their political opinions, and opponents in public life forth- 
 with become private enemies. It is very difficult in a 
 country town to avoid a man-to-man conflict of this kind 
 over interests or questions which in Paris appear in a more 
 general and theoretical form, with the result that political 
 combatants also rise to a higher level; M. Laffitte, for ex- 
 ample, or M. Casimir-Périer can respect M. de Villéle or M. 
 de Peyronnet asaman. M. Laffitte, who drew the fire on the 
 Ministry, would have given them an asylum in his house if 
 
 they had fled thither on the 29th of July 1830. Benjamin 
 
 Constant sent a copy of his work on Religion to the Vicomte 
 de Chateaubriand, with a flattering letter acknowledg-, 
 ing benefits received from the former Minister. At Paris 
 men are systems, whereas in the provinces systems are iden- 
 tified with men; men, moreover, with restless passions, who 
 must always confront one another, always spy upon each other 
 in private life, and pull their opponents’ speeches to pieces, 
 and live generally like two duelists on the watch for a chance 
 to thrust six inches of steel between an antagonist’s ribs. 
 Each must do his best to get under his enemy’s guard, and a 
 political. hatred becomes as all-absorbing as a duel to the death. 
 Kpigram and slander are used against individuals to 
 bring the party into discredit. 
 
 In such warfare as this, waged ceremoniously and without 
 rancor on the side of the Antiquities, while du Croisier’s 
 faction went so far as to use the poisoned weapons of savages 
 —in this warfare the advantages of wit and delicate irony lay 
 on the side of the nobles. But it should never be forgotten 
 that the wounds made by the tongue and the eyes, by gibe or 
 slight, are the last of all to heal. When the Chevalier turned 
 his back on mixed society and entrenched himself on the 
 Mons Sacer of the aristocracy, his witticisms thenceforward 
 were directed at du Croisier’s salon; he stirred up the fires of 
 
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 i 
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THD JEALOUSIES OF A COUNTRY TOWN 165 
 
 war, not knowing how far the spirit of revenge was to urge the 
 rival faction. None but purists and loyal gentlemen and wo- 
 men sure one of another entered the Hotel d’Esgrignon; 
 thev committed no indiscretions of any kind; they had their 
 ideas, true or false, good or bad, noble or trivial, but there was 
 nothing to laugh at in all this. If the Liberals meant to 
 make the nobles ridiculous, they were obliged to fasten on the 
 political actions of their opponents; while the intermediate 
 party, composed of officials and others who paid court to the 
 higher powers, kept the nobles informed of all that was done 
 and said in the Liberal camp, and much of it was abundantly 
 laughable. Du Croisier’s adherents smarted under a sense of 
 inferiority, which increased their thirst for revenge. 
 
 In 1822, du Croisier put himself at the head of the manu- 
 facturing interest of the province, as the Marquis d’Esgri- 
 gnon headed the noblesse. Hach represented his party. But 
 du Croisier, instead of giving himself out frankly for a man 
 of the extreme Left, ostensibly adopted the opinions 
 formulated at a later day by the 221 deputies. 
 
 By taking up this position, he could keep in touch with 
 the magistrates and local officials and the capitalists of the 
 department. Du Croisier’s salon, a power at least equal to 
 the salon d’Esgrignon, larger numerically, as well as 
 younger and more energetic, made itself felt all over the 
 countryside ; the Collection of Antiquities, on the other hand, 
 remained inert, a passive appendage, as it were, of a central 
 authority which was often embarrassed by its own partisans ; 
 for not merely did they encourage the Government in a mis- 
 taken policy, but some of its most fatal blunders were made in 
 consequence of the pressure brought to bear upon it by the 
 Conservative party. 
 
 The Liberals, so far, had never contrived to carry their can- 
 didate. The department declined to obey their command, 
 knowing that du Croisier, if elected, would take his place on 
 the Left Centre benches, and as far as possible to the Left. 
 Du Croisier was in correspondence with the Brothers Keller, 
 the bankers, the oldest of whom shone conspicuous among 
 
166 THE JEALOUSIES OF A COUNTRY TOWN 
 
 “the nineteen deputies of the Left,” that phalanx made 
 famous by the efforts of the entire Liberal press. This same 
 M. Keller, moreover, was related by marriage to the Comte 
 de Gondreville, a Constitutional peer who remained in favor 
 with Louis XVIII. For these reasons, the Constitutional Op- 
 position (as distinct from the Liberal party) was always pre- 
 pared to vote at the last moment, not for the candidate whom 
 they professed to support, but for du Croisier, if that worthy 
 could succeed in gaining a sufficient number of Royalist 
 votes; but at every election du Croisier was regularly thrown 
 out by the Royalists. The leaders of that party, taking their 
 tone from the Marquis d’Esgrignon, had pretty thoroughly 
 fathomed and gauged their man; and with each defeat, du 
 Croisier and his party waxed more bitter. Nothing so effect- - 
 ually stirs up strife as the failure of some snare set with 
 elaborate pains. 
 
 In 1822 there seemed to be a lull in hostilities which had 
 been kept up with great spirit during the first four years of 
 the Restoration. The salon du Croisier and the salon 
 d’Esgrignon, having measured their strength and weakness, 
 were in all probability waiting for opportunity, that Provi- 
 dence of party strife. Ordinary persons were content with 
 the surface quiet which deceived the Government; but those 
 who knew du Croisier better, were well aware that the passion 
 of revenge in him, as in all men whose whole life consists in 
 mental activity, is implacable, especially when political ambi- 
 tions are involved. About this time du Croisier, who used 
 to turn white and red at the bare mention of d’Esgrignon 
 or the Chevalier, and shuddered at the name of the Collection 
 of Antiquities, chose to wear the impassive countenance of 
 a savage. He smiled upon his enemies, hating them but the 
 more deeply, watching them the more narrowly from hour to 
 hour. One of his own party, who seconded him in these eal- 
 culations of cold wrath, was the President of the Tribunal, 
 M. du Ronceret, a little country squire, who had vainly en- 
 deavored to gain admittance among the Antiquities. 
 
 The d’Esgrignons’ little fortune, carefully administered by 
 
ee ee a 
 ss 
 
 THE JEALOUSIES OF A COUNTRY TOWN 167 - 
 
 a 
 Maitre Chesnel, was barely sufficient for the worthy Marquis’ 
 needs; for though he lived without the shghtest ostentation, 
 he also lived like a noble. The governor found by his Lord- 
 ship the Bishop for the hope of the house, the young Comte 
 Victurnien d’Hsgrignon, was an elderly Oratorian who must 
 be paid a certain salary, although he lived with the family. 
 The wages of a cook, a waiting-woman for Mlle. Armande, an 
 old valet for M. le Marquis, and a couple of other servants, 
 together with the daily expenses of the household, and the 
 cost of an education for which nothing was spared, absorbed 
 the whole family income, in spite of Mlle. Armande’s 
 economies, in spite of Chesnel’s careful management, and the 
 servants’ affection. As yet, Chesnel had not been able to set 
 about repairs at the ruined castle; he was waiting till the 
 leasess fell in to raise the rent of the farms, for rents had 
 been rising lately, partly on account of improved methods 
 of agriculture, partly by the fall in the value of money, of 
 which the landlord would get the benefit at the expiration of 
 leases granted in 1809. 
 
 The Marquis himself knew nothing of the details of the 
 management of the house or of his property. He would 
 have been thunderstruck if he had been told of the excessive 
 precautions needed “to make both ends of the year meet in 
 December,” to use the housewife’s saying, and he was so near 
 the end of his life, that every one shrank from opening his 
 eyes. ‘The Marquis and his adherents believed that a House, 
 to whichno one at Court orin the Government gave a thought, 
 a House that was never heard of beyond the gates of the 
 town, save here and there in the same department, was about 
 to revive its ancient greatness, to shine forth in all its glory. 
 The d’Esgrignons’ line should appear with renewed lustre in 
 the person of Victurnien, just as the despoiled nobles came 
 into their own again, and the handsome heir to a great estate 
 would be in a position to go to Court, enter the King’s ser- 
 vice, and marry (as other d’Esgrignons had done before him) 
 a Navarreins, a Cadignan, a d’Uxelles, a Beauséant, a 
 Blamont-Chauvry; a wife, in short, who should unite all 
 
168 THE JEALOUSIES OF A COUNTRY TOWN 
 
 the distinctions of birth and beauty, wit and wealth, and 
 character. 
 
 The intimates who came to play their game of cards of 
 an evening—the Troisvilles (pronounced Tréville), the La 
 Roche-Guyons, the Castérans (pronounced Catéran), and the 
 Due de Verneuil—had all so long been accustomed to look 
 up to the Marquis as a person of immense consequence, that 
 they encouraged him in such notions as these. They were 
 perfectly sincere in their belief; and indeed, it would have 
 been well founded if they could have wiped out the history of 
 the last forty years. But the most honorable and undoubted 
 sanctions of right, such as Louis XVIII. had tried to 
 set on record when he dated the Charter from the one-and- 
 twentieth year of his reign, only exist when ratified by the 
 general consent. The d’Esgrignons not only lacked the very 
 rudiments of the language of latter-day politics, to wit, 
 money, the great modern relief, or sufficient rehabilitation 
 of nobility ; but, in their case, too, “historical continuity” was 
 lacking, and that is a kind of renown which tells quite as 
 much at Court as on the battlefield, in diplomatic circles as 
 in Parliament, with a book, or in connection with an ad- 
 venture; it is, as it were, a sacred ampulla poured upon the 
 heads of each successive generation. Whereas a noble family, 
 inactive and forgotten, is very much in the position of a hard- 
 featured, poverty-stricken, simple-minded, and virtuous maid, 
 these qualifications being the four cardinal points of mis- 
 fortune. The marriage of a daughter of the Troisvilles with 
 General Montcornet, so far from opening the eyes of the 
 Antiquities, very nearly brought about a rupture between 
 the Troisvilles and the salon d’Esgrignon, the latter declaring 
 that the Troisvilles were mixing themselves up with all sorts 
 of people. 
 
 There was one, and one only, among all these folk who did 
 not share their illusions. And that one, needless to say, was 
 Chesnel the notary. Although his devotion, sufficiently 
 proved already, was simply unbounded for the great house 
 now reduced to three persons; although he accepted all their 
 
THE JEALOUSIES OF A COUNTRY TOWN 169 
 
 ideas, and thought them nothing less than right, he had too 
 much common sense, he was too good a man of business to 
 more than half the families in the department, to miss the 
 significance of the great changes that were taking place in 
 people’s minds, or to be blind to the different conditions 
 brought about by industrial development and modern man- 
 ners. He had watched the Revolution pass through the 
 violent phase of 1793, when men, women, and children wore 
 arms, and heads feli on the scaffold, and victories were won 
 in pitched battles with Europe; and now he saw the same 
 forces quietly at work in men’s minds, in the shape of ideas 
 which sanctioned the issues. The soil had been cleared, the 
 seed sown, and now came the harvest. To his thinking, the 
 Revolution had formed the mind of the younger generation ; 
 he touched the hard facts, and knew that although there were 
 countless unhealed wounds, what had been done was done 
 past recall. The death of a king on the scaffold, the pro- 
 tracted agony of a queen, the division of the nobles’ lands, in 
 his eyes were so many binding contracts; and where so many 
 vested interests were involved, it was not likely that those 
 concerned would allow them to be attacked. Chesnel saw 
 clearly. His fanatical attachment to the d’Hsgrignons was 
 whole-hearted, but it was not blind, and it was all the fairerfor 
 this. The young monk’s faith that sees heaven laid open and 
 beholds the angels, is something far below the power of the 
 old monk who points them out to him. The ex-steward was 
 like the old monk; he would have given his life to defend a 
 worm-eaten shrine. 
 
 He tried to explain the “innovations” to his old master, 
 using a thousand tactful precautions; sometimes speaking 
 jestingly, sometimes affecting surprise or sorrow over this or 
 that ; but he always met the same prophetic smile on the Mar- 
 quis’ lips, the same fixed conviction in the Marquis’ mind, 
 that these follies would go by like others. Events con- 
 tributed in a way which has escaped attention to assist such 
 noblechampionsof forlorn hope to cling to their superstitions. 
 What could Chesnel do when the old Marquis said, with a 
 
170 THE JEALOUSIES OF A COUNTRY TOWN 
 
 lordly gesture, “God swept away Bonaparte with his armies, 
 his new great vassals, his crowned kings, and his vast con- 
 ceptions! God will deliver us from the rest.” And Chesnel 
 hung his head sadly, and did not dare to answer, “It cannot 
 be God’s will to sweep away France.” Yet both of them were 
 grand figures; the one, standing out against the torrent of 
 facts like an ancient block of lichen-covered granite, still up- 
 right in the depths of an Alpine gorge; the other, watching 
 the course of the flood to turn it to account. Then the 
 good gray-headed notary would groan over the irreparable 
 havoe which the superstitions were sure to work in the mind, 
 the habits, and ideas of the Comte Victurnien d’Esgrignon. 
 Idolized by his father, idolized by his aunt, the young heir 
 was a spoilt child in every sense of the word; but still a spoilt 
 child who justified paternal and maternal illusions. 
 Maternal, be it said, for Victurnien’s aunt was truly a mother 
 to him; and yet, however careful and tender she may be that 
 never bore a child, there is a something lacking in her mother- 
 hood. A mother’s second sight cannot be acquired. An 
 aunt, bound to her nursling by ties of such a pure affection as 
 united Mile. Armande to Victurnien, may love as much as a 
 mother might; may be as careful, as kind, as tender, as in- 
 dulgent, but she lacks the mother’s instinctive knowledge 
 when and how to be severe; she has no sudden warnings, none 
 of the uneasy presentiments of the mother’s heart; for a 
 mother, bound to her child from the beginnings of life by all 
 the fibres of her being, still is conscious of the communica- 
 tion, still vibrates with the shock of every trouble, and thrills 
 with every joy in the child’s life as if it were her own. If 
 Nature has made of woman, physically speaking, a neutral 
 ground, it has not been forbidden to her, under certain condi- 
 tions, to identify herself completely with her offspring. When 
 she has not merely given life, but given of her whole life, you 
 behold that wonderful, unexplained, and inexplicable thing— 
 the love of a woman for one of her children above the others. 
 The outcome of this story is one more proof of a proven truth 
 —a mother’s place cannot be filled. A mother foresees 
 
THE JEALOUSIES OF A COUNTRY TOWN 171 
 
 danger long before a Mlle. Armande can admit the possibility 
 of it, even if the mischief is done. The one prevents the 
 evil, the other remedies it. And besides, in the maiden’s 
 motherhood there is an element of blind adoration, she can- 
 not bring herself to scold a beautiful boy. 
 
 A practical knowledge of life, and the experience of 
 business, had taught the old notary a habit of distrustful 
 clear-sighted observation something akin to the mother’s in- 
 stinct. But Chesnel counted for so little in the house (es- 
 pecially since he had fallen into something like disgrace over 
 that unlucky project of a marriage between a d’Esgrignon 
 and a du Croisier), that he had made up his mind to adhere 
 blindly in future to the family doctrines. He was a common 
 soldier, faithful to his post, and ready to give his hfe; it was 
 never likely that they would take his advice, even in the 
 height of the storm; unless chance should bring him, like 
 the King’s bedesman in The Antiquary, to the edge of the 
 sea, when the old baronet and his daughter were caught by the 
 nigh tides ies 
 
 Du Croisier caught a glimpse of his revenge in the anom- 
 alous education given to the lad. He hoped, to quote the ex- 
 pressive words of the author quoted above, “to drown the lamb 
 in its mother’s milk.” This was the hope which had pro- 
 duced his taciturn resignation and brought that savage smile 
 on his lips. 
 
 The young Comte Victurnien was taught to believe in his 
 own supremacy as soon as an idea could enter his head. All 
 the great nobles of the realm were his peers, his one superior 
 was the King, and the rest of mankind were his inferiors, 
 people with whom he had nothing in common, towards whom 
 he had no duties. They were defeated and conquered ene- 
 mies, whom he need not take into account for a moment; 
 their opinions could not affect a noble, and they all owed him 
 respect. Unluckily, with the rigorous logic of youth, which 
 leads children and young people to proceed to extremes 
 whether good or bad, Victurnien pushed these conclusions to 
 their utmost consequences. His own external advantages, 
 
172 THE JEALOUSIES OF A COUNTRY TOWN 
 
 moreover, confirmed him in his beliefs. He had been extra- 
 ordinarily beautiful as a child; he became as accomplished a 
 young man as any father could wish. 
 
 He was of average height, but well proportioned, slender, 
 and almost delicate-looking, but muscular. He had the 
 brilliant blue eyes of the d’Esgrignons, the finely-moulded 
 aquiline nose, the perfect oval of the face, the auburn hair, 
 the white skin, and the graceful gait of his family; he had 
 their delicate extremities, their long taper fingers with the 
 inward curve, and that peculiar distinction of shapeliness of 
 the wrist and instep, that supple felicity of line, which is as 
 sure a sign of race in men as in horses. Adroit and alert in 
 all bodily exercises, and an excellent shot, he handled arms 
 like a St. George, he was a paladin on horseback. In short, 
 he gratified the pride which parents take in their children’s 
 appearance; a pride founded, for that matter, on a just idea 
 of the enormous influence exercised by physical beauty. FPer- 
 sonal beauty has this in common with noble birth: it cannot be 
 acquired afterwards; it is everywhere recognized, and often is 
 more valued than either brains or money; beauty has only 
 to appear and triumph; nobody asks more of beauty than that 
 it should simply exist. 
 
 Fate had endowed Victurnien, over and above the privi- 
 leges of good looks and noble birth, with a high spirit, a won- 
 derful aptitude of comprehension, and a good memory. His 
 education, therefore, had been complete. He knew a good 
 deal more than is usually known by young provincial nobles, 
 who develop into highly-distinguished sportsmen, owners of 
 land, and consumers of tobacco; and are apt to treat art, 
 sciences, letters, poetry, or anything offensively above their in- 
 tellects, cavalierly enough. Such gifts of nature and educa- 
 tion surely would one day realize the Marquis d’Esgrignon’s 
 ambitions; he already saw his son a Marshal of France if 
 Victurnien’s tastes were for the army; an ambassador if 
 . diplomacy held any attractions for him; a cabinet minister if 
 that career seemed good in his eyes; every place in the state 
 belonged to Victurnien. And, most gratifying thought of all 
 
THE JEALOUSIES OF A COUNTRY TOWN 173 
 
 for a father, the young Count would have made his way in the 
 world by his own merits even if he had not been a d’Hs- 
 grignon. 
 
 All through his happy childhood and golden youth, Vic- 
 turnien had never met with opposition to his wishes. He 
 had been the king of the house; no one curbed the little 
 prince’s will; and naturally he grew up insolent and au- 
 dacious, selfish as a prince, self-willed as the most high-spir- 
 ited cardinal of the Middle Ages,—defects of character which 
 any one might guess from his qualities, essentially those of 
 the noble. 
 
 The Chevalier was a man of the good old times when the 
 Gray Musketeers were the terror of the Paris theatres, when 
 they horsewhipped the watch and drubbed servers of writs, 
 and played a host of page’s pranks, at which Majesty was wont 
 to smile so long as they were amusing. ‘This charming de- 
 ceiver and hero of the rwelles had no small share in bringing 
 about the disasters which afterwards befell. The amiable old 
 gentleman, with nobody to understand him, was not a little 
 pleased to find a budding Faublas, who looked the part to 
 admiration, and put him in mind of his own young days. So, 
 making no allowance for the difference of the times, he sowed 
 the maxims of a roué of the Encyclopedic period broadcast in 
 the boy’s mind. He told wicked anecdotes of the reign of His 
 Majesty Louis X V.; he glorified the manners and customs of 
 the year 1750; he told of the orgies in petites maisons, the fol- 
 lies of courtesans, the capital tricks played on creditors, the 
 manners, in short, which furnished forth Dancourt’s come- 
 dies and Beaumarchais’ epigrams. And unfortunately, the 
 corruption lurking beneath the utmost polish tricked itself 
 out in Voltairean wit. If the Chevalier went rather too far at 
 times, he always added as a corrective that a man must always 
 behave himself like a gentleman. 
 
 Of all this discourse, Victurnien comprehended just so 
 much as flattered his passions. From the first he saw his old 
 father laughing with the Chevalier. The two elderly men 
 considered that the pride of a d’Hsgrignon was a sufficient 
 
174 THE JEALOUSIES OF A COUNTRY TOWN 
 
 safeguard against anything unbefitting; as for a dishonorable | 
 action, no one in the house imagined that a d’Esgrignon could 
 be guilty of it. Honor, the great principle of Monarchy, was 
 planted firm like a beacon in the hearts of the family; it 
 lighted up the least action, it kindled the least thought of a 
 d’Esgrignon. “A dEsgrignon ought not to permit himself 
 to do such and such a thing,; he bears a name. which pledges 
 him to make the future worthy of the past”—-a noble teaching 
 which should have been sufficient in itself to keep alive the 
 tradition of noblesse—had been, as it were, the burden of Vic- 
 turnien’s cradle song. He heard them from the old Marquis, 
 from Mlle. Armande, from Chesnel, from the intimates of 
 the house. And so it came to pass that good and evil met, 
 and in equal forces, in the boy’s soul. 
 
 At the age of eighteen, Victurnien went into society. He 
 noticed some slight discrepancies between the outer world of 
 the town and the inner world of the Hotel d’Esgrignon, but 
 he in no wise tried to seek the causes of them. And, indeed, 
 the causes were to be found in Paris. He had yet to learn 
 that the men who spoke their minds out so boldly in evening 
 talk with his father, were extremely careful of what they said 
 in the presence of the hostile persons with whom their inter- 
 ests compelled them to mingle. His own father had won the 
 right of freedom of speech. Nobody dreamed of contradicting 
 an old man of seventy, and besides, every one was willing to 
 overlook fidelity to the old order of things in a man who had 
 been violently despoiled. 
 
 Victurnien was deceived by appearances, and his behavior 
 set up the backs of the townspeople. In his impetuous way 
 he tried to carry matters with too high a hand over some diffi- 
 culties in the way of sport, which ended in formidable law- 
 suits, hushed up by Chesnel for money paid down. Nobody 
 dared to tell the Marquis of these things. You may judge of 
 his astonishment if he had heard that his son had been prose- 
 cuted for shooting over his lands, his domains, his covers, 
 under the reign of a son of St. Louis! People were too much 
 afraid of the possible consequences to tell him about such 
 trifles, Chesnel said. 
 
THD JEALOUSIES OF A COUNTRY TOWN 175 
 
 The young Count indulged in other escapades in the town. 
 These the Chevalier regarded as “amourettes,’ but they cost 
 Chesnel something considerable in portions for forsaken dam- 
 sels seduced under imprudent promises of marriage: yet other 
 cases there were which came under an article of the Code as to 
 the abduction of minors; and but for Chesnel’s timely inter- 
 vention, the new law would have been allowed to take its 
 brutal course, and it is hard to say where the Count might 
 have ended. Victurnien grew the bolder for these victories 
 over bourgeois justice. He was so accustomed to be pulled out 
 of scrapes, that he never thought twice before any prank. 
 Courts of law, in his opinion, were bugbears to frighten people 
 who had no hold on him. Things which he would have 
 blamed in common people were for him only pardonable 
 amusements. THis disposition to treat the new laws cavalierly 
 while obeying the maxims of a Code for aristocrats, his be- 
 havior and character, were all pondered, analyzed, and tested 
 by a few adroit persons in du Croisier’s interests. These folk 
 supported each other in the effort to make the people believe 
 that Liberal slanders were revelations, and that the Minis- 
 terial policy at bottom meant a return to the old order of 
 things. 
 
 What a bit of luck to find something by way of proof of 
 their assertions! President du Ronceret, and the public pros- 
 ecutor likewise, lent themselves admirably, so far as was com- 
 patible with their duty as magistrates, to the design of letting 
 off the offender as easily as possible ; indeed, they went deliber- 
 ately out of their way to do this, well pleased to raise a Liberal 
 clamor against their overlarge concessions. And so, while 
 seeming to serve the interests of the d’Esgrignons, they stirred 
 up ill feeling against them. The treacherous du Ronceret had 
 it in his mind to pose as incorruptible at the right moment 
 over some serious charge, with public opinion to back him up. 
 The young Count’s worst tendencies, moreover, were insidi- 
 ously encouraged by two or three young men who followed in 
 his train, paid court to him, won his favor, and flattered and 
 obeyed him, with a view to confirming his belief in a noble’s 
 
176 THE JEALOUSIES OF A COUNTRY TOWN 
 
 supremacy; and all this at a time when a noble’s one chance 
 of preserving his power lay in using it with the utmost discre- 
 tion for half a century to come. 
 
 Du Croisier hoped to reduce the d’Esgrignons to the last 
 extremity of poverty; he hoped to see their castle demolished, 
 and their lands sold piecemeal by auction, through the follies 
 which this harebrained boy was pretty certain to commit. 
 This was as far as he went; he did not think, with President 
 du Ronceret, that Victurnien was likely to give justice another 
 kind of hold upon him. Both men found an ally for their 
 schemes of revenge in Victurnien’s overweening vanity and 
 love of pleasure. President du Ronceret’s son, a lad of sev- 
 enteen, was admirably fitted for the part of instigator. He 
 was one of the Count’s companions, a new kind of spy in du 
 Croisier’s pay; du Croisier taught him his lesson, set him to 
 track down the noble and beautiful boy through his better 
 qualities, and sardonically prompted him to encourage his 
 victim in his worst faults. Fabien du Ronceret was a sophis- 
 ticated youth, to whom such a mystification was attractive ; he 
 had precisely the keen brain and envious nature which finds 
 in such a pursuit as this the absorbing amusement which a 
 man of an ingenious turn lacks in the provinces. 
 
 In three years, between the ages of eighteen and one-and- 
 twenty, Victurnien cost poor Chesnel nearly eighty thousand 
 francs! And this without the knowledge of Mlle. Ar- 
 mande or the Marquis. More than half of the money had 
 been spent in buying off lawsuits; the lad’s extravagance had 
 squandered the rest. Of the Marquis’ income of ten thousand 
 livres, five thousand were necessary for the housekeeping ; 
 two thousand more represented Mlle. Armande’s allowance 
 (parsimonious though she was) and the Marquis’ expenses. 
 The handsome young heir-presumptive, therefore, had not a 
 hundred louis to spend. And what sort of figure can a man 
 make on two thousand livres? Victurnien’s tailor’s bills alone 
 absorbed his whole allowance. He had his linen, his clothes, 
 gloves, and perfumery from Paris. He wanted a good English 
 saddle-horse, a tilbury, and a second horse. M. du Croisier 
 
THE JEALOUSIES OF A COUNTRY TOWN 177 
 
 had a tilbury and a thoroughbred. Was the bourgeoisie to cut 
 out the noblesse? Then, the young Count must have a man 
 in the d’Esgrignon livery. He prided himself on setting the 
 fashion among young men in the town and the department ; 
 he entered that world of luxuries and fancies which suit youth 
 and good looks and wit so well. Chesnel paid for it all, not 
 without using, like ancient parliaments, the right of protest, 
 albeit he spoke with angelic kindness. 
 
 “What a pity it is that so good a man should be so tire- 
 some!” Victurnien would say to himself every time that the 
 notary staunched some wound in his purse. 
 
 Chesnel had been left a widower, and childless; he had 
 taken his old master’s son to fill the void in his heart. It 
 was a pleasure to him to watch the lad driving up the High 
 Street, perched aloft on the box-seat of the tilbury, whip in 
 hand, and a rose in his button-hole, handsome, well turned 
 out, envied by every one. 
 
 Pressing need would bring Victurnien with uneasy eyes and 
 coaxing manner, but steady voice, to the modest house in the 
 Rue du Bereail; there had been losses at cards at the Trois- 
 villes, or the Due de Verneuil’s, or the prefecture, or the 
 receiver-general’s, and the Count had come to his providence, 
 the notary. He had only to show himself to carry the day. 
 
 “Well, what is it, M. le Comte? What has happened?” the 
 old man would ask, with a tremor in his voice. 
 
 On great occasions Victurnien would sit down, assume a 
 melancholy, pensive expression, and submit with little co- 
 quetries of voice and gesture to be questioned. Then when 
 he had thoroughly roused the old man’s fears (for Chesnel 
 was beginning to fear how such a course of extravagance 
 would end), he would own up to a peccadillo which a bill for a 
 thousand francs would absolve. Chesnel possessed a private 
 income of some twelve thousand livres, but the fund was not 
 inexhaustible. The eighty thousand francs thus squandered 
 represented his savings, accumulated for the day when the 
 Marquis should send his son to Paris, or open negotiations for 
 a wealthy marriage. 
 
178 THE JEALOUSIES OF A COUNTRY TOWN 
 
 Chesnel was clear-sighted so long as Victurnien was not 
 there before him. One by one he lost the illusions which the 
 Marquis and his sister still fondly cherished. He saw that the 
 young fellow could not be depended upon in the least, and 
 wished to see him married to some modest, sensible girl of 
 good birth, wondering within himself how a young man could 
 mean so well and do so ill, for he made promises one day only 
 to break them all on the next. 
 
 But there is never any good to be expected of young men 
 who confess their sins and repent, and straightway fall into 
 them again. A man of strong character only confesses his 
 faults to himself, and punishes himself for them; as for the 
 weak, they drop back into the old ruts when they find that 
 the bank is too steep to climb. The springs of pride which lie 
 in a great man’s secret soul had been slackened in Victurnien. 
 With such guardians as he had, such company as he kept, 
 such a life as he had led, he had suddenly become an enervated 
 voluptuary at that turning-point in his life when a man most 
 stands in need of the harsh discipline of misfortune and 
 poverty to bring out the strength that is in him, the pinch of 
 adversity which formed a Prince Eugéne, a Frederick II., a 
 Napoleon. Chesnel saw that Victurnien possessed that un- 
 controllable appetite for enjoyments which should be the pre- 
 rogative of men endowed with giant powers; the men who feel 
 the need of counterbalancing their gigantic labors by pleasures 
 which bring one-sided mortals to the pit. 
 
 At times the good man stood aghast; then, again, some 
 profound sally, some sign of the lad’s remarkable range of in- 
 tellect, would reassure him. He would say, as the Marquis 
 said at the rumor of some escapade, “Boys will be boys.” 
 Chesnel had spoken to the Chevalier, lamenting the young 
 lord’s propensity for getting into debt; but the Chevalier 
 manipulated his pinch of snuff, and hstened with a smile of 
 amusement. 
 
 “My dear Chesnel, just explain to me what a national debt 
 is,’ he answered. “If France has debts, egad! why should 
 not Victurnien have debts? At this time and at all times 
 
THE JEALOUSIES OF A COUNTRY TOWN 179 
 
 princes have debts, every gentleman has debts. Perhaps you 
 would rather that Victurnien should bring you his savings >— 
 Do you know what our great Richelieu (not the Cardinal, a 
 pitiful fellow that put nobles to death, but the Maréchal), do 
 you know what he did once when his grandson the Prince de 
 Chinon, the last of the line, let him see that he had not spent 
 his pocket-money at the University ?” 
 
 “No, M. le Chevalier.” 
 
 “Oh, well; he flung the purse out of the window to a 
 sweeper in the courtyard, and said to his grandson, “Then 
 they do not teach you to be a prince here?’ ” 
 
 Chesnel bent his head and made no answer. But that night, 
 as he lay awake, he thought that such doctrines as these were 
 fatal in times when there was one law for everybody, and fore- 
 saw the first beginnings of the ruin of the d’Esgrignons. 
 
 But for these explanations which depict one side of pro- 
 vincial life in the time of the Empire and the Restoration, it 
 would not be easy to understand the opening scene of this 
 history, an incident which took place in the great salon one 
 evening towards the end of October 1822. The card-tables 
 were forsaken, the Collection of Antiquities—elderly nobles, 
 elderly countesses, young marquises, and simple baronesses— 
 had settled their losses and winnings. The master of the house 
 was pacing up and down the room, while Mlle. Armande was 
 putting out the candles on the card-tables. He was not tak- 
 ing exercise alone, the Chevalier was with him, and the two 
 wrecks of the eighteenth century were talking of Victurnien. 
 The Chevalier had undertaken to broach the subject with 
 the Marquis. 
 
 “Yes, Marquis,” he was saying, “your son is wasting his 
 time and his youth; you ought to send him to court.” 
 
 “T have always thought,” said the Marquis, “that if my 
 great age prevents me from going to court—where, between 
 ourselves, I do not know what I should do among all these 
 new people whom His Majesty receives, and all that is going 
 on there—that if I could not go myself, I could at least send 
 
180 THE JEALOUSIES OF A COUNTRY TOWN 
 
 my son to present our homage to His Majesty. The King 
 surely would do something for the Count—give him a com- 
 pany, for instance, or a place in the Household, a chance, in 
 short, for the boy to win his spurs. My uncle the Archbishop 
 suffered a cruel martyrdom; I have fought for the cause with- 
 out deserting the camp with those who thought it their duty 
 to follow the Princes. I held that while the King was in 
 France, his nobles should rally round him.—Ah! well, no one 
 gives us a thought; a Henri IV. would have written before 
 now to the d’Esgrignons, ‘Come to me, my friends; we have 
 won the day !—After all, we are something better than the 
 Troisvilles, yet here are two Troisvilles made peers of France; 
 and another, I hear, represents the nobles in the Chamber.” — 
 (He took the upper electoral colleges for assemblies of his 
 own order.) “Really, they think no more of us than if we did 
 not exist. I was waiting for the Princes to make their journey 
 through this part of the world; but as the Princes do not come 
 to us, we must go to the Princes.” 
 
 “T am enchanted to learn that you think of introducing our 
 dear Victurnien into society,” the Chevalier put in adroitly. 
 “He ought not to bury his talents in a hole like this town. 
 The best fortune that he can look for here is to come across 
 some Norman girl” (mimicking the accent), “country-bred, 
 stupid, and rich. What could he make of her?—his wife? 
 Oh! good Lord!” 
 
 “T sincerely hope that he will defer his marriage until he 
 has obtained some great office or appointment under the 
 Crown,” returned the gray-haired Marquis. “Still, there are 
 serious difficulties in the way.” 
 
 And these were the only difficulties which the Marquis saw 
 at the outset of his son’s career. 
 
 “My son, the Comte d’Esgrignon, cannot make his appear- 
 ance at court like a tatterdemalion,” he continued after a 
 pause, marked by a sigh; “he must be equipped. Alas! for 
 these two hundred years we have had no retainers. Ah! 
 Chevalier, this demolition from top to bottom always brings 
 me back to the first hammer stroke delivered by M. de Mira- 
 
THE JEALOUSIES OF A COUNTRY TOWN 181 
 
 beau. The one thing needful nowadays is money; that is all 
 that the Revolution has done that I can see. The King does 
 not ask you whether you are a descendant of the Valois or a 
 conquerer of Gaul; he asks whether you pay a thousand francs 
 in tailles which nobles never used to pay. So I cannot well 
 send the Count to court without a matter of twenty thousand 
 crowns ‘é 
 
 “Yes,” assented the Chevalier, “with that trifling sum he 
 could cut a brave figure.” 
 
 “Well,” said Mlle. Armande, “I have asked Chesnel to come 
 to-night. Would you believe it, Chevalier, ever since the day 
 when Chesnel proposed that I should marry that miserable du 
 Croisier nf 
 
 “Ah! that was truly unworthy, mademoiselle!” cried the 
 Chevalier. 
 
 “Unpardonable!” said the Marquis. 
 
 “Well, since then my brother has never brought himself to 
 ask anything whatsoever of Chesnel,” continued Mlle. Ar- 
 mande. 
 
 “Of your old household servant? Why, Marquis, you would 
 do Chesne! honor—an honor which he would gratefully re- 
 member till his latest breath.” 
 
 “No,” said the Marquis, “the thing is beneath one’s dignity, 
 it seems to me.” 
 
 “There is not much question of dignity; it is a matter of 
 necessity,” said the Chevalier; with the trace of a shrug. 
 
 “Never,” said the Marquis, riposting with a gesture which 
 decided the Chevalier to risk a great stroke to open his old 
 friend’s eyes. 
 
 “Very well,” he said, “since you do not know it, I will tell 
 you myself that Chesnel has let your son have something al- 
 ready, something like ‘i | 
 
 “My son is incapable of accepting anything whatever from 
 Chesnel,” the Marquis broke in, drawing himself up as he 
 spoke. “He might have come to you to ask you for twenty- 
 five louis fi 
 
 “Something like a hundred thousand livres,” said the 
 Chevalier, finishing his sentence. 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
182 THE JEALOUSIES OF A COUNTRY TOWN 
 
 “The Comte d’Esgrignon owes a hundred thousand livres. 
 
 to a Chesnel!’’ cried the Marquis, with every sign of deep 
 pain. “Oh! if he were not an only son, he should set out to- 
 night for Mexico with a captain’s commission. A man may 
 be in debt to money-lenders, they charge a heavy interest, and 
 you are quits; that is right enough; but Chesnel/ a man to 
 whom one is attached ! af 
 
 “Yes, our adorable Victurnien has run through a hundred 
 thousand livres, dear Marquis,” resumed the Chevalier, flick- 
 ing a trace of snuff from his waistcoat; “it is not much, I 
 know. I myself at his age But, after all, let us let old 
 memories be, Marquis. The Count is living in the provinces ; 
 all things taken into consideration, it is not so much amiss. 
 He will not go far; these irregularities are common in men 
 who do great things afterwards ‘i 
 
 “And he is sleeping upstairs, without a word of this to his 
 father,” exclaimed the Marquis. 
 
 “Sleeping innocently as a child who has merely got five or 
 six little bourgeoises into trouble, and now must have duch- 
 esses,’ returned the Chevalier. 
 
 “Why, he deserves a lettre de cachet !”’ 
 
 “<“They’ have done away with lettres de cachet,’ said the 
 Chevalier. “You know what a hubbub there was when they 
 tried to institute a law for special cases. We could not keep 
 the provost’s courts, which M. de Bonaparte used to call com- 
 missions militaires.” 
 
 “Well, well; what are we to do if our boys are wild, or turn 
 out scapegraces? Is there no locking them up in these days ?” 
 asked the Marquis. 
 
 The Chevalier looked at the heartbroken father and lacked 
 courage to answer, “We shall be obliged to bring them up 
 properly.” 
 
 “And you have never said a word of this to me, Mlle. d’Es- 
 grignon,” added the Marquis, turning suddenly round upon 
 Mile. Armande. He never addressed her as Mlle. d’Ksgrignon 
 except when he was vexed ; usually she was called “my sister.” 
 
 “Why, monsieur, when a young man is full of life and 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
THE JEALOUSIBS OF A COUNTRY TOWN 183 
 
 spirits, and leads an idle life in a town like this, what else 
 can you expect?” asked Mlle. d’Esgrignon. She could not 
 understand her brother’s anger. 
 
 “Debts! eh! why, hang it all!” added the Chevalier. “He 
 plays cards, he has little adventures, he shoots,—all these 
 things are horribly expensive nowadays.” 
 
 “Come,” said the Marquis, “it is time to send him to the 
 King. I will spend to-morrow morning in writing to our 
 kinsmen.” 
 
 “T have some acquaintance with the Ducs de Navarreins, de 
 Lenoncourt, de Maufrigneuse, and de Chaulieu,” said the 
 Chevalier, though he knew, as he spoke, that he was pretty 
 thoroughly forgotten. 
 
 “My dear Chevalier, there is no need of such formalities to 
 present a d’Esgrignon at court,” the Marquis broke in.—‘“A 
 hundred thousand livres,” he muttered; “this Chesnel makes 
 very free. This is what comes of these accursed troubles. 
 M. Chesnel protects my son. And now J must ask him. 
 
 No, sister, you must undertake this business. Chesnel 
 shall secure himself for the whole amount by a mortgage on 
 our lands. And just give this harebrained boy a good scold- 
 ing; he will end by ruining himself if he goes on like this.” 
 
 The Chevalier and Mlle. d’Esgrignon thought these words 
 perfectly simple and natural, absurd as they would have 
 sounded to any other listener. So far from seeing anything 
 ridiculous in the speech, they were both very much touched 
 by a look of something like anguish in the old noble’s face. 
 Some dark premonition seemed to weigh upon M. d’Hs- 
 grignon at that moment, some glimmering of an insight into 
 the changed times. He went to the settee by the fireside and 
 sat down, forgetting that Chesnel would be there before long ; 
 that Chesnel, of whom he could not bring himself to ask any- 
 thing. 
 
 Just then the Marquis d’Esgrignon looked exactly as any 
 imagination with a touch of romance could wish. He was 
 almost bald, but a fringe of silken, white locks, curled at the 
 tips, covered the back of his head. All the pride of race might 
 
184 THE JEALOUSIES OF A COUNTRY TOWN 
 
 be seen in a noble forehead, such as you may admire in a - 
 Louis XV., a Beaumarchais, a Maréchal de Richelieu; it was 
 not the square, broad brow of the portraits of the Maréchal 
 _de Saxe; nor yet the small hard circle of Voltaire, compact 
 to overfulness ; it was graciously rounded and finely moulded, 
 the temples were ivory tinted and soft; and mettle and spirit, 
 unquenched by age, flashed from the brilliant eyes. The 
 Marquis had the Condé nose and the lovable Bourbon mouth, 
 from which, as they used to say of the Comte d’Artois, only 
 witty and urbane words proceed. His cheeks, sloping rather 
 than foolishly rounded to the chin, were in keeping with his 
 spare frame, thin legs, and plump hands. The strangulation 
 cravat at his throat was of the kind which every marquis wears 
 in all the portraits which adorn eighteenth century literature ; 
 it is common alike to Saint-Preux and to Lovelace, to the 
 elegant Montesquieu’s heroes and to Diderot’s homespun char- 
 acters (see the first editions of those writers’ works). 
 
 The Marquis always wore a white, gold-embroidered, high 
 waistcoat, with the red ribbon of a commander of the Order of 
 St. Louis blazing upon his breast; and a blue coat with wide 
 skirts, and fleurs-de-lys on the flaps, which were turned back— 
 an odd costume which the King had adopted. But the 
 Marquis could not bring himself to give up the Frenchman’s 
 knee-breeches nor yet the white silk stockings or the buckles 
 at the knees. After six o’clock in the evening he appeared in 
 full dress. 
 
 He read no newspapers but the Quotidienne and the Gazette 
 de France, two journals accused by the Constitutional press 
 of obscurantist views and uncounted “monarchical and re- 
 ligious” enormities; while the Marquis d’Esgrignon, on the 
 other hand, found heresies and revolutionary doctrines in 
 every issue. No matter to what extremes the organs of this 
 or that opinion may go, they will never go quite far enough 
 to please the purists on their own’side; even as the portrayer 
 of this magnificent personage is pretty certain to be accused 
 of exaggeration, whereas he has done his best to soften down 
 some of the cruder tones and dim the more startling tints of 
 the original. 
 
THE JEALOUSIES OF A COUNTRY TOWN 185 
 
 The Marquis d’Esgrignon rested his elbows on his knees and 
 leant his head on his hands. During his meditations Mlle. 
 Armande and the Chevalier looked at one another without 
 uttering the thoughts in their minds. Was he pained by the 
 discovery that his son’s future must depend upon his sometime 
 land steward? Was he doubtful of the reception awaiting 
 the young Count? Did he regret that he had made no prepara- 
 tion for launching his heir into that brilliant world of court? 
 Poverty had kept him in the depths of his province; how 
 should he have appeared at court? He sighed heavily as he 
 raised his head. 
 
 That sigh, in those days, came from the real aristocracy 
 all over France; from the loyal provincial noblesse, consigned 
 to neglect with most of those who had drawn sword and braved 
 the storm for the cause. 
 
 “What have the Princes done for the du Guénies, or the 
 Fontaines, or the Bauvans, who never submitted?” he mut- 
 tered to himself. “They fling miserable pensions to the men 
 who fought most bravely, and give them a royal lieutenancy 
 in a fortress somewhere on the outskirts of the kingdom.” 
 
 Evidently the Marquis doubted the reigning dynasty. Mlle. 
 d’Esgrignon was trying to reassure her brother as to the pros- 
 pects of the journey, when a step outside on the dry narrow 
 footway gave them notice of Chesnel’s coming. In another 
 moment Chesnel appeared ; Joséphin, the Count’s gray-haired 
 valet, admitted the notary without announcing him. 
 
 “Chesnel, my boy ” (Chesnel was a white-haired man 
 of sixty-nine, with a square-jawed, venerable countenance ; 
 _ he wore knee-breeches, ample enough to fill several chapters 
 of dissertation in the manner of Sterne, ribbed stockings, 
 shoes with silver clasps, an ecclesiastical-looking coat and a 
 high waistcoat of scholastic cut. 
 
 “Chesnel, my boy, it was very presumptuous of you to 
 lend money to the Comte d’Esgrignon! If I repaid you at 
 once and we never saw each other again, it would be no more 
 than you deserve for giving wings to his vices.” 
 
 
 
186 THE JEALOUSIES OF A COUNTRY TOWN 
 
 There was a pause, a silence such as there falls at court 
 when the King publicly reprimands a courtier. The old 
 notary looked humble and contrite. 
 
 “T am anxious about that boy, Chesnel,” continued the 
 Marquis in a kindly tone; “I should like to send him to Paris 
 to serve His Majesty. Make arrangements with my sister for 
 his suitable appearance at court—And we will settle ac- 
 counts f 
 
 The Marquis looked grave as he left the room with a 
 friendly gesture of farewell to Chesnel. 
 
 “T thank M. le Marquis for all his goodness,” returned the 
 old man, who still remained standing. 
 
 Mlle. Armande rose to go to the door with her brother; she 
 had rung the bell, old Joséphin was in readiness to light his 
 master to his room. 
 
 “Take a seat, Chesnel,” said the lady, as she returned, and 
 with womanly tact she explained away and softened the 
 Marquis’ harshness. And yet beneath that harshness Chesnel 
 saw a great affection. The Marquis’ attachment for his old 
 servant was something of the same order as a man’s affection 
 for his dog; he will fight any one who kicks the animal, the 
 dog is like a part of his existence, a something which, if not 
 exactly himself, represents him in that which is nearest and 
 dearest—his sensibilities. 
 
 “Tt is quite time that M. le Comte should be sent away from 
 the town, mademoiselle,” he said sententiously. 
 
 “Yes,” returned she. “Has he been indulging in some 
 new escapade ?” 
 
 “No, mademoiselle.” 
 
 “Well, why do you blame him?” 
 
 “T am not blaming him, mademoiselle. No, I am not 
 blaming him. I am very far from blaming him. I will even 
 say that I shall never blame him, whatever he may do.” 
 
 There was a pause. The Chevalier, nothing if not quick 
 to take in a situation, began to yawn like a sleep-ridden 
 mortal. Gracefully he made his excuses and went, with as 
 little mind to sleep as to go and drown himself. The imp 
 
 
 
THH JEALOUSIES OF A COUNTRY TOWN 187 
 
 Curiosity kept the Chevalier wide awake, and with airy 
 fingers plucked away the cotton wool from his ears. 
 
 “Well, Chesnel, is it something new?” Mlle. Armande be- 
 gan anxiously. 
 
 “Yes, things that cannot be told to M. le Marquis; he 
 would drop down in an apoplectie fit.” 
 
 “Speak out,” she said. With her beautiful head leant on 
 the back of her low chair, and her arms extended listlessly by 
 her side, she looked as if she were waiting passively for her 
 deathblow. 
 
 “Mademoiselle, M. le Comte, with all his cleverness, is a 
 plaything in the hands of mean creatures, petty natures on 
 the lookout for a crushing revenge. They want to ruin us 
 and bring us low! There is the President of the Tribunal, 
 M. du Ronceret; he has, as you know, a very great notion of 
 his descent “1 
 
 “His grandfather was an attorney,” interposed Mlle. Ar- 
 mande. 
 
 “T know he vas. And for that reason you have not received 
 him; nor does he go to M. de Troisville’s, nor to M. le Duc de 
 Verneuil’s, nor to the Marquis de Castéran’s; but he is one of 
 the pillars of du Croisier’s salon. Your nephew may rub 
 shoulders with young M. Fabien du Ronceret without conde- 
 scending too far, for he must have companions of his own 
 age. Well and good. That young fellow is at the bottom of 
 all M. le Comte’s follies; he and two or three of the rest of 
 them belong to the other side, the side of M. le Chevalier’s 
 enemy, who does nothing but breathe threats of vengeance 
 against you and all the nobles together. They all hope to 
 ruin you through your nephew. The ringleader of the con- 
 spiracy is this sycophant of a du Croisier, the pretended Roy- 
 alist. Du Croisier’s wife, poor thing, knows nothing about 
 it; you know her, I should have heard of it before this if she 
 had ears to hear evil. For some time these wild young fellows 
 were not in the secret, nor was anybody else; but the ring- 
 leaders let something drop in jest, and then the fools got to 
 know about it, and after the Count’s recent escapades they let 
 fall some words while they were drunk. And those words were 
 
 
 
188 THE JEALOUSIES OF A COUNTRY TOWN 
 
 carried to me by others who are sorry to see such a fine, hand- 
 some, noble, charming lad ruining himself with pleasure. So 
 far people feel sorry for him; before many days are over they 
 will—I am afraid to say what if 
 
 “They will despise him; say it out, Chesnel!” Mlle. Ar- 
 mande cried piteously. 
 
 “Ah! How can you keep the best people in the town from 
 finding out faults in their neighbors? They do not know what 
 to do with themselves from morning to night. And so M. le 
 Comte’s losses at play are all reckoned up. Thirty thousand 
 francs have taken flight during these two months, and every- 
 body wonders where he gets the money. If they mention it 
 when I am present, I just call them to order. Ah! but— ‘Do 
 you suppose’ (I told them this morning), ‘do you suppose that 
 if the d’Esgrignon family have lost their manorial rights, that 
 therefore they have been robbed of their hoard of treasure? 
 The young Count has a right to do as he pleases; and so long 
 as he does not owe you a half-penny, you have no right to say 
 a word.’ ” 
 
 Mlle. Armande held out her hand, and the notary kissed it 
 respectfully. 
 
 “Good Chesnel! . . . But, my friend, how shall we 
 find the money for this journey? Victurnien must appear as 
 befits his rank at court.” 
 
 “Oh! I have borrowed money on Le Jard, mademoiselle.” 
 
 “What? You had nothing left! Ah, heaven! what can we 
 do to reward you?” 
 
 “You can take the hundred thousand frances which I hold 
 at your disposal. You can understand that the loan was ne- 
 gotiated in confidence, so that it might not reflect on you; for 
 it is known in the town that [ am closely connected with the 
 d’Esgrignon family.” 
 
 Tears came into Mlle. Armande’s eyes. Chesnel saw them, 
 took a fold of the noble woman’s dress in his hands, and 
 kissed it. 
 
 “Never mind,” he said, “a lad must sow his wild oats. In 
 great salons in Paris his boyish ideas will take a new turn. 
 
 
 
THE JEALOUSIES OF A COUNTRY TOWN 189 
 
 And, really, though our old friends here are the worthiest 
 folk in the world, and no one could have nobler hearts than 
 they, they are not amusing. If M. le Comte wants amuse- 
 ment, he is obliged to look below his rank, and he will end by 
 getting into low company.” 
 
 Next day the old traveling coach saw the light, and was sent 
 to be put in repair. In a solemn interview after breakfast, 
 the hope of the house was duly informed of his father’s inten- 
 tions regarding him—he was to go to court and ask to serve 
 His Majesty. He would have time during the journey to 
 make up his mind about his career. The navy or the army, 
 the privy council, an embassy, or the Royal Household,—all 
 were open to a d’Esgrignon, a d’Esgrignon had only to choose. 
 The King would certainly look favorably upon the d’Es- 
 grignons, because they had asked nothing of him, and had 
 sent the youngest representative of their house to receive the 
 recognition of Majesty. 
 
 But young d’Hsgrignon, with all his wild pranks, had 
 guessed instinctively what society in Paris meant, and formed 
 his own opinions of life. So when they talked of his leaving 
 the country and the paternal roof, he listened with a grave 
 countenance to his revered parent’s lecture, and refrained 
 from giving him a good deal of information in reply. As, 
 for instance, that young men no longer went into the army 
 or the navy as they used to do; that if a man had a mind to be 
 a second lieutenant in a cavalry regiment without passing 
 through a special training in the Hcoles, he must first serve 
 in the Pages ; that sons of the greatest houses went exactly like 
 commoners to Saint-Cyr and the Ecole polytechnique, and 
 took their chances of being beaten by base blood. If he had 
 enlightened his relatives on these points, funds might not 
 have been forthcoming for a stay in Paris; so he allowed his 
 father and Aunt Armande to believe that he would be per- 
 mitted a seat in the King’s carriages, that he must support 
 his dignity at court as the d’Esgrignon of the time, and rub 
 shoulders with great lords of the realm. 
 
 It grieved the Marquis that he could send but one servant 
 
190 THE JEALOUSIES OF A COUNTRY TOWN 
 
 with his son; but he gave him his own old valet Joséphin, a ~ 
 man who can be trusted to take care of his young master, and 
 to watch faithfully over his interests. The poor father must 
 do without Joséphin, and hope to replace him with a young 
 lad. 
 
 “Remember that you are a Carol, my boy,” he said; “re- 
 member that you come of an unalloyed descent, and that your 
 scutcheon bears the motto Cul est nostre; with such arms you 
 ‘may hold your head high everywhere, and aspire to queens. 
 Render grace to your father, as I to mine. We owe it to the 
 honor of our ancestors, kept stainless until now, that we can 
 look all men in the face, and need bend the knee to none save 
 a mistress, the King, and God. This is the greatest of your 
 privileges.” 
 
 Chesnel, good man, was breakfasting with the family. He 
 took no part in counsels based on heraldry, nor in the inditing 
 of letters addressed to divers mighty personages of the day; 
 but he had spent the night in writing to an old friend of his, 
 one of the oldest established notaries of Paris. Without this 
 letter it is not possible to understand Chesnel’s real and as- 
 sumed fatherhood. It almost recalls Dedalus’ address to 
 Icarus; for where, save in old mythology, can you look for 
 comparisons worthy of this man of antique mould ? 
 
 “My DEAR AND ESTIMABLE SORBIER,—I remember with no 
 little pleasure that I made my first campaign in our honorable 
 profession under your father, and that you had a liking for 
 me, poor little clerk that I was. And now I appeal to old 
 memories of the days when we worked in the same office, old 
 pleasant memories for our hearts, to ask you to do me the one 
 service that I have ever asked of you in the course of our long 
 lives, crossed as they have been by political catastrophes, to 
 which, perhaps, I owe it that I have the honor to be your col- 
 league. And now I ask this service of you, my friend, and 
 my white hairs will be brought with sorrow to the grave if 
 you should refuse my entreaty. It is no question of myself or 
 of mine, Sorbier, for I lost poor Mme. Chesnel, and T have no 
 
THE JEALOUSIES OF A COUNTRY TOWN 191 
 
 child of my own. Something more to me than my own family 
 (if I had had one) is involved—it is the Marquis d’Es- 
 grignon’s only son. I have had the honor to be the Marquis’ 
 land steward ever since I left the office to which his father 
 sent me at his own expense, with the idea of providing for me. 
 The house which nurtured me has passed through all the 
 troubles of the Revolution. I have managed to save some of 
 their property ; but what is it, after all, in comparison with the 
 wealth that they have lost? I cannot tell you, Sorbier, how 
 deeply I am attached to the great house, which has been all 
 but swallowed up under my eyes by the abyss of time. M. le 
 Marquis was proscribed, and his lands confiscated, he was 
 getting on in years, he had no child. Misfortunes upon mis- 
 fortunes! Then M. le Marquis married, and his wife died 
 when the young Count was born, and to-day this noble, dear, 
 and precious child is all the life of the d’Esgrignon family ; 
 the fate of the house hangs upon him. He has got into debt 
 here with amusing himself. What else should he do in the 
 provinces with an allowance of a miserable hundred louis? 
 Yes, my friend, a hundred louis, the great house has come to 
 this. 
 
 “In this extremity his father thinks it necessary to send 
 the Count to Paris to ask for the King’s favor at court. Paris 
 is a very dangerous place for a lad; if he is to keep steady 
 there, he must have the grain of sense which makes notaries of 
 us. Besides, I should be heartbroken to think of the poor boy 
 living amid such hardships as we have known.—Do you re- 
 member the pleasure with which you shared my roll in the 
 pit of the Théatre-Francais when we spent a day and a night 
 there waiting to see The Marriage of Figaro? Oh, blind that 
 we were!—We were happy and poor, but a noble cannot be 
 happy in poverty. A noble in want—it is a thing against 
 nature! Ah! Sorbier, when one has known the satisfaction 
 of propping one of the grandest genealogical trees in the king- 
 dom in its fall, it is so natural to interest oneself in it and to 
 
 » grow fond of it, and love it and water it and look to see it 
 blossom. So you will not be surprised at so many precautions 
 
192 THE JEALOUSIES OF A COUNTRY TOWN 
 
 on my part; you will not wonder when I beg the help of your 
 lights, so that all may go well with our young man. 
 
 “The family has allowed a hundred thousand franes for the 
 expenses of M. le Comte’s journey. There is not a young 
 man in Paris fit to compare with him, as you will see! You 
 will take an interest in him as if he were your only son; and 
 lastly, I am quite sure that Madame Sorbier will not hesitate 
 to second you in the office of guardian. M. le Comte Vic- 
 turnien’s monthly allowance is fixed at two thousand francs, 
 but give him ten thousand for his preliminary expenses. The 
 family have provided in this way for a stay of two years, un- 
 less he takes a journey abroad, in which case we will see 
 about making other arrangements. Join me in this work, 
 my old friend, and keep the purse-strings fairly tight. Repre- 
 sent things to M. le Comte without reproving him; hold him 
 in as far as you can, and do not let him anticipate his monthly 
 allowance without sufficient reason, for he must not be driven 
 to desperation if honor is involved. 
 
 “Keep yourself informed of his movements and doings, of 
 the company which he keeps, and watch over his connections 
 with women. M. le Chevalier says that an opera dancer often 
 costs less than a court lady. Obtain information on that point 
 and let me know. If you are too busy, perhaps Mme. Sorbier 
 might know what becomes of the young man, and where he 
 goes. The idea of playing the part of guardian angel to such 
 a noble and charming boy might have attractions for her. 
 God will remember her for accepting the sacred trust. Per- 
 haps when you see M. le Comte Victurnien, her heart may 
 tremble at the thought of all the dangers awaiting him in 
 Paris; he is very young, and very handsome; clever, and at 
 the same time disposed to trust others. If he forms a connec- 
 tion with some designing woman, Mme. Sorbier could counsel 
 him better than you yourself could do. The old man-servant 
 who is with him can tell you many things; sound Joséphin, 
 I have told him to go to you in delicate matters. 
 
 “But why should I say more? We once were clerks to- 
 gether, and a pair of scamps; remember our escapades, and be 
 
THE JEALOUSIES OF A COUNTRY TOWN 193 
 
 a little bit young again, my old friend, in your dealings with 
 him. The sixty thousand francs will be remitted to you in 
 the shape of a bill on the Treasury by a gentleman who is 
 going to Paris,” and so forth. 
 
 If the old couple to whom this epistle was addressed had 
 followed out Chesnel’s «instructions, they would have been 
 compelled to take three private detectives into their pay. And 
 yet there was ample wisdom shown in Chesnel’s choice of a 
 depositary. A banker pays money to any one accredited to 
 him so long as the money lasts; whereas, Victurnien was 
 obliged, every time that he was in want of money, to make a 
 personal visit to the notary, who was quite sure to use the right 
 of remonstrance. 
 
 Victurnien heard that he was to be allowed two thousand 
 francs every month, and thought that he betrayed his joy. 
 He knew nothing of Paris. He fancied that he could keep 
 up princely state on such a sum. | 
 
 Next day he started on his journey. All the benedictions 
 of the Collection of Antiquities went with him; he was kissed 
 by the dowagers; good wishes were heaped on his head; his 
 old father, his aunt, and Chesnel went with him out of the 
 town, tears filling the eyes of all the three. The sudden de- 
 parture supplied material for conversation for several even- 
 ings ; and what was more, it stirred the rancorous minds of the 
 salon du Croisier to the depths. The forage-contractor, the 
 president, and others who had vowed to ruin the d’Hsgrignons, 
 saw their prey escaping out of their hands. They had based 
 their schemes of revenge on a young man’s follies, and now 
 he was beyond their reach. 
 
 The tendency in human nature, which often gives a bigot 
 a rake for a daughter, and makes a frivolous woman the 
 mother of a narrow pietist; that rule of contraries, which, in 
 all probability, is the “resultant” of the law of similarities, 
 drew Victurnien to Paris by a desire to which he must sooner 
 or later have yielded. Brought up as he had been in the old- 
 fashioned provincial house, among the quiet, gentle faces that 
 
194 THE JEALOUSIES OF A COUNTRY TOWN 
 
 smiled upon him, among sober servants attached to the family, 
 and surroundings tinged with a general color of age, the boy 
 had only seen friends worthy of respect. All of those about 
 him, with the exception of the Chevalier, had example of 
 venerable age, were elderly men and women, sedate of man- 
 ner, decorous and sententious of speech. He had been petted 
 by those women in the gray gowns and embroidered mittens 
 described by Blondet. The antiquated splendors of his father’s 
 house were as little calculated as possible to suggest frivolous 
 thoughts; and lastly, he had been educated by a sincerely re- 
 ligious abbé, possessed of all the charm of an old age, which 
 has dwelt in two centuries, and brings to the Present its gifts 
 of the dried roses of experience, the faded flowers of the old 
 customs of its youth. LHverything should have combined to 
 fashion Victurnien to serious habits; his whole surroundings 
 from childhood bade him continue the glory of a historic 
 name, by taking his life as something noble and great; and yet 
 Victurnien listened to dangerous promptings. 
 
 For him, his noble birth was a stepping-stone which raised 
 him above other men. He felt that the idol of Noblesse, be- 
 fore which they burned incense at home, was hollow; he had 
 come to be one of the commonest as well as one of the worst 
 types from a social point of view—a consistent egoist. The 
 aristocratic cult of the Hgo simply taught him to follow his 
 own fancies; he had been idolized by those who had the care 
 of him in childhood, and adored by the companions who 
 shared in his boyish escapades, and so he had formed a habit 
 of looking and judging everything as it affected his own 
 pleasure; he took it as a matter of course when good souls 
 saved him from the consequences of his follies, a piece of mis- 
 taken kindness which could only lead to his ruin. Victurnien’s 
 early training, noble and pious though it was, had isolated 
 him too much. He was out of the current of the life of his 
 time, for the life of a provincial town is certainly not in the 
 main current of the age; Victurnien’s true destiny lifted him 
 above it. He had learned to think of an action, not as 
 it affected others, nor relatively, but absolutely from his own 
 
THH JHALOUSIES OF A COUNTRY TOWN 195 
 
 point of view. Like despots, he made the law to suit the cir- 
 cumstance, a system which works in the lives of prodigal sons 
 the same confusion which fancy brings into art. 
 
 Victurnien was quick-sighted, he saw clearly and without 
 illusion, but he acted on impulse, and unwisely. An inde- 
 finable flaw of character, often seen in young men, but im- 
 possible to explain, led him to will one thing and do another. 
 In spite of an active mind, which showed itself in unexpected 
 ways, the senses had but to assert themselves, and the dark- 
 ened brain seemed to exist no longer. He might have aston- 
 ished wise men; he was capable of setting fools agape. His 
 desires, like a sudden squall of bad weather, overclouded all 
 the clear and lucid spaces of his brain in a moment; and then, 
 after the dissipations which he could not resist, he sank, ut- 
 terly exhausted in body, heart, and mind, into a collapsed 
 condition bordering upon imbecility. Such a character will 
 drag a man down into the mire if he is left to himself, or 
 bring him to the highest heights of political power if he has 
 some stern friend to keep him in hand. Neither Chesnel, nor 
 the lad’s father, nor Aunt Armande had fathomed the depths 
 of a nature so nearly akin on many sides to the poetic tem- 
 perament, yet smitten with a terrible weakness at its core. 
 
 By the time the old town lay several miles away, Vic- 
 turnien felt not the slightest regret ; he thought no more about 
 the father, who had loved ten generations in his son, nor of 
 the aunt, and her almost insane devotion. He was looking 
 forward to Paris with vehement ill-starred longings, in 
 thought he had lived in that fairyland, it had been the back- 
 ground of his brightest dreams. He imagined that he would 
 be first in Paris, as he had been in the town and the depart- 
 ment where his father’s name was potent; but it was vanity, 
 not pride, that filled his soul, and in his dreams his pleasures 
 were to be magnified by all the greatness of Paris. The dis- 
 tance was soon crossed. The traveling coach, like his own 
 thoughts, left the narrow horizon of the province for the vast 
 world of the great city, without a break in the journey. He 
 
196 THE JEALOUSIES OF A COUNTRY TOWN 
 
 stayed in the Rue de Richelieu, in a handsome hotel close to. 
 the boulevard, and hastened to take possession of Paris as a 
 famished horse rushes into a meadow. 
 
 He was not long in finding out the difference between 
 country and town, and was rather surprised than abashed by 
 the change. His mental quickness soon discovered how small 
 an entity he was in the midst of this all-comprehending 
 Babylon; how insane it would be to attempt to stem the tor- 
 rent of new ideas and new ways. A single incident was 
 enough. He delivered his father’s letter of introduction to 
 the Duc de Lenoncourt, a noble who stood high in favor with 
 the King. He saw the duke in his splendid mansion, among 
 surroundings befitting his rank. Next day he met him again. 
 This time the Peer of France was lounging on foot along the 
 boulevard, just like any ordinary mortal, with an umbrella in 
 his hand; he did not even wear the Blue Ribbon, without 
 which no knight of the order could have appeared in public 
 in other times. And, duke and peer and first gentleman of 
 the bedchamber though he was, M. de Lenoncourt, spite of his 
 high courtesy, could not repress a smile as he read his rela- 
 _tive’s letter ; and that smile told Victurnien that the Collection 
 of Antiquities and the Tuileries were separated by more than 
 sixty leagues of road; the distance of several centuries lay 
 between them. 
 
 The names of the families grouped about the throne are 
 quite different in each successive reign, and the characters 
 change with the names. It would seem that, in the sphere 
 of court, the same thing happens over and over again in each 
 generation ; but each time there is a quite different set of per- 
 sonages. If history did not prove that this is so, it would seem 
 incredible. The prominent men at the court of Louis X VIII., 
 for instance, had scarcely any connection with the Riviéres, 
 Blacas, d’Avarays, Vitrolles, d’Autichamps, Pasquiers, La- 
 rochejaqueleins, Decazes, Dambrays, Lainés, de Villéles, La 
 Bourdonnayes, and others who shone at the court of Louis 
 XV. Compare the courtiers of Henri IV. with those of Louis 
 XIV.; you will hardly find five great families of the former 
 
THE JEALOUSIES OF A COUNTRY TOWN 197 
 
 time still in existence. The nephew of the great Richelieu 
 was a very insignificant person at the court of Louis XIV.; 
 while His Majesty’s favorite, Villeroi, was the grandson of a 
 secretary ennobled by Charles IX. And so it befell that the 
 d’Esgrignons, all but princes under the Valois, and all-power- 
 ful in the time of Henri IV., had no fortune whatever at the 
 court of Louis X VIII., which gave them not so much as a 
 thought. At this day there are names as famous as those of 
 royal houses—the Foix-Graillys, for instance, or the d’Hérou- 
 villes—left to obscurity tantamount to extinction for want of 
 money, the one power of the time. 
 
 All which things Victurnien beheld entirely from his own 
 point of view; he felt the equality that he saw in Paris as a 
 personal wrong. The monster Equality was swallowing down 
 the last fragments of social distinction in the Restoration. 
 Having made up his mind on this head, he immediately pro- 
 ceeded to try to win back his place with such dangerous, if 
 blunted weapons, as the age left to the noblesse. It is an ex- 
 pensive matter to gain the attention of Paris. To this end, 
 Victurnien adopted some of the ways then in vogue. He felt 
 that it was a necessity to have horses and fine carriages, and 
 all the accessories of modern luxury; he felt, in short, “that a 
 man must keep abreast of the times,” as de Marsay said—de 
 Marsay, the first dandy that he came across in the first draw- 
 ing-room to which he was introduced. For his misfortune, 
 he fell in with a set of roués, with de Marsay, de Ronquerolles, 
 Maxime de Trailles, des Lupeaulx, Rastignac, Ajuda-Pinto, 
 Beaudenord, de la Roche-Hugon, de Manerville, and the Van- 
 denesses, whom he met wherever he went, and a great many 
 houses were open to a young man with his ancient name and 
 reputation for wealth. He went to the Marquise d’Espard’s, 
 to the Duchesses de Grandlieu, de Carigliano, and de Chaulieu, 
 to the Marquises d’Aiglemont and de Listomére, to Mme. de 
 Sérizy’s, to the Opéra, to the embassies and elsewhere. The 
 Faubourg Saint-Germain has its provincial genealogies at its 
 fingers’ ends; a great name once recognized and adopted 
 therein is a passport which opens many a door that will 
 
198 THE JEALOUSIES OF A COUNTRY TOWN 
 
 scarcely turn on its hinges for unknown names or the lions of 
 a lower rank. 
 
 Victurnien found his relatives both amiable and ready to 
 welcome him so long as he did not appear as a suppliant; he 
 saw at once that the surest way of obtaining nothing was to 
 ask for something. At Paris, if the first impulse moves people 
 to protect, second thoughts (which last a good deal longer) 
 impel them to despise the protégé. Independence, vanity, and 
 pride, all the young Count’s better and worse feelings com- 
 bined, led him, on the contrary, to assume an aggressive atti- 
 tude. And therefore the Ducs de Verneuil, de Lenoncourt, 
 de Chaulieu, de Navarreins, d’Hérouville, de Grandlieu, and 
 de Maufrigneuse, the Princes de Cadignan and de Blamont- 
 Chauvry, were delighted to present the charming survivor of 
 the wreck of an ancient family at court. 
 
 Victurnien went to the Tuileries in a splendid carriage 
 with his armorial bearings on the panels; but his presentation 
 to His Majesty made it abundantly clear to him that the 
 people occupied the royal mind so much that his nobility was 
 like to be forgotten. The restored dynasty, moreover, was 
 surrounded by triple ranks of eligible old men and gray- 
 headed courtiers ; the young noblesse was reduced to a cipher, 
 and this Victurnien guessed at once. He saw that there was 
 no suitable place for him at court, nor in the government, nor 
 the army, nor, indeed, anywhere else. So he launched out 
 into the world of pleasure. Introduced at the Elysée-Bourbon, 
 at the Duchesse d’Angouléme’s, at the Pavillon Marsan, he 
 met on all sides with the surface civilities due to the heir of 
 an old family, not so old but it could be called to mind by the 
 sight of a living member. And, after all, it was not a small 
 thing to be remembered. In the distinction with which Vic- 
 turnien was honored lay the way to the peerage and a splendid 
 marriage; he had taken the field with a false appearance of 
 wealth, and his vanity would not allow him to declare his real 
 position. Besides, he had been so much complimented on the 
 figure that he made, he was so pleased with his first success, 
 that, like many other young men, he felt ashamed to draw 
 
 
 
THE JEALOUSIES OF A COUNTRY TOWN 199 
 
 back. He took a suite of rooms in the Rue du Bac, with 
 stables and a complete equipment for the fashionable life 
 to which he had committed himself. These preliminaries cost 
 him fifty thousand francs, which money, moreover, the young 
 gentleman managed to draw in spite of all Chesnel’s wise pre- 
 cautions, thanks to a series of unforeseen events. 
 
 Chesnel’s letter certainly reached his friend’s office, but 
 Maitre Sorbier was dead ; and Mme. Sorbier, a matter-of-fact 
 person, seeing that it was a business letter, handed it on to 
 her husband’s successor. Maitre Cardot, the new notary, in- 
 formed the young Count that a draft on the Treasury made 
 payable to the deceased would be useless ; and by way of reply 
 to the letter, which had cost the old provincial notary so much 
 thought, Cardot despatched four lines intended not to reach 
 Chesnel’s heart, but to produce the money. Chesnel made the 
 draft payable to Sorbier’s young successor; and the latter, 
 feeling but little inclination to adopt his correspondent’s senti- 
 mentality, was delighted to put himself at the Count’s orders, 
 and gave Victurnien as much money as he wanted. 
 
 Now those who know what life in Paris means, know that 
 fifty thousand francs will not go very far in furniture, horses, 
 carriages,and elegance generally ; but it must be borne in mind 
 that Victurnien immediately contracted some twenty thou- 
 sand frances’ worth of debts besides, and his tradespeople at 
 first were not at all anxious to be paid, for our young gen- 
 tleman’s fortune had been prodigiously increased, partly by 
 rumor, partly by Joséphin, that Chesnel in livery. 
 
 Victurnien had not been in town a month before he was 
 obliged to repair to his man of business for ten thousand 
 frances; he had only been playing whist with the Ducs de 
 Navarreins, de Chaulieu, and de Lenoncourt, and now and 
 again at his club. He had begun by winning some thousands 
 of francs, but pretty soon lost five or six thousand, which 
 brought home to him the necessity of a purse for play. Vic- 
 turnien had the spirit that gains goodwill everywhere, and 
 puts a young man of a great family on a level with the 
 very highest. He was not merely admitted at once into the 
 
200 THE JEALOUSIES OF A COUNTRY TOWN 
 
 band of patrician youth, but was even envied by the rest. It 
 was intoxicating to him to feel that he was envied, nor was 
 he in this mood very likely to think of reform. Indeed, he 
 had completely lost his head. He would not think of the 
 means; he dipped into his money-bags as if they could be 
 refilled indefinitely; he deliberately shut his eyes to the in- 
 evitable results of the system. In that dissipated set, in the 
 continual whirl of gaiety, people take the actors in their 
 brilliant costumes as they find them; no one inquires whether 
 a man can afford to make the figure he does, there is nothing 
 in worse taste than inquiries as to ways and means. A man 
 ought to renew his wealth perpetually, and as Nature does— 
 below the surface and out of sight. People talk if somebody 
 comes to grief; they joke about a newcomer’s fortune till 
 their minds are set at rest, and at this they draw the line. 
 Victurnien d’Esgrignon, with all the Faubourg Saint-Ger- 
 main to back him, with all his protectors exaggerating the 
 amount of his fortune (were it only to rid themselves of re- 
 sponsibility), and magnifying his possessions in the most re- 
 fined and well-bred way, with a hint or a word; with all 
 these advantages—to repeat—Victurnien was, in fact, an 
 eligible Count. He was handsome, witty, sound in politics ; 
 his father still possessed the ancestral castle and the lands of 
 the marquisate. Such a young fellow is sure of an admi- 
 rable reception in houses where there are marriageable 
 daughters, fair but portionless partners at dances, and young 
 married women who find that time hangs heavy on their 
 hands. So the world, smiling, beckoned him to the fore- 
 most benches in its booth; the seats reserved for marquises are 
 still in the same place in Paris; and 1f the names are changed, 
 the things are the same as ever. 
 
 In the most exclusive circle of society in the Faubourg 
 Saint-Germain, Victurnien found the Chevalier’s double in 
 the person of the Vidame de Pamiers. The Vidame was a 
 Chevalier de Valois raised to the tenth power, invested with 
 all the prestige of wealth, enjoying all the advantages of high 
 position. The dear Vidame was a repositary for everybody’s 
 
THE JEALOUSIES OF A COUNTRY TOWN 201 
 
 secrets, and the gazette of the Faubourg besides ; nevertheless, 
 he was discreet, and, like other gazettes, only said things that 
 might safely be published. Again Victurnien listened to 
 the Chevalier’s esoteric doctrines. The Vidame told young 
 d’Esgrignon, without mincing matters, to make conquests 
 among women of quality, supplementing the advice with anec- 
 dotes from his own experience. The Vicomte de Pamiers, 
 it seemed, had permitted himself much that it would serve 
 no purpose to relate here; so remote was it all from our 
 modern manners, in which soul and passion play so large a 
 part, that nobody would believe it. But the excellent Vidame 
 aid more than this. 
 
 “Dine with me at a tavern to-morrow,” said he, by way 
 of conclusion. “We will digest our dinner at the Opéra, and 
 afterwards I will take you to a house where several people 
 have the greatest wish to meet you.” 
 
 The Vidame gave a delightful little dinner at the Rocher 
 de Cancale ; three guests only were asked to meet Victurnien 
 —de Marsay, Rastignac, and Blondet. Emile Blondet, the 
 young Count’s fellow-townsman, was a man of letters on 
 the outskirts of society to which he had been introduced by 
 a charming woman from the same province. ‘This was one 
 of the Vicomte de T'roisville’s daughters, now married to the 
 Comte de Montcornet, one of those of Napoleon’s generals 
 who went over to the Bourbons. The Vidame held that a 
 dinner-party of more than six persons was beneath contempt. 
 In that case, according to him, there was an end alike of 
 cookery and conversation, and a man could not sip his wine in 
 a proper frame of mind. 
 
 “T have not yet told you, my dear boy, where I mean to 
 take you to-night,” he said, taking Victurnien’s hands and 
 tapping on them. “You are going to see Mlle. des Touches ; 
 all the pretty women with any pretensions to wit will be at 
 her house en petit comité. Literature, art, poetry, any sort 
 of genius, in short, is held in great esteem there. It is one 
 of our old-world bureaua desprit, with a veneer of mon- 
 archical doctrine, the livery of this present age.” 
 
202 THE JEALOUSIES OF A COUNTRY TOWN 
 
 “Tt is sometimes as tiresome and tedious there as a pair ~ 
 of new boots, but there are women with whom you cannot meet 
 anywhere else,” said de Marsay. 
 
 “Tf all the poets who went there to rub up their muse were 
 like our friend here,” said Rastignac, tapping Blondet 
 familiarly on the shoulder, “we should have some fun. But 
 a plague of odes, and ballads, and driveling meditations, and 
 novels with wide margins, pervades the sofas and the 
 atmosphere.” 
 
 “T don’t dislike them,” said de Marsay, “so long as they 
 corrupt girls’ minds, and don’t spoil women.” 
 
 “Gentlemen,” smiled Blondet, “you are encroaching on my 
 field of literature.” 
 
 “You need not talk. You have robbed us of the most 
 charming woman in the world, you lucky rogue; we may be 
 allowed to steal your less brilliant ideas,” cried Rastignac. 
 
 “Yes, he is a lucky rascal,” said the Vidame, and he 
 twitched Blondet’s ear. “But perhaps Victurnien here will 
 be luckier still this evening——” 
 
 “Already!” exclaimed de Marsay. ‘Why, he only came 
 here a month ago; he has scarcely had time to shake the dust 
 of his old manor house off his feet, to wipe off the brine 
 in which his aunt kept him preserved; he has only just 
 set up a decent horse, a tilbury in the latest style, a 
 groom i 
 
 “No, no, not a groom,” interrupted Rastignac; “he has 
 some sort of an agricultural laborer that he brought with him 
 ‘from his place.’ Buisson, who understands a livery as well 
 as most, declared that the man was physically incapable of 
 wearing a jacket.” 
 
 “J will tell you what, you ought to have modeled your- 
 self on Beaudenord,” the Vidame said seriously. “He has 
 this advantage over all of you, my young friends, he has a 
 genuine specimen of the English tiger-——” 
 
 “Just see, gentlemen, what the noblesse have come to in 
 France!” cried Victurnien. “For them the one important 
 thing is to have a tiger, a thoroughbred, and baubles———” 
 
 
 
THE JEALOUSIES OF A COUNTRY TOWN 203 
 
 “Bless me!” said Blondet. “ ‘This gentleman’s good sense 
 at times appalls me.’-—Well, yes, young moralist, you nobles 
 have come to that. You have not even left to you that 
 lustre of lavish expenditure for which the dear Vidame was 
 famous fifty years ago. We revel on a second floor in the 
 Rue Montorgueil. There are no more wars with the Cardinal, 
 no Field of the Cloth of Gold. You, Comte d’Esgrignon, in 
 short, are supping in the company of one Blondet, younger 
 son of a miserable provincial magistrate, with whom you 
 would not shake hands down yonder; and in ten years’ time 
 you may sit beside him among peers of the realm. Believe 
 in yourself after that, if you can.” 
 
 “Ah, well,” said Rastignac, “we have passed from action to 
 thought, from brute force to force of intellect, we are talk- 
 ing 3) 
 
 “Let us not talk of our reverses,” protested the Vidame; 
 “T have made up my mind to die merrily. If our friend here 
 has not a tiger as yet, he comes of a race of lions, and can dis- 
 pense with one.” 
 
 “He cannot do without a tiger,” said Blondet; “he is too 
 newly come to town.” 
 
 “His elegance may be new as yet,” returned de Marsay, 
 “but we are adopting it. He is worthy of us, he understands 
 his age, he has brains, he is nobly born and gently bred; 
 we are going to like him, and serve him, and push him ii 
 
 “Whither?” inquired Blondet. 
 
 “Inquisitive soul!” said Rastignac. 
 
 “With whom will he take up to-night ?” de Marsay asked. 
 
 ‘With a whole seraglio,” said the Vidame. 
 
 “Plague take it! What can we have done that the dear 
 Vidame is punishing us by keeping his word to the infanta ? 
 I should be pitiable indeed if I did not know her A 
 
 “And I was once a coxcomb even as he,” said the Vidame, 
 indicating de Marsay. 
 
 The conversation continued pitched in the same key, charm- 
 ingly scandalous, and agreeably corrupt. The dinner went 
 off very pleasantly. Rastignac and de Marsay went to the 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
204 THE JEALOUSIES OF A COUNTRY TOWN 
 
 Opéra with the Vidame and Victurnien, with a view to fol- 
 lowing them afterwards to Mlle. des Touches’ salon. And 
 thither, accordingly, this pair of rakes betook themselves, cal- 
 culating that by that time the tragedy would have been read ; 
 for of all things to be taken between eleven and twelve o’clock 
 at night, a tragedy in their opinion was the most unwhole- 
 some. They went to keep a watch on Victurnien and to em- 
 barrass him, a piece of schoolboy’s mischief embittered by a 
 jealous dandy’s spite. But Victurnien was gifted with that 
 page’s effrontery which is a great help to ease of manner; and 
 Rastignac, watching him as he made his entrance, was sur- 
 prised to see how quickly he caught the tone of the 
 moment. 
 
 “That young d’Esgrignon will go far, will he not?” he 
 said, addressing his companion. | 
 
 “That is as may be,’ returned de Marsay, “but he is in a 
 fair way.” 
 
 The Vidame introduced his young friend to one of the 
 most amiable and frivolous duchesses of the day, a lady whose 
 adventures caused an explosion five years later. Just then, 
 however, she was in the full blaze of her glory; she had been 
 suspected, it is true, of equivocal conduct; but suspicion, 
 while it is stilt suspicion and not proof, marks a woman out 
 with the kind of distinction which slander gives to a man. 
 Nonentities are never slandered; they chafe because they are 
 left in peace. This woman was, in fact, the Duchesse de 
 Maufrigneuse, a daughter of the d’Uxelles; her father-in-law 
 was still alive; she was not to be the Princesse de Cadignan 
 for some years to come. A friend of the Duchesse de 
 Langeais and the Vicomtesse de Beauséant, two glories de- 
 parted, she was likewise intimate with the Marquise d’Espard, 
 with whom she disputed her fragile sovereignty as queen of 
 fashion. Great relations lent her countenance for a long 
 while, but the Duchesse de Maufrigneuse was one of those 
 women who, in some way, nobody knows how, or why, or 
 where, will spend the rents of all the lands of earth, and of 
 
THE JEALOUSIES OF A COUNTRY TOWN 205 
 
 the moon likewise, if they were not out of reach. The 
 general outline of her character was scarcely known as yet; 
 de Marsay, and de Marsay only, really had read her. That 
 redoubtable dandy now watched the Vidame de Pamiers’ in- 
 troduction of his young friend to that lovely woman, and 
 bent over to say in Rastignac’s ear: 
 
 “My dear fellow, he will go up whizz! like a rocket, and 
 come down like a stick,” an atrociously vulgar saying which 
 was remarkably fulfilled. 
 
 The Duchesse de Maufrigneuse had lost her heart to Vic- 
 turnien after first giving her mind to a serious study of 
 him. Any lover who should have caught the glance by which 
 she expressed her gratitude to the Vidame might well have 
 been jealous. of such friendship. Women are like horses let 
 loose on a steppe when they feel, as the Duchess felt with the 
 Vidame de Pamiers, that the ground is safe; at such moments 
 they are themselves; perhaps it pleases them to give, as it 
 were, samples of their tenderness in intimacy in this way. 
 It was a guarded glance, nothing was lost between eye and 
 eye; there was no possibility of reflection in any mirror. 
 Nobody intercepted it. 
 
 “See how she has prepared herself,” Rastignac said, turn- 
 ing to de Marsay. “What a virginal toilette; what swan’s 
 grace in that snow-white throat of hers! How white her 
 gown is, and she is wearing a sash like a little girl; she looks 
 round like a madonna inviolate. Who would think that you 
 had passed that way?” 
 
 “The very reason why she looks as she does,” returned de 
 Marsay, with a triumphant air. 
 
 The two young men exchanged a smile. Mme. de Maufri- 
 gneuse saw the smile and guessed at their conversation, and 
 gave the pair a broadside of her eyes, an art acquired by 
 Frenchwomen since the Peace, when Englishwomen imported 
 it into this country, together with the shape of their silver 
 plate, their horses and harness, and the piles of insular ice 
 which impart a refreshing coolness to the atmosphere of any 
 room in which a certain number of British females are 
 
< 206 THE JEALOUSIES OF A COUNTRY TOWN 
 
 gathered together. The young men grew serious as a couple 
 of clerks at the end of a homily from headquarters before 
 the receipt of an expected bonus. 
 
 The Duchess when she lost her heart to Victurnien had 
 made up her mind to play the part of romantic Innocence, 
 a role much understudied subsequently by other women, for 
 the misfortune of modern youth. Her Grace of Maufri- 
 gneuse had just come out as an angel at a moment’s notice, 
 precisely as she meant to turn to literature and science some- 
 where about her fortieth year instead of taking to devotion. 
 She made a point of being like nobody else. Her 
 parts, her dresses, her caps, opinions, toilettes, and man- 
 ner of acting were all entirely new and original. Soon after 
 her marriage, when she was scarcely more than a girl, she 
 had played the part of a knowing and almost depraved wo- 
 man; she ventured on risky repartees with shallow people, 
 and betrayed her ignorance to those who knew better. As 
 the date of that marriage made it impossible to abstract one 
 little year from her age without the knowledge of Time, and 
 as Her Grace had reached her twenty-sixth year, she had 
 taken it into her head to be immaculate. She scarcely 
 seemed to belong to earth; she shook out her wide sleeves 
 as if they had been wings. Her eyes fled to heaven at too 
 warm a glance, or word, or thought. 
 
 There is a madonna painted by Piola, the great Genoese 
 painter, who bade fair to bring out a second edition of 
 Raphael till his career was cut short by jealousy and murder ; 
 his madonna, however, you may dimly discern through a 
 pane of glass in a little street in Genoa. 
 
 A more chaste-eyed madonna than Piola’s does not exist; 
 but compared with Mme. de Maufrigneuse, that heavenly 
 creature was a Messalina. Women wondered among them- 
 selves how such a giddy young thing had been transformed 
 by a change of dress into the fair veiled seraph who seemed 
 (to use an expression now in vogue) to have a soul as white 
 as new fallen snow on the highest Alpine crests. How had 
 she solved in such short space the Jesuitical problem how to 
 
THD JEALOUSIES OF A COUNTRY TOWN 207 
 
 display a bosom whiter than her soul by hiding it in ganze? 
 How could she look so ethereal while her eyes drooped so 
 murderously? Those almost wanton glances seemed to give 
 promise of untold languorous delight, while by an ascetic’s 
 sigh of aspiration after a better life the mouth appeared to 
 add that none of those promises would be fulfilled. In- 
 genuous youths (for there were a few to be found in the 
 Guards of that day) privately wondered whether, in the most 
 intimate moments, it were possible to speak familiarly to this 
 White Lady, this starry vapor slidden down from the Milky 
 Way. ‘This system, which answered completely for some 
 years at a stretch, was turned to good account by women 
 of fashion, whose breasts were lined with a stout philosophy, 
 for they could cloak no inconsiderable exactions with these 
 little airs from the sacristy. Not one of the celestial creatures 
 but was quite well aware of the possibilities of less ethereal 
 love which lay in the longing of every well-conditioned male 
 to recall such beings to earth. It was a fashion which per- 
 mitted them to abide in a semi-religious, semi-Ossianic 
 empyrean ; they could, and did, ignore all the practical details 
 of daily hfe, a short and easy method of disposing of many 
 questions. De Marsay, foreseeing the future developments 
 of the system, added a last word, for he saw that Rastignac 
 was jealous of Victurnien. 
 
 “My boy,” said he, “stay as you are. Our Nucingen will 
 make your fortune, whereas the Duchess would ruin you. 
 She is too expensive.” 
 
 Rastignac allowed de Marsay to go without asking further 
 questions. He knew Paris. He knew that the most refined and 
 noble and disinterested of women—a woman who cannot be 
 induced to accept anything but a bouquet—can be as danger- 
 ous an acquaintance for a young man as any opera girl of 
 former days. As a matter of fact, the opera girl is an al- 
 most mythical being. As things are now at the theatres, 
 dancers and actresses are about as amusing as a declaration of 
 the rights of woman, they are puppets that go abroad in the 
 morning in the character of respected and respectable mothers 
 
208 THE JEALOUSIES OF A COUNTRY TOWN 
 
 of families, and act men’s parts in tight-fitting garments at 
 night. 
 
 Worthy M. Chesnel, in his country notary’s office, was 
 right; he had foreseen one of the reefs on which the Count 
 might make shipwreck. Victurnien was dazzled by the 
 poetic aureole which Mme. de Maufrigneuse chose to assume; 
 he was chained and padlocked from the first hour in her 
 company, bound captive by that girlish sash, and caught by 
 the curls twined round fairy fingers. Far corrupted the boy 
 was already, but he really believed in that farrago of maiden- 
 liness and muslin, in sweet looks as much studied as an Act 
 of Parliament. And if the one man, who is in duty bound to 
 believe in feminine fibs, is deceived by them, is not that 
 enough ? 
 
 For a pair of lovers, the rest of their species are about as 
 much alive as figures on the tapestry. The Duchess, flattery 
 apart, was avowedly and admittedly one of the ten hand- 
 somest women in society. “The loveliest woman in Paris” is, 
 as you know, as often met with in the world of love-making 
 as “the finest book that has appeared in this generation,” in 
 the world of letters. 
 
 The converse which Victurnien held with the Duchess can 
 be kept up at his age without too great a strain. He was 
 young enough and ignorant enough of life in Paris to feel 
 no necessity to be upon his guard, no need to keep a watch 
 over his lightest words and glances. The religious senti- 
 mentalism, which finds a broadly humorous commentary in 
 the after-thoughts of either speaker, puts the old-world 
 French chat of men and women, with its pleasant familiarity, 
 its lively ease, quite out of the question; they make love in a 
 mist nowadays. 
 
 Victurnien was just sufficient of an unsophisticated pro- 
 vincial to remain suspended in a highly appropriate and un- 
 feigned rapture which pleased the Duchess; for women are 
 no more to be deceived by the comedies which men play than 
 by their own. Mme. de Maufrigneuse calculated, not without 
 dismay, that the young Count’s infatuation was likely to hold 
 
THE JEALOUSIES OF A COUNTRY TOWN 209 
 
 good for six whole months of disinterested love. She looked 
 so lovely in this dove’s mood, quenching the light in her eyes 
 by the golden fringe of their lashes, that when the Marquise 
 d’Espard bade her friend good-night, she whispered, “Good! 
 very good, dear!” And with those farewell words, the fair 
 Marquise left her rival to make the tour of the modern Pays 
 du Tendre ; which, by the way, is not so absurd a conception 
 as some appear to think. New maps of the country are en- 
 graved for each generation; and if the names of the routes 
 are different, they still lead to the same capital city. 
 
 In the course of an hour’s téte-d-téte, on a corner sofa, 
 under the eyes of the world, the Duchess brought young 
 d’Esgrignon as far as Scipio’s Generosity, the Devotion of 
 Amadis, and Chivalrous Self-abnegation (for the Middle 
 Ages were just coming into fashion, with their daggers, 
 machicolations, hauberks, chain-mail, peaked shoes, and 
 romantic painted card-board properties). She had an ad- 
 mirable turn, moreover, for leaving things unsaid, for leaving 
 ideas in a discreet, seeming careless way, to work their way 
 down, one by one, into Victurnien’s heart, like needles into a 
 cushion. She possessed a marvelous skill in reticence; she 
 was charming in hypocrisy, lavish of subtle promises, which 
 revived hope and then melted away like ice in the sun if you 
 looked at them closely, and most treacherous in the desire 
 which she felt and inspired. At the close of this charming 
 encounter she produced the running noose of an invitation 
 to call, and flung it over him with a dainty demureness which 
 the printed page can never set forth. 
 
 “You will forget me,” she said. “You will find so many 
 women eager to pay court to you instead of enlightening 
 you. . . . But you will come back to me undeceived. 
 Are you coming to me first? . . . No. As you will.— 
 For my own part, I tell you frankly that your visits will be 
 a great pleasure to me. People of soul are so rare, and I 
 think that you are one of them.—Come, good-bye; people will 
 begin to talk about us if we talk together any longer.” 
 
 She made good her words and took flight. Victurnien 
 
210 THE JEALOUSIES OF A COUNTRY TOWN 
 
 went soon afterwards, but not before others had guessed his 
 ecstatic condition; his face wore the expression peculiar to 
 happy men, something between an Inquisitor’s calm discre- 
 tion and the self-contained beatitude of a devotee, fresh from 
 the confessional and absolution. 
 
 “Mme. de Maufrigneuse went pretty briskly to the point 
 this evening,” said the Duchesse de Grandlieu, when only 
 half-a-dozen persons were left in Mlle. des Touches’ little 
 drawing-room—to wit, des Lupeaulx, a Master of Requests, 
 who at that time stood very well at court, Vandenesse, the 
 Vicomtesse de Grandlieu, Canalis, and Mme. de Sérizy. 
 
 “D’Esgrignon and Maufrigneuse are two names that are 
 
 sure to cling together,” said Mme. de Sérizy, who aspired to | 
 
 epigram. 
 
 “For some days past she has been out at grass on 
 Platonism,” said des Lupeaulx. 
 
 “She will ruin that poor innocent,’ added Charles de 
 Vandenesse. 
 
 “What do you mean?” asked Mlle. des Touches. 
 
 “Oh, morally and financially, beyond all doubt,” said the 
 Vicomtesse, rising. 
 
 The cruel words were cruelly true for young d’Esgrignon. 
 
 Next morning he wrote to his aunt describing his intro- 
 duction into the high world of the Faubourg Saint-Germain 
 in bright colors flung by the prism of love, explaining the 
 reception which met him everywhere in a way which gratified 
 his father’s family pride. The Marquis would have the whole 
 long letter read to him twice; he rubbed his hands when he 
 heard of the Vidame de Pamiers’ dinner—the Vidame was 
 an old acquaintance—and of the subsequent introduction to 
 the Duchess; but at Blondet’s name he lost himself in con- 
 jectures. What could the younger son of a judge, a public 
 prosecutor during the Revolution, have been doing there? 
 
 There was joy that evening among the Collection of Antigq- 
 uities. They talked over the young Count’s success. So dis- 
 ereet were they with regard to Mme. de Maufrigneuse, that 
 the one man who heard the secret was the Chevalier. There 
 
THE JEALOUSIES OF A COUNTRY TOWN 211 
 
 was no financial postscript at the end of the letter, no un- 
 pleasant concluding reference to the sinews of war, which 
 every young man makes in such a case. Mlle. Armande 
 showed it to Chesnel. Chesnel was pleased and raised not a 
 single objection. It was clear, as the Marquis and the Cheva- 
 ler agreed, that a young man in favor with the Duchesse de 
 Maufrigneuse would shortly be a hero at court, where in the 
 old days women were all-powerful. The Count had not 
 made a bad choice. The dowagers told over all the gallant 
 adventures of the Maufrigneuses from Louis XIII. to Louis 
 XVI.—they spared to inquire into preceding reigns—and 
 when all was done they were enchanted—Mme. de Maufri- 
 gneuse was much praised for interesting herself in Vic- 
 turnien. Any writer of plays in search of a piece of pure 
 comedy would have found it well worth his while to listen 
 to the Antiquities in conclave. 
 
 Victurnien received charming letters from his father and 
 aunt, and also from the Chevalier. That gentleman recalled 
 himself to the Vidame’s memory. He had been at Spa with 
 M. de Pamiers in 1778, after a certain journey made by a 
 celebrated Hungarian princess. And Chesnel also wrote. 
 The fond flattery to which the unhappy boy was only too well 
 accustomed shone out of every page; and Mlle. Armande 
 seemed to share half of Mme. de Maufrigneuse’s hap- 
 piness. 
 
 Thus happy in the approval of his family, the young Count 
 made a spirited beginning in the perilous and costly ways of 
 dandyism. He had five horses—he was moderate—de Marsay 
 had fourteen! He returned the Vidame’s hospitality, even in- 
 cluding Blondet in the invitation, as well as de Marsay and 
 Rastignac. The dinner cost five hundred francs, and the noble 
 provincial was féted on the same scale. Victurnien played a 
 good deal, and, for his misfortune, at the fashionable game of 
 whist. 
 
 He laid out his days in busy idleness. Every day between 
 twelve and three o’clock he was with the Duchess; after- 
 
212 THE JEALOUSIES OF A COUNTRY TOWN 
 
 wards he went to meet her in the Bois de Boulogne and ride 
 beside her carriage. Sometimes the charming couple rode 
 together, but this was early in fine summer mornings. 
 Society, balls, the theatre, and gaiety filled the Count’s even- 
 ing hours. Everywhere Victurnien made a brilliant figure; 
 everywhere he flung the pearls of his wit broadcast. He gave 
 his opinion on men, affairs, and events in profound sayings ; he 
 would have put you in mind of a fruit-tree putting forth all 
 its strength in blossom. He was leading an enervating life, 
 wasteful of money, and even yet more wasteful, it may be, 
 of a man’s soul; in that life the fairest talents are buried out 
 of sight, the most incorruptible honesty perishes, the best- 
 tempered springs of will are slackened. 
 
 The Duchess, so white and fragile and angel-like, felt at- 
 tracted to the dissipations of bachelor life; she enjoyed first 
 nights, she liked anything amusing, anything improvised. 
 Bohemian restaurants lay outside her experience; so d’Esgri- 
 enon got up a charming little party at the Rocher de Cancale 
 for her benefit, asked all the amiable scamps whom she 
 cultivated and sermonized, and there was a vast amount of 
 merriment, wit, and gaiety, and a corresponding bill to pay. 
 That supper party led to others. And through it all Vic- 
 turnien worshiped her as an angel. Mme. de Maufrigneuse 
 for him was still an angel, untouched by any taint of earth; 
 an angel at the Variétés, where she sat out the half-obscene, 
 vulgar farces, which made her laugh; an angel through the 
 cross-fire of highly-flavored jests and scandalous anecdotes, 
 which enlivened a stolen frolic; a languishing angel in the 
 latticed box at the Vaudeville; an angel while she criticised 
 the postures of opera dancers with the experience of an elderly 
 habitué of le cow de la reine; an angel at the Porte Saint- 
 Martin, at the little boulevard theatres, at the masked balls, 
 which she enjoyed like any schoolboy. She was an angel 
 who asked him for the love that lives by self-abnegation and 
 heroism and self-sacrifice ; an angel who would have her lover 
 live like an English lord, with an income of a million francs. 
 D’Esgrignon once exchanged a horse because the animal’s 
 
THE JEALOUSIES OF A COUNTRY TOWN 213 
 
 coat did not satisfy her notions. At play she was an angel, 
 and certainly no bourgeoise that ever lived could have bidden 
 d’Esgrignon “Stake for me!” in such an angelic way. She 
 was so divinely reckless in her folly, that a man might well 
 have sold his soul to the devil lest this angel should lose her 
 taste for earthly pleasures. 
 
 The first winter went by. The Count had drawn on M. 
 Cardot for the trifling sum of thirty thousand francs over 
 and above Chesnel’s remittance. As Cardot very carefully 
 refrained from using his right of remonstrance, Victurnien 
 now learned for the first time that he had overdrawn his ac- 
 count. He was the more offended by an extremely polite re- 
 fusal to make any further advance, since it so happened that 
 he had just lost six thousand francs at play at the club, and 
 he could not very well show himself there until they were 
 paid. 
 
 After growing indignant with Maitre Cardot, who had 
 trusted him with thirty thousand francs (Cardot had written 
 to Chesnel, but to the fair Duchess’ favorite he made the most 
 of his so-called confidence in him), after all this, d Esgrignon 
 was obliged to ask the lawyer to tell him how to set about 
 raising the money, since debts of honor were in question. 
 
 “Draw bills on your father’s banker, and take them to his 
 correspondent; he, no doubt, will discount them for you. 
 Then write to your family, and tell them to remit the amount 
 to the banker.” 
 
 An inner voice seemed to suggest du Croisier’s name in 
 this predicament. He had seen du Croisier on his knees to 
 the aristocracy, and of the man’s real disposition he was en- 
 tirely ignorant. So to du Croisier he wrote a very offhand 
 letter, informing him that he had drawn a bill of exchange 
 on him for ten thousand franes, adding that the amount 
 would be repaid on receipt of the letter either by M. Chesnel 
 or by Mlle. Armande d’Esgrignon. Then he indited two 
 touching epistles—one to Chesnel, another to his aunt. In 
 the matter of going headlong to ruin, a young man often 
 
214 THE JEALOUSIES OF A COUNTRY TOWN 
 
 shows singular ingenuity and ability, and fortune favors him. 
 In the morning Victurnien happened on the name of the Paris 
 bankers in correspondence with du Croisier, and de Marsay 
 furnished him with the Kellers’ address. De Marsay knew 
 everything in Paris. The Kellers took the bill and gave him 
 the sum without a word, after deducting the discount. The 
 balance of the account was in du Croisier’s favor. 
 
 But the gaming debt was as nothing in comparison with the 
 state of things at home. Invoices showered in upon 
 Victurnien. 
 
 “T say! Do you trouble yourself about that sort of thing?” 
 Rastignac said, laughing. “Are you putting them in order, 
 my dear boy? I did not think you were so business-like.” 
 
 “My dear fellow, it is quite time I thought about it; there 
 are twenty odd thousand francs there.” 
 
 De Marsay, coming in to look up d’Esgrignon for a steeple- 
 chase, produced a dainty little pocket-book, took out twenty 
 thousand francs, and handed them to him. 
 
 “Tt is the best way of keeping the money safe,” said he; 
 “YT am twice enchanted to have won it yesterday from my 
 honored father, Milord Dudley.” 
 
 Such French grace completely fascinated d’Esgrignon; he 
 took it for friendship; and as to the money, punctually for- 
 got to pay his debts with it, and spent it on his pleasures. 
 The fact was that de Marsay was looking on with an unspeak- 
 able pleasure while young d’Esgrignon “got out of his depth,” 
 in dandy’s idiom ; it pleased de Marsay in all sorts of fondling 
 ways to lay an arm on the lad’s shoulder; by and by he should 
 feel its weight, and disappear the sooner. For de Marsay 
 was jealous; the Duchess flaunted her love affair; she was not 
 at home to other visitors when d’Esgrignon was with her. 
 And besides, de Marsay was one of those savage humorists 
 who delight in mischief, as Turkish women in the bath. So, 
 when he had carried off the prize, and bets were settled at the 
 tavern where they breakfasted, and a bottle or two of good 
 wine had appeared, de Marsay turned to d’Esgrignon with a 
 laugh: 
 
THE JEALOUSIES OF A COUNTRY TOWN 215 
 
 “Those bills that you are worrying over are not yours, I 
 am sure.” 
 
 “Hh! if they weren’t, why should he worry himself?” asked 
 Rastignac. 
 
 “And whose should they be?” d’Esgrignon inquired. 
 
 “Then you do not know the Duchess’ position?” queried 
 de Marsay, as he sprang into the saddle. 
 
 “No,” said d’Esgrignon, his curiosity aroused. 
 
 “Well, dear fellow, it is like this,” returned de Marsay— 
 “thirty thousand francs to Victorine, eighteen thousand 
 francs to Houbigaut, lesser amounts to Herbault, Nattier, 
 Nourtier, and those Latour people,—altogether a hundred 
 thousand francs.” 
 
 “An angel!” cried d’Esgrignon, with eyes uplifted to 
 heaven. 
 
 “This is the bill for her wings,’ Rastignac cried face- 
 tiously. 
 
 “She owes all that, my dear boy,” continued de Marsay, 
 “precisely because she is an angel. But we have all seen 
 angels in this position,” he added, glancing at Rastignac; 
 “there is this about women that is sublime: they understand 
 nothing of money; they do not meddle with it, it is no affair 
 of theirs; they are invited guests at the ‘banquet of life,’ as 
 some poet or other said that came to an end in the work- 
 house.” 
 
 “How do you know this when I do not?” d’Esgrignon 
 artlessly returned. 
 
 “You are sure to be the last to know it, just as she is sure 
 to be the last to hear that you are in debt.” 
 
 “T thought she had a hundred thousand livres a year,” said 
 d’Esgrignon. 
 
 “Her husband,” replied de Aareay! “lives apart from her. 
 He stays with his regiment and practises economy, for he 
 has one or two little debts of his own as well, has our dear 
 Duke. Where do you come from? Just learn to do as we do 
 and keen our friends’ accounts for them. Mlle. Diane (J fell 
 in love with her for the name’s sake), Mile. Diane d’Uxelles 
 
216 THE JEALOUSIES OF A COUNTRY TOWN 
 
 brought her husband sixty thousand livres of income; for the 
 last eight years she has lived as if she had two hundred thou- 
 sand. It is perfectly plain that at this moment her lands are 
 mortgaged up to their full value; some fine morning the crash 
 must come, and the angel will be put to flight by—must it be 
 said ?—by sheriff’s officers that have the effrontery to lay 
 hands on an angel just as they might take hold of one 
 of us.” 
 
 “Poor angel !” 
 
 “Lord ! it costs a great deal to dwell in a Parisian heaven ; 
 you must whiten your wings and your complexion every morn- 
 ing,” said Rastignac. 
 
 Now as the thought of confessing his debts to his beloved © 
 Diane had passed through d’Esgrignon’s mind, something 
 hke a shudder ran through him when he remembered that he 
 still owed sixty thousand francs, to say nothing of bills to 
 come for another ten thousand. He went back melancholy 
 enough. His friends remarked his ill-disguised Sent 
 tion, and spoke of it among themselves at dinner. 
 
 “Young VEHsgrignon is getting out of his.depth. He is 
 not up to Paris. He will blow his brains out. A little 
 fool!” and so on and so on. 
 
 D’Esgrignon, however, promptly took comfort. His serv- 
 ant brought him two letters. The first was from Chesnel. 
 A letter from Chesnel smacked of the stale grumbling faith- 
 fulness of honesty and its consecrated formulas. With all 
 respect he put it aside till the evening. But the second 
 letter he read with unspeakable pleasure. In Ciceronian 
 phrases, du Croisier groveled before him, like a Sganarelle 
 before a Géronte, begging the young Count in future to 
 spare him the affront of first depositing the amount of the 
 bills which he should condescend to draw. The concluding 
 phrase seemed meant to convey the idea that here was an open 
 cashbox full of coin at the service of the noble d’Esgrignon 
 family. So strong was the impression that Victurnien, like 
 Sganarelle or Mascarille in the play. like everybody else who 
 feels a twinge of conscience at his finger-tips, made an in- 
 voluntary gesture, 
 
THE JEALOUSIES OF A COUNTRY TOWN 217 
 
 Now that he was sure of unlimited credit with the Kel- 
 Jers, he opened Chesnel’s letter gaily. He had expected four 
 full pages, full of expostulation to the brim; he glanced down 
 the sheet for the familiar words “prudence,” “honor,” “de- 
 termination to do right,” and the like, and saw something 
 else instead which made his head swim. 
 
 “MONSIEUR LE Comtr,—Of all my fortune I have now but 
 two hundred thousand francs left. I beg of you not to ex- 
 ceed that amount, if you should do one of the most devoted 
 servants of your family the honor of taking it. I present my 
 respects to you. CHESNEL.” 
 
 “He is one of Plutarch’s men,” Victurnien said to himself, 
 as he tossed the letter on the table. He felt chagrined; such 
 magnanimity made him feel very small. 
 
 “There! one must reform,” he thought; and instead of 
 going to a restaurant and spending fifty or sixty francs over 
 his dinner, he retrenched by dining with the Duchesse de 
 Maufrigneuse, and told her about the letter. 
 
 “T should like to see that man,” she said, letting her eyes 
 shine like two fixed stars. 
 
 ‘What would you do?” 
 
 “Why, he should manage my affairs for me.” 
 
 Diane de Maufrigneuse was divinely dressed; she meant 
 her toilet to do honor to Victurnien. The levity with which 
 she treated his affairs or, more properly speaking, his debts 
 fascinated him. 
 
 The charming pair went to the Italiens. Never had that 
 beautiful and enchanting woman looked more seraphic, more 
 ethereal. Nobody in the house could have believed that she had 
 debts which reached the sum total mentioned by de Marsay 
 that very morning. No single one of the cares of earth had 
 touched that sublime forehead of hers, full of woman’s pride 
 of the highest kind. In her, a pensive air seemed to be 
 some gleam of an earthly love, nobly extinguished. The men 
 for the most part were wagering that Victurnien, with his 
 
218 THE JEALOUSIES OF A COUNTRY TOWN 
 
 handsome figure, laid her under contribution; while the wo- 
 men, sure of their rival’s subterfuge, admired her as Michael 
 Angelo admired Raphael, in petto. Victurnien loved Diane, 
 according to one of these ladies, for the sake of her hair— 
 she had the most beautiful fair hair in France; another main- 
 tained that Diane’s pallor was her principal merit, for she 
 was not really well shaped, her dress made the most of her 
 figure; yet others thought that Victurnien loved her for her 
 foot, her one good point, for she had a flat figure. But 
 (and this brings the present-day manner of Paris before you 
 in an astonishing manner) whereas all the men said that the 
 Duchess was subsidizing Victurnien’s splendor, the women, 
 on the other hand, gave people to understand that it was Vic- 
 turnien who paid for the angel’s wings, as Rastignac said. 
 
 As they drove back again, Victurnien had it on the tip of 
 his tongue a score of times to open this chapter, for the 
 Duchess’ debts weighed more heavily upon his mind than 
 his own;-and a score of times his purpose died away before 
 the attitude of the divine creature beside him. He could see 
 her by the light of the carriage lamps; she was bewitching 
 in the love-languor which always seemed to be extorted by 
 the violence of passion from her madonna’s purity. The 
 Duchess did not fall into the mistake of talking of her virtue, 
 of her angel’s estate, as provincial women, her imitators, do. 
 She was far too clever. She made him, for whom she made 
 such great sacrifices, think these things for himself. At the 
 end of six months she could make him feel that a harmless 
 kiss on her hand was a deadly sin; she contrived that every 
 grace should be extorted from her, and this with such con- 
 summate art, that it was impossible not to feel that she was 
 more an angel than ever when she yielded. 
 
 None but Parisian women are clever enough always to 
 give a new charm to the moon, to romanticize the stars, to 
 roll in the same sack of charcoal and emerge each time whiter 
 than ever. This is the highest refinement of intellectual and 
 Parisian civilization. Women beyond the Rhine or the Eng- 
 lish Channel believe nonsense of this sort when they utter 
 
THE JEALOUSIES OF A COUNTRY TOWN 219 
 
 it; while your Parisienne makes her lover believe that she is 
 an angel, the better to add to his bliss by flattering his vanity 
 on both sides—temporal and spiritual. Certain persons, 
 detractors of the Duchess, maintain that she was the first 
 dupe of her own white magic. A wicked slander. The 
 Duchess believed in nothing but herself. 
 
 By the end of the year 1823 the Kellers had supplied Vic- 
 turnien with two hundred thousand franes, and neither Ches- 
 nel nor Mlle. Armande knew anything about it. He had had, 
 besides, two thousand crowns from Chesnel at one time and 
 another, the better to hide the sources on which he was 
 drawing. He wrote lying letters to his poor father and aunt, 
 who lived on, happy and deceived, like most happy people 
 under the sun. The insidious current of life in Paris was 
 bringing a dreadful catastrophe upon the great and noble 
 house ; and only one person was in the secret of it. This was 
 du Croisier. He rubbed his hands gleefully as he went. past 
 in the dark and looked in at the Antiquities. He had good 
 hope of attaining his ends; and his ends were not, as hereto- 
 fore, the simple ruin of the d’Esgrignons, but the dishonor 
 of their house. He felt instinctively at such times that his 
 revenge was at hand; he scented itin the wind! He had been 
 sure of it indeed from the day when he discovered that the 
 young Count’s burden of debt was growing too heavy for the 
 boy to bear. 
 
 Du Croisier’s first step was to rid himself of his most 
 hated enemy, the venerable Chesnel. The good old man lived 
 in the Rue du Bercail, in a house with a steep-pitched roof. 
 There was a little paved courtyard in front, where the rose- 
 bushes grew and clambered up to the windows of the upper 
 story. Behind lay a little country garden, with its box-edged 
 borders, shut in by damp, gloomy-looking walls. The prim, 
 gray-painted street door, with its wicket opening and bell 
 attached, announced quite as plainly as the official scutcheon 
 that “a notary lives here.” 
 
 It was half-past five o’clock in the afternoon, at which hour 
 the old man usually sat digesting his dinner. He had drawn 
 
220 THE JEALOUSIES OF A COUNTRY TOWN 
 
 his black leather-covered armchair before the fire, and put 
 on his armor, a painted pasteboard contrivance shaped like 
 a top boot, which protected his stockinged legs from the heat 
 of the fire; for it was one of the good man’s habits to sit 
 for a while after dinner with his feet on the dogs and to stir 
 up the glowing coals. He always ate too much; he was fond 
 of good living. Alas! if it had not been for that little fail- 
 ing, would he not have been more perfect than it is permitted 
 to mortal man to be? Chesnel had finished his cup of coffee. 
 His old housekeeper had just taken away the tray which had 
 been used for the purpose for the last twenty years. He was 
 waiting for his clerks to go before he himself went out for his 
 game at cards, and meanwhile he was thinking—no need to 
 ask of whom or what. A day seldom passed but he asked him- 
 self, “Where is he? What is he doing?” He thought that 
 the Count was in Italy with the fair Duchesse de Maufri- 
 eneuse. 
 
 When every franc of a man’s fortune has come to him, 
 not by inheritance, but through his own earning and saving, 
 it is one of his sweetest pleasures to look back upon the pains 
 that have gone to the making of it, and then to plan out 
 a future for his crowns. This it is to conjugate the verb “to 
 enjoy” in every tense. And the old lawyer, whose affections 
 were all bound up in a single attachment, was thinking that 
 all the carefully-chosen, well-tilled land which he had pinched 
 and scraped to buy would one day go to round the d’Esgri- 
 gnon estates, and the thought doubled his pleasure. His 
 pride swelled as he sat at his ease in the old armchair; and 
 the building of glowing coals, which he raised with the tongs, 
 sometimes seemed to him to be the old noble house built up 
 again, thanks to his care. He pictured the young Count’s 
 prosperity, and told himself that he bad done well to live for 
 such an aim. Chesnel was not lacking in intelligence; sheer 
 goodness was not the sole source of his great devotion; he 
 had a pride of his own; he was like the nobles who used to 
 rebuild a pillar in a cathedral to inscribe their name upon it; 
 he meant his name to be remembered by the great house which 
 
THH JEALOUSIENS OF A COUNTRY TOWN 221 
 
 he had restored. Future generations of d’Esgrignons should 
 speak of old Chesnel. Just at this point his old housekeeper 
 came in with signs of extreme alarm in her countenance. 
 
 “Ts the house on fire, Brigitte?” 
 
 “Something of the sort,” said she. “Here is M. du Croisier 
 wanting to speak to you He 
 
 “M. du Croisier,” repeated the old lawyer. <A stab of cold 
 misgiving gave him so sharp a pang at the heart that he 
 dropped the tongs. “M. du Croisier here!” thought he, 
 “our chief enemy !” 
 
 Du Croisier came in at that moment, like a cat that scents 
 milk in a dairy. He made a bow, seated himself quietly in 
 the easy-chair which the lawyer brought forward, and pro- 
 duced a bill for two hundred and twenty-seven thousand 
 francs, principal and interest, the total amount of sums ad- 
 vanced to M. Victurnien in bills of exchange drawn upon du 
 Croisier, and duly honored by him. Of these, he now de- 
 manded immediate payment, with a threat of proceeding to 
 extremities with the heir-presumptive of the house. Chesnel 
 turned the unlucky letters over one by one, and asked the 
 enemy to keep the secret. This he engaged to do if he were 
 paid within forty-eight hours. He was pressed for money; 
 he had obliged various manufacturers; and there followed a 
 series of the financial fictions by which neither notaries nor 
 borrowers are deceived. Chesnel’s eyes were dim; he could 
 scarcely keep back the tears. There was but one way of 
 raising the money; he must mortgage his own lands up to 
 their full value. But when du Croisier learned the difficulty 
 in the way of repayment, he forgot that he was hard pressed ; 
 he no longer wanted ready money, and suddenly came out 
 with a proposal to buy the old lawyer’s property. The sale 
 was completed within two days. Poor Chesnel could not 
 bear the thought of the son of the house undergoing a five 
 years’ imprisonment for debt. So in a few days’ time noth- 
 ing remained to him but his practice, the sums that were due 
 to him, and the house in which he lived. Chesnel, stripped 
 of all his lands, paced to and fro in his private office, paneled 
 
 
 
222 THE JEALOUSIES OF A COUNTRY TOWN 
 
 with dark oak, his eyes fixed on the beveled edges of the 
 chestnut cross-beams of the ceiling, or on the trellised vines 
 in the garden outside. He was not thinking of his farms 
 now, nor of Le Jard, his dear house in the country ; not he. 
 
 “What will become of him? He ought to come back; they 
 must marry him to some rich heiress,” he said to himself; 
 and his eyes were dim, his head heavy. 
 
 How to approach Mlle. Armande, and in what words to 
 break the news to her, he did not know. The man who had 
 just paid the debts of the family quaked at the thought of con- 
 fessing these things. He went from the Rue du Bercail to the 
 Hotel d’Esgrignon with pulses throbbing like some girl’s heart 
 when she leaves her father’s roof by stealth, not to return 
 again till she ts a mother and her heart is broken. 
 
 Mile. Armande had just received a charming letter, charm- 
 ing in its hypocrisy. Her nephew was the happiest man 
 under the sun. He had been to the baths, he had been 
 traveling in Italy with Mme. de Maufrigneuse, and now sent 
 his journal to his aunt. Every sentence was instinct with 
 love. ‘There were enchanting descriptions of Venice, and 
 fascinating appreciations of the great works of Venetian art; 
 there were most wonderful pages full of the Duomo at Milan, 
 and again of Florence; he described the Apennines, and 
 how they differed from the Alps, and how in some village 
 like Chiavari happiness lay all around you, ready made. 
 
 The poor aunt was under the spell. She saw the far-off 
 country of love, she saw, hovering above the land, the angel 
 whose tenderness gave to all that beauty a burning glow. 
 She was drinking in the letter at long draughts; how should 
 it have been otherwise? The girl who had put love from her 
 was now a woman ripened by repressed and pent-up passion, 
 by all the longings continually and gladly offered up as a 
 sacrifice on the altar of the hearth. Mlle. Armande was not 
 like the Duchess. She did not look like an angel. She was 
 rather like the little, straight, slim and slender, ivory-tinted 
 statues, which those wonderful sculptors, the builders of 
 cathedrals, placed here and there about the buildings. Wild 
 
THE JEALOUSIES OF A COUNTRY TOWN 223 
 
 plants sometimes find a hold in the damp niches, and weave 
 a crown of beautiful bluebell flowers about the carved stone. 
 At this moment the blue buds were unfolding in the fair 
 saint’s eyes. Mlle. Armande loved the charming couple as 
 if they stood apart from real life; she saw nothing wrong in 
 a married woman’s love for Victurnien; any other woman she 
 would have judged harshly ; but in this case, not to have loved 
 her nephew would have been the unpardonable sin. Aunts, 
 mothers, and sisters have a code of their own for nephews and 
 sons and brothers. 
 
 Mlle. Armande was in Venice; she saw the lines of fairy 
 palaces that stand on either side of the Grand Canal; she was 
 sitting in Victurnien’s gondola ;he was telling her what happi- 
 ness it had been to feel that the Duchess’ beautiful hand lay in 
 his own, to know that she loved him as they floated together on 
 the breast of the amorous Queen of Italian seas. But even in 
 that moment of bliss, such as angels know, some one appeared 
 in the garden walk. It was Chesnel! Alas! the sound of 
 his tread on the gravel might have been the sound of the 
 sands running from Death’s hour-glass to be trodden under 
 his unshod feet. ‘The sound, the sight of a dreadful hopeless- 
 ness in Chesnel’s face, gave her that painful shock which fol- 
 lows a sudden recall of the senses when the soul has sent them 
 forth into the world of dreams. 
 
 “What is it?” she cried, as if some stab had pierced to her 
 heart. 
 
 “All is lost!” said Chesnel. “M. le Comte will bring dis- 
 honor upon the house if we do not set it in order.” He held 
 out the bills, and described the agony of the last few days in 
 a few simple but vigorous and touching words. 
 
 “He is deceiving us! The miserable boy!” cried Mlle. 
 Armande, her heart swelling as the blood surged back to it 
 in heavy throbs. 
 
 “Let us both say mea culpa, mademoiselle,” the old lawyer 
 said stoutly; “we have always allowed him to have his own 
 way; he needed stern guidance; he could not have it from 
 you with your inexperience of life; nor from me, for he would 
 not listen tome. He has had no mother.” 
 
224 THE JHALOUSIHNS OF A COUNTRY TOWN 
 
 “Fate sometimes deals terribly with a noble house in de- 
 cay,” said Mlle. Armande, with tears in her eyes. 
 
 The Marquis came up as she spoke. He had been walking 
 up and down the garden while he read the letter sent by his 
 son after his return. Victurnien gave his itinerary from an 
 aristocrat’s point of view; telling how he had been welcomed 
 by the greatest Italian families of Genoa, Turin, Milan, 
 Florence, Venice, Rome, and Naples. This flattering recep- 
 tion he owed to his name, he said, and partly, perhaps, to the 
 Duchess as well. In short, he had made his appearance 
 magnificently, and as befitted a d’Esgrignon. 
 
 “Have you been at your old tricks, Chesnel?” asked the 
 Marquis. 
 
 Mlle. Armande made Chesnel an eager sign, dreadful to 
 see. 'They understood each other. The poor father, the 
 flower of feudal honor, must die with all his illusions. <A 
 compact of silence and devotion was ratified between the two 
 noble hearts by a simple inclination of the head. 
 
 “Ah! Chesnel, it was not exactly in this way that the 
 d’Esgrignons went into Italy at the end of the fourteenth 
 century, when Marshal Trivulzio, in the service of the King 
 of France, served under a d’Esgrignon, who had a Bayard too 
 under his orders. Other times, other pleasures. And, for 
 that matter, the Duchesse de Maufrigneuse is at least the 
 equal of a Marchesa di Spinola.” 
 
 And, on the strength of his genealogical tree, the old man 
 swung himself off with a coxcomh’s air, as if he himself had 
 once made a conquest of the Marchesa di Spinola, and still 
 possessed the Duchess of to-day. 
 
 The two companions in unhappiness were left together on 
 the garden bench, with the same thought for a bond of union. 
 They sat for a long time, saying little save vague, unmean- 
 ing words, watching the father walk away in his happiness, 
 gesticulating as if he were talking to himself. 
 
 “What will become of him now?” Mile. Armande asked 
 after a while. 
 
 “Du Croisier has sent instructions to the MM. Keller; he 
 
THH JEALOUSIES OF A COUNTRY TOWN 225 
 
 is not to be allowed to draw any more without authoriza- 
 tion.” 
 
 “And there are debts,” continued Mlle. Armande. 
 
 “T am afraid so.” 
 
 “Tf he is left without resources, what will he do?” 
 
 “J dare not answer that question to myself.” 
 
 “But he must be drawn out of that life, he must come back 
 to us, or he will have nothing left.” 
 
 “And nothing else left to him,” Chesnel said gloomily. But 
 Mlle. Armande as yet did not and could not understand the 
 full force of those words. 
 
 “Is there any hope of getting him away from that woman, 
 that Duchess? Perhaps she leads him on.” 
 
 “He would not stick at a crime to be with her,” said 
 Chesnel, trying to pave the way to an intolerable thought by 
 others less intolerable. 
 
 “Crime,” repeated Mlle. Armande. “Oh, Chesnel, no one 
 but you would think of such a thing!” she added, with a 
 withering look; before such a look from a woman’s eyes no 
 mortal can stand. “There is but one crime that a noble 
 can commit—the crime of high treason; and when he is be- 
 headed, the block is covered with a black cloth, as it is for 
 kings.” 
 
 “The times have changed very much,” said Chesnel, shak- 
 ing his head. Victurnien had thinned his last thin, white 
 hairs. “Our Martyr-King did not die like the English King 
 Charles.” 
 
 That thought soothed Mile. Armande’s splendid indigna- 
 tion; a shudder ran through her; but still she did not realize 
 what Chesnel meant. 
 
 “To-morrow we will decide what we must do,” she said; 
 “it needs thought. At the worst, we have our lands.” 
 
 “Yes,” said Chesnel. “You and M. le Marquis own the 
 estate conjointly; but the larger part of it is yours. You 
 can raise money upon it without saying a word to him.” 
 
 The players at whist, reversis, boston, and _back- 
 
226 THE JEALOUSIES OF A COUNTRY TOWN 
 
 gammon noticed that evening that Mlle. Armande’s features, © 
 usually so serene and pure, showed signs of agitation. 
 
 “That poor heroic child!” said the old Marquise de 
 Castéran, “‘she must be suffering still. A woman never knows 
 what her sacrifices to her family may cost her.” 
 
 Next day it was arranged with Chesnel that Mlle. Armande 
 should go to Paris to snatch her nephew from perdition. If 
 any one could carry off Victurnien, was it not the woman 
 whose motherly heart yearned over him? Mlle. Armande 
 made up her mind that she would go to the Duchesse de 
 Maufrigneuse and tell her all. Still, some sort of pretext 
 was necessary to explain the journey to the Marquis and the 
 whole town. At some cost to her maidenly delicacy, Mlle. 
 Armande allowed it to be thought that she was suffering from 
 a complaint which called for a consultation of skilled and 
 celebrated physicians. Goodness knows whether the town 
 talked of this or no! But Mlle. Armande saw that some- 
 thing far more to her than her own reputation was at stake. 
 She set out. Chesnel brought her his last bag of louis; she 
 took it, without paying any attention to it, as she took her 
 white capuchine and thread mittens. 
 
 “Generous girl! What grace!” he said, as he put her into 
 the carriage with her maid, a woman who looked like a gray 
 sister. 
 
 Du Croisier had thought out his revenge, as provincials 
 think out everything. For studying out a question in all its 
 bearings, there are no folk in this world like savages, peasants, 
 and provincials; and this is how, when they proceed from 
 thought to action, you find every contingency provided for 
 from beginning to end. Diplomatists are children compared 
 with these classes of mammals; they have time before them, 
 an element which is lacking to those people who are obliged 
 to think about a great many things, to superintend the prog- 
 ress of all kinds of schemes, to look forward for all sorts of 
 contingencies in the wider interests of human affairs. Had 
 du Croisier sounded poor Victurnien’s nature so well, that 
 he foresaw how easily the young Count would lend himself 
 
THE JEALOUSIES OF A COUNTRY TOWN 227 
 
 to his schemes of revenge? Or was he merely profiting by 
 an opportunity for which he had been on the watch for 
 years? One circumstance there was, to be sure, in his man- 
 ner of preparing his stroke, which shows a certain skill. 
 Who was it that gave du Croisier warning of the moment? 
 Was it the Kellers? Or could it have been President du Ron- 
 ceret’s son, then finishing his law studies in. Paris? 
 
 Du Croisier wrote to Victurnien, telling him that the Kel- 
 iers had been instructed to advance no more money; and that 
 letter was timed to arrive just as the Duchesse de Maufri- 
 gneuse was in the utmost perplexity, and the Comte d’Esgri- 
 gnon consumed by the sense of a poverty as dreadful as it was 
 cunningly hidden. The wretched young man was exerting 
 all his ingenuity to seem as if he were wealthy ! 
 
 Now in the letter which informed the victim that in future 
 the Kellers would make no further advances without security, 
 there was a tolerably wide space left between the forms of 
 an exaggerated respect and the signature. It was quite easy 
 to tear off the best part of the letter and convert it into a 
 bill of exchange for any amount. ‘The diabolical missive had 
 even been enclosed in an envelope, so that the other side of the 
 sheet was blank. When it arrived, Victurnien was writhing 
 in the lowest depths of despair. After two years of the most 
 prosperous, sensual, thoughtless, and luxurious life, he found 
 himself face to face with the most inexorable poverty ; it was 
 an absolute impossibility to procure money. There had been 
 some throes of crisis before the journey came to an end. 
 With the Duchess’ help he had managed to extort various 
 sums from bankers; but it had beeh with the greatest 
 difficulty, and, moreover, those very amounts were about to 
 start up again before him as overdue bills of exchange in all 
 their rigor, with a stern summons to pay from the Bank 
 of France and the commercial court. All through the en- 
 joyments of those last weeks the unhappy boy had felt the 
 point of the Commander’s sword; at every supper-party he 
 heard, like Don Juan, the heavy tread of the statue outside 
 upon the stairs. He felt an unaccountable creeping of the flesh, 
 
228 THE JHALOUSIES OF A COUNTRY TOWN 
 
 a warning that the sirocco of debt is nigh at hand. He 
 reckoned on chance. For five years he had never turned up 
 a blank in the lottery ; his purse had always been replenished. 
 After Chesnel had come du Croisier (he told himself), after 
 du Croisier surely another gold mine would pour out its 
 wealth. And besides, he was winning great sums at play; 
 his luck at play had saved him several unpleasant steps al- 
 ready; and often a wild hope sent him to the Salon des 
 Ktrangers only to lose his winnings afterwards at whist at the 
 club. His life for the past two months had been like the 
 immortal finale of Mozart’s Don Giovanni; and of a truth, 
 if a young man has come to such a plight as Victurnien’s, 
 that finale is enough to make him shudder. Can anything © 
 better prove the enormous power of music than that sublime 
 rendering of the disorder and confusion arising out of a life 
 wholly given up to sensual indulgence? that fearful picture 
 of a deliberate effort to shut out the thought of debts and 
 duels, deceit and evil luck? In that music Mozart disputes 
 the palm with Moliere. The terrific finale, with its glow, its 
 power, its despair and laughter, its grisly spectres and elfish 
 women, centres about the prodigal’s last effort made in the 
 after-supper heat of wine, the frantic struggle which ends 
 the drama. Victurnien was living through this infernal 
 poem, and alone. He saw visions of himself—a friendless, 
 solitary outcast, reading the words carved on the stone, the 
 last words on the last page of the book that had held him 
 spellbound—THE END! 
 
 Yes; for him all would be at an end, and that soon. Al- 
 ready he saw the cold, ironical eyes which his associates would 
 turn upon him, and their amusement over his downfall. 
 Some of them he knew were playing high on that gambling- 
 table kept open all day long at the Bourse, or in private 
 houses at the clubs, and anywhere and everywhere in Paris; 
 but not one of these men could spare a banknote to save an 
 intimate. There was no help for it—Chesnel must be ruined. 
 He had devoured Chesnel’s living. 
 
 He sat with the Duchess in their box at the Italiens, the 
 
 
 
Cat 
 Wi 
 
 THE JEALOUSIES OF A COUNTRY TOWN 229 
 
 whole house envying them their happiness, and while he 
 smiled at her, all the Furies were tearing at his heart. In- 
 deed, to give some idea of the depths of doubt, despair, and 
 incredulity in which the boy was groveling; he who so clung 
 to life—the life which the angel had made so fair—who so 
 loved it, that he would have stooped to baseness merely to 
 live; he, the pleasure-loving scapegrace, the degenerate 
 d’Hsgrignon, had even taken out his pistols, had gone so far 
 as to think of suicide. He who would never have brooked the 
 appearance of an insult was abusing himself in language 
 which no man is likely to hear except from himself. 
 
 He left du Croisier’s letter lying open on the bed. 
 Joséphin had brought it in at nine o’clock. Victurnien’s 
 furniture had been seized, but he slept none the less. After 
 he came back from the Opéra, he and the Duchess had gone 
 to a voluptuous retreat, where they often spent a few hours 
 together after the most brilliant court balls and evening 
 parties and gaieties. Appearances were very cleverly saved. 
 Their love-nest was a garret like any other to all appearance ; 
 Mme. de Maufrigneuse was obliged to bow her head with its 
 court feathers or wreath of flowers to enter in at the door; 
 but within all the peris of the East had made the chamber 
 fair. And now that the Count was on the brink of ruin, he 
 
 had longed to bid farewell to the dainty nest, which he had 
 
 built to realize a day-dream worthy of his angel. Presently 
 adversity would break the enchanted eggs; there would be no 
 brood of white doves, no brilliant tropical birds, no more of 
 the thousand bright-winged fancies which hover above our 
 heads even to the last days of our lives. Alas! alas! in three 
 days he must be gone; his bills had fallen into the hands of 
 the money-lenders, the law proceedings had reached the last 
 stage. 
 
 An evil thought crossed his brain. He would fly with 
 the Duchess; they would live in some undiscovered nook in 
 the wilds of North or South America; but—he would fly with 
 a fortune, and leave his creditors to confront their bills. To 
 earry out the plan, he had only to cut off the lower portion 
 
230 THE JEALOUSIES OF A COUNTRY TOWN 
 
 of that letter with du Croisier’s signature, and to fill in the 
 figures to turn it into a bill, and present it to the Kellers. 
 There was a dreadful struggle with temptation; tears were 
 shed, but the honor of the family triumphed, subject to one 
 condition. Victurnien wanted to be sure of his beautiful 
 Diane; he would do nothing unless she should consent to 
 their flight. So he went to the-Duchess in the Rue Faubourg 
 Saint-Honoré, and found her in coquettish morning dress, 
 which cost as much in thought as in money, a fit dress in 
 which to begin to play the part of Angel at eleven o’clock in 
 the morning. 
 
 Mme. de Maufrigneuse was somewhat pensive. Cares _ 
 of a similar kind were gnawing her mind; but she took them 
 gallantly. Of all the various feminine organizations 
 classified by physiologists, there is one that has something 
 indescribably terrible about it. Such women combine 
 strength of soul and clear insight, with a faculty for prompt 
 decision, and a recklessness, or rather resolution in a crisis 
 which would shake a man’s nerves. And these powers lie out 
 of sight beneath an appearance of the most graceful helpless- 
 ness. Such women only among womankind afford examples 
 of a phenomenon which Buffon recognized in men alone, to 
 wit, the union, or rather the disunion, of two different natures 
 in one human being. Other women are wholly women; 
 wholly tender, wholly devoted, wholly mothers, completely 
 null and completely tiresome; nerves and brain and blood 
 are all in harmony; but the Duchess, and others like her, 
 are capable of rising to the highest heights of feelings, or 
 of showing the most selfish insensipility. It is one of the 
 glories of Moliére that he has given us a wonderful portrait 
 of such a woman, from one point of view only, in that great- 
 est of his full-length figures—Céliméne; Céliméne is the 
 typical aristocratic woman, as Figaro, the second edition of 
 Panurge, represents the people. 
 
 So the Duchess, being overwhelmed with debt, laid it upon 
 herself to give no more than a moment’s thought to the 
 avalanche of cares, and to take her resolution once and for 
 
THE JEALOUSIES OF A COUNTRY TOWN 231 
 
 all; Napoleon could take up or lay down the burden of his 
 thoughts in precisely the same way. The Duchess possessed 
 the faculty of standing aloof from herself; she could look on 
 as a spectator at the crash when it came, instead of submitting 
 to be buried beneath. This was certainly great, but repulsive 
 in a woman. When she awoke in the morning she collected 
 her thoughts; and by the time she had begun to dress she 
 had looked at the danger in its fullest extent and faced the 
 possibilities of terrific downfall. She pondered. Should 
 she take refuge in a foreign country? Or should she go to 
 the King and declare her debts to him? Or again, should she 
 fascinate a du Tillet or a Nucingen, and gamble on the 
 stock exchange to pay her creditors? The city man would 
 find the money; he would be intelligent enough to bring her 
 nothing but the profits, without so much as mentioning the 
 losses, a piece of delicacy which would gloss all over. The 
 catastrophe, and these various ways of averting it, had all 
 been reviewed quite coolly, calmly, and without trepida- 
 tion. 
 
 As a naturalist takes up some king of butterflies and 
 fastens him down on cotton-wool with a pin, so Mme. de 
 Maufrigneuse had plucked love out of her heart while she 
 pondered the necessity of the moment, and was quite ready to 
 replace the beautiful passion on its immaculate setting so 
 soon as her duchess’ coronet was safe. She knew none of 
 the hesitation which Cardinal Richelieu hid from all the world 
 but Pére Joseph; none of the doubts that Napoleon kept at 
 first entirely to himself. “Hither the one or the other,” she 
 told herself. 
 
 She was sitting by the fire, giving orders for her toilette 
 for a drive in the Bois if the weather should be fine, when 
 Victurnien came in. 
 
 The Comte d’Esgrignon, with all his stifled capacity, his 
 so keen intellect, was in exactly the state which might have 
 been looked for in the woman. His heart was beating 
 violently, the perspiration broke out over him as he stood 
 in his dandy’s trappings; he was afraid as yet to lay a hand 
 
232 THE JEALOUSIES OF A COUNTRY TOWN 
 
 on the corner-stone which upheld the pyramid of his life 
 with Diane. So much it cost him to know the truth. The 
 cleverest men are fain to deceive themselves on one or two 
 points if the truth once known is likely to humiliate them 
 in their own eyes, and damage themselves with themselves. 
 Victurnien forced his own irresolution into the field by com- 
 mitting himself. 
 
 “What is the matter with you?” Diane de Maufrigneuse 
 had said at once, at the sight of her beloved Victurnien’s 
 face. 
 
 “Why, dear Diane, I am in such perplexity; a man gone 
 to the bottom and at his last gasp is happy in comparison.” 
 
 “Pshaw ! it is nothing,” said she; “you area child. Let us 
 see now; tell me about it.” 
 
 “T am hopelessly in debt. I have come to the end of my 
 tether.” 
 
 “Ts that all?” said she, smiling at him. “Money matters 
 can always be arranged somehow or other; nothing is ir- 
 retrievable except disasters in love.” 
 
 Victurnien’s mind being set at rest by this swift com- 
 prehension of his position, he unrolled the bright-colored 
 web of his life for the last two years and a half; but it was 
 the seamy side of it which he displayed with something of 
 genius, and still more of wit, to his Diane. He told his tale 
 with the inspiration of the moment, which fails no one in 
 great crises; he had sufficient artistic skill to set it off by a 
 varnish of delicate scorn for men and things. It was an 
 aristocrat who spoke. And the Duchess listened as she could 
 listen. | 
 
 One knee was raised, for she sat with her foot on a stool. 
 She rested her elbow on her knee and leant her face on her 
 hand so that her fingers closed daintily over her shapely chin. 
 Her eyes never left his; but thoughts by myriads flitted under 
 the blue surface, like gleams of stormy light between two 
 clouds. Her forehead was calm, her mouth gravely intent— 
 grave with love; her lips were knotted fast by Victurnien’s 
 lips. ‘To have her listening thus was to believe that a divine 
 
 
 
THE JEALOUSIES OF A COUNTRY TOWN 233 
 
 love flowed from her heart. Wherefore, when the Count had 
 proposed flight to this soul, so closely knit to his own, he could 
 not help crying, “You are an angel!” 
 
 The fair Maufrigneuse made silent answer; but she had 
 not spoken as yet. 
 
 “Good, very good,” she said at last. (She had not given 
 herself up to the love expressed in her face; her mind had 
 been entirely absorbed by deep-laid schemes which she kept to 
 herself.) “But that is not the question, dear.” (The 
 “angel” was only “that” by this time.) “Let us think of 
 your affairs. Yes, we will go, and the sooner the better. Ar- 
 range it all; I will follow you. It is glorious to leave Paris 
 and the world behind. I will set about my preparations in 
 such a way that no one can suspect anything.” 
 
 I will follow you! Just so Mile. Mars might have spoken 
 those words to send a thrill through two thousand listening 
 men and women. When a Duchesse de Maufrigneuse offers, 
 in such words, to make such a sacrifice to love, she has paid 
 her debt. How should Victurnien speak of sordid details 
 after that? He could so much the better hide his 
 schemes, because Diane was particularly careful not to in- 
 quire into them. She was now, and always, as de Marsay 
 said, an invited guest at a banquet wreathed with roses, a 
 banquet which mankind, as in duty bound, made ready for 
 her. 
 
 Victurnien would not go till the promise had been sealed. 
 He must draw courage from his happiness before he could 
 bring himself to do a deed on which, as he inwardly told 
 himself, people would be certain to put a bad construction. 
 Still (and this was the thought that decided him) he counted 
 on his aunt and father to hush up the affair; he even counted 
 on Chesnel. Chesnel would think of one more compromise. 
 Besides, “this business,” as he called it in his thoughts, was 
 the only way of raising money on the family estate. With 
 three hundred thousand francs, he and Diane would lead a 
 happy life hidden in some palace in Venice; and there they 
 would forget the world. They went through their romance 
 in advance. 
 
234 THE JEALOUSIES OF A COUNTRY TOWN 
 
 Next day Victurnien made out a bill for three hundred 
 thousand franes, and took it to the Kellers. The Kellers 
 advanced the money, for du Croisier happened to have a 
 balance at the time; but they wrote to let him know that he 
 must not draw again on them without giving them notice. 
 Du Croisier, much astonished, asked for a statement of ac- 
 counts. It was sent. Everything was explained. The day 
 of his vengeance had arrived. 
 
 When Victurnien had drawn “his” money, he took it to 
 Mme. de Maufrigneuse. She locked up the banknotes in 
 her desk, and proposed to bid the world farewell by going to 
 the Opéra to see it for the last time. Victurnien was 
 thoughtful, absent, and uneasy. He was beginning to reflect. 
 He thought that his seat in the Duchess’ box might cost him 
 dear; that perhaps, when he had put the three hundred thou- 
 sand francs in safety, it would be better to travel post, to 
 fall at Chesnel’s feet, and tell him all. But before they left 
 the opera-house, the Duchess, in spite of herself, gave Vic- 
 turnien an adorable glance, her eyes were shining with the 
 desire to go back once more to bid farewell to the nest which 
 she loved so much. And boy that he was, he lost a 
 night. | 
 
 The next day, at three o’clock, he was back again at the 
 Hotel de Maufrigneuse; he had come to take the Duchess’ 
 orders for that night’s escape. And, “Why should we go?” 
 asked she; “I have thought it all out. The Vicomtesse de 
 Beauséant and the Duchesse de Langeais disappeared. If I 
 go too, it will be something quite commonplace. We will 
 brave the storm. It will be a far finer thing to do. I am 
 sure of success.” Victurnien’s eyes dazzled; he felt as if his 
 skin were dissolving and the blood oozing out all over him. 
 
 “What is the matter with you?” cried the fair Diane, notic- 
 ing a hesitation which a woman never forgives. Your truly 
 adroit lover will hasten to agree with any fancy that Woman 
 may take into her head, and suggest reasons for doing other- 
 wise, while leaving her free exercise of her right to change 
 
THE JEALOUSIES OF A COUNTRY TOWN 235 
 
 her mind, her intentions, and sentiments generally as often as 
 she pleases. Victurnien was angry for the first time, angry 
 with the wrath of a weak man of poetic temperament ; it was 
 a storm of rain and lightning flashes, but no thunder fol- 
 lowed. The angel on whose faith he had risked more than 
 his life, the honor of his house, was very roughly handled. 
 
 “So,” said she, “we have come to this after eighteen 
 months of tenderness! You are unkind, very unkind. Go 
 away !—I do not want to see you again. I thought that you 
 loved me. You do not.” 
 
 “TI do not love you?” repeated he, thunderstruck by the re- 
 
 
 
 proach. 
 “No, monsieur.” 
 “And yet ” he cried. “Ah! if you but knew what I 
 
 have just done for your sake !” 
 
 “And how have you done so much for me, monsieur? As 
 if a man ought not to do anything for a woman that has done 
 so much for him.” 
 
 “You are not worthy to know it!” Victurnien cried in a 
 passion of anger. 
 
 “Oh a 
 
 After that sublime “Oh!” Diane bowed her head on her 
 hand and sat, still, cold, and implacable as angels naturally 
 may be expected to do, seeing that they share none of the 
 passions of humanity. At the sight of the woman he loved 
 in this terrible attitude, Victurnien forgot his danger. Had 
 he not just that moment wronged the most angelic creature 
 on earth? He longed for forgiveness, he threw himself be- 
 fore her, he kissed her feet, he pleaded, he wept. Two whole 
 hours the unhappy young man spent in all kinds of follies, 
 only to meet the same cold face, while the great silent tears 
 dropping one by one, were dried as soon as they fell lest the 
 unworthy lover should try to wipe them away. The Duchess 
 was acting a great agony, one of those hours which stamp 
 the woman who passes through them as something august and 
 sacred. 
 
 Two more hours went by. By this time the Count had 
 
236 THE JEALOUSIES OF A COUNTRY TOWN 
 
 gained possession of Diane’s hand; it felt cold and spiritless. 
 The beautiful hand, with all the treasures in its grasp, might 
 have been supple wood; there was nothing of Diane in it; 
 he had taken it, it had not been given to him. As for Vic- 
 turnien, the spirit had ebbed out of his frame, he had ceased 
 to think. He would not have seen the sun in heaven. What 
 was to be done? What course should he take? What resolu- 
 tion should he make? ‘The man who can keep his head in 
 such circumstances must be made of the same stuff as the 
 convict who spent the night in robbing the Bibliothéque Royale 
 of its gold medals, and repaired to his honest brother in the 
 morning with a request to melt down the plunder. ‘What is 
 to be done?” cried the brother. ‘Make me some coffee,” 
 replied the thief. Victurnien sank into a bewildered stupor, 
 darkness settled down over his brain. Visions of past 
 rapture flitted across the misty gloom like the figures that 
 Raphael painted against a black background; to these he 
 must bid farewell. Inexorable and disdainful, the Duchess 
 played with the tip of her scarf. She looked in irritation 
 at Victurnien from time to time; she coquetted with memo- 
 ries, she spoke to her lover of his rivals as if anger had finally 
 decided her to prefer one of them to a man who could so 
 change in one moment after twenty-eight months of love. 
 “Ah! that charming young Félix de Vandenesse, so faith- 
 ful as he was to Mme. de Mortsauf, would never have per- 
 mitted himself such a scene! He ean love, can de 
 Vandenesse! De Marsay, that terrible de Marsay, such a tiger 
 as every one thought him, was rough with other men; but, 
 like all strong men, he kept his gentleness for women. 
 Montriveau trampled the Duchesse de Langeais under foot, as 
 Othello killed Desdemona, in a burst of fury which at any 
 rate proved the extravagance of his love. It was not like a 
 paltry squabble. There was rapture in being so crushed. 
 Little, fair-haired, slim, and slender men loved to torment 
 women; they could only reign over poor, weak creatures; it 
 pleased them to have some ground for believing that they 
 were men. The tyranny of love was their one chance of as- 
 
THH JEALOUSIES OF A COUNTRY TOWN 237 
 
 serting their power. She did not know why she had put herself 
 at the mercy of fair hair. Such men as de Marsay, 
 Montriveau, and Vandenesse, dark-haired and well grown, 
 had a ray of sunlight in their eyes.” 
 
 It was a storm of epigrams. Her speeches, like bullets, 
 came hissing past his ears. Every word that Diane hurled at 
 him was triple-barbed; she humiliated, stung, and wounded 
 him with an art that was all her own, as half a score 
 of savages can torture an enemy bound to a stake. 
 
 “You are mad!” he cried at last, at the end of his patience, 
 and out he went in God knows what mood. He drove as if he 
 had never handled the reins before, locked his wheels in the 
 wheels of other vehicles, collided with the curbstone in the 
 Place Louis-Quinze, went he knew not whither. The horse, 
 left to its own devices, made a bolt for the stable along the 
 Quai d’Orsay; but as he turned into the Rue de Université, 
 Joséphin appeared to stop the runaway. 
 
 “You cannot go home, sir,” the old man said, with a scared 
 face; “they have come with a warrant to arrest you.” 
 
 Victurnien thought that he had been arrested on the 
 criminal charge, albeit there had not been time for the 
 public prosecutor to receive his instructions. He had for- 
 gotten the matter of the bills of exchange, which had been 
 stirred up again for some days past in the form of orders to 
 pay, brought by the officers of the court with accompaniments 
 in the shape of bailiffs, men in possession, magistrates, com- 
 missaries, policemen, and other representatives of social order. 
 Like most guilty creatures, Victurnien had forgotten every- 
 thing but his crime. 
 
 “It is all over with me,” he cried. 
 
 “No, M. le Comte, drive as fast as you can to the Hotel 
 du Bon la Fontaine, in the Rue de Grenelle. Mlle. Armande 
 is waiting there for you, the horses have been put in, she will 
 take you with her.” 
 
 Victurnien, in his trouble, caught like a drowning man at 
 the branch that came to his hand; he rushed off to the inn, 
 reached the place, and flung his arms about his aunt. Mule. 
 
238 THE JEALOUSIES OF A COUNTRY TOWN 
 
 Armande cried as if her heart would break; any one might | 
 have thought that she had a share in her nephew’s guilt. 
 They stepped into the carriage. A few minutes later they 
 were on the road to Brest, and Paris lay behind them. Vic- 
 turnien uttered not a sound; he was paralyzed. And when 
 aunt and nephew began to speak, they talked at cross pur- 
 poses; Victurnien, still laboring under the unlucky misap- 
 prehension which flung him into Mlle. Armande’s arms, was 
 thinking of his forgery; his aunt had the debts and the bills 
 on her mind. 
 
 “You know all, aunt,’ he had said. 
 
 “Poor boy, yes, but we are here. I am not going to scold 
 you just yet. Take heart.” 
 
 “Tf must hide somewhere.” 
 
 "Perhaps. (}2))))))".) Yes, 1t'1s aivery good idea.” 
 
 “Perhaps I might get into Chesnel’s house without being 
 seen if we timed ourselves to arrive in the middle of the 
 night ?” 
 
 “That will be best. We shall be better able to hide this 
 from my brother.—Poor angel! how unhappy he is!” said 
 she, petting the unworthy child. 
 
 “Ah! now I begin to know what dishonor means; it has 
 chilled my love.” 
 
 “Unhappy boy; what bliss and what misery!” And Mlle. 
 Armande drew his fevered face to her breast and kissed his 
 forehead, cold and damp though it was, as the holy women 
 might have kissed the brow of the dead Christ when they laid 
 Him in His grave clothes. Following out the excellent 
 scheme suggested by the prodigal son, he was brought by 
 night to the quiet house in the Rue du Bercail; but chance 
 ordered it that by so doing he ran straight into the wolf’s 
 jaws, as the saying goes. That evening Chesnel had been 
 making arrangements to sell his connection to M. Lepres- 
 soir’s head-clerk. M. Lepressoir was the notary employed by 
 the Liberals, just as Chesnel’s practice lay among the aristo- 
 cratic families. The young fellow’s relatives were rich 
 enough to pay Chesnel the considerable sum of a hundred 
 thousand francs in cash. 
 
< 
 
 THE JEALOUSIES OF A COUNTRY TOWN 239 
 
 Chesnel was rubbing his hands. “A hundred thousand 
 francs will go a long way in buying up debts,” he thought. 
 “The young man is paying a high rate of interest on his 
 loans. We will lock him up down here. I will go yonder 
 myself and bring those curs to terms.” 
 
 Chesnel, honest Chesnel, upright, worthy Chesnel, called 
 his darling Comte Victurnien’s creditors “curs.” 
 
 Meanwhile his successor was making his way along the Rue 
 du Bercail just as Mlle. Armande’s traveling carriage turned 
 into it. Any young man might be expected to feel some 
 curiosity if he saw a traveling carriage stop at a notary’s door 
 in such a town and at such an hour of the night; the young 
 man in question was sufficiently inquisitive to stand in a 
 doorway and watch. He saw Mlle. Armande alight. 
 
 “Mille. Armande d’Esgrignon at this time of night!” said 
 he to himself. ‘What can be going forward at the d@’ Esgri- 
 gnons’ ?” 
 
 At the sight of mademoiselle, Chesnel opened the door 
 circumspectly and set down the light which he was carrying ; 
 but when he looked out and saw Victurnien, Mlle. Armande’s 
 first whispered word made the whole thing plain to him. He 
 looked up and down the street; it seemed quite deserted; he 
 beckoned, and the young Count sprang out of the carriage 
 and entered the courtyard. All was lost. Chesnel’s suc- 
 cessor had discovered Victurnien’s hiding-place. 
 
 Victurnien was hurried into the house and installed in a 
 room beyond Chesnel’s private office. No one could enter it 
 except across the old man’s dead body. 
 
 “Ah! M. le Comte!” exclaimed Chesnel, notary no longer. 
 
 “Yes, monsieur,” the Count answered, understanding his 
 old friend’s exclamation. “I did not listen to you; and now 
 I have fallen into the depths, and I must perish.” 
 
 “No, no,” the good man answered, looking triumphantly 
 from Mlle. Armande to the Count. “I have sold my connec- 
 tion. I have been working for a very long time now, and am 
 thinking of retiring. By noon to-morrow I shall have a 
 hundred thousand frances; many things can be settled with 
 
240 THE JEALOUSIHS OF A COUNTRY TOWN 
 
 that. Mademoiselle, you are tired,’ he added; “go back to 
 
 the carriage and go home and sleep. Business to-mor- 
 row.” 
 
 “Ts he safe?” returned she, looking at Victurnien. 
 
 Sy eg it 
 _ She kissed her nephew; a few tears fell on his forehead. 
 Then she went. 
 
 “My good Chesnel,” said the Count, when they began to 
 talk of business, “what are your hundred thousand francs in 
 such a position as mine? You do not know the full extent of 
 my troubles, I think.” 
 
 Victurnien explained the situation. Chesnel was thunder- 
 struck. But for the strength of his devotion, he would have 
 succumbed to this blow. Tears streamed from the eyes that 
 might well have had no tears left to shed. For a few 
 moments he was a child again, for a few moments he was 
 bereft of his senses; he stood like a man who should find his 
 own house on fire, and through a window see the cradle ablaze 
 and hear the hiss of the flames on his children’s curls. He 
 rose to his full height—7z/ se dressa en med, as Amyot would 
 have said; he seemed to grow taller; he raised his withered 
 hands and wrung them despairingly and wildly. 
 
 “Tf only your father may die and never know this, young 
 man! ‘To be a forger is enough; a parricide you must not 
 be. Fly, you say? No. They would condemn you for con- 
 tempt of court! Oh, wretched boy! Why did you not 
 forge my signature? J would have paid; I should not have 
 taken the bill to the public prosecutor—Now I can do noth- 
 ing. You have brought me to a stand in the lowest pit in 
 hell! Du Croisier! What will come of it? What is to be 
 done ?—If you had killed a man, there might be some help for 
 it. But forgery—forgery! And time—the time is flying,” 
 he went on, shaking his fist towards the old clock. “You 
 will want a sham passport now. One crime leads to another. 
 First,” he added, after a pause, “first of all we must save 
 the house of d’Esgrignon.” 
 
 “But the money is still in Mme. de Maufrigneuse’s keep- 
 ing,” exclaimed Victurnien. 
 
 
 
THE JEALOUSIES OF A COUNTRY TOWN 241 
 
 “Ah!” exclaimed Chesnel. “Well, there is some hope left 
 —a faint hope. Could we soften du Croisier, I wonder, or buy 
 him over? He shall have all the lands if he likes. I will 
 go to him; I will wake him and offer him all we have.—Be- 
 sides, it was not you who forged that bill; it was I. I will 
 go to jail; I am too old for the hulks, they can only put me 
 in prison.” 
 
 “But the body of the bill is in my handwriting,” objected 
 Victurnien, without a sign of surprise at this reckless 
 devotion. 
 
 “Idiot! . . . that is, pardon, M. le Comte. Joséphin 
 should have been made to write it,” the old notary cried 
 wrathfully. “He is a good creature; he would have taken it 
 all on his shoulders. But there is an end of it; the world is 
 falling to pieces,” the old man continued, sinking exhausted 
 into achair. “Du Croisier is a tiger; we must be careful not 
 to rouse him. What time isit? Where is the draft? If it 
 is at Paris, it might be bought back from the Kellers; they 
 might accommodate us. Ah! but there are dangers on all 
 sides; a single false step means ruin. Money is wanted in 
 any case. But, there! nobody knows you are here, you must 
 live buried away in the cellar if needs must. I will go at 
 once to Paris as fast as I can; I can hear the mail coach 
 from Brest.” 
 
 In a moment the old man recovered the faculties of his 
 youth—his agility and vigor. He packed up clothes for the 
 journey, took money, brought a six-pound loaf to the little 
 room beyond the office, and turned the key on his child by 
 adoption. 
 
 “Not a sound in here,” he said, “no light at night; and 
 stop here till I come back, or you will go to the hulks. Do 
 you understand, M. le Comte? Yes, to the hulks! if any- 
 body in a town like this knows that you are here.” 
 
 With that Chesnel went out, first telling his housekeeper 
 to give out that he was ill, to allow no one to come into the 
 house, to send everybody away, and to postpone business of 
 every kind for three days. He wheedled the manager of 
 
242 THE JEALOUSIES OF A COUNTRY TOWN 
 
 the coach-office, made up a tale for his benefit—he had the 
 makings of an ingenious novelist in him—and obtained a 
 promise that if there should be a place, he should have it, pass- 
 port or no passport, as well as a further promise to keep the 
 hurried departure a secret. Luckily, the coach was empty 
 when it arrived. 
 
 In the middle of the following night Chesnel was set down 
 in Paris. At nine o’clock in the morning he waited on the 
 Kellers, and learned that the fatal draft had returned to du 
 Croisier three days since; but while obtaining this informa- 
 tion, he in no way committed himself. Before he went away 
 he inquired whether the draft could be recovered if the 
 amount were refunded. Francois Keller’s answer was to the 
 effect that the document was du Croisier’s property, and that 
 it was entirely in his power to keep or return it. Then, in 
 desperation, the old man went to the Duchess. 
 
 Mme. de Maufrigneuse was not at home to any visitor at 
 that hour. Chesnel, feeling that every moment was precious, 
 sat down in the hall, wrote a few lines, and succeeded in 
 sending them to the lady by dint of wheedling, fascinating, 
 bribing, and commanding the most insolent and inaccessible 
 servants in the world. 'The Duchess was still in bed; but, to 
 the great astonishment of her household, the old man in 
 black knee-breeches, ribbed stockings, and shoes with buckles 
 to them, was shown into her room. 
 
 “What is it, monsieur?” she asked, posing in her dis- 
 order. “What does he want of me, ungrateful that he is?” 
 
 “It is this, Mme. la Duchesse,” the good man exclaimed, 
 “you have a hundred thousand crowns belonging to us.” 
 
 “Yes,” began she. “What does it signify rei 
 
 “The money was gained by a forgery, for which we are 
 going to the hulks, a forgery which we committed for 
 love of you,’ Chesnel said quickly. “How is it that you did 
 not guess it, so clever as you are? Instead of scolding the 
 boy, you ought to have had the truth out of him, and stopped 
 him while there was time, and saved him.” 
 
 At the first words the Duchess understood ; she felt ashamed 
 
 
 

 

 
THE JEALOUSIES OF A COUNTRY TOWN 243 
 
 of her behavior to so impassioned a lover, and afraid besides 
 that she might be suspected of complicity. In her wish to 
 prove that she had not touched the money left in her keeping, 
 she lost all regard for appearances; and besides, it did not 
 occur to her that a notary was a man. She flung off the 
 eider-down quilt, sprang to her desk (flitting past the lawyer 
 hike an angel out of one the vignettes which illustrate Lamar- 
 tine’s books), held out the notes, and went back in confusion 
 to bed. 
 
 “You are an angel, madame.” (She was to be an angel for 
 all the world, it seemed.) “But this will not be the end of it. 
 I count upon your influence to save us.” 
 
 “To save you! I will do it or die! Love that will not 
 shrink from a crime must be love indeed. Is there a woman in 
 the world for whom such a thing has been done? Poor boy! 
 Come, do not lose time, dear M. Chesnel; and count upon me 
 as upon yourself.” 
 
 “Mme. la Duchesse! Mme. la Duchesse!” It was all that 
 he could say, so overcome was he. He cried, he could have 
 danced; but he was afaid of losing his senses, and re- 
 frained. 
 
 “Between us, we will save him,” she said, as he left 
 the room. 
 
 Chesnel went straight to Joséphin. Joséphin unlocked the 
 young Count’s desk and writing-table. Very luckily, the notary 
 found letters which might be useful, letters from du Croisier 
 and the Kellers. Then he took a place in a diligence which 
 was just about to start; and by dint of fees to the postilions, 
 the lumbering vehicle went as quickly as the coach. His two 
 fellow-passengers on the journey happened to be in as great a 
 hurry as himself, and readily agreed to take their meals 
 in the carriage. Thus swept over the road, the notary 
 reached the Rue du Bercail, after three days of absence, an 
 hour before midnight. And yet he was too late. He saw 
 the gendarmes at the gate, crossed the threshold, and met the 
 young Count in the courtyard. Victurnien had been ar- 
 rested. If Chesnel had had the power, he would beyond a 
 
244 THE JEALOUSIENS OF A COUNTRY TOWN 
 
 doubt have killed the officers and men; as it was, he could only 
 fall on Victurnien’s neck. 
 
 “Tf I cannot hush this matter up, you must kill yourself 
 
 before the indictment is made out,” he whispered: But Vic- 
 turnien had sunk into such stupor, that he stared back un- 
 comprehendingly. 
 
 “Kill myself?” he repeated. 
 
 “Yes. If your courage should fail, my boy, count upon 
 me,” said Chesnel, squeezing Victurnien’s hand. 
 
 In spite of his anguish of mind and tottering limbs, he 
 stood firmly planted, to watch the son of his heart, the Comte 
 d’Esgrignon, go out of the courtyard between two gendarmes, 
 with the commissary, the justice of the peace, and the clerk 
 of the court; and not until the figures had disappeared, and 
 the sound of footsteps had died away into silence, did he re- 
 cover his firmness and presence of mind. 
 
 “You will catch cold, sir,’ Brigitte remonstrated. 
 
 “The devil take you!” cried her exasperated master. 
 
 Never in the nine-and-twenty years that Brigitte had been 
 in his service had she heard such words from him! Her 
 candle fell out of her hands, but Chesnel neither heeded his 
 housekeeper’s alarm nor heard her exclaim. He hurried off 
 towards the Val-Noble. 
 
 “He is out of his mind,” said she; “after all, it is no won- 
 der. But where is he off to? I cannot possibly go after 
 him. What will become of him? Suppose that he should 
 drown himself?” 
 
 And Brigitte went to waken the head-clerk and send him to 
 look along the river bank; the river had a gloomy reputation 
 just then, for there had lately been two cases of suicide 
 —one a young man full of promise, and the other a girl, a 
 victim of seduction. Chesnel went straight to the Hétel du 
 Croisier. There lay his only hope. The law requires that 
 a charge of forgery must be brought by a private individual. 
 It was still possible to withdraw if du Croisier chose to admit 
 that there had been a misapprehension; and Chesnel had 
 hopes, even then, of buying the man over. 
 
 
 
THE JEALOUSIES OF A COUNTRY TOWN . 245 
 
 M. and Mme. du Croisier had much more company than 
 usual that evening. Only a few persons were in the secret. 
 M. du Ronceret, president of the Tribunal; M. Sauvager, 
 deputy Public Prosecutor; and M. du Coudrai, a registrar of 
 mortgages, who had lost his post by voting on the wrong 
 side, were the only persons who were supposed to know about 
 it; but Mesdames du Ronceret and du Coudrai had told the 
 news, in strict confidence, to one or two intimate friends, so 
 that it had spread half over the semi-noble, semi-bourgeois 
 assembly at M. du Croisier’s. Everybody felt the gravity of 
 the situation, but no one ventured to speak of it openly; and, 
 moreover, Mme. du Croisier’s attachment to the upper sphere 
 was so well known, that people scarcely dared to mention the 
 disaster which had befallen the d’Esgrignons or to ask for 
 particulars. The persons most interested were waiting till 
 good Mme. du Croisier retired, for that lady always re- 
 treated to her room at the same hour to perform her religious 
 exercises as far as possible out of her husband’s sight. 
 
 Du Croisier’s adherents, knowing the secret and the plans 
 of the great commercial power, looked round when the lady of 
 the house disappeared; but there were still several persons 
 present whose opinions or interests marked them out as un- 
 trustworthy, so they continued to play. About half past 
 eleven all had gone save intimates: M. Sauvager, M. Camusot, 
 the examining magistrate, and his wife, M. and Mme. du Ron- 
 _ceret and their son Fabien, M. and Mme. du Coudrai, and 
 Joseph Blondet, the eldest son of an old judge; ten persons in 
 all. 
 
 It is told of Talleyrand that one fatal day, three hours 
 after midnight, he suddenly interrupted a game of cards in 
 the Duchesse de Luynes’ house by laying down his watch on 
 the table and asking the players whether the Prince de Condé 
 had any child but the Duc d’Enghien. 
 
 “Why do you ask?” returned Mme. de Luynes, “when you 
 know so well that he has not.” 
 
 “Because if the Prince has no other son, the House of 
 Condé is now at an end.” 
 
 There was a moment’s pause, and they finished the game. 
 
246 | THE JEALOUSIEBS OF A COUNTRY TOWN 
 
 —President du Ronceret now did something very similar. 
 Perhaps he had heard the anecdote; perhaps, in political life, - 
 little minds and great minds are apt to hit upon the same 
 expression. He looked at his watch, and interrupted the 
 game of boston with: 
 
 “At this moment M. le Comte d’Esgrignon is arrested, and 
 that house which has held its head so high is dishonored for- 
 ever.” 
 
 “Then, have you got hold of the boy?” du Coudrai cried 
 gleefully. 
 
 Every one in the room, with the exception of the President, 
 the deputy, and du Croisier, looked startled. 
 
 “He has just been arrested in Chesnel’s house, where he 
 was hiding,” said the deputy public prosecutor, with the air 
 of a capable but unappreciated public servant, who ought by 
 rights to be Minister of Police. M. Sauvager, the deputy, 
 was a thin, tall young man of five-and-twenty, with a lengthy 
 olive-hued countenance, black frizzled hair, and deep-set eyes ; 
 the wide, dark rings beneath them were completed by the 
 wrinkled purple eyelids above. With a nose like the beak of 
 some bird of prey, a pinched mouth, and cheeks worn lean 
 with study and hollowed by ambition, he was the very type 
 of a second-rate personage on the lookout for something to 
 turn up, and ready to do anything if so he might get on in the 
 world, while keeping within the limitations of the possible 
 and the forms of law. His pompous expression was an ad- 
 mirable indication of the time-serving eloquence to be ex- 
 pected of him. Chesnel’s successor had discovered the young 
 Count’s hiding place to him, and he took great credit to him- 
 self for his penetration. 
 
 The news seemed to come as a shock to the examining 
 magistrate, M. Camusot, who had granted the warrant of ar- 
 rest on Sauvager’s application, with no idea that it was to be 
 executed so promptly. Camusot was short, fair, and fat al- 
 ready, though he was only thirty years old or thereabouts; 
 he had the flabby, livid look peculiar to officials who 
 live shut up in their private study or in a court of justice; 
 
 
 
THE JEALOUSIES OF A COUNTRY TOWN 247 
 
 and his little, pale, yellow eyes were full of the suspicion 
 which is often mistaken for shrewdness. 
 
 Mme. Camusot looked at her spouse, as who should say, 
 “Was I not right ?” 
 
 “Then the case will come on,” was Camusot’s comment. 
 
 “Could you doubt it?” asked du Coudrai. “Now they 
 have got the Count, all is over.” 
 
 “There is the jury,” said Camusot. “In this case M. le 
 Préfet is sure to take care that after the challenges from 
 the prosecution and the defence, the jury to a man will be for 
 an acquittal—My advice would be to come to a compromise,” 
 he added, turning to du Croisier. 
 
 “Compromise !” echoed the President; “why, he is in the 
 hands of justice.” 
 
 “Acquitted or convicted, the Comte d’Esgrignon will be 
 dishonored all the same,’ put in Sauvager. 
 
 “T am bringing an action,’* said du Croisier. “I shall 
 have Dupin senior. We shall see how the d’Hsgrignon family 
 will escape out of his clutches.” 
 
 “The d’Esgrignons will defend the case and have counsel 
 from Paris; they will have Berryer,” said Mme. Camusot. 
 “You will have a Roland for your Oliver.” 
 
 Du Croisier, M. Sauvager, and the President du Ronceret 
 looked at Camusot, and one thought troubled their minds. 
 The lady’s tone, the way in which she flung her proverb in 
 the faces of the eight conspirators against the house of 
 d’Esgrignon, caused them inward perturbation, which they 
 dissembled as provincials can dissemble, by dint of lifelong 
 practice in the shifts of a monastic existence. Little Mme. 
 Camusot saw their change of countenance and subsequent 
 composure when they scented opposition on the part of the 
 examining magistrate. When her husband unveiled the 
 thoughts in the back of his own mind, she had tried to plumb 
 the depths of hate in du Croisier’s adherents. She wanted 
 to find out how du Croisier had gained over this deputy public 
 
 * A trial for an offence of this kind in France is an action brought by a private 
 person (partie civile) to recover damages, and at the same time a ‘criminal prosecu- 
 tion conducted on behalf of the Government.—TR. 
 
248 THE JEALOUSIES OF A COUNTRY TOWN 
 
 prosecutor, who had acted so promptly and so directly in 
 opposition to the views of the central power. 
 
 “Tn any case,” continued she, “if celebrated counsel come 
 down from Paris, there is a prospect of a very interesting 
 session in the Court of Assize; but the matter will be snuffed 
 out between the Tribunal and the Court of Appeal. It is 
 only to be expected that the Government should do all that 
 can be done, below the surface, to save a young man who 
 comes of a great family, and has the Duchesse de Maufri- 
 gneuse for friend. So I think that we shall have a ‘sen- 
 sation at Landernau.’ ” 
 
 “How you go on, madame!” the President said sternly. 
 “Can you suppose that the Court of First Instance will be 
 influenced by considerations which have nothing to do with 
 justice ?” 
 
 “The event proves the contrary,” she said meaningly, look- 
 ing full at Sauvager and the President, who glanced coldly at 
 her. 
 
 “Explain yourself, madame,” said Sauvager. ‘You speak 
 as if we had not done our duty.” 
 
 “Mme. Camusot meant nothing,” interposed her husband. 
 
 “But has not M. le Président just said something prejudic- 
 ing a case which depends on the examination of the prisoner ?” 
 said she. “And the evidence is still to be taken, and the 
 Court has not given its decision ?” 
 
 “We are not at the law-courts,” the deputy public prosecu- 
 tor replied tartly ; “and besides, we know all that.” 
 
 “But the public prosecutor knows nothing at all about it 
 yet,” returned she, with an ironical glance. “He will come 
 back from the Chamber of Deputies in all haste. You have 
 cut out his work for him, and he, no doubt, will speak for him- 
 self.” 
 
 The deputy prosecutor knitted his thick bushy brows. 
 Those interested read tardy scruples in his countenance. A 
 great silence followed, broken by no sound but the dealing of 
 the cards. M. and Mme. Camusot, sensible of a decided chill 
 in the atmosphere, took their departure to leave the conspira- 
 tors to talk at their ease. 
 
 
 
THD JEALOUSIES OF A COUNTRY TOWN 249 
 
 “Camusot,” the lady began in the street, “you went too 
 far. Why lead those people to suspect that you will have no 
 part in their schemes? ‘They will play you some ugly 
 trick.” 
 
 “What can they do? I am the only examining magis- 
 trate.” 
 
 “Cannot they slander you in whispers, and procure your 
 dismissal ?” 
 
 At that very moment Chesnel ran up against the couple. 
 The old notary recognized the examining magistrate; and 
 with the lucidity which comes of an experience of business, he 
 saw that the fate of the d’Esgrignons lay in the hands of 
 the young man before him. 
 
 “Ah, sir!” he exclaimed, “we shall soon need you badly. 
 Just a word with you.—Your pardon, madame,” he added, 
 as he drew Camusot aside. 
 
 Mme. Camusot, as a good conspirator, looked towards du 
 Croisier’s house, ready to break up the conversation if any- 
 body appeared; but she thought, and thought rightly, that 
 their enemies were busy discussing this unexpected turn which 
 she had given to the affair. Chesnel meanwhile drew the 
 magistrate into a dark corner under the wall, and lowered his 
 voice for his companion’s ear. 
 
 “Tf you are for the house of d’Esgrignon, ” he said, “Mme. 
 la Duchesse de Maufrigneuse, the Prince de Cadignan, the 
 Ducs de Navarreins and de Lenoncourt, the Keeper of the 
 Seals, the Chancellor, the King himself, will interest them- 
 selves in you. I have just come from Paris; I knew all about 
 this; I went post-haste to explain everything at Court. We 
 are counting on you, and I will keep your secret. If you are 
 hostile, I shall go back to Paris to-morrow and lodge a com- 
 plaint with the Keeper of the Seals that there is a suspicion 
 of corruption. Several functionaries were at du Croisier’s 
 house to-night, and no doubt, ate and drank there, contrary 
 to law; and besides, they are friends of his.” 
 
 Chesnel would have brought the Almighty to intervene if 
 he had had the power. He did not wait for an answer; he left 
 
250 THE JEALOUSIES OF A COUNTRY TOWN 
 
 Camusot and fled like a deer towards du Croisier’s house, 
 Camusot, meanwhile, bidden to reveal the notary’s con: 
 fidences, was at once assailed with, “Was I not right, dear?” 
 —a, wifely formula used on all occasions, but rather more 
 vehemently when the fair speaker is in the wrong. By the 
 time they reached home, Camusot had admitted the 
 superiority of his partner in life, and appreciated his good 
 fortune in belonging to her; which confession, doubtless, was 
 the prelude of a blissful night. 
 
 Chesnel met his foes in a body as they left du Croisier’s 
 house, and began to fear that du Croisier had gone to bed. 
 In his position he was compelled to act quickly, and any de- 
 lay was a misfortune. 
 
 “In the King’s name!” he cried, as the man-servant was 
 closing the hall door. He had just brought the King on the 
 scene for the benefit of an ambitious little official, and the 
 word was still on his lips. He fretted and chafed while the 
 door was unbarred; then, swift as a thunderbolt, dashed into 
 the ante-chamber, and spoke to the servant 
 
 “A hundred crowns to you, young man, if you can wake 
 Mme. du Croisier and send her to me this instant. Tell her 
 anything you like.” 
 
 Chesnel grew cool and composed as he opened the door 
 of the brightly hghted drawing-room, where du Croisier was 
 striding up and down. Tor a moment the two men scanned 
 each other, with hatred and enmity, twenty years’ deep, in 
 their eves. One of the two had his foot on the heart of the 
 house of d’Esgrignon; the other, with a lion’s strength, came 
 forward to pluck it away. 
 
 “Your humble servant, sir,’ said Chesnel. “Have you 
 made the ee Ot | 
 
 “Yes, sir.’ 
 
 <When was it made?” 
 
 “Yesterday.” 
 
 “Have any steps been taken since the warrant of arrest was 
 issued ?” 
 
 “T believe so.” 
 
THE JEALOUSIES OF A COUNTRY TOWN 251 
 
 “T have come to treat with you.” 
 
 “Justice must take its course, nothing can stop it, the ar- 
 rest has been made.” 
 
 “Never mind that, I am at your orders, at your feet.” The 
 old man knelt before du Croisier, and stretched out his hands 
 entreatingly. 
 
 “What do you want? Our lands, our castle? Take all; 
 withdraw the charge; leave us nothing but life and honor. 
 And over and besides ali this, I will be your servant; com- 
 mand and I will obey.” 
 
 Du Croisier sat down in an easy-chair and left the old man 
 to kneel. 
 
 “You are not vindictive,” pleaded Chesnel; “you are good- 
 hearted, you do not bear us such a grudge that you will not 
 listen to terms. Before daylight the young man ought to be 
 at liberty.” 
 
 “The whole town knows that he has been arrested,” re- 
 turned du Croisier, enjoying his revenge. 
 
 “It is a great misfortune, but as there will neither be proofs 
 nor trial, we can easily manage that.” 
 
 Du Croisier reflected. He seemed to be struggling with 
 self-interest ; Chesnel thought that he had gained a hold on 
 his enemy through the great motive of human action. At 
 that supreme moment Mme. du Croisier appeared. 
 
 “Come here and help me to soften your dear husband, 
 madame?” said Chesnel, still on his knees. Mme. du Croisier 
 made him rise with every sign of profound astonishment. 
 Chesnel explained his errand; and when she knew it, the 
 generous daughter of the intendants of the Ducs de Alengon 
 turned to du Croisier with tears in her eyes. 
 
 “Ah! monsieur, can you hesitate? The d’Esgrignons, the 
 honor of the province!” she said. 
 
 “There is more in it than that,” exclaimed du Croisier, ris- 
 ing to begin his restless walk again. 
 
 “More? What more?” asked Chesnel in amazement. 
 
 “France is involved, M. Chesnel! It is a question of the 
 country, of the people, of giving my lords your nobles a 
 
252 THE JEALOUSINS OF A COUNTRY TOWN 
 
 lesson, and teaching them that there is such a thing as justice, 
 and law, and a bourgeoisie—a lesser nobility as good as they, 
 and a match for them! There shall be no more trampling 
 down half a score of wheat fields for a single hare; no bring- 
 ing shame on families by seducing unprotected girls; they 
 shall not look down on others as good as they are, and mock 
 at them for ten whole years, without finding out at last that 
 these things swell into avalanches, and those avalanches will 
 fall and crush and bury my lords the nobles. You want to 
 go back to the old order of things. You want to tear up the 
 social compact, the Charter in which our rights are set 
 forth. “ 
 
 “And so?” 
 
 “Ts it not a sacred mission to open the people’s eyes?” cried 
 du Croisier. “Their eyes will be opened to the morality of 
 your party when they see nobles going to be tried at the As- 
 size Court like Pierre and Jacques. They will say, then, that 
 small folk who keep their self-respect are as good as great 
 folk that bring shame on themselves. The Assize Court is a 
 light for all the world. Here, | am the champion of the 
 people, the friend of law. You yourselves twice flung me on 
 the side of the people—once when you refused an alliance, 
 twice when you put me under the ban of your society. You 
 are reaping as you have sown.” 
 
 If Chesnel was startled by this outburst, so no less was 
 Mme. du Croisier. To her this was a terrible revelation of 
 her husband’s character, a new light not merely on the past 
 but on the future as well. Any capitulation on the part of 
 the colossus was apparently out of the question; but Chesnel 
 in no wise retreated before the impossible. 
 
 “What, monsieur?” said Mme. du Croisier. “Would you 
 not forgive? Then you are not a Christian.” 
 
 “T forgive as God forgives, madame, on certain condi- 
 tions.” 
 
 “And what are they?” asked Chesnel, thinking that he saw 
 a ray of hope. 
 
 “The elections are coming on; I want the votes at your dis- 
 
 posal.” 
 
 
 
THE JEALOUSIES OF A COUNTRY TOWN 253 
 
 “You shall have them.” 
 
 “I wish that we, my wife and I, should be received 
 familiarly every evening, with an appearance of friendliness 
 at any rate, my M. le Marquis d’Esgrignon and his circle,” 
 continued du Croisier. 
 
 “I do not know how we are going to compass it, but you 
 shall be received.” 
 
 “T wish to have the family bound over by a surety of four 
 hundred thousand francs, and by a written document stating 
 the nature of the compromise, so as to keep a loaded cannon 
 pointed at its heart.” 
 
 “We agree,” said Chesnel, without admitting that the three 
 hundred thousand francs was in his possession; “but the 
 amount must be deposited with a third party and returned 
 to the family after your election and repayment.” 
 
 “No; after the marriage of my grand-niece, Mlle. Duval. 
 She will very likely have four million frances some day; the 
 reversion of our property (mine and my wife’s) shall be 
 settled upon her by her marriage-contract, and you shall ar- 
 range a match between her and the young Count.” 
 
 ““Never !” 
 
 “Never! repeated du Croisier, quite intoxicated with 
 triumph. “Good-night!” 
 
 “Tdiot that I am,” thought Chesnel, “why did I shrink from 
 a lie to such a man?” 
 
 Du Croisier took himself off; he was pleased with himself ; 
 he had enjoyed Chesnel’s humiliation; he had held the 
 destinies of a proud house, the representatives of the aristoc- 
 racy of the province, suspended in his hand; he had set the 
 print of his heel on the very heart of the d’Esgrignons; and, 
 finally, he had broken off the whole negotiation on the score | 
 of his wounded pride. He went up to his room, leaving his 
 wife alone with Chesnel. In his intoxication, he saw his 
 victory clear before him. He firmly believed that the three 
 hundred thousand francs had been squandered; the d’Hsgri- 
 gnons must sell or mortgage all that they had to raise the 
 money ; the Assize Court was inevitable to his mind, 
 
254 THE JEALOUSIES OF A COUNTRY TOWN 
 
 An affair of forgery can always be settled out of cour, in 
 France if the missing amount is returned. ‘The losers by 
 the crime are usually well-to-do, and have no wish to blight 
 an imprudent man’s character. But du Croisier had no 
 mind to slacken his hold until he knew what he was about. 
 He meditated until he fell asleep on the magnificent manner 
 in which his hopes would be fulfilled by way of the Assize 
 Court or by marriage. ‘he murmur of voices below, the 
 lamentations of Chesnel and Mme. du Croisier, sounded 
 sweet in his ears. 
 
 Mme. du Croisier shared Chesnel’s views of the d’Esgri- 
 gnons. She was a deeply religious woman, a Royalist at- 
 tached to the noblesse; the interview had been in every way a 
 cruel shock to her feelings. She, a staunch Royalist, had 
 heard the roaring of that Liberalism, which, in her director’s 
 opinion, wished to crush the Church. The Left benches for 
 her meant the popular upheaval and the scaffolds of 1793. 
 
 “What would your uncle, that sainted man who hears us, 
 say to this?” exclaimed Chesnel. Mme. du Croisier made no 
 reply, but the great tears rolled down her cheeks. 
 
 “You have already been the cause of one poor boy’s death; 
 hismother will go mourning all her days,” continued Chesnel ; 
 he saw how his words told, but he would have struck harder 
 and even broken this woman’s heart to save Victurnien. 
 “Do you want to kill Mile. Armande, for she would not survive 
 the dishonor of the house for a week? Do you wish to be the 
 death of poor Chesnel, your old notary? For I shall kill the 
 Count in prison before they shall bring the charge against 
 him, and take my own life afterwards, before they shall try 
 me for murder in an Assize Court.” 
 
 “That is enough! that is enough, my friend! I would do 
 anything to put a stop to such an affair; but I never knew 
 M. du Croisier’s real character until a few minutes ago. To 
 you I can make the admission: there is nothing to be done.” 
 
 “But what if there is ?” 
 
 “T would give half the blood in my veins that it were so,” 
 said she, finishing her sentence by a wistful shake of the head. 
 
THH JEALOUSIES OF A COUNTRY TOWN 255 
 
 As the First Consul, beaten on the field of Marengo till 
 five o’clock in the evening, by six o’clock saw the tide of battle 
 turned by Desaix’s desperate attack and Kellermann’s terrific 
 charge, so Chesnel in the midst of defeat saw the beginnings 
 of victory. No one but a Chesnel, an old notary, an ex- 
 steward of the manor, old Maitre Sorbier’s junior clerk, in 
 the sudden flash of lucidity which comes with despair, could 
 rise thus, high as a Napoleon, nay, higher. This was not 
 Marengo, it was Waterloo, and the Prussians had come up; 
 Chesnel saw this, and was determined to beat them off the 
 field. 
 
 “Madame,” he said, “remember that I have been your man 
 of business for twenty years; remember that if the d’Esgri- 
 gnons mean the honor of the province, you represent the 
 honor of the bourgeoisie; it rests with you, and you alone, to 
 save the ancient house. Now, answer me; are you going to 
 allow dishonor to fall on the shade of your dead uncle, on the 
 d’Esgrignons, on poor Chesnel? Do you want to kill Mlle. 
 Armande weeping yonder? Or do you wish to expiate wrongs 
 done to others by a deed which will rejoice your ancestors, 
 the intendants of the dukes of Alencon, and bring comfort 
 to the soul of our dear Abbé? If he could rise from his 
 grave, he would command you to do this thing that I beg of 
 you upon my knees.” 
 
 “What is it?’ asked Mme. du Croisier. 
 
 ‘Well. Here are the hundred thousand crowns,” said 
 Chesnel, drawing the bundles of notes from his pocket. “Take 
 them, and there will be an end of it.” 
 
 “Tf that is all,” she began, “and if no harm can come of it 
 to my husban “ 
 
 “Nothing but good,” Chesnel replied. “You are saving 
 him from eternal punishment in hell, at the cost of a slight 
 disappointment here below.” 
 
 “He will not be compromised, will he?” she asked, looking 
 into Chesnel’s face. 
 
 Then Chesnel read the depths of the poor wife’s mind. 
 Mme. du Croisier was hesitating between her two creeds ; be- 
 
 
 
256 THE JEALOUSIES OF A COUNTRY TOWN 
 
 tween wifely obedience to her husband as laid down by the 
 Church, and obedience to the altar and the throne. Her. 
 husband, in her eyes, was acting wrongly, but she dared not 
 blame him; she would fain save the d’Esgrignons, but she 
 was loyal to her husband’s interests. 
 
 “Not in the least,’ Chesnel answered; “‘your old notary 
 swears it by the Holy Gospels iM 
 
 He had nothing left to lose for the d’Esgrignons but his 
 soul; he risked it now by this horrible perjury, but Mme. 
 du Croisier must be deceived, there was no other choice but 
 death. Without losing a moment, he dictated a form of 
 receipt by which Mme. du Croisier acknowledged payment of 
 a hundred thousand crowns five days before the fatal letter 
 of exchange appeared; for he recollected that du Croisier was 
 away from home, superintending improvements on his wife’s 
 property at the time. 
 
 “Now swear to me that you will declare before the ex- 
 amining magistrate that you received the money on that 
 date,” he said, when Mme. du Croisier had taken the notes and 
 he held the receipt in his hand. 
 
 “Tt will be a lie, will it not?” 
 
 “Venial sin,” said Chesnel. 
 
 “I could not do it without consulting my director, M. 
 Abbé Couturier.” 
 
 “Very well,” said Chesnel, “will you be guided entirely by 
 his advice in this affair?” 
 
 “T promise that.” 
 
 “And you must not give the money to M. du Croisier until 
 you have been before the magistrate.” 
 
 “No. Ah! God give me strength to appear in a Court of 
 Justice and maintain a lie before men!” 
 
 Chesnel kissed Mme. du Croisier’s hand, then stood up- 
 right, and majestic as one of the prophets that Raphael paint- 
 ed in the Vatican. 
 
 “Your uncle’s soul is thrilled with joy,” he said; “you have 
 wiped out for ever the wrong that you did by marrying an 
 enemy of altar and throne”—-words that made a lively impres- 
 sion on Mme. du Croisier’s timorous mind. 
 
 
 
THD JEALOUSIES OF A COUNTRY TOWN 257 
 
 Then Chesnel all at once bethought himself that he must 
 make sure of the lady’s director, the Abbé Couturier. He 
 knew how obstinately devout souls can work for the triumph 
 of their views when once they come forward for their side, and 
 wished to secure the concurrence of the Church as early as 
 _ possible. So he went to the Hotel d’Esgrignon, roused up 
 Mlle. Armande, gave her an account of that night’s work, and 
 sped her to fetch the Bishop himself into the forefront of the 
 battle. 
 
 “Ah, Godin heaven! Thou must save the house of d’Esgri- 
 enon!” he exclaimed, as he went slowly home again. “The 
 affair is developing now into a fight in a Court of Law. We 
 are face to face with men that have passions and interests 
 of their own; we can get anything out of them. This du 
 Croisier has taken advantage of the public prosecutor’s 
 absence; the public prosecutor is devoted to us, but since the 
 opening of the Chambers he has gone to Paris. Now, what 
 can they have done to get round his deputy? They have in- 
 duced him to take up the charge without consulting his chief. 
 This mystery must be looked into, and the ground surveyed 
 to-morrow; and then, perhaps, when I have unraveled this 
 web of theirs, I will go back to Paris to set great powers at 
 work through Mme. de Maufrigneuse.” 
 
 So he reasoned, poor, aged, clear-sighted wrestler, before 
 he lay down half dead with bearing the weight of so much 
 emotion and fatigue. And yet, before he fell asleep he ran 
 a searching eye over the list of magistrates, taking all their 
 secret ambitions into account, casting about for ways of in- 
 fluencing them, calculating his chances in the coming 
 struggle. Chesnel’s prolonged scrutiny of consciences, given 
 in a condensed form, will perhaps serve as a picture of the 
 judicial world in a country town. 
 
 Magistrates and officials generally are obliged to begin their 
 career in the provinces; judicial ambition there ferments. 
 At the outset every man looks towards Paris; they all aspire 
 to shine in the vast theatre where great political causes come 
 before the courts, and the higher branches of the legal pro- 
 
258 THE JEALOUSIES OF A COUNTRY TOWN 
 
 fession are closely connected with the palpitating interests of 
 society. But few are called to that paradise of the man of 
 law, and nine-tenths of the profession are bound sooner or 
 later to regard themselves as shelved for good in the prov- 
 inces. Wherefore, every Tribunal of First Instance and 
 every Court-Royal is sharply divided in two. The first sec- 
 tion has given up hope, and is either torpid or content; con- 
 tent with the excessive respect paid to office in a country town, 
 or torpid with tranquillity. The second section is made up of 
 the younger sort, in whom the desire of success is untempered 
 as yet by disappointment, and of the really clever men urged 
 on continually by ambition as with a goad; and these two 
 are possessed with a sort of fanatical belief in their order. 
 
 At this time the younger men were full of Royalist zeal 
 against the enemies of the Bourbons. The most insignificant | 
 deputy official was dreaming of conducting a prosecution, and 
 praying with all his might for one of those political cases 
 which bring a man’s zeal into prominence, draw the attention 
 of the higher powers, and mean advancement for King’s men. 
 Was there a member of an official staff of prosecuting counsel 
 who could hear of a Bonapartist conspiracy breaking out 
 somewhere else without a feeling of envy? Where was the 
 man that did not burn to discover a Caron, or a Berton, or a 
 revolt of some sort? With reasons of State, and the ne- 
 cessity of diffusing the monarchical spirit throughout France 
 as their basis, and a fierce ambition stirred up whenever party 
 spirit ran high, these ardent politicians on their promotion 
 were lucid, clear-sighted, and perspicacious. They kept up a 
 vigorous detective system throughout the kingdom; they did 
 the work of spies, and urged the nation along a path of 
 obedience, from which it had no business to swerve. 
 
 Justice, thus informed with monarchical enthusiasm, 
 atoned for the errors of the ancient parliaments, and walked, 
 perhaps, too ostentatiously hand in hand with religion There 
 was more zeal than discretion shown; but justice sinned not 
 so much in the direction of machiavelism as by giving too 
 candid expression to its views, when those views appeared to 
 
THE JEALOUSIES OF A COUNTRY TOWN 259 
 
 be opposed to the general interests of a country which must 
 be put safely out of reach of revolutions. But taken as a 
 whole, there was still too much of the bourgeois element in 
 the administration ; it was too readily moved by petty Liberal 
 agitation; and as a result, it was inevitable that it should in- 
 cline sooner or later to the Constitutional party, and join 
 ranks with the bourgeoisie in the day of battle. In the great 
 body of legal functionaries, as in other departments of the 
 administration, there was not wanting a certain hypocrisy, 
 or rather that spirit of imitation which always leads France 
 to model herself on the Court, and, quite unintentionally, to 
 deceive the powers that be. 
 
 Officials of both complexions were to be found in the court 
 in which young d’Esgrignon’s fate depended. M. le Prési- 
 dent du Ronceret and an elderly judge, Blondet by name, rep- 
 resented the section of functionaries shelved for good, and 
 resigned to stay where they were; while the young and 
 ambitious party comprised the examining magistrate M. 
 Camusot, and his deputy M. Michu, appointed through the 
 interests of the Cing-Cygnes, and certain of promotion to the 
 Court of Appeal of Paris at the first opportunity. 
 
 President du Ronceret held a permanent post; it was im- 
 possible to turn him out. The aristocratic party declined to 
 give him what he considered to be his due, socially speaking ; 
 so he declared for the bourgeoisie, glossed over his disappoint- 
 ment with the name of independence, and failed to realize 
 that his opinions condemned him to remain a president of 
 a court of first instance for the rest of his life. 
 Once started in this track the sequence of events led du Ron- 
 ceret to place his hopes of advancement on the triumph of du 
 Croisier and the Left. He was in no better odor at the Pre- 
 fecture than at the Court-Royal. He was compelled to keep 
 on good terms with the authorities; the Liberals distrusted 
 him, consequently he belonged to neither party. He was 
 obliged to resign his chances of election to du Croisier, he 
 exercised no influence, and played a secondary part. The 
 false position reacted on his character : he was soured and dis- 
 contented ; he was tired of political ambiguity, and privately 
 
260 THE JEALOUSIES OF A COUNTRY TOWN 
 
 had made up his mind to come forward openly as leader of 
 the Liberal party, and so to strike ahead of du Croisier. His 
 behavior in the d’Esgrignon affair was the first step in this 
 direction. ‘To begin with, he was an admirable representa- 
 tive of that section of the middle classes which allows its petty 
 passions to obscure the wider interests of the country; a class 
 of crotchety politicians, upholding the government one day 
 and opposing it the next, compromising every cause and help- 
 ing none; helpless after they have done the mischief till they 
 set about brewing more; unwilling to face their own incom- 
 petence, thwarting authority while professing to serve it. 
 With a compound of arrogance and humility they demand of 
 the people more submission than kings expect, and fret their 
 souls because those above them are not brought down to their 
 level, as if greatness could be little, as if power existed with- 
 out force. 
 
 President du Ronceret was a tall, spare man with a receding 
 forehead and scanty, auburn hair. He was wall-eyed, his 
 complexion was blotched, his lips thin and hard, his scarcely 
 audible voice came out like the husky wheezings of asthma. 
 He had for a wife a great, solemn, clumsy creature, tricked 
 out in the most ridiculous fashion, and outrageously over- 
 dressed. Mme. la Présidente gave herself the airs of a queen; 
 she wore vivid colors, and always appeared at balls adorned 
 with the turban, dear to the British female, and lovingly 
 cultivated in out-of-the-way districts in France. Each of the 
 pair had an income of four or five thousand francs, which, 
 with the President’s salary, reached a total of some twelve 
 thousand. In spite of a decided tendency to parsimony, 
 vanity required that they should receive one evening in the 
 week. Du Croisier might import modern luxury into the 
 town, M. and Mme. du Ronceret were faithful to the old tradi- 
 tions. They had always lived in the old-fashioned house be- 
 longing to Mme. du Ronceret, and had made no changes in it 
 since their marriage. ‘The house stood between a garden and 
 a courtyard. The gray old gable end, with one window in 
 each story, gave upon the road. High walls enclosed the 
 
THE JEALOUSIES OF A COUNTRY TOWN 261 
 
 garden and the yard, but the space taken up beneath them in 
 the garden by a walk shaded with chestnut trees was filled in 
 the yard by a row of outbuildings. An old rust-devoured 
 iron gate in the garden wall balanced the yard gateway, a 
 huge, double-leaved carriage entrance with a buttress on either 
 side, and a mighty shell on the top. The same shell was 
 repeated over the house-door. 
 
 The whole place was gloomy, close, and airless. The row 
 of iron-grated openings in the opposite wall, as you entered, 
 reminded you of prison windows. Every passer-by could look 
 in through the railings to see how the garden grew; the 
 flowers in the little square borders never seemed to thrive 
 there. 
 
 The drawing-room on the ground floor was lighted by a 
 single window on the side of the street, and a French window 
 above a flight of steps, which gave upon the garden. The 
 dining-room on the other side of the great ante-chamber, with 
 its windows also looking out into the garden, was exactly 
 the same size as the drawing-room, and all three apartments 
 were in harmony with the general air of gloom. It wearied 
 your eyes to look at the ceilings all divided up by huge painted 
 crossbeams and adorned with a feeble lozenge pattern or a 
 rosette in the middle. The paint was old, startling in tint, 
 and begrimed with smoke. The sun had faded the heavy 
 silk curtains in the drawing-room; the old-fashioned Beauvais 
 tapestry which covered the white-painted furniture had lost all 
 its color with wear. A Louis Quinze clock on the chimney- 
 piece stood between two extravagant, branched sconees filled 
 with yellow wax candles, which the Présidente only lighted on 
 occasions when the old-fashioned rock-crystal chandelier 
 emerged from its green wrapper. Three card-tables, covered 
 with threadbare baize, and a backgammon box, sufficed for the 
 recreations of the company; and Mme. du Ronceret treated 
 them to such refreshments as cider, chestnuts, pastry puffs, 
 glasses of eau sucrée, and home-made orgeat. For some time 
 past she had made a practice of giving a party once a fort- 
 night, when tea and some pitiable attempts at pastry appeared 
 to grace the occasion. 
 
262 THE JEALOUSIES OF A COUNTRY TOWN 
 
 Once a quarter the du Roncerets gave a grand three-course 
 dinner, which made a great sensation in the town, a dinner © 
 served up in execrable ware, but prepared with the science for 
 which the provincial cook is remarkable. It was a Gargantuan 
 repast, which lasted for six whole hours, and by abundance 
 the President tried to vie with du Croisier’s elegance. 
 
 And so du Ronceret’s life and its accessories were just what 
 might have been expected from his character and his false 
 position. He felt dissatisfied at home without precisely know- 
 ing what was the matter; but he dared not go to any expense 
 to change existing conditions, and was only too glad to put 
 by seven or eight thousand francs every year, so as to leave 
 his son Fabien a handsome private fortune. Fabien du Ron- 
 ceret had no mind for the magistracy, the bar, or the civil 
 service, and his pronounced turn for doing nothing drove his 
 parent to despair. 
 
 On this head there was rivalry between the President and 
 the Vice-President, old M. Blondet. M. Blondet, for a long 
 time past, had been sedulously cultivating an acquaintance be- 
 tween his son and the Blandureau family. The Blandureaus 
 were well-to-do linen manufacturers, with an only daughter, 
 and it was on this daughter that the President had fixed his 
 choice of a wife for Fabien. Now, Joseph Blondet’s marriage 
 with Mile. Blandureau depended on his nomination to the 
 post which his father, old Blondet, hoped to obtain for him 
 when he himself should retire. But President du Ronceret, 
 in underhand ways, was thwarting the old man’s plans, and 
 working indirectly upon the Blandureaus. Indeed, if it had 
 not been for this affair of young d’Esgrignon’s, the astute 
 President might have cut them out, father and son, for their 
 rivals were very much richer. 
 
 M. Blondet, the victim of the machiavelian President’s 
 intrigues, was one of the curious figures which lie buried away 
 in the provinces like old coins in a crypt. He was at that 
 time a man of sixty-seven or thereabouts, but he carried his 
 years well; he was very tall, and in build reminded you of the 
 canons of the good old times. The smallpox had riddled his 
 
THE JEALOUSIES OF A COUNTRY TOWN 263 
 
 face with numberless dints, and spoilt the shape of his nose by 
 imparting to it a gimlet-like twist ; it was a countenance by no 
 means lacking in character, very evenly tinted with a diffused 
 red, lighted up by a pair of bright little eyes, with a sardonic 
 look in them, while a certain sarcastic twitch of the purpled 
 lips gave expression to that feature. 
 
 Before the Revolution broke out, Blondet senior had been 
 a barrister; afterwards he became the public accuser, and 
 one of the mildest of those formidable functionaries. Good- 
 man Blondet, as they used to call him, deadened the force of 
 the new doctrines by acquiescing in them all, and putting 
 none of them in practice. He had been obliged to send one 
 or two nobles to prison; but his further proceedings were 
 marked with such deliberation, that he brought them through 
 to the 9th Thermidor with a dexterity which won respect for 
 him on all sides. As a matter of fact, Goodman Blondet 
 ought to have been President of the Tribunal, but when the 
 courts of law were reorganized he had been set aside; 
 Napoleon’s aversion for Republicans was apt to reappear 
 in the smallest appointments under his government. The 
 qualification of ex-public accuser, written in the margin of 
 the list against Blondet’s name, set the Emperor inquiring of 
 Cambacérés whether there might not be some scion of an 
 ancient parliamentary stock to appoint instead. The con- 
 sequence was that du Ronceret, whose father had been a 
 councillor of parliament, was nominated to the presidency ; 
 but, the Emperor’s repugnance notwithstanding, Cambacérés 
 allowed Blondet to remain on the bench, saying that the old 
 barrister was one of the best jurisconsults in France. 
 
 Blondet’s talents, his knowledge of the old law of the land 
 and subsequent legislation, should by rights have brought 
 him far in his profession; but he had this much in common 
 with some few great spirits: he entertained a prodigious con- 
 tempt for his own special knowledge, and reserved all his 
 pretentions, leisure, and capacity for a second pursuit un- 
 connected with the law. To this pursuit he gave his almost 
 exclusive attention. The good man was passionately fond of 
 
264 |. THE JEALOUSIES OF A COUNTRY TOWN 
 
 gardening. He was in correspondence with some of the most. 
 celebrated amateurs ; it was his ambition to create new species ; 
 he took an interest in botanical discoveries, and lived, in short, 
 in the world of flowers. Like all florists, he had a predilec- 
 tion for one particular plant; the pelargonium was his especial 
 favorite. The court, the cases that came before it, and his 
 outward life were as nothing to him compared with 
 the inward life of fancies and abundant emotions which the 
 old man led. He fell more and more in love with his flower- 
 seraglio; and the pains which he bestowed on his garden, the 
 sweet round of the labors of the months, held Goodman Blon- 
 det fast in his greenhouse. But for that hobby he would have 
 been a deputy under the Empire, and shone conspicuous be- 
 yond a doubt in the Corps Legislatif. 
 
 His marriage was the second cause of his obscurity. As a 
 man of forty, he was rash enough to marry a girl of eighteen, 
 by whom he had a son named Joseph in the first year of their 
 marriage. Three years afterwards Mme. Blondet, then the 
 prettiest woman in the town, inspired in the prefect of the 
 department a passion which ended only with her death. The 
 prefect was the father of her second son Emile; the whole 
 town knew this, old Blondet himself knew it. The wife who 
 might have roused her husband’s ambition, who might have 
 won him away from his flowers, positively encouraged the 
 judge in his botanical tastes. She no more cared to leave the 
 place than the prefect cared to leave his prefecture so long 
 as his mistress lived. 
 
 Blondet felt himself unequal at his age to a contest with 
 a young wife. He sought consolation in his greenhouse, and 
 engaged a very pretty servant-maid to assist him to tend his 
 ever-changing bevy of beauties. So while the judge potted, 
 pricked out, watered, layered, slipped, blended, and induced 
 his flowers to break, Mme. Blondet spent his substance on the 
 dress and finery in which she shone at the prefecture. One 
 interest alone had power to draw her away from the tender 
 care of a romantic affection which the town came to admire 
 in the end; and this interest was Emile’s education. The 
 
THD JEALOUSIES OF A COUNTRY TOWN 265 
 
 child of love was a bright and pretty boy, while Joseph was no 
 less heavy and plain-featured. The old judge, blinded by 
 paternal affection, loved Joseph as his wife loved Kmile. 
 
 For a dozen years M. Blondet bore his lot with perfect 
 resignation. He shut his eyes to his wife’s intrigue with a 
 dignified, well-bred composure, quite in the style of an 
 eighteenth century grand seigneur; but, like all men with a 
 taste for a quiet life, he could cherish a profound dislike, and 
 he hated his younger son. When his wife died, therefore, in 
 1818, he turned the intruder out of the house, and packed him 
 off to Paris to study law on an allowance of twelve hundred 
 franes for all resource, nor could any cry of distress extract, 
 another penny from his purse. Emile Blondet would have 
 gone under if it had not been for his real father. 
 
 M. Blondet’s house was one of the prettiest in the town. 
 It stood almost opposite the prefecture, with a neat little 
 court in front. A row of old-fashioned iron railings between 
 two brickwork piers enclosed it from the street; and a low 
 wall, also of brick, with a second row of railings along the 
 top, connected the piers with the neighboring house. The 
 little court, a space about ten fathoms in width by twenty 
 in length, was cut in two by a brick pathway which ran from 
 the gate to the house door between a border on either side. 
 Those borders were always renewed; at every season of the 
 year they exhibited a successful show of blossom, to the 
 admiration of the public. All along the back of the garden- 
 beds a quantity of climbing plants grew up and covered the 
 walls of the neighboring houses with a magnificent mantle; 
 the brickwork piers were hidden in clusters of honeysuckle ; 
 and, to crown all, in a couple of terra-cotta vases at the sum- 
 mit, a pair of acclimatized cactuses displayed to the astonished 
 eyes of the ignorant those thick leaves bristling with spiny 
 defences which seem to be due to some plant disease. 
 
 It was a plain-looking house, built of brick, with brick- 
 work arches above the windows, and bright green Venetian 
 shutters to make it gay. Through the glass door you could 
 look straight across the house to the opposite glass door, at 
 
266 THE JEALOUSIES OF A COUNTRY TOWN 
 
 the end of a long passage, and down the central alley in the 
 garden beyond; while through the windows of the dining- 
 room and drawing-room, which extended, like the passage, 
 from back to front of the house, you could often catch further 
 glimpses of the flower-beds in a garden of about two acres in 
 extent. Seen from the road, the brick-work harmonized with 
 the fresh flowers and shrubs, for two centuries had overlaid it 
 with mosses and green and russet tints. No one could pass 
 through the town without falling in love with a house with 
 such charming surroundings, so covered with flowers and 
 mosses to the roof-ridge, where two pigeons of glazed crockery 
 ware were perched by way of ornament. 
 
 M. Blondet possessed an income of about four thousand 
 livres derived from land, besides the old house in the town. 
 He meant to avenge his wrongs legitimately enough. He 
 would leave his house, his lands, his seat on the bench to his 
 son Joseph, and the whole town knew what he meant to do. 
 He had made a will in that son’s favor; he had gone as far 
 -as the Code will permit a man to go in the way of disin- 
 heriting one child to benefit another; and what was more, 
 he had been putting by money for the past fifteen years to 
 enable his lout of a son to buy back from Emile that portion 
 of his father’s estate which could not legally be taken away 
 from him. 
 
 Emile Blondet thus turned adrift had contrived to gain 
 distinction in Paris, but so far it was rather a name than a 
 practical result. Hmile’s indolence, recklessness, and happy- 
 go-lucky ways drove his real father to despair; and when 
 that father died, a half-ruined man, turned out of office by one 
 of the political reactions so frequent under the Restoration, 
 it was with a mind uneasy as to the future of a man endowed 
 with the most brillant qualities. 
 
 Emile Blondet found support in a friendship with a Mlle. 
 de Troisville, whom he had known before her marriage with 
 the Comte de Montcornet. His mother was living when the 
 Troisvilles came back after the emigration; she was related 
 to the family, distantly it is true, but the connection was 
 
THE JEALOUSIES OF A COUNTRY TOWN 267 
 
 close enough to allow her to introduce Emile to the house.. 
 She, poor woman, foresaw the future. She knew that when 
 she died her son would lose both mother and father, a thought 
 which made death doubly bitter, so she tried to interest others 
 in him. She encouraged the liking that sprang up between 
 Emile and the eldest daughter of the house of Troisville; but 
 while the liking was exceedingly strong on the young lady’s 
 part, a marriage was out of the question. It was a romance 
 on the pattern of Paul et Virginie. Mme. Blondet did what 
 she could to teach her son to look to the Troisvilles, to found 
 a lasting attachment on a children’s game of “make-believe” 
 love, which was bound to end as boy-and-girl romances usually 
 do. When Mlle. de Troisville’s marriage with General Mont- 
 cornet was announced, Mme. Blondet, a dying woman, went to 
 the bride and solemnly implored her never to abandon Emile, 
 and to use her influence for him in society in Paris, whither 
 the General’s fortune summoned her to shine. 
 
 Luckily for Emile, he was able to make his own way. He 
 made his appearance, at the age of twenty, as one of the 
 masters of modern literature ; and met with no less success in 
 the society into which he was launched by the father who at 
 first could afford to bear the expense of the young man’s ex- 
 travagance. Perhaps Emile’s precocious celebrity and the 
 good figure that he made strengthened the bonds of his friend- 
 ship with the Countess. Perhaps Mme. de Montcornet, with 
 the Russian blood in her veins (her mother was the daughter 
 of the Princess Scherbelloff), might have cast off the friend of 
 her childhood if he had been a poor man struggling with all 
 his might among the difficulties which beset a man of letters 
 in Paris; but by the time that the real strain of Emile’s ad- 
 venturous life began, their attachment was unalterable on 
 either side. He was looked upon as one of the leading lights 
 of journalism when young d’Esgrignon met him at his first 
 supper-party in Paris; his acknowledged position in the world 
 of letters was very high, and he towered above his reputation. 
 Goodman Blondet had not the faintest conception of the 
 power which the Constitutional Government had given to the 
 
268 THE JEALOUSIES OF A COUNTRY TOWN 
 
 press; nobody ventured to talk in his presence of the son of 
 whom he refused to hear. And so it came to pass that he knew 
 nothing of Emile whom he had cursed and Emile’s great- 
 ness. 
 
 Old Blondet’s integrity was as deeply rooted in him as his 
 passion for flowers; he knew nothing but law and botany. He 
 would have interviews with litigants, listen to them, chat 
 with them, and show them his flowers; he would accept 
 rare seeds from them; but once on the bench, no judge 
 on earth was more impartial. Indeed, his manner of 
 proceeding was so well known, that litigants never went 
 near him except to hand over some document which 
 might enlighten him in the performance of his duty, 
 and nobody tried to throw dust in his eyes. With his 
 learning, his lights, and his way of holding his real talents 
 cheap, he was so indispensable to President du Ronceret, that, 
 matrimonial schemes apart, that functionary would have done 
 all that he could, in an underhand way, to prevent the vice- 
 president from retiring in favor of his son. If the learned 
 old man left the bench, the President would be utterly unable 
 to do without him. 
 
 Goodman Blondet did not know that it was in Emile’s 
 power to fulfil all his wishes in a few hours. The simplicity 
 of his life was worthy of one of Plutarch’s men. In the even- 
 ing he looked over his cases; next morning he worked among 
 his flowers; and all day long he gave decisions on the bench. 
 The pretty maid-servant, now of ripe age, and wrinkled like 
 an Easter pippin, looked after the house, and they lived ac- 
 cording to the established customs of the strictest parsimony. 
 Mlle. Cadot always carried the keys of her cupboards and 
 fruit-loft about with her. She was indefatigable. She went to 
 market herself, she cooked and dusted and swept, and never 
 missed mass of a morning. To give some idea of the domestic 
 life of the household, it will be enough to remark that the 
 father and son never ate fruit till it was beginning to spoil, 
 because Mlle. Cadot always brought out anything that would 
 not keep. No one in the house ever tasted the luxury of new 
 
THD JEALOUSIES OF A COUNTRY TOWN 269 
 
 bread, and all the fast days in the calendar were punctually 
 observed. ‘The gardener was put on rations like a soldier; the 
 elderly Valideh always kept an eye upon him. And she, for 
 her part, was so deferentially treated, that she took her meals 
 with the family, and in consequence was continually trotting 
 to and fro between the kitchen and the parlor at breakfast 
 and dinner time. 
 
 Mile. Blandureau’s parents had consented to her marriage 
 with Joseph Blondet upon one condition—the penniless and 
 briefless barrister must be an assistant judge. So, with the 
 desire of fitting his son to fill the position, old M. Blondet 
 racked his brains to hammer the law into his son’s head by 
 dint of lessons, so as to make a cut-and-dried lawyer of him. 
 As for Blondet junior, he spent almost every evening at the 
 Blandureaus’ house, to which also young Fabien du Ronceret 
 had been admitted since his return, without raising the 
 slightest suspicion in the minds of father or son. 
 
 Everything in this hfe of theirs was measured with an ac- 
 curacy worthy of Gerard Dow’s Money Changer ;not a grain of 
 salt too much,not a single profit foregone ; but the economical 
 principles by which it was regulated were relaxed in favor of 
 the greenhouse and garden. “The garden was the master’s 
 craze,’ Mlle. Cadot used to say The master’s blind fondness 
 for Joseph was not a craze in her eyes; she shared the father’s 
 predilection ; she pampered Joseph; she darned his stockings ; 
 and would have been better pleased if the money spent on the 
 garden had been put by for Joseph’s benefit. , 
 
 That garden was kept in marvelous order by a single man; 
 the paths, covered with river-sand, continually turned over 
 with the rake, meandered among the borders full of the rarest 
 flowers. Here were all kinds of color and scent, here were 
 lizards on the walls, legions of little flower-pots standing out 
 in the sun, regiments of forks and hoes, and a host of innocent 
 things, a combination of pleasant results to justify the 
 gardener’s charming hobby. 
 
 At the end of the greenhouse the judge had set up a grand- 
 stand, an amphitheatre of benches to hold some five or six 
 
270 THE JEALOUSIES OF A COUNTRY TOWN 
 
 thousand pelargoniums in pots—a splendid and famous show. 
 People came to see his geraniums in flower, not only from 
 the neighborhood, but even from the departments round 
 about. The Empress Marie Louise, passing through the town, 
 had honored the curiously kept greenhouse with a visit; so 
 much was she impressed with the sight, that she spoke of it 
 to Napoleon, and the old judge received the Cross of the 
 Legion of Honor. But as the learned gardener never mingled 
 in society at all, and went nowhere except to the Blandureaus, 
 he had no suspicion of the President’s underhand manceuvres ; 
 and others who could see the President’s intentions were far 
 too much afraid of him to interfere or to warn the inoffensive 
 Blondets. 
 
 As for Michu, that young man with his powerful connec- 
 tions gave much more thought to making himself agreeable 
 to the women in the upper social circles to which he was in- 
 troduced by the Cing-Cygnes, than to the extremely simple 
 business of a provincial Tribunal. With his independent 
 means (he had an income of twelve thousand livres), he was 
 courted by mothers of daughters, and led a frivolous life. 
 He did just enough at the Tribunal to satisfy his conscience, 
 much as a schoolboy does his exercises, saying ditto on all 
 occasions, with a “Yes, dear President.”” But underneath the 
 appearance of indifference lurked the unusual powers of the 
 Paris law student who had distinguished himself as one of 
 the staff of prosecuting counsel before he came to the prov- 
 inces. He was accustomed to taking broad views of things; 
 he could do rapidly what the President and Blondet could 
 only do after much thinking, and very often solved knotty 
 points for them. In delicate conjunctures the President and 
 Vice-President took counsel with their junior, confided thorny 
 questions to him, and never failed to wonder at the readiness 
 with which he brought back a task in which old Blondet found 
 nothing to criticise. Michu was sure of the influence of the 
 most crabbed aristocrats, and he was young and rich; he 
 lived, therefore, above the level of departmental intrigues 
 and pettinesses. He was an indispensable man at picnics, 
 
THR JEALOUSIES OF A COUNTRY TOWN 271 
 
 he frisked with young ladies and paid court to their mothers, 
 he danced at balls, he gambled lke a capitalist. In short, 
 he played his part of young lawyer of fashion to admiration ; 
 without, at the same time, compromising his dignity, which 
 he knew how to assert at the right moment like a man of 
 spirit. He won golden opinions by the manner in which he 
 threw himself into provincial ways, without criticising them ; 
 and for these reasons, every one endeavored to make his time 
 of exile endurable. 
 
 The public prosecutor was a lawyer of the highest ability ; 
 he had taken the plunge into political life, and was one of the 
 most distinguished speakers on the ministerialist benches. 
 The President stood in awe of him; if he had not been away 
 in Paris at the time, no steps would have been taken against 
 Victurnien; his dexterity, his experience of business, would 
 have prevented the whole affair. At that moment, however, 
 he was in the Chamber of Deputies, and the President and 
 du Croisier had taken advantage of his absence to weave their 
 plot, calculating, with a certain ingenuity, that if once the 
 law stepped in, and the matter was noised abroad, things 
 would have gone too far to be remedied. 
 
 As a matter of fact, no staff of prosecuting counsel in any 
 Tribunal, at that particular time, would have taken up a 
 charge of forgery against the eldest son of one of the noblest 
 houses in France without going into the case at great length, 
 and a special reference, in all probability, to the Attorney- 
 General. In such a case as this, the authorities and the 
 Government would have tried endless ways of compromising 
 and hushing up an affair which might send an imprudent 
 young man to the hulks. They would very likely have done 
 the same for a Liberal family in a prominent position, so long 
 as the Liberals were not too openly hostile to the throne and 
 the altar. So du Croisier’s charge and the young Count’s 
 arrest had not been very easy to manage. The President and 
 du Croisier had compassed their ends in the following man- 
 ner. 
 
 M. Sauvager, a young Royalist barrister, had reached the 
 
272 THE JEALOUSIES OF A COUNTRY TOWN 
 
 position of deputy public prosecutor by dint of subservience 
 
 to the Ministry. In the absence of his chief he was head of 
 
 the staff of counsel for prosecution, and, consequently, it fell 
 to him to take up the charge made by du Croisier. Sauvager 
 was a self-made man; he had nothing but his stipend; and 
 for that reason the authorities reckoned upon some one who 
 had everything to gain by devotion. The President now 
 expoited the position. No sooner was the document with the 
 alleged forgery in du Croisier’s hands, than Mme. la Prési- 
 dente du Ronceret, prompted by her spouse, had a long con- 
 versation with M. Sauvager. In the course of it she pointed 
 out the uncertainties of a career in the magistrature debout 
 compared with the magistrature assise, and the advantages of 
 the bench over the bar; she showed how a freak on the part 
 of some official, or a single false step, might ruin a man’s 
 career. 
 
 “Tf you are conscientious and give your conclusions against 
 the powers that be, you are lost,” continued she. “Now, at 
 this moment, you might turn your position to account to 
 make a fine match that would put you above unlucky chances 
 for the rest of your life; you may marry a wife with fortune 
 sufficient to land you on the bench, in the magistrature assise. 
 There is a fine chance for you. M. du Croisier will never 
 have any children; everybody knows why. His money, and 
 his wife’s as well, will go to his niece, Mlle. Duval. M. Duval 
 is an ironmaster, his purse is tolerably filled, to begin with, 
 and his father is still alive, and has a little property besides. 
 The father and son have a million of francs between them; 
 they will double it with du Croisier’s help, for du Croisier 
 has business connections among great capitalists and 
 manufacturers in Paris. M. and Mme. Duval the younger 
 would be certain to give their daughter to a suitor brought 
 forward by du Croisier, for he is sure to leave two fortunes 
 to his niece; and, in all probability, he will settle the rever- 
 sion of his wife’s property upon Mlle. Duval in the marriage- 
 contract, for Mme. du Croisier has no kin. You know how 
 du Croisier hates the d’Esgrignons. Do him a service, be his 
 
THD JEALOUSIES OF A COUNTRY TOWN 273 
 
 man, take up this charge of forgery which he is going to make 
 against young d’Hsgrignon, and follow up the proceedings at 
 once without consulting the public prosecutor at Paris. And, 
 then, pray Heaven that the Ministry dismisses you for doing 
 your office impartially, in spite of the powers that be; for if 
 they do, your fortune is made! You will have a charming 
 wife and thirty thousand francs a year with her, to say 
 nothing of four millions of expectations in ten years’ time.” 
 
 In two evenings Sauvager was talked over. Both he and 
 the President kept the affair a secret from old Blondet, from 
 Michu, and from the second member of the statf of prosecut- 
 ing counsel. Feeling sure of Blondet’s impartiality on a 
 question of fact, the President made certain of a majority 
 withoutcounting Camusot. And now Camusot’s unexpected de- 
 fection had thrown everything out. What the President 
 wanted was a committal for trial before the public prosecutor 
 got warning. How if Camusot or the second counsel for the 
 - prosecution should send word to Paris? 
 
 And here some portion of Camusot’s private history may 
 perhaps explain how it came to pass that Chesnel took it for 
 granted that the examining magistrate would be on the 
 d’Hsgrignons’ side, and how he had the boldness to tamper in 
 the open street with that representative of justice. 
 
 Camusot’s father, a well-known silk mercer in the Rue des 
 Bourdonnais, was ambitious for the only son of his first 
 marriage, and brought him up to the law. When Camusot 
 junior took a wife, he gained with her the influence of an 
 usher of the Royal cabinet, backstairs influence, it is true, but 
 still sufficient, since it had brought him his first appointment 
 as justice of the peace, and the second as examining magis- 
 trate. At the time of his marriage, his father only settled 
 an income of six thousand francs upon him (the amount of his 
 mother’s fortune, which he could legally claim), and as Mlle. 
 Thirion brought him no more than twenty thousand francs 
 as her portion, the young couple knew the hardships of hidden 
 poverty. The salary of a provincial justice of the peace 
 does not exceed fifteen hundred francs, while an examining 
 
274 THE JEALOUSIES OF A COUNTRY TOWN 
 
 magistrate’s stipend is augmented by something like a thou- 
 sand francs, because his position entails expenses and extra 
 work. The post, therefore, is much coveted, though it is not 
 permanent, and the work is heavy, and that was why 
 Mme. Camusot had just scolded her husband for allowing the 
 President to read his thoughts. 
 
 Marie Cécile Amélie Thirion, after three years of marriage, 
 perceived the blessing of Heaven upon it in the regularity of 
 two auspicious events—the births of a girl and a boy; but 
 she prayed to be less blessed in future. A few more of 
 such blessings would turn straitened means into distress. M. 
 Camusot’s father’s money was not likely to come to them for a 
 long time; and, rich as he was, he would scarcely leave more 
 than eight or ten thousand francs a year to each of his 
 children, four in number, for he had been married twice. | 
 And besides, by the time that all “expectations,” as match- 
 makers call them, were realized, would not the magistrate have 
 children of his own to settle in life? Any one can imagine 
 the situation for a little woman with plenty of sense and de- 
 termination, and Mme. Camusot was such a woman. She did 
 not refrain from meddling in matters judicial. She had far 
 too strong a sense of the gravity of a false step in her hus- 
 band’s career. 
 
 She was the only child of an old servant of Louis XVIIL., 
 a valet who had followed his master in his wanderings in 
 Italy, Courland, and England, till after the Restoration the 
 King rewarded him with the one place that he could fill at 
 Court, and made him usher by rotation to the royal cabinet. 
 So in Amélie’s home there had been, as it were, a sort of 
 reflection of the Court. Thirion used to tell her about the 
 lords, and ministers, and great men whom he announced and 
 introduced and saw passing to and fro The girl, brought up 
 at the gates of the Tuileries, had caught some tincture of the 
 maxims practised there, and adopted the dogma of passive 
 obedience to authority She had sagely judged that her hus- 
 band, by ranging himself on the side of the d’Esgrignons, 
 would find favor with Mme. la Duchesse de Maufrigneuse, 
 
THE JEALOUSIES OF A COUNTRY TOWN 275 
 
 and with two powerful families on whose influence with the 
 King the Sieur Thirion could depend at an opportune 
 moment. Camusot might get an appointment at the first op- 
 portunity within the jurisdiction of Paris, and afterwards 
 at Paris itself. That promotion, dreamed of and longed for 
 at every moment, was certain to have a salary of six thousand 
 francs attached to it, as well as the alleviation of living in her 
 own father’s house, or under the Camusots’ roof, and all the 
 advantages of a father’s fortune on either side. If the adage, 
 “Out of sight is out of mind,” holds good of most women, it 
 is particularly true where family feeling or royal or min- 
 isterial patronage is concerned. The personal attendants of 
 kings prosper at all times; you take an interest in a man, be it 
 only a man in livery, if you see him every day. 
 
 Mme. Camusot, regarding herself as a bird of passage, had 
 taken a little house in the Rue du Cygne. Furnished 
 lodgings there were none; the town was not enough of a 
 thoroughfare, and the Camusots could not afford to live at 
 an inn like M. Michu. So the fair Parisian had no choice for 
 it but to take such furniture as she could find; and as she paid 
 a very moderate rent, the house was remarkably ugly, albeit 
 a certain quaintness of detail was not wanting. It was built 
 against a neighboring house in such a fashion that the side, 
 with only one window in each story, gave upon the street, and 
 the front looked out upon a yard where rose-bushes and buck- 
 horn were growing along the wall on either side. On the 
 farther side, opposite the house, stood a shed, a roof over two 
 brick arches. A little wicket-gate gave entrance into the 
 gloomy place (made gloomier still by the great walnut-tree 
 which grew in the yard), and a double flight of steps, with an 
 elaborately-wrought but rust-eaten handrail, led to the house 
 door. Inside the house there were two rooms on each floor. 
 The dining-room occupied that part of the ground floor near- 
 est the street, and the kitchen lay on the other side of a nar- 
 row passage almost wholly taken up by the wooden staircase. 
 Of the two first-floor rooms, one did duty as the magistrate’s 
 study, the other as a bedroom, while the nursery and the 
 
276 THE JEALOUSIES OF A COUNTRY TOWN 
 
 servants’ bedroom stood above in the attics. There were no 
 ceilings in the house; the cross-beams were simply white- 
 washed and the spaces plastered over. Both rooms on the 
 first floor and the dining-room below were wainscoted and 
 adorned with the labyrinthine designs which taxed the 
 patience of the eighteenth century joiner; but the carving 
 had been painted a dingy gray most depressing to behold. 
 
 The magistrate’s study looked as though it belonged to a 
 provincial lawyer; it contained a big bureau, a mahogany 
 armchair, a law student’s books, and shabby belongings trans- 
 ported from Paris. Mme. Camusot’s room was more of a 
 native product; it boasted a blue-and-white scheme of decora- 
 tion, a carpet, and that anomalous kind of furniture which 
 appears to be in the fashion, while it is simply some style that 
 has failed in Paris. As to the dining-room, it was nothing 
 but an ordinary provincial dining-room, bare and chilly, with 
 a damp, faded paper on the walls. 
 
 In this shabby room, with nothing to see but the walnut- 
 tree, the dark leaves growing against the walls, and the almost 
 deserted road beyond them, a somewhat lively and frivolous 
 woman, accustomed to the amusements and stir of Paris, used 
 to sit all day long, day after day, and for the most part of 
 the time alone, though she received tiresome and inane visits 
 which led her to think her loneliness preferable to empty 
 tittle-tattle. If she permitted herself the slightest gleam of 
 intelligence, it gave rise to interminable comment and em- 
 bittered her condition. She occupied herself a great deal with 
 her children, not so much from taste as for the sake of an in- 
 terest in her almost solitary life, and exercised her mind on the 
 only subjects which she could find—to wit, the intrigues which 
 went on around her, the ways of provincials, and the ambi- 
 tions shut in by their narrow horizons. So she very soon 
 fathomed mysteries of which her husband had no idea. As 
 she sat at her window with a piece of intermittent embroidery 
 work in her fingers, she did not see her woodshed full of 
 faggots nor the servant busy at the wash tub; she was looking 
 out upon Paris, Paris where everything is pleasure, every- 
 
THE JEALOUSIES OF A COUNTRY TOWN 277 
 
 thing is full of life. She dreamed of Paris gaieties, and shed 
 tears because she must abide in this dull prison of a country 
 town.. She was disconsolate because she lived in a peaceful 
 district, where no conspiracy, no great affair would ever occur. 
 She saw herself doomed to sit under the shadow of the walnut- 
 tree for some time to come. 
 
 Mme. Camusot was a little, plump, fresh, fair-haired wo- 
 man, with a very prominent forehead, a mouth which receded, 
 and a turned-up chin, a type of countenance which is passable 
 in youth, but looks old before the time. Her bright, quick 
 eyes expressed her innocent desire to get on in the world, 
 and the envy born of her present inferior position, with rather 
 too much candor; but still they lighted up her commonplace 
 face and set if off with a certain energy of feeling, which suc- 
 cess was certain to extinguish in later life. At that time she 
 used to give a good deal of time and thought to her dresses, 
 inventing trimmings and embroidering them; she planned out 
 her costumes with the maid whom she had brought with her 
 from Paris, and so maintained the reputation of Parisiennes 
 in the provinces. Her caustic tongue was dreaded; she was 
 not beloved. In that keen, investigating spirit peculiar to 
 unoccupied women who are driven to find some occupation 
 for empty days, she had pondered the President’s private opin- 
 ions, until at length she discovered what he meant to do, and 
 for some time past she had advised Camusot to declare war. 
 The young Count’s affair was an excellent opportunity. Was 
 it not obviously Camusot’s part to make a stepping-stone of 
 this criminal case by favoring the d’Esgrignons, a family with 
 power of a very different kind from the power of the du 
 Croisier party ? 
 
 “Sauvager will never marry Mlle. Duval. They are dan- 
 gling her before him, but he will be the dupe of those 
 Machiavels in the Val-Noble to whom he is going to sacrifice 
 his position. Camusot, this affair, so unfortunate as it is 
 for the d’Esgrignons, so insidiously brought on by the Presi- 
 dent for du Croisier’s benefit, will turn out well for nobody 
 but you,” she had said, as they went in. 
 
278 THE JEALOUSIES OF A COUNTRY TOWN 
 
 The shrewd Parisienne had likewise guessed the Presi- 
 dent’s underhand manceuvres with the Blandureaus, and his 
 object in baffling old Blondet’s efforts, but she saw nothing to 
 be gained by opening the eyes of father or son to the perils of 
 the situation ; she was enjoying the beginning of the comedy ; 
 she knew about the proposals made by Chesnel’s successor on 
 behalf of Fabien du Ronceret, but she did not suspect how im- 
 portant that secret might be to her. If she or her husband 
 were threatened by the President, Mme. Camusot could 
 threaten too, in her turn, to call the amateur gardener’s at- 
 tention to a scheme for carrying off the flower which he meant 
 to transplant into his house. 
 
 Chesnel had not penetrated, like Mme. Camusot, into the 
 means by which Sauvager had been won over; but by dint of — 
 looking into the various lives and interests of the men 
 grouped about the Lilies of the Tribunal, he knew that he 
 could count upon the public prosecutor, upon Camusot, and 
 M. Michu. ‘Two judges for the d’Esgrignons would paralyze 
 the rest. And, finally, Chesnel knew old Blondet well enough 
 to feel sure that if he ever swerved from impartiality, it would 
 be for the sake of the work of his whole lifetime,—to secure 
 his son’s appointment. So Chesnel slept, full of confidence, 
 on the resolve to go to M. Blondet and offer to realize his so 
 long cherished hopes, while he opened his eyes to President 
 du Ronceret’s treachery. Blondet won over, he would take a 
 peremptory tone with the examining magistrate, to whom 
 he hoped to prove that if Victurnien was not blameless, he 
 had been merely imprudent; the whole thing should be shown 
 in the light of a boy’s thoughtless escapade. 
 
 But Chesnel slept neither soundly nor for long. Before 
 dawn he was awakened by his housekeeper. The most be- 
 witching person in this history, the most adorable youth on 
 the face of the globe, Mme. la Duchesse de Maufrigneuse her- 
 self, in man’s attire, had driven alone from Paris in a caléche, 
 and was waiting to see him. 
 
 “TY have come to save him or to die with him,” said she, 
 addressing the notary, who thought that he was dreaming. 
 
THE JHALOUSIES OF A COUNTRY TOWN 279 
 
 “TI have brought a hundred thousand frances, given me by 
 His Majesty out of his private purse, to buy Victurnien’s in- 
 nocence, if his adversary can be bribed. If we fail utterly, 
 _ I have brought poison to snatch him away before anything 
 takes place, before even the indictment is drawn up. But 
 we shall not fail. I have sent word to the public prosecutor ; 
 he is on the road behind me; he could not travel in my 
 caléche, because he wished to take the instructions of the 
 Keeper of the Seals.” 
 
 Chesnel rose to the occasion and played up to the Duchess; 
 he wrapped himself in his dressing-gown, fell at her feet and 
 kissed them, not without asking her pardon for forgetting 
 himself in his joy. 
 
 “We are saved!” cried he; and gave orders to Brigitte to 
 see that Mme. la Duchesse had all that she needed after travel- 
 ing post all night. He appealed to the fair Diane’s spirit, 
 by making her see that it was absolutely necessary that she 
 should visit the examining magistrate before daylight, lest 
 any one should discover the secret, or so much as imagine that 
 the Duchesse de Maufrigneuse had come. 
 
 “And have I not a passport in due form?” quoth she, dis- 
 playing a sheet of paper, wherein she was described as M. le 
 Vicomte Félix de Vandenesse, Master of Requests, and His 
 Majesty’s private secretary. “And do I not play my man’s 
 part well?” she added, running her fingers through her wig 
 a la Titus, and twirling her riding switch. 
 
 “OQ! Mme. la Duchesse, you are an angel!” cried Chesnel, 
 with tears in his eyes. (She was destined always to be an 
 angel, even in man’s attire.) “Button up your greatcoat, 
 muffle yourself up to the eyes in your traveling cloak, take 
 my arm, and let us go as quickly as possible to Camusot’s 
 house before anybody can meet us.” 
 
 “Then am I going to see a man called Camusot?” she 
 asked. 
 
 “With a nose to match his name,”* assented Chesnel. 
 
 The old notary felt his heart dead within him, but he 
 
 * Camus, flat-nosed 
 
 >? 
 
280 THE JEALOUSIES OF A COUNTRY TOWN 
 
 thought it none the less necessary to humor the Duchess, to 
 laugh when she laughed, and shed tears when she wept; 
 groaning in spirit, all the same, over the feminine frivolity 
 which could find matter for a jest while setting about a 
 matter so serious. What would he not have done to save 
 the Count? While Chesnel dressed, Mme. de Maufrigneuse 
 sipped the cup of coffee and cream which Brigitte brought 
 her, and agreed with herself that provincial women cooks are 
 superior to the Parisian chefs, who despise the little details 
 which make all the difference to an epicure. Thanks to 
 Chesnel’s taste for delicate fare, Brigitte was found prepared 
 to set an excellent meal before the Duchess. 
 
 Chesnel and his charming companion set out for M. and 
 Mme. Camusot’s house. 
 
 “Ah! so there is a Mme. Camusot’” said the Duchess. 
 “Then the affair may be managed.” 
 
 ‘And so much the more readily, because the lady is visibly 
 tired enough of living among us provincials; she comes from 
 Paris,” said Chesnel. 
 
 “Then we must have no secrets from her?” 
 
 “You will judge how much to tell or to conceal,” Chesnel 
 replied humbly. “I am sure that she will be greatly flattered 
 to be the Duchesse de Maufrigneuse’s hostess; you will be 
 obliged to stay in her house until nightfall, I expect, unless 
 you find it inconvenient to remain.” 
 
 “Ts this Mme. Camusot a good-looking woman?” asked the 
 Duchess, with a coxcomb’s air. 
 
 “She is a bit of a queen in her own house.” 
 
 “Then she is sure to meddle in court-house affairs,” re- 
 turned the Duchess. “Nowhere but in France, my dear M. 
 Chesnel, do you see women so much wedded to their husbands 
 that they are wedded to their husbands’ professions, work, or 
 business as well. In Italy, England, and Germany, women 
 make it a point of honor Azo leave men to fight their own 
 battles; they shut their eyes to their husbands’ work as 
 perseveringly as our French citizens’ wives do all that in them 
 lies to understand the position of their joint-stock partner- 
 
THE JEALOUSIES OF A COUNTRY TOWN 281 
 
 ship; is not that what you call it in your legal language? 
 Frenchwomen are so incredibly jealous in the conduct of their 
 married life, that they insist on knowing everything ; and that 
 is how, in the least difficulty, you feel the wife’s hand in the 
 business; the Frenchwoman advises, guides, and warns her 
 husband. And, truth to tell, the man is none the worse off. 
 In England, if a married man is put in prison for debt for 
 twenty-four hours, his wife will be jealous and make a scene 
 when he comes back.” . 
 
 “Here we are, without meeting a soul on the way,” said 
 Chesnel. “You are the more sure of complete ascendency 
 here, Mme. la Duchesse, since Mme. Camusot’s father is one 
 Thirion, usher of the royal cabinet.” 
 
 “And the King never thought of that!” exclaimed the 
 Duchess. “He thinks of nothing! Thirion introduced us, 
 the Prince de Cadignan, M. de Vandenesse, and me! We 
 shall have it all our own way in this house. Settle everything 
 with M. Camusot while I talk to his wife.” 
 
 The maid, who was washing and dressing the children, 
 showed the visitors into the little fireless dining-room. 
 
 “Take that card to your mistress,” said the Duchess, lower- 
 ing her voice for the woman’s ear; “nobody else is to see it. 
 If you are discreet, child, you shall not lose by it.” 
 
 At the sound of a woman’s voice, and the sight of the hand- 
 some young man’s face, the maid looked thunderstruck. 
 
 “Wake M. Camusot,” said Chesnel, “and tell him, that I 
 am waiting to see him on important business,” and she de- 
 parted upstairs forthwith. 
 
 A few minutes later Mme. Camusot, in her dressing-gown, 
 sprang downstairs. and brought the handsome stranger into 
 her room. She had pushed Camusot out of bed and into his 
 study with all his clothes, bidding him dress himself at once 
 and wait there. The transformation scene had been brought 
 about by a bit of pasteboard with the words MADAME LA 
 DUCHESSE DE MAUFRIGNEUSE engraved upon it. A daughter 
 of the usher of the royal cabinet took in the whole situation 
 at once. 
 
282 THE JEALOUSIES OF A COUNTRY TOWN 
 
 “Well !’? exclaimed the maid-servant, left with Chesnel in 
 the dining-room, “would not any one think that a thunder- 
 bolt had dropped in among us? The master is dressing in 
 his study; you can go upstairs.” 
 
 “Not a word of all this, mind,” said Chesnel. 
 
 Now that he was conscious of the support of a great lady 
 who had the King’s consent (by word of mouth) to the 
 measures about to be taken for rescuing the Comte d’Esgri- 
 gnon, he spoke with an air of authority, which served his 
 cause much better with Camusot than the humility with 
 which he would otherwise have approached him. 
 
 “Sir,” said he, “the words let fall last evening may have 
 surprised you, but they are serious. The house of 
 d’Esgrignon counts upon you for the proper conduct of in- 
 vestigations from which it must issue without a spot.” 
 
 “YT shall pass over anything in your remarks, sir, which 
 must be offensive to me personally, and obnoxious to justice; 
 for your position with regard to the d’Esgrignons excuses you 
 up to a certain point, but a 
 
 “Pardon me, sir, if I interrupt you,” said Chesnel. “I 
 have just spoken aloud the things which your superiors are 
 thinking and dare not avow; though what those things are 
 any intelligent man can guess, and you are an intelligent 
 man.—Grant that the young man had acted imprudently, can 
 you suppose that the sight of a d’Esgrignon dragged into an 
 Assize Court can be gratifying to the King, the Court, or 
 the Ministry? Is it to the interest of the kingdom, or of 
 the country, that historic houses should fall? Is not the ex- 
 istence of a great aristocracy, consecrated by time, a guarantee 
 of that Equality which is the catchword of the Opposition 
 at this moment? Well and good; now not only has there not 
 been the slightest imprudence, but we are innocent victims 
 caught in a trap.” 
 
 “T am curious to know how,’ 
 trate. 
 
 “For the last two years, the Sieur du Croisier has regularly 
 allowed M. le Comte d’Esgrignon to draw upon him for very 
 
 
 
 > said the examining magis- 
 
THE JEALOUSIES OF A COUNTRY TOWN 283 
 
 large sums,” said Chesnel. “We are going to produce drafts 
 for more than a hundred thousand crowns, which he con- 
 tinually met; the amounts being remitted by me—bear that 
 well in mind—either before or after the bills fell due. M. le 
 Comte d’Esgrignon is in a position to produce a receipt for 
 the sum paid by him, before this bill, this alleged forgery, 
 was drawn. Can you fail to see in that case that this charge 
 is a piece of spite and party feeling? And a charge brought 
 against the heir of a great house by one of the most dangerous 
 enemies of the Throne and Altar, what is it but an odious 
 slander? There has been no more forgery in this affair than 
 there has been in my office. Summon Mme. du Croisier, who 
 knows nothing as yet of the charge of forgery; she will declare 
 to you that I brought the money and paid it over to her, so 
 that in her husband’s absence she might remit the amount 
 for which he has not asked her. Examine du Croisier on 
 the point ; he will tell you that he knows nothing of my pay- 
 ment to Mme. du Croisier.” 
 
 “You may make such assertions as these, sir, in M. d’Hsgri- 
 gnon’s salon, or in any other house where people know noth- 
 ing of business, and they may be believed; but no examining 
 magistrate, unless he is a driveling idiot, can imagine that 
 a woman like Mme. du Croisier, so submissive as she is to 
 her husband, has a hundred thousand crowns lying in her desk 
 at this moment, without saying a word to him; nor yet that 
 an old notary would not have advised M. du Croisier of the 
 deposit on his return to town.” 
 
 “The old notary, sir, had gone to Paris to put a stop to the 
 young man’s extravagance.” 
 
 “T have not yet examined the Comte d’Esgrignon,” Camu- 
 sot began; “his answers will point out my duty.” 
 
 “Ts he in close custody ?” 
 
 Be Viggi?? 
 
 “Sir,” said Chesnel, seeing danger ahead, “the examina- 
 tion can be made in our interests or against them. But there 
 are two courses open to you: you can establish the fact on 
 Mme. du Croisier’s deposition that the amount was deposited 
 with her before the bill was drawn; or you can examine 
 
284. THE JEALOUSIES OF A COUNTRY TOWN 
 
 the unfortunate young man implicated in this affair, and he 
 in his confusion may remember nothing and commit him- 
 self. You will decide which is the more credible—a slip of 
 memory on the part of a woman in her ignorance of 
 business, or a forgery committed by a d’Esgrignon.” 
 
 “All this is beside the point,” began Camusot; “the ques- 
 tion is, whether M. le Comte d’Esgrignon has or has not used 
 the lower half of a letter addressed to him by du Croisier as 
 a bill of exchange.” 
 
 “Eh! and so he might,” a voice cried suddenly, as Mme. 
 Camusot broke in, followed by the handsome stranger, “so 
 he might, when M. Chesnel had advanced the money to meet 
 the bill ¥ 
 
 She leant over her husband. 
 
 “You will have the first vacant appointment as assistant 
 judge at Paris, you are serving the King himself in this 
 affair; I have proof of it; you will not be forgotten,” she said, 
 lowering her voice for his ear. “This young man that you 
 see here is the Duchesse de Maufrigneuse; you must never 
 have seen her, and do all that you can for the young Count 
 boldly.” 
 
 “Gentlemen,” said Camusot, “even if the preliminary ex- 
 amination is conducted to prove the young Count’s innocence, 
 can I answer for the view the court may take? M. Chesnel, 
 and you also, my sweet, know what M. le Président wants.” 
 
 “Tut, tut, tut!’ said Mme. Camusot, “go yourself to M. 
 Michu this morning, and tell him that the Count has been 
 arrested; you will be two against two in that case, I will be 
 bound. Michu comes from Paris, and you know that he is 
 devoted to the noblesse. Good blood cannot lie.” 
 
 At that very moment Mlle. Cadot’s voice was heard in the 
 doorway. She had brought a note, and was waiting for an 
 answer. Camusot went out, and came back again to read the 
 note aloud: 
 
 
 
 2 
 
 “M. le Vice-Président begs M. Camusot to sit in audience 
 to-day and for the next few days, so that there may be a 
 quorum during M. le Président’s absence.” 
 
THD JEALOUSIES OF A COUNTRY TOWN 285 
 
 “Then there is an end of the preliminary examination !” 
 cried Mme. Camusot. “Did I not tell you, dear, that they 
 would play you some ugly trick? The President has gone off to 
 slander you to the public prosecutor and the President of the 
 Court-Royal. You will be changed before you can make the 
 examination. Is that clear?” 
 
 “You will stay, monsieur,” said the Duchess. ‘The public 
 prosecutor is coming, I hope, in time.” 
 
 “When the public prosecutor arrives,” little Mme. Camu- 
 sot said, with some heat, “he must find all over.—Yes, my 
 dear, yes,” she added, looking full at her amazed husband.— 
 “Ah! old hypocrite of a President, you are setting your wits 
 . against us; you shall remember it! You have a mind to help 
 us to a dish of your own making, you shall have two served up 
 to you by your humble servant Cécile Amélie Thirion !— 
 Poor old Blondet! It is lucky for him that the President 
 has taken this journey to turn us out, for now that great oaf 
 of a Joseph Blondet will marry Mlle. Blandureau. I will 
 let Father Blondet have some seeds in return.—As for you, 
 Camusot, go to M. Michu’s, while Mme. la Duchesse and I 
 will go to find old Blondet. You must expect to hear it said 
 all over the town to-morrow that I took a walk with a lover 
 this morning.” 
 
 Mme. Camusot took the Duchess’ arm, and they went 
 through the town by deserted streets to avoid any unpleasant 
 adventure on the way to the old Vice-President’s house. 
 Chesnel meanwhile conferred with the young Count in prison ; 
 Camusot had arranged a stolen interview. Cook-maids, 
 servants, and the other early risers of a country town, seeing 
 Mme. Camusot and the Duchess taking their way through 
 the back streets, took the young gentleman for an adorer from 
 Paris. That evening, as Cécile Amélie had said, the news of 
 her behavior was circulated about the town, and more than 
 one scandalous rumor was occasioned thereby. Mme. Camu- 
 sot and her supposed lover found old Blondet in his green- 
 house. He greeted his colleague’s wife and her companion, 
 and gave the charming young man a keen, uneasy glance. 
 
286 THE JEALOUSIES OF A COUNTRY TOWN 
 
 “Y have the honor to introduce ‘one of my husband’s 
 cousins,” said Mme. Camusot, bringing forward the Duchess ;. 
 “he is one of the most distinguished horticulturists in Paris; 
 and as he cannot spend more than the one day with us, on his 
 way back from Brittany, and has heard of your flowers and 
 plants, I have taken the liberty of coming early.” 
 
 “Oh, the gentleman is a horticulturist, is he?” said old 
 Blondet. 
 
 The Duchess bowed. 
 
 “This is my coffee-plant,” said Blondet, “and here is a tea- 
 plant.” 
 
 “What can have taken M. le Président away from home?” 
 put in Mme. Camusot. “I will wager that his absence con- 
 cerns M. Camusot.” 
 
 “Hxactly.—This, monsieur, is the queerest of all cactuses,” 
 he continued, producing a flower-pot which appeared to con- 
 tain a piece of mildewed rattan; “it comes from Australia. 
 You are very young, sir, to be a horticulturist.” 
 
 “Dear M. Blondet, never mind your flowers,” said Mme. 
 Camusot. “You are concerned, you and your hopes, and your 
 son’s marriage with Mlle. Blandureau. You are duped by the 
 President.” 
 
 “Bah!” said old Blondet, with an incredulous air. 
 
 “Yes,” retorted she. “If you cultivated people a little more 
 and your flowers a little less, you would know that the dowry 
 and the hopes that you have sown, and watered, and tilled, 
 and weeded are on the point of being gathered now by cunning 
 hands.” 
 
 “Madame ! iy 
 
 “Oh, nobody in the town will have the courage to fly in the 
 President’s face and warn you. I, however, do not belong to 
 the town, and, thanks to this obliging young man, I shall soon 
 be going back to Paris; so I can inform you that Chesnel’s 
 successor has made formal proposals for Mlle. Claire Blan- 
 dureau’s hand on behalf of young du Ronceret, who is to have 
 fifty thousand crowns from his parents. As for Fabien, he 
 has made up his mind to receive a call to the bar, so as to gain 
 an appointment as judge.” | 
 
 
 
THH JEALOUSIES OF A COUNTRY TOWN 287 
 
 Old Blondet dropped the flower-pot which he had brought 
 out for the Duchess to see. 
 
 “Oh, my cactus! Oh, my son! and Mlle. Blan- 
 dureau! . . . Look here! the cactus flower is broken to 
 pieces.” 
 
 “No,” Mme. Camusot answered, laughing; “everything 
 can be put right. If you have a mind to see your son a 
 judge in another month, we will tell you how you must set to 
 work e 
 
 “Step this way, sir, and you will see my pelargoniums, an 
 enchanting sight while they are in flower ” Then he 
 added to Mme. Camusot, “Why did you speak of these mat- 
 ters while your cousin was present.” 
 
 “All depends upon him,” riposted Mme. Camusot. “Your 
 son’s appointment is lost for ever if you let fall a word about 
 this young man.” 
 
 “Bah ie 
 
 “The young man is a flower iG 
 
 coh ire 
 
 “He is the Duchesse de Maufrigneuse, sent here by His 
 Majesty to save young d’Hsgrignon, whom they arrested yes- 
 terday on a charge of forgery brought against him by du 
 Croisier. Mme. la Duchesse has authority from the Keeper 
 of the Seals; he will ratify any promises that she makes to 
 us bP) 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 “My cactus is all right!” exclaimed Blondet, peering at 
 his precious plant.—“Go on, I am listening.” 
 
 “Take counsel with Camusot and Michu to hush up the 
 affair as soon as possible, and your son will get the appoint- 
 ment. It will come in time enough to baffle du Ronceret’s 
 underhand dealings with the Blandureaus. Your son will 
 be something better than assistant judge; he will have M. 
 _ Camusot’s post within the year. The public prosecutor will 
 be here to-day. M. Sauvager will be obliged to resign, I 
 expect, after his conduct in this affair. At the court my hus- 
 band will show you documents which completely exonerate 
 the Count and prove that the forgery was a trap of du 
 Croisier’s own setting.” 
 
288 THE JEALOUSIES OF A COUNTRY TOWN 
 
 Old Blondet went into the Olympic circus where his six 
 thousand pelargoniums stood, and made his bow to the 
 Duchess. 
 
 “Monsieur,” said he, “if your wishes do not exceed the law, 
 this thing may be done.” 
 
 “Monsieur,” returned the Duchess, “send in your resigna- 
 tion to M. Chesnel to-morrow, and I will promise you that 
 your son shall be appointed within the week; but you must 
 not resign until you have had confirmation of my promise 
 from the public prosecutor. You men of law will come to 
 a better understanding among yourselves. Only let him 
 know that the Duchesse de Maufrigneuse has pledged her 
 word to you. And not a word as to my journey hither,” she 
 added. 
 
 The old judge kissed her hand and began recklessly to 
 gather his best flowers for her. 
 
 “Can you think of it? Give them to madame,” said the 
 Duchess. “A young man would not have flowers about him 
 when he had a pretty woman on his arm.” 
 
 “Before you go down to the court,” added Mme. Camusot, 
 “ask Chesnel’s successor about those proposals that he made 
 in the name of M. and Mme. du Ronceret.” 
 
 Old Blondet, quite overcome by this revelation of the Presi- 
 dent’s duplicity, stood planted on his feet by the wicket gate, 
 looking after the two women as they hurried away through 
 by-streets home again. ‘The edifice raised so painfully during 
 ten years for his beloved son was crumbling visibly before 
 his eyes. Was it possible? He suspected some trick, and 
 hurried away to Chesnel’s successor. 
 
 At half-past nine, before the court was sitting, Vice-Presi- 
 dent Blondet, Camusot, and Michu met with remarkable 
 punctuality in the council chamber. Blondet locked the door 
 with some precautions when Camusot and Michu came in to- 
 gether. 
 
 “Well, Mr. Vice-President,” began Michu, “M. Sauvager, 
 without consulting the public prosecutor, has issued a warrant 
 for the apprehension of one Comte d’Esgrignon, in order to 
 
eer eer i ~ 
 
 THE JEALOUSIES OF A COUNTRY TOWN 989 
 
 serve a grudge borne against him by one du Croisier, an 
 enemy of the King’s government. It is a regular topsy-turvy 
 affair. The President, for his part, goes away, and thereby 
 puts a stop to the preliminary examination! And we know 
 nothing of the matter. Do they, by any chance, mean to 
 force our hand ?” 
 
 “This is the first word I have heard of it,” said the Vice- 
 President. He was furious with the President for stealing a 
 march on him with the Blandureaus. Chesnel’s successor, 
 the du Roncerets’ man, had just fallen into a snare set by 
 the old judge; the truth was out, he knew the secret. 
 
 “It is lucky that we spoke to you about that matter, my 
 dear master,” said Camusot, “or you might have given up all 
 hope of seating your son on the bench or of marrying him to 
 Mlle. Blandureau.” 
 
 “But it is no question of my son, nor of his marriage,” 
 
 said the Vice-President; “we are talking of young Comte 
 
 d’Esgrignon. Is he or is he not guilty?” 
 
 “It seems that Chesnel deposited the amount to meet the 
 bill with Mme. du Croisier,” said Michu, “and a crime has 
 been made of a mere irregularity. According to the charge, 
 the Count made use of the lower half of a letter bearing du 
 Croisier’s signature as a draft which he cashed at the Kel- 
 lers’.”” 
 
 “An imprudent thing to do,” was Camusot’s comment. 
 
 “But why is du Croisier proceeding against him if the 
 amount was paid in beforehand ?” asked Vice-President Blon- 
 det. 
 
 “He does not know that the money was deposited with 
 his wife; or he pretends that he does not know,” said Camu- 
 sot. | 
 
 “It is a piece of provincial spite,” said Michu. 
 
 “Still it looks like a forgery to me,” said old Blondet. No 
 passion could obscure judicial clear-sightedness in him. 
 
 “Do you think so?” returned Camusot. “But, at the out- 
 set, supposing that the Count had no business to draw upon 
 du Croisier, there would still be no forgery of the signature ; 
 
290 THE JEALOUSIES OF A COUNTRY TOWN 
 
 and the Count believed that he had a right to draw on. 
 Croisier when Chesnel advised him that the money had been 
 placed to his credit.” 
 
 “Well, then, where is the forgery?” asked Blondet. “It 
 is the intent to defraud which constitutes forgery in a civil 
 action.” 
 
 “Oh, it is clear, if you take du Croisier’s version for truth, 
 that the signature was diverted from its purpose to obtain a 
 sum of money in spite of du Croisier’s contrary injunction to 
 his bankers,” Camusot answered. 
 
 “Gentlemen,” said Blondet, “this seems to me to be a mere 
 trifle, a quibble-——Suppose you had the money, I ought per- 
 haps to have waited until I had your authorization; but I, 
 Comte d’Esgrignon, was pressed for money, so I Come, 
 come, your prosecution is a piece of revengeful spite. 
 Forgery is defined by the law as an attempt to obtain any ad- 
 vantage which rightfully belongs to another. There is no 
 forgery here, according to the letter of the Roman law, nor 
 according to the spirit of modern jurisprudence (always from 
 the point of view of a civil action, for we are not here con- 
 cerned with the falsification of public or authentic docu- 
 ments). Between private individuals the essence of a forgery 
 is the intent to defraud; where is it in this case? In what 
 times are we living, gentlemen? Here is the President going 
 away to balk a preliminary examination which ought to be 
 over by this time! Until to-day I did not know. M. le Prési- 
 dent, but he shall have the benefit of arrears; from this time 
 forth he shall draft his decisions himself. You must set 
 about this affair with all possible speed, M. Camusot.” 
 
 “Yes,” said Michu. “In my opinion, instead of letting the 
 young man out on bail, we ought to pull him out of this mess 
 at once. Hverything turns on the examination of du Croisier 
 and his wife. You might summons them to appear while 
 the court is sitting, M. Camusot; take down their depositions 
 before four o’clock, send in your report to-night, and we will 
 give our decision in the morning before the court sits.” 
 
 “We will settle what course to pursue while the barristers 
 
 
 
THE JHEALOUSIES OF A COUNTRY TOWN 291 
 
 are pleading,’ said Vice-President Blondet, addressing 
 Camusot. 
 
 And with that the three judges put on their robes and went 
 into court. 
 
 At noon Mlle. Armande and the Bishop reached the Hotel 
 d’Esgrignon; Chesnel and M. Couturier were there to meet 
 them. ‘There was a sufficiently short conference between the 
 prelate and Mme. du Croisier’s director, and the latter set 
 out at once to visit his charge. 
 
 At eleven o’clock that morning du Croisier received a sum- 
 mons to appear in the examining magistrate’s office between 
 one and two in the afternoon. Thither he betook himself, 
 consumed by well-founded suspicions. It was impossible that 
 the President should have foreseen the arrival of the Duchesse 
 de Maufrigneuse upon the scene, the return of the public 
 prosecutor, and the hasty confabulation of his learned 
 brethren; so he had omitted to trace out a plan for “du 
 Croisier’s guidance in the event of the preliminary examina- 
 tion taking place. Neither of the pair imagined that the 
 proceedings would be hurried on in this way. Du Croisier 
 obeyed the summons at once; he wanted to know how M. 
 Camusot was disposed to act. So he was compelled to answer 
 the questions put to him. Camusot addressed him in sum- 
 mary fashion with the six following inquiries :— 
 
 “Was the signature on the bill alleged to be a forgery in 
 your handwriting ?—Had you previously done business with 
 _M. le Comte d’Esgrignon ?—Was not M. le Comte d’Esgrignon 
 in the habit of drawing upon you, with or without advice ?— 
 Did you not write a letter authorizing M. d’Esgrignon to rely 
 upon you at any time ?—Had not Chesnel squared the account 
 not once, but many times already ?—Were you not away from 
 home when this took place ?” 
 
 All these questions the banker answered in the affirmative. 
 In spite of wordy explanations, the magistrate always brought 
 him back to a “Yes” or “No.” When the questions and 
 answers alike had been resumed in the procés-verbal, the ex- 
 amining magistrate brought out a final thunderbolt. 
 
292 THE JEALOUSIES OF A COUNTRY TOWN 
 
 “Was du Croisier aware that the money destined to meet 
 the bill had been deposited with him, du Croisier, according 
 to Chesnel’s declaration, and a letter of advice sent by the said 
 Chesnel to the Comte d’Esgrignon, five days before the date 
 of the bill ?” 
 
 That last question frightened du Croisier. He asked what 
 was meant by it, and whether he was supposed to be the de- 
 fendant and M. le Comte d’Hsgrignon the plaintiff? He 
 called the magistrate’s attention to the fact that if the money 
 had been deposited with him, there was no ground for the 
 action. 
 
 “Justice is seeking information,” said the magistrate, as 
 he dismissed the witness, but not before he had taken down 
 du Croisier’s last observation. 
 
 “But the money, sir th 
 
 “The money is at your house.” 
 
 Chesnel, likewise summoned, came forward to explain the 
 matter. ‘The truth of his assertions was borne out by Mme. 
 du Croisier’s deposition. The Count had already been ex- 
 amined. Prompted by Chesnel, he produced du Croisier’s 
 first letter, in which he begged the Count to draw upon him 
 without the insulting formality of depositing the amount 
 beforehand. The Comte d’Esgrignon next brought out a 
 letter in Chesnel’s handwriting, by which the notary advised 
 him of the deposit of a hundred thousand crowns with M. 
 du Croisier. With such primary facts as these to bring for- 
 ward as evidence, the young Count’s innocence was bound to 
 emerge triumphantly from a court of law. | 
 
 Du Croisier went home from the court, his face white 
 with rage, and the foam of repressed fury on his lips. His 
 wife was sitting by the fireside in the drawing-room at work 
 upon a pair of slippers for him. She trembled when she 
 looked into his face, but her mind was made up. 
 
 “Madame,” he stammered out, “what deposition is this 
 that you made before the magistrate? You have dishonored, 
 ruined, and betrayed me!” 
 
 “T have saved you, monsieur,”’ answered she. “If some 
 
 
 
THE JEALOUSIES OF A COUNTRY TOWN 293 
 
 day you will have the honor of connecting yourself with the 
 d’Esgrignons by marrying your niece to the Count, it will 
 be entirely owing to my conduct to-day.” 
 
 ““A miracle!” cried he. ‘“Balaam’s ass has spoken. Noth- 
 ing will astonish me after this. And where are the hundred 
 thousand crowns which (so M. Camusot tells me) are here 
 in my house?” 
 
 “Here they are,” said she, pulling out a bundle of bank- 
 notes from beneath the cushions of her settee. “I have not 
 committed mortal sin by declaring that M. Chesnel gave them 
 into my keeping.” 
 
 “While I was away?” 
 
 “You were not here.” 
 
 “Will you swear that to me on your salvation?” 
 
 “T swear it,” she said composedly. 
 
 “Then why did you say nothing to me about it?” de- 
 manded he. 
 
 “I was wrong there,” said his wife, “but my mistake was 
 all for your good. Your niece will be Marquise d’Esgrignon 
 some of these days, and you will perhaps be a deputy, if you 
 behave well in this deplorable business. You have gone too 
 far; you must find out how to get back again.” 
 
 Du Croisier, under stress of painful agitation, strode up 
 and down his drawing-room; while his wife, in no less agita- 
 tion, awaited the result of this exercise. Du Croisier at 
 length rang the bell. 
 
 “T am not at home to any one to-night,” he said, when the 
 man appeared; “shut the gates; and if any one calls, tell 
 them that your mistress and I have gone into the country. 
 We shall start directly after dinner, and dinner must be half 
 an hour earlier than usual.” 
 
 3 
 
 The great news was discussed that evening in every draw- 
 ing-room; little shopkeepers, working folk, beggars, the 
 noblesse, the merchant class—the whole town, in short, was 
 talking of the Comte d’Esgrignon’s arrest on a charge of 
 forgery. The Comte d’Esgrignon would be tried in the 
 
294 THE JEALOUSIES OF A COUNTRY TOWN 
 
 Assize Court; he would be condemned and branded. Most 
 of those who cared for the honor of the family denied the 
 fact. At nightfall Chesnel went to Mme. Camusot and es- 
 corted the stranger to the Hotel d’Esgrignon. Poor Mlle. 
 Armande was expecting him; she led the fair Duchess to her 
 own room, which she had given up to her, for his lordship 
 the Bishop occupied Victurnien’s chamber; and, left alone 
 with her guest, the noble woman glanced at the Duchess with 
 most piteous eyes. 
 
 “Your owed help, indeed, madame, to the poor boy who 
 ruined himself for your sake,” she said, “the boy to whom we 
 are all of us sacrificing ourselves.” 
 
 The Duchess had already made a woman’s survey of Mlle. 
 d’Esgrignon’s room; the cold, bare, comfortless chamber, 
 that might have been a nun’s cell, was like a picture of the 
 life of the heroic woman before her. The Duchess saw it all 
 —past, present, and future—with rising emotion, felt the 
 incongruity of her presence, and cculd not keep back the 
 falling tears that made answer for her. 
 
 But in Mlle. Armande the Christian overcame Victurnien’s 
 aunt. “Ah, I was wrong; forgive me, Mme. la Duchesse; 
 you did not know how poor we were, and my nephew was in- 
 capable of the admission. And besides, now that I see you, I 
 can understand all—even the crime!” 
 
 And Mlle. Armande, withered and thin and white, but 
 beautiful as those tall austere slender figures which German 
 art alone can paint, had tears too in her eyes. 
 
 “Do not fear, dear angel,’ the Duchess said at last; “he 
 is safe.” 
 
 “Yes, but honor ?—and his career? Chesnel told me; the 
 King knows the truth.” 
 
 “We will think of a way of repairing the evil,” said the 
 Duchess. 
 
 Mlle. Armande went downstairs to the salon, and found 
 the Collection of Antiquities complete to a man. Every one 
 of them had come, partly to do honor to the Bishop, partly 
 to rally round the Marquis; but Chesnel, posted in the ante- 
 
THE JEALOUSIES OF A COUNTRY TOWN 295 
 
 chamber, warned each new arrival to say no word of the affair, 
 that the aged Marquis might never know that such a thing had 
 been. The loyal Frank was quite capable of killing his son 
 or du Croisier; for either the one or the other must have 
 been guilty of death in his eyes. It chanced, strangely 
 enough, that he talked more of Victurnien than usual; he was 
 glad that his son had gone back to Paris. The King would 
 give Victurnien a place before very long; the King was in- 
 teresting himself at last in the d’Esgrignons. And his 
 friends, their hearts dead within them, praised Victurnien’s 
 conduct to the skies. Mlle. Armande prepared the way for 
 her nephew’s sudden appearance among them by remarking 
 to her brother that Victurnien would be sure to come to see 
 them, and that he must be even then on his way. 
 
 “Bah!” said the Marquis, standing with his back to the 
 hearth, “if he is doing well where he is, he ought to stay 
 there, and not to be thinking of the joy it would give his 
 old father to see him again. ‘The King’s service has the 
 first claim.” 
 
 Scarcely one of those present heard the words without a 
 shudder. Justice might give over a d’Esgrignon to the ex- 
 ecutioner’s branding iron. There was a dreadful pause. 
 The old Marquise de Castéran could not keep back a tear 
 that stole down over her rouge, and turned her head away 
 to hide it. 
 
 Next day at noon, in the sunny weather, a whole excited 
 population was dispersed in groups along the high street, 
 which ran through the heart of the town, and nothing was 
 talked of but the great affair. Was the Count in prison or 
 was he not ?—All at once the Comte d’Esgrignon’s well-known 
 tilbury was seen driving down the Rue Saint-Blaise; it had 
 evidently come from the Prefecture, the Count himself was 
 on the box seat, and by his side sat a charming young man, 
 whom nobody recognized. The pair were laughing and talking 
 and in great spirits. They wore Bengal roses in their button- 
 holes. Altogether, it was a theatrical surprise which words 
 fail to describe. 
 
296 THE JHALOUSIES OF A COUNTRY TOWN 
 
 At ten o’clock the court had decided to dismiss the charge, 
 stating their very sufficient reasons for setting the Count. 
 at liberty, in a document which contained a thunderbolt for 
 du Croisier, in the shape of an inasmuch that gave the Count 
 the right to institute proceedings for libel. Old Chesnel was 
 walking up the Grande Rue, as if by accident, telling all who 
 cared to hear him that du Croisier had set the most shameful 
 snares for the d’Esgrignons’ honor, and that it was entirely 
 owing to the forbearance and magnanimity of the family that 
 he was not prosecuted for slander. 
 
 On the evening of that famous day, after the Marquis 
 d’Esgrignon had gone to bed, the Count, Mlle. Armande, and 
 the Chevalier were left with the handsome young page, now 
 about to return to Paris. The charming cavalier’s sex could 
 not be hidden from the Chevalier, and he alone, besides the 
 three officials and Mme. Camusot, knew that the Duchess had 
 been among them. 
 
 “The house is saved,” began Chesnel, “but after this shock 
 it will take a hundred years to rise again. The debts must 
 be paid now; you must marry an heiress, M. le Comte, there 
 is nothing else left for you to do.” 
 
 “And take her where you may find her,’ said the 
 Duchess. 
 
 “A second mésalliance!” exclaimed Mlle. Armande. 
 
 The Duchess began to laugh. 
 
 “It is better to marry than to die,” she said. As she spoke 
 she drew from her waistcoat pocket a tiny crystal phial that 
 came from the court apothecary. 
 
 Mlle. Armande shrank away in horror. Old Chesnel took 
 the fair Maufrigneuse’s hand, and kissed it without permis- 
 sion. 
 
 “Are you all out of your minds here?” continued the 
 Duchess. “Do you really expect to live in the fifteenth cen- 
 tury when the rest of the world has reached the nineteenth ? 
 My dear children, there is no noblesse nowadays; there is no 
 aristocracy left! Napoleon’s Code Civil made an end of the 
 parchments, exactly as cannon made an end of feudal castles. 
 
AN) 
 
 THE JEALOUSIES OF A COUNTRY TOWN 297 
 
 When you have some money, you will be very much more of 
 nobles than you are now. Marry anybody you please, Vic- 
 turnien, you will raise your wife to your rank; that is the 
 most substantial privilege left to the French noblesse. Did 
 not M. de Talleyrand marry Mme. Grandt without com- 
 promising his position? Remember that Louis XIV. took 
 the Widow Scarron for his wife.” 
 
 “He did not marry her for her money,” interposed Mlle. 
 Armande. 
 
 “Tf the Comtesse d’Esgrignon were one du Croisier’s niece, 
 for instance, would you receive her?” asked Chesnel. 
 
 “Perhaps,” replied the Duchess; “but the King, beyond all 
 doubt, would be very glad to see her.—So you do not know 
 what is going on in the world?” continued she, seeing the 
 amazement in their faces. ‘“Victurnien has been in Paris; 
 he knows how things go there. We had more influence under 
 Napoleon. Marry Mlle. Duval, Victurnien; she will be just 
 as much Marquise d’Esgrignon as I am Duchesse de Maufri- 
 eneuse.” 
 
 “All is lost—even honor!” said the Chevalier, with a wave 
 of the hand. 
 
 “Good-bye, Victurnien,” said the Duchess, kissing her lover 
 on the forehead ; “we shall not see each other again. Live on 
 your lands; that is the best thing for you to do; the air of 
 
 Paris is not at all good for you.” 
 
 “Diane!” the young Count cried despairingly. 
 
 “Monsieur, you forget yourself strangely,” the Duchess 
 retorted coolly, as she laid aside her réle of man and mistress, 
 and became not merely an angel again, but a duchess, and 
 not only a duchess, but Moliére’s Céliméne. 
 
 The Duchesse de Maufrigneuse made a stately bow to these 
 four personages, and drew from the Chevalier his last tear 
 of admiration at the service of le beaw seze. 
 
 “How like she is to the Princess Goritza!” he exclaimed 
 in a low voice. 
 
 Diane had disappeared. The crack of the postilion’s whip 
 told Victurnien that the fair romance of his first love was 
 
298 THE JEALOUSIES OF A COUNTRY TOWN 
 
 over. While the peril lasted, Diane could still see her lover 
 in the young Count; but out of danger, she despised him for 
 the weakling that he was. 
 
 Six months afterwards, Camusot received the appointment 
 of assistant judge at Paris, and later he became an examin- 
 ing magistrate. Goodman Blondet was made a councillor 
 to the Royal-Court; he held the post just long enough to 
 secure a retiring pension, and then went back to live in his 
 pretty little house. Joseph Blondet sat in his father’s seat at 
 the court till the end of his days; there was not the faintest 
 chance of promotion for him, but he became Mlle. Blan- 
 dureau’s husband; and she, no doubt, is leading to-day, in the 
 little flower-covered brick house, as dull a life as any carp in 
 a marble basin. Michu and Camusot also received the Cross — 
 of the Legion of Honor, while Blondet became an Officer. As 
 for M. Sauvager, deputy public prosecutor, he was sent to 
 Corsica, to du Croisier’s great relief; he had decidedly no 
 mind to bestow his niece upon that functionary. 
 
 Du Croisier himself, urged by President du Ronceret, ap- 
 pealed from the finding of the Tribunal to the Court-Royal, 
 and lost his cause. The Liberals throughout the department 
 held that little d’Esgrignon was guilty; while the Royalists, 
 on the other hand, told frightful stories of plots woven by 
 “that abominable du Croisier” to compass his revenge. A 
 duel was fought indeed; the hazard of arms favored du 
 Croisier, the young Count was dangerously wounded, and his 
 antagonist maintained his words. This affair embittered the 
 strife between the two parties; the Liberals brought it for- 
 ward on all occasions. Meanwhile du Croisier never could 
 earry his election, and saw no hope of marrying his niece to 
 the Count, especially after the duel. 
 
 A month after the decision of the Tribunal was con- 
 firmed in the Court-Royal, Chesnel died, exhausted by the 
 dreadful strain, which had weakened and shaken himmentally — 
 and physically. He died in the hour of victory, like some i 
 old faithful hound that has brought the boar to bay, and gets 
 
 
 
THE JEALOUSIES OF A COUNTRY TOWN 299 
 
 his death on the tusks. He died as happily as might be, 
 seeing that he left the great House all but ruined, and the heir 
 in penury, bored to death by an idle life, and without a hope 
 of establishing himself. That bitter thought and his own ex- 
 haustion, no doubt, hastened the old man’s end. One great 
 comfort came to him as he lay amid the wreck of so many 
 hopes, sinking under the burden of so many cares—the old 
 Marquis, at his sister’s entreaty, gave him back all the old 
 friendship. The great lord came to the little house in the 
 Rue du Bercail, and sat by his old servant’s bedside, all un- 
 aware how much that servant had done and sacrificed for 
 him. Chesnel sat upright, and repeated Simeon’s cry.—The 
 Marquis allowed them to bury Chesnel in the castle chapel; 
 they laid him crosswise at the foot of the tomb which was 
 waiting for the Marquis himself, the last, in a sense, of the 
 d’ Esgrignons. 
 
 And so died one of the last representatives of that great 
 and beautiful thing, Service; giving to that often discredited 
 word its original meaning, the relation between feudal lord 
 and servitor. That relation, only to be found in some out-of- 
 the-way province, or among a few old servants of the King, 
 did honor alike to a noblesse that could call forth such affec- 
 tion, and to a bourgeoisie that could conceive it. Such noble 
 and magnificent devotion is no longer possible among us. 
 Noble houses have no servitors left; even as France has no 
 longer a King, nor an hereditary peerage, nor lands that are 
 bound irrevocably to an historic house, that the glorious 
 names of a nation may be perpetuated. Chesnel was not 
 merely one of the obscure great men of private life; he was 
 something more—he was a great fact. In his sustained self- 
 devotion is there not something indefinably solemn and sub- 
 lime, something that rises above the one beneficent deed, or the 
 heroic height which is reached by a moment’s supreme effort ? 
 Chesnel’s virtues belong essentially to the classes which stand 
 between the poverty of the people on the one hand, and the 
 greatness of the aristocracy on the other ;for these can combine 
 homely burgher virtues with the heroic ideals of the noble, 
 enlightening both by a solid education. 
 
300 THE JEALOUSIES OF A COUNTRY TOWN 
 
 Victurnien was not well looked upon at Court; there was 
 no more chance of a great match for him, nor a_ place. 
 His Majesty steadily refused to raise the d’ Esgrignons to the 
 peerage, the one royal favor which could rescue Victurnien 
 from his wretched position. It was impossible that he 
 should marry a bourgeoise heiress in his father’s lifetime, so 
 he was bound to live on shabbily under the paternal roof with 
 memories of his two years of splendor in Paris, and the lost 
 love of a great lady to bear him company. He grew moody 
 and depressed, vegetating at home with a careworn aunt and a 
 half heart-broken father, who attributed his son’s condition 
 to a wasting malady. Chesnel was no longer there. 
 
 The Marquis died in 1830. The great d’Esgrignon, with 
 a following of all the less infirm noblesse from the Collection 
 of Antiquities, went to wait upon Charles X. at Nonancourt; © 
 he paid his respects to his sovereign, and swelled the meagre 
 train of the fallen king. It was an act of courage which 
 seems simple enough to-day, but, in that time of enthusiastic 
 revolt, it was heroism. 
 
 “The Gaul has conquered!” ‘These were the Marquis’ 
 last words. 
 
 By that time du Croisier’s victory was complete. The 
 new Marquis d’Esgrignon accepted Mlle. Duval as his wife 
 a week after his old father’s death. His bride brought him 
 three millions of francs, for du Croisier and his wife settled 
 the reversion of their fortunes upon her in the marriage-con- 
 tract. Du Croisier took occasion to say during the ceremony 
 that the d’Esgrignon family was the most honorable of all the 
 ancient houses in France. 
 
 Some day the present Marquis d’Esgrignon will have an in- 
 come of more than a hundred thousand crowns. You may 
 see him in Paris, for he comes to town every winter and leads 
 a jolly bachelor life, while he treats his wife with something 
 more than the indifference of the grand setgneur of olden 
 times; he takes no thought whatever for her. 
 
 “As for Mlle. d’Esgrignon,” said Mmile Blondet, to whom 
 all the detail of the story is due, “if she is no longer like the 
 
THE JEALOUSIES OF A COUNTRY TOWN 301 
 
 divinely fair woman whom I saw by glimpses in my childhood, 
 she is decidedly, at the age of sixty-seven, the most pathetic 
 and interesting figure in the Collection of Antiquities. She 
 queens it among them still. I saw her when I made my last 
 journey to my native place in search of the necessary papers 
 for my marriage. When my father knew who it was that I 
 had married, he was struck dumb with amazement; he had not 
 a word to say until I told him that I was a prefect. 
 
 “““You were born to it,’ he said, with a smile. 
 
 “As I took a walk around the town, I met Mlle. Armande. 
 She looked taller than ever. I looked at her, and thought of 
 Marius among the ruins of Carthage. Had she not outlived 
 her creed, and the beliefs that had been destroyed? She is 
 a sad and silent woman, with nothing of her old beauty left 
 except the eyes, that shine with an unearthly lght. I 
 watched her on her way to mass, with her book in her hand, 
 and could not help thinking that she prayed to God to take 
 her out of the world.” | 
 
 Les JARDIES, July 1837. 
 

 
THE COMMISSION IN LUNACY 
 
 - Dedicated to Monsieur le Contre-Amiral Bazoche, Governor of the 
 Isle of Bourbon, by the grateful writer. DE BALZAC. 
 
 IN 1828, at about one o’clock one morning, two persons came 
 out of a large house in the Rue du Faubourg Saint-Honoré, 
 near the Elysée-Bourbon. One was a famous doctor, Horace 
 Bianchon; the other was one of the most elegant men in 
 Paris, the Baron de Rastignac; they were friends of long 
 standing. Each had sent away his carriage, and no cab was 
 to be seen in the street; but the night was fine, and the pave- 
 ment dry. | 
 
 “We will walk as far as the boulevard,” said Eugéne de 
 Rastignac to Bianchon. “You can get a hackney cab at the 
 club; there is always one to be found there till daybreak. 
 Come with me as far as my house.” 
 
 “With pleasure.” 
 
 “Well, and what have you to say about it?” 
 
 “About that woman?” said the doctor coldly. 
 
 “There I recognize my Bianchon!” exclaimed Rastignac. 
 
 “Why, how?” 
 
 “Well, my dear fellow, you speak of the Marquise d’Espard 
 as if she were a case for your hospital.” 
 
 “Do you want to know what I think, Eugéne’ If you 
 throw over Madame de Nucingen for this Marquise, you will 
 swap a one-eyed horse for a blind one.” 
 
 “Madame de Nucingen is six-and-thirty, Bianchon.” 
 
 “And this woman is three-and-thirty,’ said the doctor 
 quickly. | 
 
 “Her worst enemies only say six-and-twenty.” 
 
 “My dear boy, when you really want to know a woman’s 
 age, look at her temples and the tip of her nose. Whatever 
 women may achieve with their cosmetics, they can do nothing 
 against those incorruptible witnesses to their experiences. 
 
 (303) 
 
304 THE COMMISSION IN LUNACY 
 
 There each year of life has left its stigmata. When a woman’s 
 temples are flaccid, seamed, withered in a particular 
 way; when at the tip of her nose you see those minute specks, 
 which look like the imperceptible black smuts which are shed 
 in London by the chimneys in which coal is burnt. : 
 Your servant, sir! That woman is more than thirty. She 
 may be handsome, witty, loving—whatever you please, but 
 she is past thirty, she is arriving at maturity. I do not 
 blame men who attach themselves to that kind of woman; 
 only, a man of your superior distinction must not mistake a 
 winter pippin for a little summer apple, smiling on the 
 bough, and waiting for you to crunch it. Love never goes 
 to study the registers of birth and marriage; no one loves 
 a woman because she is handsome or ugly, stupid or clever; | 
 we love because we love.” 
 
 “Well, for my part, I love for quite other reasons. She is 
 Marquise d’Espard; she was a Blamont-Chauvry; she is the 
 fashion; she has soul; her foot is as pretty as the Duchesse 
 de Berri’s; she has perhaps a hundred thousand francs a 
 year—some day, perhaps, I may marry her! In short, she. 
 will put me into a position which will enable me to pay my 
 debts.” 
 
 “T thought you were rich,” interrupted Bianchon. 
 
 “Bah! I have twenty thousand francs a year—just enough 
 to keep up my stables. I was thoroughly done, my dear fel- 
 low, in that Nucingen business; I will tell you about that.— 
 I have got my sisters married; that is the clearest profit I 
 can show since we last met; and I would rather have them 
 provided for than have five hundred thousand francs a year. 
 Now, what would you have me do? I am ambitious. To what 
 can Madame de Nucingen lead? A year more and I shall 
 be shelved, stuck in a pigeon-hole like a married man. I 
 have all the discomforts of marriage and of single life, with- 
 out the advantages of either; a false position to which every 
 man must come who remains tied too long to the same apron- 
 string.” 
 
 “So you think you will come upon a treasure here?” said 
 
THE COMMISSION IN LUNACY 305 
 
 Bianchon. “Your Marquise, my dear fellow, does not hit 
 my fancy at all.” 
 
 “Your liberal opinions blur your eyesight. If Madame 
 
 d’Espard were a Madame Rabourdin é 
 “Listen to me. Noble or simple, she would still have no 
 soul; she would still be a perfect type of selfishness. ‘Take 
 my word for it, medical men are accustomed to judge of 
 people and things; the sharpest of us read the soul while we 
 study the body. In spite of that pretty boudoir where we 
 have spent this evening, in spite of the magnificence of the 
 house, it is quite possible that Madame la Marquise is in 
 debt.” 
 
 “What makes you think so?” 
 
 “I do not assert it; I am supposing. She talked of her soul 
 as Louis XVIII. used to talk of his heart. I tell you this: 
 That fragile, fair woman, with her chestnut hair, who pities 
 herself that she may be pitied, enjoys an iron constitution, 
 an appetite like a wolf’s, and the strength and cowardice of 
 a tiger. Gauze, and silk, and muslin were never more cleverly 
 twisted round a lie! Ecco.” 
 
 “Bianchon, you frighten me! You have learned a good 
 many things, then, since we lived in the Maison Vauquer?” 
 
 “Yes; since then, my boy, I have seen puppets, both dolls 
 and manikins. J know something of the ways of the fine 
 ladies whose bodies we attend to, saving that which is dearest 
 to them, their child—if they love it—or their pretty faces, 
 which they always worship. A man spends his nights by 
 their pillow, wearing himself to death to spare them the 
 slightest loss of beauty in any part; he succeeds, he keeps 
 their secret like the dead; they send to ask for his bill, and 
 think it horribly exorbitant. Who saved them? Nature. 
 Far from recommending him, they speak ill of him, fearing 
 lest he should become the physician of their best friends. 
 
 “My dear fellow, those women of whom you say, “They are 
 angels !’ [—JI-——have seen stripped of the little grimaces under 
 which they hide their soul, as well as of the frippery under 
 
306 THE COMMISSION IN LUNACY 
 
 which they disguise their defects—without manners and 
 without stays; they are not beautiful. 
 
 “We saw a great deal of mud, a great deal of dirt, under 
 the waters of the world when we were aground for a time on 
 the shoals of the Maison Vauquer.—What we saw there was 
 nothing. Since I have gone into higher society, I have seen 
 monsters dressed in satin, Michonneaus in white gloves, 
 Poirets bedizened with orders, fine gentlemen doing more 
 usurious business than old Gobseck! To the shame of man- 
 kind, when I have wanted to shake hands with Virtue, I have 
 found her shivering in a loft, persecuted by calumny, half- 
 starving on an income or a salary of fifteen hundred francs 
 a year, and regarded as crazy, or eccentric, or imbecile. 
 
 “In short, my dear boy, the Marquise is a woman of 
 fashion, and I have a particular horror of that kind of 
 woman. Do you want to know why? A woman who has a 
 lofty soul, fine taste, gentle wit, a generously warm heart, and 
 who lives a simple life, has not a chance of being the fashion. 
 Ergo: A woman of fashion and a man in power are analo- 
 gous; but there is this difference: the qualities by which a 
 man raises himself above others ennoble. him and are a glory 
 to him; whereas the qualities by which a woman gains power 
 for a day are hideous vices; she belies her nature to hide her 
 character, and to live the militant life of the world she must 
 have iron strength under a frail appearance. 
 
 “T, as a physician, know that a sound stomach excludes a 
 good heart. Your woman of fashion feels nothing; her rage 
 for pleasure has its source in a longing to heat up her cold 
 nature, a craving for excitement and enjoyment, like an old 
 ‘man who stands night after night by the footlights at the 
 opera. As she has more brain than heart, she sacrifices 
 genuine passion and true friends to her triumph, as a gen- 
 eral sends his most devoted subalterns to the front in order 
 to win a battle. The woman of fashion ceases to be a woman; 
 she is neither mother, nor wife, nor lover. She is, medically 
 speaking, sex in the brain. And your Marquise, too, has all 
 the characteristics of her monstrosity, the beak of a bird of 
 
 a a 
 
THE COMMISSION IN LUNACY 307 
 
 prey, the clear, cold eye, the gentle voice—she is as polished 
 as the steel of a machine, she touches everything except the 
 heart.” 
 
 “There is some truth in what you say, Bianchon.” 
 
 “Some truth?” replied Bianchon. “It is all true. Do you 
 suppose that I was not struck to the heart by the insulting 
 politeness by which she made me measure the imaginary dis- 
 tance which her noble birth sets between us? ‘That I did 
 not feel the deepest pity for her cat-like civilities when I re- 
 membered what her object was? A year hence she will not 
 write one word to do me the slightest service, and this even- 
 ing she pelted me with smiles, believing that I can influence 
 my uncle Popinot, on whom the success of her case a 
 
 “Would you rather she should have played the fool with 
 you, my dear fellow?—I accept your diatribe against women 
 of fashion; but you are beside the mark. I should always 
 prefer for a wife a Marquise d’Espard to the most devout 
 and devoted creature on earth. Marry an angel! you would 
 have to go and bury your happiness in the depths of the coun- 
 try! The wife of a politician is a governing machine, a con- 
 trivance that makes compliments and courtesies. She is the 
 most important and most faithful tool which an ambitious 
 man can use; a friend, in short, who may compromise her- 
 self without mischief, and whom he may belie without harm- 
 ful results. Fancy Mahomet in Paris in the nineteenth cen- 
 tury! His wife would be a Rohan, a Duchesse de Chevreuse 
 of the Fronde, as keen and as flattering as an Ambassadress, 
 as wily as Figaro. Your loving wives lead nowhere; a woman 
 of the world leads to everything; she is the diamond with 
 which a man cuts every window when he has not the golden 
 key which unlocks every door. Leave humdrum virtues to 
 the humdrum, ambitious vices to the ambitious. 
 
 “Besides, my dear fellow, do you imagine that the love of a 
 Duchesse de Langeais, or de Maufrigneuse, or of a Lady 
 Dudley does not bestow immense pleasure? If only you knew 
 how much value the cold, severe style of such women gives 
 to the smallest evidence of their affection! What a delight 
 
 
 
e 
 
 308 THE COMMISSION IN LUNACY 
 
 it is to see a periwinkle piercing through the snow! A smile 
 from below a fan contradicts the reserve of an assumed at-, 
 titude, and is worth all the unbridled tenderness of your 
 middle-class women with their mortgaged devotion; for, in 
 love, devotion is nearly akin to speculation. 
 
 “And, then, a woman of fashion, a Blamont-Chauvry, has 
 her virtues too! Her virtues are fortune, power, effect, a 
 certain contempt of all that is beneath her H 
 
 “Thank you!” said Bianchon. 
 
 “Old curmudgeon!” said Rastignac, lsuehing. “Come— 
 do not be common; do like your friend Desplein; be a Baron, 
 a Knight of Saint-Michael : become a peer of France, and 
 marry your daughters to dukes.” 
 
 “IT! May the five hundred thousand devils 
 
 “Come, come! Can you be Superior only in medicine? 
 Really, you distress me . . 
 
 “T hate that sort of neue: I long for a revolution to de- 
 liver us from them for ever.’ 
 
 “‘And so, my dear Robespierre of the lancet, you will not 
 go to-morrow to your uncle Popinot ?” 
 
 “Yes, I will,” said Bianchon; “for you I would go to hell 
 toitetch water) (ii. 17% 
 
 “My good friend, you really touch me. I have sworn that 
 a commission shall sit on the Marquis. Why, here is even 
 a long-saved tear to thank you.” | 
 
 “But,” Bianchon went on, “I do not promise to succeed 
 as you wish with Jean-Jules Popinot. You do not know 
 him. However, I will take him to see your Marquise the day 
 after to-morrow ; she may get round him if she can. I doubt 
 it. If all the truffles, all the Duchesses, all the mistresses, 
 and all the charmers in Paris were there in the full bloom 
 of their beauty; if the King promised him the prairie, and 
 the Almighty gave him the Order of Paradise with the reve- 
 nues of Purgatory, not one of all these powers would induce 
 him to transfer a single straw from one saucer of his scales 
 into the other. He is a judge, as Death is Death.” 
 
 The two friends had reached the office of the Minister for 
 
 
 
 
 
THE COMMISSION IN LUNACY 309 
 
 Foreign Affairs, at the corner of the Boulevard des Capu- 
 cines. 
 
 “Here you are at home,” said Bianchon, laughing, as he 
 pointed to the ministerial residence. “And here is my car- 
 riage,” he added, calling a hackney cab. “And these—ex- 
 press our fortune.” 
 
 “You will be happy at the bottom of the sea, while I am 
 still struggling with the tempests on the surface, till I sink 
 and go to ask you for a corner in your grotto, old fellow!’ 
 
 “Till Saturday,” replied Bianchon. 
 
 “Agreed,” said Rastignac. “And you promise me Popi- 
 mot’ 
 
 “T will do all my conscience will allow. Perhaps this ap- 
 peal for a commission covers some little dramorama, to use a 
 word of our good bad times.” 
 
 “Poor Bianchon! he will never be anything but a good fel- 
 low,” said Rastignac to himself as the cab drove off. 
 
 “Rastignac has given me the most difficult negotiation in 
 the world,” said Bianchon to himself, remembering, as he 
 rose next morning, the delicate commission intrusted to him. 
 “However, I have never asked the smallest service from my 
 uncle in Court, and have paid more than a thousand visits 
 gratis for him. And, after all, we are not apt to mince mat- 
 ters between ourselves. He will say Yes or No, and there an 
 end.” 
 
 After this little soliloquy the famous physician bent his 
 steps, at seven in the morning, towards the Rue du Fouarre, 
 where dwelt Monsieur Jean-Jules Popinot, judge of the 
 Lower Court of the Department of the Seine. The Rue du 
 Fouarre—an. old word meaning straw—was in the thirteenth 
 century the most important street in Paris. There stood the 
 Schools of the University, where the voices of Abelard and 
 of Gerson were heard in the world of learning. It is now 
 one of the dirtiest streets of the Twelfth Arrondissement, 
 the poorest quarter of Paris, that in which two-thirds of the 
 population lack firing in winter, which leaves most brats at 
 
310 THE COMMISSION IN LUNACY 
 
 the gate of the Foundling Hospital, which sends most beg- | 
 gars to the poorhouse, most rag-pickers to the street corners, 
 most decrepit old folks to bask against the walls on which 
 the sun shines, most delinquents to the police courts. 
 
 Half-way down this street, which is always damp, and where 
 the gutter carries to the Seine the blackened waters from 
 some dye-works, there is an old house, restored no doubt 
 under Francis I., and built of bricks held together by a few 
 courses of masonry. That it is substantial seems proved by 
 the shape of its front wall, not uncommonly seen in some 
 parts of Paris. It bellies, so to speak, in a manner caused 
 by the protuberance of its first floor, crushed under the weight 
 of the second and third, but upheld by the strong wall of the 
 ground floor. At first sight it would seem as though the 
 piers between the windows, though strengthened by the stone 
 mullions, must give way; but the observer presently perceives 
 that, as in the tower at Bologna, the old bricks and old time- 
 eaten stones of this house persistently preserve their centre of 
 gravity. 
 
 At every season of the year the solid piers of the ground 
 floor have the yellow tone and the imperceptible sweating sur- 
 face that moisture gives to stone. The passer-by feels chilled 
 as he walks close to this wall, where worn corner-stones in- 
 effectually shelter him from the wheels of vehicles. As is 
 always the case in houses built before carriages were in use, 
 the vault of the doorway forms a very low archway not unlike 
 the barbican of a prison. 'To the right of this entrance there 
 are three windows, protected outside by iron gratings of so 
 close a pattern, that the curious cannot possibly see the use 
 made of the dark, damp rooms within, and the panes too 
 are dirty and dusty; to the left are two similar windows, one 
 of which is sometimes open, exposing to view the porter, 
 his wife, and his children; swarming, working, cooking, eat- 
 ing, and screaming, in a floored and wainscoted room where 
 everything is dropping to pieces, and into which you descend 
 two steps—a depth which seems to suggest the gradual eleva- 
 tion of the soil of Paris. 
 
 
 
THE COMMISSION IN LUNACY 311 
 
 If on a rainy day some foot-passenger takes refuge under 
 the long vault, with projecting lime-washed beams, which 
 leads from the door to the staircase, he will hardly fail to 
 pause and look at the picture presented by the interior of 
 this house. To the left is a square garden-plot, allowing of not 
 more than four long steps in each direction, a garden of black 
 soil, with trellises bereft of vines, and where, in default of 
 vegetation under the shade of two trees, papers collect, old 
 rags, potsherds, bits of mortar fallen from the roof; a barren 
 ground, where time has shed on the walls, and on the trunks 
 and branches of the trees, a powdery deposit like cold soot. 
 The two parts of the house, set at a right angle, derive light 
 from this garden-court shut in by two adjoining houses built 
 on wooden piers, decrepit and ready to fall, where on each 
 floor some grotesque evidence is to be seen of the craft pur- 
 sued by the lodger within. Here long poles are hung with 
 immense skeins of dyed worsted put out to dry; there, on 
 ropes, dance clean-washed shirts; higher up, on a shelf, vol- 
 umes display their freshly marbled edges; women sing, hus- 
 bands whistle, children shout; the carpenter saws his planks, 
 a copper-turner makes the metal screech; all kinds of indus- 
 tries combine to produce a noise which the number of instru- 
 ments renders distracting. 
 
 The general system of decoration in this passage, which is 
 neither courtyard, garden, nor vaulted way, though a little 
 of all, consists of wooden pillars resting on square stone 
 blocks, and forming arches. Two archways open on to the 
 little garden; two others, facing the front gateway, lead to a 
 wooden staircase, with an iron balustrade that was once a 
 miracle of smith’s work, so whimsical are the shapes given 
 to the metal; the worn steps creak under every tread. The 
 entrance to each flat has an architrave dark with dirt, grease, 
 and dust, and outer doors, covered with Utrecht velvet set 
 with brass nails, once gilt, in a diamond pattern. These relics 
 of splendor show that in the time of Louis XIV. the house 
 was the residence of some Councillor to the Parlement, some 
 rich priests, or some treasurer of the ecclesiastical revenue. 
 
312 THE COMMISSION IN LUNACY 
 
 But these vestiges of former luxury bring a smile to the lips 
 by the artless contrast of past and present. 
 
 M. Jean-Jules Popinot lived on the first floor of this house, 
 where the gloom, natural to all first floors in Paris houses, 
 was increased by the narrowness of the street. This old 
 tenement was known to all the twelfth arrondissement, on 
 which Providence had bestowed this lawyer, as it gives a 
 beneficent plant to cure or alleviate every malady. Here is a 
 sketch of a man whom the brilliant Marquise d’Espard hoped 
 to fascinate. 
 
 M. Popinot, as is seemly for a magistrate, was always 
 dressed in black—a style which contributed to make him 
 ridiculous in the eyes of those who were in the habit of judg- 
 ing everything from a superficial examination. Men who are 
 jealous of maintaining the dignity required by this color 
 ought to devote themselves to constant and minute care of 
 their person; but our dear M. Popinot was incapable of fore- 
 ing himself to the puritanical cleanliness which black de- 
 mands. His trousers, always threadbare, looked like camlet 
 —the stuff of which attorneys’ gowns are made; and his 
 habitual stoop set them, in time, in such innumerable creases, 
 that in places they were traced with lines, whitish, rusty, or 
 shiny, betraying either sordid avarice, or the most unheeding 
 poverty. His coarse worsted stockings were twisted anyhow 
 in his ill-shaped shoes. His linen had the tawny tinge 
 acquired by long sojourn in a wardrobe, showing that the late 
 Jamented Madame Popinot had had a mania for much linen; 
 in the Flemish fashion, perhaps, she had given herself the 
 trouble of a great wash no more than twice a year. The old 
 man’s coat and waistcoat were in harmony with his trousers, 
 shoes, stockings, and linen. He always had the luck of his 
 carelessness; for, the first day he put on a new coat, he un- 
 failingly matched it with the rest of his costume by staining 
 it with incredible promptitude. The good man waited till 
 his housekeeper told him that his hat was too shabby before 
 buying a new one. His necktie was always crumpled and 
 _ starchless, and he never set his dog-eared shirt collar straight 
 
THE COMMISSION IN LUNACY 3138 
 
 after his judge’s bands had disordered it. He took no care of 
 his gray hair, and shaved but twice a week. He never wore 
 gloves, and generally kept his hands stuffed into his empty 
 trousers’ pockets; the soiled pocket-holes, almost always torn, 
 added a final touch to the slovenliness of his person. 
 
 Any one who knows the Palais de Justice at Paris, where 
 every variety of black attire may be studied, can easily 
 imagine the appearance of M. Popinot. The habit of sitting 
 for days at a time modifies the structure of the body, just as 
 the fatigue of hearing interminable pleadings tells on the ex- 
 pression of a magistrate’s face. Shut up as he is in courts 
 ridiculously small, devoid of architectural dignity, and where 
 the air is quickly vitiated, a Paris judge inevitably acquires 
 a countenance puckered and seamed by reflection, and de- 
 pressed by weariness; his complexion turns pallid, acquiring 
 an earthy or greenish hue according to his individual tem- 
 perament. In short, within a given time the most blooming 
 young man is turned into an “inasmuch” machine—an in- 
 strument which applies the Code to individual cases with the 
 indifference of clockwork. ‘ 
 
 Hence, nature having bestowed on M. Popinot a not too 
 pleasing exterior, his life as a lawyer had not improved it. 
 His frame was graceless and angular. His thick knees, huge 
 feet, and broad hands formed a contrast with a priest-like 
 face having a vague resemblance to a calf’s head, meek to 
 unmeaningness, and but little brightened by divergent, 
 bloodless eyes, divided by a straight flat nose, surmounted by 
 a flat forehead, flanked by enormous ears, flabby and grace- 
 less. His thin, weak hair showed the baldness through 
 various irregular partings. 
 
 One feature only commended this face to the physiog- 
 nomist. This man had a mouth to whose lips divine kind- 
 ness lent its sweetness. They were wholesome, full, red lips, 
 finely wrinkled, sinuous, mobile, by which nature had given 
 expression to noble feelings; lips which spoke to the heart 
 and proclaimed the man’s intelligence and lucidity, a gift 
 of second-sight, and a heavenly temper; and you would have 
 
314 THE COMMISSION IN LUNACY 
 
 judged him wrongly from looking merely at his sloping fore- 
 head, his fireless eyes, and his shambling gait. His life an- 
 swered to his countenance; it was full of secret labor, and 
 hid the virtue of a saint. His superior knowledge of law 
 proved so strong a recommendation at the time when Na- 
 poleon was reorganizing it in 1808 and 1811, that, by the 
 advice of Cambacérés, he was one of the first men named to 
 sit on the Imperial High Court of Justice at Paris. Popi- 
 not was no schemer. Whenever any demand was made, any 
 request preferred for an appointment, the Minister would 
 overlook Popinot, who never set foot in the house of the 
 High Chancellor or the Chief Justice. From the High Court 
 he was sent down to the Common Court, and pushed to the 
 lowest rung of the ladder by active struggling men. There - 
 he was appointed supernumerary judge. ‘There was a general 
 outcry among the lawyers: “Popinot a supernumerary !” 
 Such injustice struck the legal world with dismay—the at- 
 torneys, the registrars, everybody but Popinot himself, who 
 made no complaint. The first clamor over, everybody was 
 satisfied that all was forthe best in the best of all possible 
 worlds, which must certainly be the legal world. Popinot 
 sien supernumerary judge till the day when the most 
 famous Great Seal under the Restoration avenged the over- 
 sights heaped on this modest and uncomplaining man by the 
 Chief Justices of the Empire. After being a supernumerary 
 for twelve years, M. Popinot would no doubt die a puisne 
 judge of the Court of the Seine. 
 
 To account for the obscure fortunes of one of the superior 
 men of the legal profession, it is necessary to enter here into 
 some details which will serve to reveal his life and character, 
 and which will, at the same time, display some of the wheels 
 of the great machine known as Justice. M. Popinot was 
 classed by the three Presidents who successively controlled 
 the Court of the Seine under the category of possible judges, 
 the stuff of which judges are made. Thus classified, he did 
 not achieve the reputation for capacity which his previous 
 labors had deserved. Just as a painter is invariably included 
 
 
 
 
 
THE COMMISSION IN LUNACY 315 
 
 in a category as a landscape painter, a portrait painter, a 
 painter of history, of sea pieces, or of genre, by a public con- 
 sisting of artists, connoisseurs, and simpletons, who, out of 
 envy, or critical omnipotence, or prejudice, fence in his in- 
 tellect, assuming, one and all, that there are ganglions in 
 every brain—a narrow judgment which the world applies to 
 writers, to statesmen, to everybody who begins with some 
 specialty before being hailed as omniscient; so Popinot’s 
 fate was sealed, and he was hedged round to do a particular 
 kind of work. Magistrates, attorneys, pleaders, all who past- 
 ure on the legal common, distinguish two elements in every 
 case—law and equity. Equity is the outcome of facts, law 
 is the application of principles to facts. A man may be right 
 in equity but wrong in law, without any blame to the judge. 
 Between his conscience and the facts there is a whole gulf 
 of determining reasons unknown to the judge, but which con- 
 demn or legitimatize the act. A judge is not God; his duty 
 is to adapt facts to principles, to judge cases of infinite va- 
 riety while measuring them by a fixed standard. 
 
 France employs about six thousand judges; no generation 
 has six thousand great men at her command, much less can 
 she find them in the legal profession. Popinot, in the midst 
 of the civilization of Paris, was just a very clever cadi, who, 
 by the character of his mind, and by dint of rubbing the 
 letter of the law into the essence of facts, had learned to see 
 the error of spontaneous and violent decisions. By the help 
 of his judicial second-sight he could pierce the double casing 
 of lies in which advocates hide the heart of a trial. He was 
 a judge, as the great Desplein was a surgeon; he probed men’s 
 consciences as the anatomist probed their bodies. His life 
 and habits had led him to an exact appreciation of their most 
 secret thoughts by a thorough study of facts. 
 
 He sifted a case as Cuvier sifted the earth’s crust. Like 
 that great thinker, he proceeded from deduction to deduction 
 before drawing his conclusions, and reconstructed the 
 past career of a conscience as Cuvier reconstructed an Ano- 
 plotherium. When considering a brief he would often wake 
 
316 THE COMMISSION IN LUNACY 
 
 in the night, startled by a gleam of truth suddenly sparkling 
 in his brain. Struck by the deep injustice, which is the end 
 of these contests, in which everything is against the honest 
 man, everything to the advantage of the rogue, he often 
 summed up in favor of equity against law in such cases as 
 bore on questions of what may be termed divination. Hence 
 he was regarded by his colleagues as a man not of a practical 
 mind; his arguments on two lines of deduction made their 
 deliberations lengthy. When Popinot observed their dislike 
 to listening to him he gave his opinion briefly; it was said 
 that he was not a good judge in this class of cases; but as his 
 sift of discrimination was remarkable, his opinion lucid, and 
 his penetration profound, he was considered to have a special 
 aptitude for the laborious duties of an examining judge. So 
 an examining judge he remained during the greater part of 
 his legal career. 
 
 Although his qualifications made him eminently fitted for 
 its difficult functions, and he had the reputation of being so 
 learned in criminal law that his duty was a pleasure to him, 
 the kindness of his heart constantly kept him in torture, and 
 he was nipped as in a vise between his conscience and his pity. 
 The services of an examining judge are better paid than those 
 of a judge in civil actions, but they do not therefore prove a 
 temptation; they are too onerous. Popinot, a man of modest 
 and virtuous learning, without ambition, an indefatigable 
 worker, never complained of his fate; he sacrificed his tastes 
 and his compassionate soul to the public good,and allowed him- 
 self to be transported to the noisome pools of criminal examina- 
 tions, where he showed himself alike severe and beneficent. His 
 clerk sometimes would give the accused some money to buy 
 tobacco, or a warm winter garment, as he led him back from 
 the judge’s office to the Sourictére, the mouse-trap—the 
 House of Detention where the accused are kept under the 
 orders of the Examining Judge. He knew how to be an in- 
 flexible judge and a charitable man. And no one extracted 
 a confession so easily as he without having recourse to judicial 
 trickery. He had, too, all the acumen of an observer. This 
 
THE COMMISSION IN LUNACY 317 
 
 man, apparently so foolishly good-natured, simple, and ab- 
 sent-minded, could guess all the cunning of a prison wag, 
 unmask the astutest street huzzy, and subdue a scoundrel. 
 Unusual circumstances had sharpened his perspicacity; but 
 to relate these we must intrude on his domestic history, for 
 in him the judge was the social side of the man; another 
 man, greater and less known, existed within. 
 
 Twelve years before the beginning of this story, in 1816, 
 during the terrible scarcity which coincided disastrously with 
 the stay in France of the so-called Allies, Popinot was ap- 
 pointed President of the Commission Extraordinary formed 
 to distribute food to the poor of his neighborhood, just when 
 he had planned to move from the Rue du Fouarre, which he 
 as little liked to live in as his wife did. The great lawyer, 
 the clear-sighted criminal judge, whose superiority seemed to 
 his colleagues a form of aberration, had for five years been 
 watching legal results without seeing their causes. As he 
 scrambled up into lofts, as he saw the poverty, as he studied 
 the desperate necessities which gradually bring the poor to 
 criminal acts, as he estimated their long struggles, compas- 
 sion filled his soul The judge then became the Saint Vincent 
 de Paul of these grown-up children, these suffering toilers. 
 The transformation was not immediately complete. Benefi- 
 cence has its temptations as vice has. Charity consumes a 
 saint’s purse, as roulette consumes the possessions of a gam- 
 bler, quite gradually. Popinot went from misery to misery, 
 from charity to charity; then, by the time he had lifted 
 all the rags which cover public pauperism, like a bandage 
 under which an inflamed wound lies festering, at the end 
 of a year he had become the Providence incarnate of that 
 quarter of the town. He was a member of the Benevolent 
 Committee and of the Charity Organization. Wherever any 
 gratuitous services were needed he was ready, and did every- 
 thing without fuss, like the man with the short cloak, who 
 spends his life in carrying soup round the markets and other 
 places where there are starving folks. 
 
 Popinot was fortunate in acting on a larger circle and in 
 
318 THE COMMISSION IN LUNACY 
 
 a higher sphere; he had an eye on everything, he prevented 
 crime, he gave work to the unemployed, he found a refuge 
 for the helpless, he distributed aid with discernment wherever 
 danger threatened, he made himself the counselor of the 
 widow, the protector of homeless children, the sleeping part- 
 ner of small traders. No one at the Courts, no one in Paris, 
 knew of this secret life of Popinot’s. There are virtues so 
 splendid that they necessitate obscurity; men make haste to 
 hide them under a bushel. As to those whom the lawyer suc- 
 cored, they, hard at work all day and tired at night, were 
 little able to sing his praises; theirs was the gracelessness of 
 children, who can never pay because they owe too much. 
 There is such compulsory ingratitude; but what heart that 
 has sown good to reap gratitude can think itself great? 
 
 By the end of the second year of his apostolic work, Popi- 
 not had turned the storeroom at the bottom of his house into 
 a parlor, lighted by the three iron-barred windows. ‘The 
 walls and ceiling of this spacious room were whitewashed, 
 and the furniture consisted of wooden benches like those seen 
 in schools, a clumsy cupboard, a walnut-wood writing-table, 
 and an armchair. In the cupboard were his registers of 
 donations, his tickets for orders for bread, and his diary. He 
 kept his ledger like a tradesman, that he might not be ruined 
 by kindness. All the sorrows of the neighborhood were en- 
 tered and numbered in a book, where each had its little ac- 
 count, as merchants’ customers have theirs. When there was 
 any question as to a man or a family needing help, the law- 
 yer could always command information from the police. 
 
 Lavienne, a man made for his master, was his aide-de- 
 camp. He redeemed or renewed pawn-tickets, and visited the 
 districts most threatened with famine, while his master was 
 in court. 
 
 From four till seven in the morning in summer, from six 
 till nine in winter, this room was full of women, children, 
 and paupers, while Popinot gave audience. There was no 
 need for a stove in winter; the crowd was so dense that the 
 air was warmed; only, Lavienne strewed straw on the wet 
 
 
 
THE COMMISSION IN LUNACY 319 
 
 floor. By long use the benches were as polished as varnished 
 mahogany; at the height of a man’s shoulders the wall had 
 a coat of dark, indescribable color, given to it by the rags and 
 tattered clothes of these poor creatures. ‘The poor wretches 
 loved Popinot so well that when they assembled before his 
 door was opened, before daybreak on a winter’s morning, the 
 women warming themselves with their foot-brasiers, the men 
 swinging their arms for circulation, never a sound had dis- 
 turbed his sleep. Rag-pickers and other toilers of the night 
 knew the house, and often saw a light burning in the lawyer’s 
 private room at unholy hours. Even thieves, as they passed 
 by, said, “That is his house,’ and respected it. The morning 
 he gave to the poor, the mid-day hours to criminals, the even- 
 ing to law work. 
 
 Thus the gift of observation that characterized Popinot 
 was necessarily bifrons ; he could guess the virtues of a pauper 
 —good feelings nipped, fine actions in embryo, unrecognized 
 self-sacrifice, just as he could read at the bottom of a man’s 
 conscience the faintest outlines of a crime, the slenderest 
 threads of wrongdoing, and infer all the rest. 
 
 Popinot’s inherited fortune was a thousand crowns a year. 
 His wife, sister to M. Bianchon sensor, a doctor at Sancerre, 
 had brought him about twice as much. She, dying five years 
 since, had left her fortune to her husband. As the salary of 
 a supernumerary judge is not large, and Popinot had been a 
 fully salaried judge only for four years, we may guess his rea- 
 sons for parsimony in all that concerned his person and mode 
 of life, when we consider how small his means were and how 
 great his beneficence. Besides, is not such indifference to 
 dress as stamped Popinot an absent-minded man, a distin- 
 guishing mark of scientific attainment, of art passionately 
 _ pursued, of a perpetually active mind? To complete this 
 portrait, it will be enough to add that Popinot was one of 
 the few judges of the Court of the Seine on whom the rib- 
 bon of the Legion of Honor had not been conferred. 
 
 Such was the man who had been instructed by the Presi- 
 dent of the Second Chamber of the Court—to which Popinot 
 
320 THE COMMISSION IN LUNACY 
 
 had belonged since his reinstatement among the judges in 
 civil law—to examine the Marquis d’Espard at the request of 
 his wife, who sued for a Commission in Lunacy. 
 
 The Rue du Fouarre, where so many unhappy wretches 
 swarmed in the early morning, would be deserted by nine 
 o’clock, and as gloomy and squalid as ever. Bianchon put 
 his horse to a trot in order to find his uncle in the midst of 
 his business. It was not without a smile that he thought of 
 the curious contrast the judge’s appearance would make in 
 Madame d’Espard’s room; but he promised himself that he 
 would persuade him to dress in a way that should not be too 
 ridiculous. 
 
 “If only my uncle happens to have a new coat!” said 
 Bianchon to himself, as he turned into the Rue du Fouarre, 
 where a pale light shone from the parlor windows. “TI shall 
 do well, I believe, to talk that over with Lavienne.” 
 
 At the sound of wheels half a score of startled paupers 
 came out from under the gateway, and took off their hats 
 on recognizing Bianchon; for the doctor, who treated gra- 
 tuitously the sick recommended to him by the lawyer, was 
 not less well known than he to the poor creatures assembled 
 there. 
 
 Bianchon found his uncle in the middle of the parlor, 
 where the benches were occupied by patients presenting such 
 grotesque singularities of costume as would have made the 
 least artistic passer-by turn round to gaze at them. A 
 draughtsman—a Rembrandt, if there were one in our day— 
 might have conceived of one of his finest compositions from 
 seeing these children of misery, in artless attitudes, and all 
 silent. 
 
 Here was the rugged countenance of an old man with a 
 white beard and an apostolic head—a Saint Peter ready to 
 hand; his chest, partly uncovered, showed salient muscles, 
 the evidence of an iron constitution which had served him 
 as a fulerum to resist a whole poem of sorrows. There a 
 young woman was suckling her youngest-born to keep it from 
 crying, while another of about five stood between her knees. 
 
THE COMMISSION IN LUNACY 321 
 
 Her white bosom, gleaming amid rags, the baby with its 
 transparent flesh-tints, and the brother, whose attitude prom- 
 ised a street arab in the future, toucled the fancy with pathos 
 by its almost graceful contrast with the long row of faces 
 crimson with cold, in the midst of which sat this family 
 group. Further away, an old woman, pale and rigid, had the 
 repulsive look of rebellious pauperism, eager to avenge all 
 its past woes in one day of violence. 
 
 There, again, was the young workman, weakly and in- 
 dolent, whose brightly intelligent eye revealed fine faculties 
 crushed by necessity struggled with in vain, saying nothing 
 of his sufferings, and nearly dead for lack of an opportunity 
 to squeeze between the bars of the vast stews where the 
 wretched swim round and round and devour each other. 
 
 The majority were women; their husbands, gone to their 
 work, left it to them, no doubt, to plead the cause of the 
 family with the ingenuity which characterizes the woman of 
 the people, who is almost always queen in her hovel. You 
 would have seen a torn bandana on every head, on every form 
 a skirt deep in mud, ragged kerchiefs, worn and dirty jackets, 
 but eyes that burnt like live coals. It was a horrible assem- 
 blage, raising at first sight a feeling of disgust, but giving 
 a certain sense of terror the instant you perceived that the 
 resignation of these souls, all engaged in the struggle for 
 every necessary of life, was purely fortuitous, a speculation 
 on benevolence. The two tallow candles which lighted the 
 _ parlor flickered in a sort of fog caused by the fetid atmos- 
 phere of the ill-ventilated room. 
 
 The magistrate himself was not the least picturesque figure 
 in the midst of this assembly. He had on his head a rusty 
 cotton night-cap; as he had no cravat, his neck was visible, 
 red with cold and wrinkled, in contrast with the threadbare 
 collar of his old dressing-gown. His worn face had the half- 
 stupid look that comes of absorbed attention. His lips, like 
 those of all men who work, were puckered up like a bag with 
 the strings drawn tight. His knitted brows seemed to bear 
 the burden of all the sorrows confided to him: he felt, 
 
322 THE COMMISSION IN LUNACY 
 
 analyzed, and judged them all. As watchful as a Jew money- 
 lender, he never raised his eyes from his books and regis- 
 ters but to look into the very heart of the persons he was 
 examining, with the flashing glance by which a miser ex- 
 presses his alarm. 
 
 Lavienne, standing behind his master, ready to carry out 
 his orders, served no doubt as a sort of police, and welcomed 
 newcomers by encouraging them to get over their shyness. 
 When the doctor appeared there was a stir on the benches. 
 Lavienne turned his head, and was strangely surprised to see 
 Bianchon. 
 
 “Ah! It is you, old boy!” exclaimed Popinot, stretching 
 himself. “What brings you so early?” 
 
 “T was afraid lest you should make an official visit about 
 which I wish to speak to you before I could see you.” 
 
 “Well,” said the lawyer, addressing a stout little woman 
 who was still standing close to him, “if you do not tell me 
 what it is you want, I cannot guess it, child.” 
 
 “Make haste,” said Lavienne. “Do not waste other people’s 
 time.” ; 
 
 “Monsieur,” said the woman at last, turning red, and 
 speaking so low as only to be heard by Popinot and Lavienne, 
 “T have a green-grocery truck, and I have my last baby out at 
 nurse, and I owe for his keep. Well, I had hidden my little 
 bit of money it 
 
 “Yes; and your man took it?” said Popinot, guessing the 
 sequel. | 
 
 SY CB s0SLIi 
 
 “What is your name?” 
 
 “Ta Pomponne.” 
 
 “And your husband’s ?” 
 
 “Toupinet.” 
 
 “Rue du Petit-Banquier?” said Popinot, turning over his 
 register. “He is in prison,” he added, reading a note at the 
 margin of the section in which this family was described. 
 
 “Hor debt, my kind monsieur.” 
 
 Popinot shook his head. 
 
 
 
 
 
THE COMMISSION IN LUNACY 323 
 
 “But I have nothing to buy any stock for my truck; the 
 landlord came yesterday and made me pay up; otherwise I 
 should have been turned out.” 
 
 Lavienne bent over his master, and whispered in his ear. 
 
 “Well, how much do you want to buy fruit in the mar- 
 ket re 
 
 “Why, my good monsieur, to carry on my business, I should 
 want—Yes, I should certainly want ten francs.” 
 
 Popinot signed to Lavienne, who took ten francs out of 
 a large bag, and handed them to the woman, while the law- 
 yer made a note of the loan in his ledger. As he saw the 
 thrill of delight that made the poor hawker tremble, Bian- 
 chon understood the apprehensions that must have agitated 
 her on her way to the lawyer’s house. 
 
 “You next,” said Lavienne to the old man with the white 
 beard. 
 
 Bianchon drew the servant aside, and asked him how long 
 this audience would last. 
 
 “Monsieur has had two hundred persons this morning, and 
 there are eighty to be turned off,” said Lavienne. “You will 
 have time to pay your early visit, sir.” 
 
 “Here, my boy,” said the lawyer, turning round and taking 
 Horace by the arm; “here are two addresses near this—one 
 in the Rue de Seine, and the other in the Rue de l’Arbaléte. 
 Go there at once. Rue de Seine, a young girl has just 
 asphyxiated herself; and Rue de l’Arbaléte, you will find a 
 man to remove to your hospital. I will wait breakfast for 
 you.” 
 
 Bianchon returned an hour later. The Rue du Fouarre 
 was deserted; day was beginning to dawn there; his uncle 
 had gone up to his rooms; the last poor wretch whose misery 
 the judge had relieved was departing, and Lavienne’s money 
 bag was empty. 
 
 “Well, how are they going on?” asked the old lawyer, as 
 the doctor came in. © 
 
 “The man is dead,” replied Bianchon; “the girl will get 
 over it.” , 
 
324 THE COMMISSION IN LUNACY 
 
 Since the eye and hand of a woman had been lacking, the 
 flat in which Popinot lived had assumed an aspect in har- 
 mony with its master’s. The indifference of a man who is 
 absorbed in one dominant idea had set its stamp of eccen- 
 tricity on everything. Everywhere lay unconquerable dust, 
 every object was adapted to a wrong purpose with a per- 
 tinacity suggestive of a bachelor’s home. ‘There were papers 
 in the flower vases, empty ink-bottles on the tables, plates 
 that had been forgotten, matches used as tapers for a minute 
 when something had to be found, drawers or boxes half- 
 turned out and left unfinished; in short, all the confusion 
 and vacancies resulting from plans for order never carried 
 out. The lawyer’s private room, especially disordered by this 
 incessant rummage, bore witness to his unresting pace, the 
 hurry of a man overwhelmed with business, hunted by contra- 
 dictory necessities. ‘The bookcase looked as if it had been 
 sacked; there were books scattered over everything, some 
 piled up open, one on another, others on the floor face down- 
 wards; registers of proceedings laid on the floor in rows, 
 lengthwise, in front of the shelves; and that floor had not 
 been polished for two years. 
 
 The tables and shelves were covered with ex votos, the of- 
 ferings of the grateful poor. On a pair of blue glass jars 
 which ornamented the chimney-shelf there were two glass 
 balls, of which the core was made up of many-colored frag- 
 ments, giving them the appearance of some singular natural 
 product. Against the wall hung frames of artificial flowers, 
 and decorations in which Popinot’s initials were surrounded 
 by hearts and everlasting flowers. Here were boxes of 
 elaborate and useless cabinet work; there letter-weights 
 carved in the style of work done by convicts in penal servi- 
 tude. ‘These’ masterpieces of patience, enigmas of gratitude, 
 and withered bouquets gave the lawyer’s room the appearance 
 of a toyshop. The good man used these works of art as hid- 
 ing-places which he filled with bills, worn-out pens, and 
 scraps of paper. All these pathetic witnesses to his divine 
 charity were thick with dust, dingy, and faded. 
 
 
 
THE COMMISSION IN LUNACY 325 
 
 Some birds, beautifully stuffed, but eaten by moth, perched 
 in this wilderness of trumpery, presided over by an Angora 
 cat, Madame Popinot’s pet, restored to her no doubt with all 
 the graces of life by some impecunious naturalist, who thus 
 repaid a gift of charity with a perennial treasure. Some local 
 artist whose heart had misguided his brush had painted por- 
 traits of M. and Madame Popinot. Even in the bedroom 
 there were embroidered pin-cushions, landscapes in cross- 
 stitch, and crosses in folded paper, so elaborately cockled as 
 to show the senseless labor they had cost. 
 
 The window-curtains were black with smoke, and the hang- 
 ings absolutely colorless. Between the fireplace and the 
 large square table at which the magistrate worked, the cook 
 had set two cups of coffee on a small table, and two armchairs, 
 in mahogany and horsehair, awaited the uncle and nephew. 
 As daylight, darkened by the windows, could not penetrate 
 to this corner, the cook had left two dips burning, whose un- 
 snuffed wicks showed a sort of mushroom growth, giving the 
 red light which promises length of life to the candle from 
 slowness of combustion—a discovery due to some miser. 
 
 “My dear uncle, you ought to wrap yourself more warmly 
 when you go down to that parlor.” 
 
 “T cannot bear to keep them waiting, poor souls !—Well, 
 and what do you want of me?” 
 
 “T have come to ask to you to dine to-morrow with the Mar- 
 quise d’Espard.” 
 
 “A relation of ours?” asked Popinot, with such genuine 
 absence of mind that Bianchon laughed. 
 
 “No, uncle; the Marquise d’Espard is a high and puissant 
 lady, who has laid before the Courts a petition desiring that 
 a Commission in Lunacy should sit on her husband, and 
 you are appointed” | 
 
 “And you want me to dine with her! Are you mad?” said 
 the lawyer, taking up the code of proceedings. “Here, only 
 read this article, prohibiting any magistrate’s eating or drink- 
 ing in the house of either of two parties whom he is called 
 upon to decide between. Let her come and see me, your Mar- 
 
326 THE COMMISSION IN LUNACY 
 
 quise, if she has anything to say to me. I was, in fact, to go 
 
 to examine her husband to-morrow, after working the case 
 
 up to-night.” 
 
 He rose, took up a packet of papers that lay under a weight 
 where he could see it, and after reading the title, he said: 
 
 “Here is the affidavit. Since you take an interest in this 
 high and puissant lady, let us see what she wants.” 
 
 Popinot wrapped his dressing-gown across his body, from 
 which it was constantly slipping and leaving his chest bare; 
 he sopped his bread in the half-cold coffee, and opened the 
 petition, which he read, allowing himself to throw in a paren- 
 thesis now and then, and some discussions, in which his 
 nephew took part :— 
 
 “<To Monsieur the President of the Civil Tribunal of the 
 Lower Court of the Department of the Seine, sitting at the 
 Palais de Justice. f 
 
 ““Madame Jeanne Clémentine Athénais de Blamont- 
 Chauvry, wife of M. Charles Maurice Marie Andoche, Comte 
 de Négrepelisse, Marquis d’Espard’—a very good family— 
 ‘landowner, the said Mme. d’Espard living in the Rue du 
 Faubourg Saint-Honoré, No. 104, and the said M. d’Espard 
 in the Rue de la Montagne-Sainte-Geneviéve, No. 22,’—to 
 be sure, the President told me he lived in this part of the 
 town—‘having for her solicitor Maitre Desroches’—Des- 
 roches! a pettifogging jobber, a man looked down upon by 
 his brother lawyers, and who does his clients no good ip 
 
 “Poor fellow!” said Bianchon, “unluckily he has no money, 
 and he rushes round like the devil in holy water—That is 
 all.” 
 
 “Has the honor to submit to you, Monsieur the President, 
 that. for a year past the moral and intellectual powers of her 
 husband, M. d’Espard, have undergone so serious a change, 
 that at the present day they have reached the state of de- 
 mentia and idiocy provided for by Article 448 of the Civil 
 Code, and require the application of the remedies set forth 
 by that article, for the security of his fortune and his person, 
 and to guard the interest of his children whom he keeps to 
 live with him. 
 
 
 
THE COMMISSION IN LUNACY 327 
 
 “«<Mhat, in point of fact, the mental condition of M. 
 d’Espard, which for some years has given grounds for alarm 
 based on the system he has pursued in the management of his 
 affairs, has reached, during the last twelvemonth, a deplor- 
 able depth of depression; that his infirm will was the first 
 thing to show the results of the malady; and that its effete 
 state leaves M. the Marquis d’Hspard exposed to all the perils 
 of his incompetency, as is proved by the following facts: 
 
 “<“For a long time all the income accruing from M. 
 d’Espard’s estates are paid, without any reasonable cause, 
 or even temporary advantage, into the hands of an old woman, 
 whose repulsive ugliness is generally remarked on, named 
 Madame Jeanrenaud, living sometimes in Paris, Rue de la 
 Vrilliére, No. 8, sometimes at Villeparisis, near Claye, in the 
 Department of Seine et Marne, and for the benefit of her 
 son, aged tnirty-six, an officer in the ex-Imperial Guards, 
 whom the Marquis d’Espard has placed by his influence in 
 the King’s Guards, as Major in the First Regiment of 
 Cuirassiers. These two persons, who in 1814 were in extreme 
 poverty, have since then purchased house-property of con- 
 siderable value; among other items, quite recently, a large 
 house in the Grande Rue Verte, where the said Jeanrenaud 
 is laying out considerable sums in order to settle there with 
 the woman Jeanrenaud, intending to marry; these sums 
 amount already to more than a hundred thousand francs. 
 The marriage has been arranged by the intervention of M. 
 d’Espard with his banker, one Mongenod, whose niece he has 
 asked in marriage for the said Jeanrenaud, promising to 
 use his influence to procure him the title and dignity of 
 Baron. This has in fact been secured by His Majesty’s letters 
 patent, dated December 29th of last year, at the request of the 
 Marquis d’Espard, as can be proved by His Excellency the 
 Keeper of the Seals, if the Court should think proper to re- 
 quire his testimony. 
 
 “That no reason, not even such as morality and the law 
 would concur in disapproving, can justify the influence which 
 the said Mme. Jeanrenaud exerts over M. d’Hspard, who, 
 
328 THE COMMISSION IN LUNACY 
 
 indeed, sees her very seldom; nor account for his strange af- 
 fection for the said Baron Jeanrenaud, Major, with whom he 
 has but little intercourse. And yet their power is so con- 
 siderable, that whenever they need money, if only to gratify 
 a mere whim, this lady, or her son > Heh, heh! no reason 
 even such as morality and the law concur in disapproving ! 
 What does the clerk or the attorney mean to insinuate?” said 
 Popinot. 
 
 Bianchon laughed. 
 
 “<This lady, or her son, obtain whatever they ask of the 
 Marquis d’Espard without demur; and if he has not ready 
 money, M. d’Espard draws bills to be paid by the said Mon- 
 genod, who has offered to give evidence to that effect for the 
 petitioner. . 
 
 “<That, moreover, in further proof of these facts, lately, 
 on the occasion of the renewal of the leases on the Espard 
 estate, the farmers having paid a considerable premium for 
 the renewal of their leases on the old terms, M. Jeanrenaud 
 at once secured the payment of it into his own hands. 
 
 “<That the Marquis d’Espard parts with these sums of 
 money so little of his own free-will, that when he was spoken 
 to on the subject he seemed to remember nothing of the 
 matter; that whenever anybody of any weight has questioned 
 him as to his devotion to these two persons, his replies have 
 shown so complete an absence of ideas and of sense of his own 
 interests, that there obviously must be some occult cause at 
 work to which the petitioner begs to direct the eye of justice, 
 inasmuch as it is impossible but that this cause should be 
 criminal, malignant, and wrongful, or else of a nature to 
 come under medical jurisdiction; unless this influence is 
 of the kind which constitutes an abuse of moral power—such 
 as can only be described by the word possession > The 
 devil!” exclaimed Popinot. “What do you say to that, doc- 
 tor? ‘These are strange statements.” 
 
 “They might certainly,” said Bianchon, “be an effect of 
 magnetic force.” 
 
 “Then do you believe in Mesmer’s nonsense, and his tub, 
 and seeing through walls?” 
 
 
 
 
 
THE COMMISSION IN LUNACY 329 
 
 “Yes, uncle,” said the doctor gravely. “As I heard you 
 read that petition I thought of that. I assure you that I have 
 verified, in another sphere of action, several analogous facts 
 proving the unlimited influence one man may acquire over 
 another. In contradiction to the opinion of my brethren, I 
 am perfectly convinced of the power of the will regarded as 
 a motor force. All collusion and charlatanism apart, I have 
 seen the results of such a possession. Actions promised dur- 
 ing sleep by a magnetized patient to the magnetizer have been 
 scrupulously performed on waking. The will of one had be- 
 come the will of the other.” 
 
 “very kind of action?” 
 
 oY ag.?? 
 
 “Even a criminal act?” 
 
 “Hiven a crime.” 
 
 “Tf it were not from you, I would not listen to such a 
 thing.” 
 
 “T will make you witness it,” said Bianchon. 
 
 “Hm, hm,” muttered the lawyer. “But supposing that this 
 so-called possession fell under this class of facts, it would be 
 difficult to prove it as legal evidence.” 
 
 “If this woman Jeanrenaud is so hideously old and ugly, 
 I do not see what other means of fascination she can have 
 used,” observed Bianchon. 
 
 “But,” observed the lawyer, “in 1814, the time at which 
 this fascination is supposed to have taken place, this woman 
 was fourteen’ years younger; if she had been connected with 
 M. d’Espard ten years before that, these calculations take us 
 back four-and-twenty years, to a time when the lady may 
 have been young and pretty, and have won for herself and 
 her son a power over M. d’Espard which some men do not 
 know how to evade. Though the source of this power is 
 reprehensible in the sight of justice, it is justifiable in the eye 
 of nature. Madame Jeanrenaud may have been aggrieved 
 by the marriage, contracted probably at about that time, be- 
 tween the Marquis d’Espard and Mademoiselle de Blamont- 
 Chauvry, and at the bottom of all this there may be nothing 
 
330 THE COMMISSION IN LUNACY 
 
 more than the rivalry of two women, since the Marquis has 
 for a long time lived apart from Mme. d’Espard.” 
 
 “But her repulsive ugliness, uncle ?” 
 
 “Power of fascination is in direct proportion to ugliness,” 
 said the lawyer; “that is an old story. And then think of the 
 smallpox, doctor. But to proceed. 
 
 “<That so long ago as in 1815, in order to supply the sums 
 of money required by these two persons, the Marquis d’Espard 
 went with his two children to live in the Rue de la Montagne- 
 Sainte=Geneviéve, in rooms quite unworthy of his name and 
 rank’—well, we may live as we please—‘that he keeps his 
 two children there, the Comte Clément d’Espard and 
 Vicomte Camille d’Espard, in a style of living quite unsuited 
 to their future prospects, their name and fortune; that he ~ 
 often wants money, to such a point, that not long since the — 
 landlord, one Mariast, put in an execution on the furniture 
 in the rooms; that when this execution was carried out in 
 his presence, the Marquis d’Espard helped the bailiff, whom 
 he treated like a man of rank, paying him all the marks of 
 attention and respect which he would have shown to a person 
 of superior birth and dignity to himself.’” 
 
 The uncle and nephew glanced at each other and laughed. 
 
 “<That, moreover, every act of his life, besides the facts 
 with reference to the widow Jeanrenaud and the Baron Jean- 
 renaud, her son, are those of a madman; that for nearly ten 
 years he has given his thoughts exclusively to China, its 
 customs, manners, and history; that he refers everything to 
 a Chinese origin; that when he is questioned on the subject, 
 he confuses the events of the day and the business of yester- 
 day with facts relating to China; that he censures the acts 
 of the Government and the conduct of the King, though he 
 is personally much attached to him, by comparing them with 
 the politics of China; 
 
 “That this monomania has driven the Marquis d’Espard 
 to conduct devoid of all sense: against the customs of men 
 of rank, and, in opposition to his own professed ideas as to 
 the duties of the nobility, he has joined a commercial under- 
 
s 
 THE COMMISSION IN LUNACY B31 
 
 taking, for which he constantly draws bills which, as they 
 fall due, threaten both his honor and his fortune, since they 
 stamp him as a trader, and in default of payment may lead 
 to his being declared insolvent; that these debts, which are 
 owing to stationers, printers, lithographers, and print-color- 
 ists, who have supplied the materials for his publication, 
 called A Picturesque History of China, now coming out in 
 parts, are so heavy that these tradesmen have requested the 
 petitioner to apply for a Commission in Lunacy with regard 
 to the Marquis d’Espard in order to save their own credit.’ ” 
 
 “The man is mad!” exclaimed Bianchon. 
 
 “You think so, do you?” said his uncle. “If you listen to 
 only one bell, you hear only one sound.” 
 
 “But it seems to me said Bianchon. 
 
 “But it seems to me,” said Popinot, “that if any relation 
 of mine wanted to get hold of the management of my affairs, 
 and if, instead of being a humble lawyer, whose colleagues 
 can, any day, verify what this condition is, I were a duke 
 of the realm, an attorney with a little cunning, like 
 Desroches, might bring just such a petition against me. 
 
 “<That his children’s education has been neglected for this 
 monomania; and that he has taught them, against all the 
 rules of education, the facts of Chinese history, which con- 
 tradict the tenets of the Catholic Church. He also has them 
 taught the Chinese dialects.’ ” 
 
 “Here Desroches strikes me as funny,” said Bianchon. 
 
 “The petition is drawn up by his head-clerk Godeschal, 
 who, as you know, is not strong in Chinese,” said the lawyer. 
 
 “That he often leaves his children destitute of the most 
 necessary things; that the petitioner, notwithstanding her en- 
 treaties, can never see them; that the said Marquis d’Espard 
 brings them to her only once a year; that, knowing the 
 privations to which they are exposed, she makes vain efforts 
 to give them the things most necessary for their existence, 
 and which they require > Oh! Madame la Marquise, this 
 is preposterous. By proving too much you prove nothing.— 
 My dear boy,” said the old man, laying the document on his 
 
 
 
 
 
Boz THE COMMISSION IN LUNACY 
 
 knee, “where is the mother who ever lacked heart and wit 
 and yearning to such a degree as to fall below the inspirations 
 suggested by her animal instinct? A mother is as cunning 
 to get at her children as a girl can be in the conduct of a 
 love intrigue. If your Marquise really wanted to give her 
 children food and clothes, the Devil himself would not have 
 hindered her, heh? That is rather too big a fable for an old 
 lawyer to swallow !—T'o proceed. 
 
 “<That at the age the said children have now attained it 
 is necessary that steps should be taken to preserve them from 
 the evil effects of such an education; that they should be 
 provided for as beseems their rank, and that they should 
 cease to have before their eyes the sad example of their 
 father’s conduct ; 
 
 “<“That there are proofs in support of these allegations 
 which the Court can easily order to be produced. Many times 
 has M. d’Espard spoken of the judge of the Twelfth Arron- 
 dissement as a mandarin of the third class; he often speaks 
 of the professors of the Collége Henri IV. as “men of let- 
 ters” ’"—and that offends them! ‘In speaking of the simplest 
 things, he says, “They were not done so in China;” in the 
 course of the most ordinary conversation he will sometimes 
 allude to Madame Jeanrenaud, or sometimes to events which 
 happened in the time of Louis XIV., and then sit plunged 
 in the darkest melancholy; sometimes he fancies he is in 
 China. Several of his neighbors, among others one Edmé 
 Becker, medical student, and Jean Baptiste Frémiot, a pro- 
 fessor, living under the same roof, are of opinion, after fre- 
 quent intercourse with the Marquis d’Espard, that his mono- 
 mania with regard to everything Chinese is the result of a 
 scheme laid by the said Baron Jeanrenaud and the widow his 
 mother to bring about the deadening of all the Marquis 
 d’Espard’s mental faculties, since the only service which 
 Mme. Jeanrenaud appears to render M. d’Espard is to pro- 
 cure him everything that relates to the Chinese Empire; 
 
 “Finally, that the petitioner is prepared to show to the 
 Court that the moneys absorbed by the said Baron and Mme, 
 
 
 
THE COMMISSION IN LUNACY 333 
 
 Jeanrenaud between 1814 and 1828 amount to not less than 
 one million francs. 
 
 “In confirmation of the facts herein set forth, the peti- 
 tioner can bring the evidence of persons who are in the habit 
 of seeing the Marquis d’Espard, whose names and _ profes- 
 sions are subjoined, many of whom have urged her to de- 
 mand a commission in hunacy to declare M. d’Espard in- 
 capable of managing his own affairs, as being the only way 
 to preserve his fortune from the effects of his maladministra- 
 tion and his children from his fatal influence. 
 
 “<Taking all this into consideration, M. le Président, and 
 the affidavits subjoined, the petitioner desires that it may 
 please you, inasmuch as the foregoing facts sufficiently prove 
 the insanity and incompetency of the Marquis d’Espard 
 herein described with his titles and residence, to order that, 
 to the end that he may be declared incompetent by law, this 
 petition and the documents in evidence may be laid before 
 the King’s public prosecutor; and that you will charge one 
 of the judges of this Court to make his report to you on any 
 day you may be pleased to name, and thereupon to pro- 
 nounce judgment,’ etc. 
 
 “And here,” said Popinot, “is the President’s order in- 
 structing me !—Well, what does the Marquise d’Espard want 
 with me? I know everything. But I shall go to-morrow 
 with my registrar to see M. le Marquis, for this does. not seem 
 at all clear to me.” 
 
 “Listen, my dear uncle, I have never asked the least little 
 favor of you that had to do with your legal functions; well, 
 now I beg you to show Madame d’Hspard the kindness which 
 her situation deserves. If she came here, you would listen to 
 her ?” 
 
 “Yas.” 
 
 “Well, then, go and listen to her in her own house. 
 Madame d’Espard is a sickly, nervous, delicate woman, who 
 would faint in your rat-hole of a place. Go in the evening, 
 instead of accepting her dinner, since the law forbids your 
 eating or drinking at your client’s expense.” 
 
334 THE COMMISSION IN LUNACY 
 
 “And does not the law forbid you from taking any legacy 
 from your dead?” said Popinot, fancying that he saw a 
 touch of irony on his nephew’s lips. 
 
 “Come, uncle, if it were only to enable you to get at the 
 truth of this business, grant my request. You will come as 
 the examining judge, since matters do not seem to you very 
 clear. Deuce take it! It is as necessary to cross-question the 
 Marquise as it is to examine the Marquis.” 
 
 “You are right,” said the lawyer. “It is quite possible 
 that it is she who is mad. I will go.” 
 
 “T will call. for you. Write down in your engagement 
 book: “To-morrow evening at nine, Madame d’Espard.”— 
 Good!” said Bianchon, seeing his uncle make a note of the © 
 engagement. 
 
 Next evening at nine Bianchon mounted his uncle’s dusty 
 staircase, and found him at work on the statement of some 
 complicated judgment. The coat Lavienne had ordered of 
 the tailor had not been sent, so Popinot put on his old stained 
 coat, and was the Popinot unadorned whose appearance made 
 those laugh who did not know the secrets of his private life. 
 Bianchon, however, obtained permission to pull his cravat 
 straight, and to button his coat, and he hid the stains by 
 crossing the breast of it with the right side over the left, and 
 so displaying the new front of the cloth. But in a minute 
 the judge rucked the coat up over his chest by the way in 
 which he stuffed his hands into his pockets, obeying an ir- 
 resistible habit. Thus the coat, deeply wrinkled both in front 
 and behind, made a sort of hump in the middle of the back, 
 leaving a gap between the waistcoat and trousers through 
 which his shirt showed. °Bianchon, to his sorrow, only dis- 
 covered this crowning absurdity at the moment when his 
 uncle entered the Marquise’s room. 
 
 A brief sketch of the person and the career of the lady 
 in whose presence the doctor and the judge now found them- 
 selves is necessary for an understanding of her interview 
 with Popinot. 
 
THE COMMISSION IN LUNACY 335 
 
 Madame d’Espard had, for the last seven years, been very 
 much the fashion in Paris, where Fashion can raise and drop 
 by turns various personages who, now great and now small, 
 that is to say, in view or forgotten, are at last quite intoler- 
 able—as discarded ministers are, and every kind of decayed 
 sovereignty. ‘These flatterers of the past, odious with their 
 stale pretensions, know everything, speak ill of everything, 
 and, like ruined profligates, are friends with all the world. 
 Since her husband had separated from her in 1815, Madame 
 d’Espard must have married in the beginning of 1812. Her 
 children, therefore, were aged respectively fifteen and thir- 
 teen. By what luck was the mother of a family, about three- 
 and-thirty years of age, still the fashion? 
 
 Though Fashion is capricious, and no one can foresee who 
 shall be her favorites, though she often exalts a banker’s wife, 
 or some woman of very doubtful elegance and beauty, it cer- 
 tainly seems supernatural when Fashion puts on constitu- 
 tional airs and gives promotion for age. But in this case 
 Fashion had done as the world did, and accepted Madame 
 d’Espard as still young. 
 
 The Marquise, who was thirty-three by her register of 
 birth, was twenty-two in a drawing-room in the evening. 
 But by what care, what artifice! Hlaborate curls shaded her 
 temples. She condemned herself to live in twilight, affecting 
 _ illness so as to sit under the protecting tones of light filtered 
 through muslin. Like Diane de Poitiers, she used cold water 
 in her bath, and, like her again, the Marquise slept on a horse- 
 hair mattress, with morocco-covered pillows to preserve her 
 hair; she ate very little, only drank water, and observed mo- 
 nastic regularity in the smallest actions of her life. 
 
 This severe system has, it is said, been carried so far as to 
 the use of ice instead of water, and nothing but cold food, by a 
 famous Polish lady of our day who spends a life, now verging 
 on a century old, after the fashion of a town belle. Fated to 
 live as long as Marion Delorme, whom history has credited 
 with surviving to be a hundred and thirty, the old vice-queen 
 of Poland, at the age of nearly a hundred, has the heart and 
 
336 THE COMMISSION IN LUNACY 
 
 brain of youth, a charming face, an elegant shape; and in 
 her conversation, sparkling with brilliancy like faggots in the 
 fire, she can compare the men and books of our literature 
 with the men and books of the eighteenth century. Living 
 in Warsaw, she orders her caps of Herbault in Paris. She is 
 a great lady with the amiability of a mere girl; she swims, 
 she runs like a schoolboy, and can sink on to a sofa with the 
 grace of a young coquette; she mocks at death, and laughs 
 at life. After having astonished the Emperor Alexander, 
 she can still amaze the Emperor Nicholas by the splendor of 
 her entertainments. She can still bring tears to the eyes of 
 a youthful lover, for her age is whatever she pleases, and 
 she has the exquisite self-devotion of a grisette. In short, 
 she is herself a fairy tale, unless, indeed, she is a fairy. 
 
 Had Madame d’Espard known Madame Zayonseck? Did 
 she mean to imitate her career? Be that as it may, the 
 Marquise proved the merits of the treatment; her complexion 
 was clear, her brow unwrinkled, her figure, like that of Henri 
 IT.’s lady-love, preserved the litheness, the freshness, the cov- 
 ered charms which bring a woman love and keep it alive. 
 The simple precautions of this course, suggested by art and 
 nature, and perhaps by experience, had met in her with a 
 general system which confirmed the results. The Marquise 
 was absolutely indifferent to everything that was not herself: 
 men amused her, but no man had ever caused her those deep 
 agitations which stir both natures to their depths, and wreck 
 one on the other. She knew neither hatred nor love. When 
 she was offended, she avenged herself coldly, quietly, at her 
 leisure, waiting for the opportunity to gratify the ill-will 
 she cherished against anybody who dwelt in her unfavorable 
 remembrance. She made no fuss, she did not excite herself ; 
 she talked, because she knew that by two words a woman 
 may cause the death of three men. 
 
 She had parted from M. d’Espard with the greatest satis- 
 faction. Had he not taken with him two children who at 
 present were troublesome, and in the future would stand in 
 the way of her pretensions? Her most intimate friends, as 
 
 a a 
 
THE COMMISSION IN LUNACY 337 
 
 much as her least persistent admirers, seeing about her none 
 of Cornelia’s jewels, who come and go, and unconsciously 
 betray their mother’s age, took her for quite a young woman. 
 The two boys, about whom she seemed so anxious in her 
 petition, were, like their father, as unknown in the world 
 as the northwest passage is unknown to navigators. M. 
 d’Espard was supposed to be an eccentric personage who had 
 deserted his wife without having the smallest cause for 
 complaint against her. 
 
 Mistress of herself at two-and-twenty, and mistress of her 
 fortune of twenty-six thousand francs a year, the Marquise 
 hesitated long before deciding on a course of action and 
 ordering her life. Though she benefited by the expenses 
 her husband had incurred in his house, though she had all 
 the furniture, the carriages, the horses, in short, all the 
 details of a handsome establishment, she lived a retired life 
 during the years 1816, 17, and 18, a time when families were 
 recovering from the disasters resulting from political tem- 
 pests. She belonged to one of the most important and illus- 
 trious families of the Faubourg Saint-Germain, and her 
 parents advised her to live with them as much as possible 
 after the separation forced upon her by her husband’s inex- 
 plicable caprice. 
 
 In 1820 the Marquise roused herself from her lethargy; 
 she went to Court, appeared at parties, and entertained in 
 her own house. From 1821 to 1827 she lived in great style, 
 and made herself remarked for her taste and her dress; she 
 had a day, an hour, for receiving visits, and ere long she had 
 seated herself on the throne, occupied before her by Ma- 
 dame la Vicomtesse de Beauséant, the Duchesse de Langeais, 
 and Madame Firmiani—who on her marriage with M. de 
 Camps had resigned the sceptre in favor of the Duchesse de 
 Maufrigneuse, from whom Madame d’Espard snatched it. 
 The world knew nothing beyond this of the private life of the 
 Marquise d’Espard. She seemed likely to shine for long 
 on the Parisian horizon, like the sun near its setting, but 
 which will never set. 
 
338 THE COMMISSION IN LUNACY 
 
 The Marquise was on terms of great intimacy with a 
 duchess as famous for her beauty as for her attachment to 
 a prince just now in banishment, but accustomed to play a 
 leading part in every prospective government. Madame 
 d’Espard was also the friend of a foreign lady, with whom 
 a famous and very wily Russian diplomate was in the habit 
 of discussing public affairs. And then an antiquated count- 
 ess, who was accustomed to shuffle the cards for the great 
 game of politics, had adopted her in a maternal fashion. 
 Thus, to any man of high ambitions, Madame d’Espard was 
 preparing a covert but very real influence to follow the public 
 and frivolous ascendency she now owed to fashion. Her 
 drawing-room was acquiring political individuality: “What 
 do they say at Madame d’Espard’s?” ‘Are they against the - 
 measure in Madame d’Espard’s drawing-room?” were ques- 
 tions repeated by a sufficient number of simpletons to give 
 the flock of the faithful who surrounded her the importance 
 of a coterie. A few damaged politicians whose wounds she 
 had bound up, and whom she flattered, pronounced her as 
 capable in diplomacy as the wife of the Russian ambassador 
 to London. The Marquise had indeed several times suggested 
 to deputies or to peers words and ideas that had rung through 
 Europe. She had often judged correctly of certain events 
 on which her circle of friends dared not express an opinion. 
 The principal persons about the Court came in the evening 
 to play whist in her rooms. 
 
 Then she also had the qualities of her defects; she was 
 thought to be—and she was—discreet. Her friendship 
 seemed to be staunch; she worked for her protégés with a 
 persistency which showed that she cared less for patronage 
 than for increased influence. This conduct was based on 
 her dominant passion, Vanity. Conquests and pleasure, 
 which so many women love, to her seemed only means to an 
 end; she aimed at living on every point of the largest circle 
 that life can describe. 
 
 Among the men still young, and to whom the future be- 
 longed, who crowded her drawing-room on great occasions, 
 
 
 
THE COMMISSION IN LUNACY 339 
 
 were to be seen MM. de Marsay and de Ronquerolles, de Mont- 
 riveau, de la Roche-Hugon, de Sérizy, Ferraud, Maxime de 
 Trailles, de Listomére, the two Vandenesses, du Chatelet, 
 and others. She would frequently receive a man whose wife 
 she would not admit, and her power was great enough to in- 
 duce certain ambitious men to submit to these hard condi- 
 tions, such as two famous royalist bankers, M. de Nucingen 
 and Ferdinand du Tillet. She had so thoroughly studied the 
 strength and the weakness of Paris life, that her conduct had 
 never given any man the smallest advantage over her. An 
 enormous price might have been set on a note or letter by 
 which she might have compromised herself, without one 
 being produced. 
 
 If an arid soul enabled her to play her part to the life, her 
 person was no less available for it. She had a youthful figure. 
 Her voice was, at will, soft and fresh, or clear and hard. She 
 possessed in the highest degree the secret of that aristocratic 
 pose by which a woman wipes out the past. The Marquise 
 knew well the art of setting an immense space between herself 
 and the sort of man who fancies he may be familiar after 
 some chance advances. Her imposing gaze could deny every- 
 thing. In her conversation fine and beautiful sentiments 
 and noble resolutions flowed naturally, as it seemed, from a 
 pure heart and soul; but in reality she was all self, and 
 - quite capable of blasting a man who was clumsy in his nego- 
 tiations, at the very time when she was shamelessly making 
 a compromise for the benefit of her own interest. 
 
 Rastignac, in trying to fasten on to this woman, had dis- 
 cerned her to be the cleverest of tools, but he had not yet used 
 it; far from handling it, he was already finding himself 
 crushed by it. This young Condottere of the brain, con- 
 demned, like Napoleon, to give battle constantly, while know- 
 ing that a single defeat would prove the grave of his fortunes, 
 had met a dangerous adversary in his protectress. For the 
 first time in his turbulent life, he was playing a game with 
 a partner worthy of him. He saw a place as Minister in the 
 conquest of Madame d’Espard, so he was her tool till he 
 could make her his—a perilous beginning. 
 
340 THE COMMISSION IN LUNACY 
 
 The Hdétel d’Espard needed a large household, and the 
 Marquise had a great number of servants. ‘The grand recep- 
 tions were held in the ground-floor rooms, but she lived on 
 the first floor of the house. The perfect order of a fine stair- 
 case splendidly decorated, and rooms fitted in the dignified 
 style which formerly prevailed at Versailles, spoke of an 
 immense fortune. When the judge saw the carriage gates 
 thrown open to admit his nephew’s cab, he took in with a 
 rapid glance the lodge, the porter, the courtyard, the stables, 
 the arrangement of the house, the flowers that decorated 
 the stairs, the perfect cleanliness of the banisters, walls, and 
 carpets, and counted the footmen in livery who, as the bell 
 rang, appeared on the landing. His eyes, which only yester- 
 day in his parlor had sounded the dignity of misery under the 
 muddy clothing of the poor, now studied with the same pene- 
 trating vision the furniture and splendor of the rooms he 
 passed through, to pierce to the misery of grandeur. 
 
 “M. Popinot—M. Bianchon.” 
 
 The two names were pronounced at the door of the boudoir 
 where the Marquise was sitting, a pretty room recently refur- 
 nished, and looking out on the garden behind the house. At 
 the moment Madame d’Espard was seated in one of the old 
 rococo armchairs of which Madame had set the fashion. 
 Rastignac was at her left hand on a low coi in which he 
 looked settled like an Italian lady’s “cousin.” A third person 
 was standing by the corner of the chimney-piece. As the 
 shrewd doctor had suspected, the Marquise was a woman of 
 a parched and wiry constitution. But for her regimen her 
 complexion must have taken the ruddy tone that is produced 
 by constant heat; but she added to the effect of her acquired 
 pallor by the strong colors of the stuffs she hung her rooms 
 with, or in which ake dressed. Reddish-brown, marone, bistre 
 with a golden light in it, suited her to perfection. Her 
 boudoir, copied from that of a famous lady then at the height 
 of fashion in London, was in tan-colored velvet; but she had 
 added various details of ornament which moderated the 
 pompous splendor of this royal hue. Her hair was dressed 
 
 
 
Mm) 
 
 THE COMMISSION IN LUNACY 341 
 
 like a girl’s in bands ending in curls, which emphasized the 
 rather long oval of her face; but an oval face is as majestic 
 as a round one is ignoble. The mirrors, cut with facets to 
 lengthen or flatten the face at will, amply prove the rule as 
 applied to the physiognomy. 
 
 On seeing Popinot, who stood in the doorway craning his 
 
 neck like a startled animal, with his left hand in his pocket, 
 
 and the right hand holding a hat with a greasy lining, the 
 Marquise gave Rastignac a look wherein lay a germ of mock- 
 ery. The good man’s rather foolish appearance was so com- 
 pletely in harmony with his grotesque figure and scared looks, 
 that Rastignac, catching sight of Bianchon’s dejected ex- 
 pression of humiliation through his uncle, could not help 
 laughing, and turned away. The Marquise bowed a greet- 
 ing, and made a great effort to rise from her seat, falling 
 back again, not without grace, with an air of apologizing for 
 her incivility by affected weakness. 
 
 At this instant the person who was standing between the 
 fireplace and the door bowed slightly, and pushed forward 
 two chairs, which he offered by a gesture to the doctor and 
 the judge; then, when they had seated themselves, he leaned 
 against the wall again, crossing his arms. 
 
 A word astothisman. There is living now, in our day, a 
 painter—Decamps—who possesses in the very highest degree 
 the art of commanding your interest in everything he sets 
 before your eyes, whether it be a stone or a man. In this 
 respect his pencil is more skilful than his brush. He will 
 sketch an empty room and leave a broom against the wall. 
 If he chooses, you shall shudder; you shall believe that this 
 broom has just been the instrument of crime, and is dripping 
 with blood; it shall be the broom which the widow Bancal 
 used to clean out the room where Fualdés was murdered. 
 Yes, the painter will touzle that broom like a man in a rage; 
 he will make each hair of it stand on-end as though it were 
 on your own bristling scalp; he will make it the interpreter 
 between the secret poem of his imagination and the poem 
 that shall have its birth in yours. After terrifying you by 
 
342 THE COMMISSION IN LUNACY 
 
 the aspect of that broom, to-morrow he will draw another, 
 and lying by it a cat, asleep, but mysterious in its sleep, shall 
 tell you that this broom is that on which the wife of a German 
 cobbler rides off to the Sabbath on the Brocken. Or it will 
 be a quite harmless broom, on which he will hang the coat 
 of a clerk in the Treasury. Decamps had in his brush what 
 Paganini had in his bow—a magnetically communicative 
 power. 
 
 Well, I should have to transfer to my style that striking 
 genius, that marvelous knack of the pencil, to depict the 
 upright, tall, lean man dressed in black, with black hair, 
 who stood there without speaking a word. This gentleman 
 
 had a face like a knife-blade, cold and harsh, with a color | 
 
 like Seine water when it is muddy and strewn with fragments 
 of charcoal from a sunken barge. He looked at the floor, 
 listening and passing judgment. His attitude was terrifying. 
 He stood there like the dreadful broom to which Decamps 
 has given the power of revealing a crime. Now and then, 
 in the course of conversation, the Marquise tried to get some 
 tacit advice; but however eager her questioning, he was as 
 grave and as rigid as the statue of the Commendatore. 
 
 The worthy Popinot, sitting on the edge of his chair in 
 front of the fire, his hat between his knees, stared at the gilt 
 chandeliers, the clock, and the curiosities with which the 
 chimney-shelf was covered, the velvet and trimmings of the 
 curtains, and all the costly and elegant nothings that a wo- 
 
 man of fashion collects about her. He was roused from his — 
 
 homely meditations by Madame d’Espard, who addressed him 
 in a piping tone: ‘ 
 
 “Monsieur, I owe you a million thanks 4 
 
 “A million thanks,” thought he to himself, “that is too 
 many; it does not mean one.” 
 
 “For the trouble you condescend 
 
 “Condescend !” thought he; “she is laughing at me.” 
 
 “To take in coming to see an unhappy client, who is too ill 
 to go out i 
 
 Here the lawyer cut the Marquise short by giving her an 
 
 
 
 bP 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
THE COMMISSION IN LUNACY 343 
 
 inquisitorial look, examining the sanitary condition of the 
 unhappy client. 
 
 “As sound as a bell,” said he to himself. 
 
 “Madame,” said he, assuming a respectful mien, “you owe 
 me nothing. Although my visit to you is not in strict ac- 
 cordance with the practice of the Court, we ought to spare 
 no pains to discover the truth in cases of this kind. Our 
 judgment is then guided less by the letter of the law than 
 by the promptings of our conscience. Whether I seek the 
 truth here or in my own consulting-room, so long as I find it, 
 all will be well.” 
 
 While Popinot was speaking, Rastignac was shaking hands 
 with Bianchon; the Marquise welcomed the doctor with a 
 little bow full of gracious significance. 
 
 “Who is that?” asked Bianchon in a whisper of Rastignac, 
 indicating the dark man. 
 
 “The Chevalier d’Espard, the Marquis’ brother.” 
 
 “Your nephew told me,” said the Marquise to Popinot, 
 “how much you are occupied, and I know too that you are 
 so good as to wish to conceal your kind actions, so as to 
 release those whom you oblige from the burden of gratitude. 
 The work in Court is most fatiguing, it would seem. Why 
 have they not twice as many judges?” 
 
 “Ah, madame, that would not be difficult; we should be 
 none the worse if they had. But when that happens, fowls 
 will cut their teeth!” 
 
 As he heard this speech, so entirely in character with the 
 - lawyer’s appearance, the Chevalier measured him from head 
 to foot, out of one eye, as much as to say, “We shall easily 
 manage him.” 
 
 The Marquise looked at Rastignac, who bent over her. 
 “That is the sort of man,” murmured the dandy in her ear, 
 “who is trusted to pass judgments on the life and interests 
 of private individuals.” 
 
 Like most men who have grown old in a business, Popinot 
 readily let himself follow the habits he had acquired, more 
 particularly habits of mind. His conversation was all of 
 
344 THE COMMISSION IN LUNACY 
 
 “the shop.” He was fond of questioning those he talked to, 
 forcing them to unexpected conclusions, making them tell 
 more than they wished to reveal. Pozzo di Borgo, it is said, 
 used to amuse himself by discovering other folks’ secrets, and 
 entangling them in his diplomatic snares, and thus, by in- 
 vincible habit, showed how his mind was soaked in wiliness. 
 As soon as Popinot had surveyed the ground, so to speak, 
 on which he stood, he saw that it would be necessary to have 
 recourse to the cleverest subtleties, the most elaborately 
 wrapped up and disguised, which were in use in the Courts, 
 to detect the truth. 
 
 Bianchon sat cold and stern, as a man who has made up 
 his mind to endure torture without revealing his sufferings ; 
 but in his heart he wished that his uncle could only trample 
 on this woman as we trample on a viper—a comparison sug- 
 gested to him by the Marquise’s long dress, by the curve of 
 her attitude, her long neck, small head, and undulating 
 movements. 
 
 “Well, monsieur,” said Madame d’Espard, “however great 
 my dislike to be or seem selfish, I have been suffering too long 
 not to wish that you may settle matters at once. Shall I 
 soon get a favorable decision ?” 
 
 “Madame, I will do my best to bring matters to a conclu- 
 sion,” said Popinot, with an air of frank good-nature. “Are 
 you ignorant of the reason which made the separation neces- 
 sary which now subsists between you and the Marquis d’Hs- 
 pard ?” 
 
 “Yes, monsieur,” she replied, evidently prepared with a 
 story to tell. “At the beginning of 1816 M. d’Espard, whose ~ 
 temper had completely changed within three months or so, © 
 proposed that we should go to live on one of his estates near 
 Briancon, without any regard for my health, which that cli- 
 mate would have destroyed, or for my habits of life; I refused — 
 to go. My refusal gave rise to such unjustifiable reproaches — 
 on his part, that from that hour I had my suspicions as to © 
 the soundness of his mind. On the following day he left me, 
 leaving me his house and the free use of my own income, and ~ 
 
 
 
THE COMMISSION IN LUNACY 345 
 
 he went to live in the Rue de la Montagne-Sainte-Geneviéve, 
 taking with him my two children i 
 
 “One moment, madame,” said the lawyer, interrupting 
 her. “What was that income?” 
 
 “Twenty-six thousand francs a year,” she replied paren- 
 thetically. “I at once consulted old M. Bordin as to what I 
 ought to do,” she went on; “but it seems that there are so 
 many difficulties in the way of depriving a father of the care 
 of his children, that I was forced to resign myself to remain- 
 ing alone at the age of twenty-two—an age at which many 
 young women do very foolish things. You have read my 
 petition, no doubt, monsieur; you know the principal facts 
 on which I rely to procure a Commission in Lunacy with re- 
 gard to M. d’Espard?” 
 
 “Have you ever applied to him, madame, to obtain the care 
 of your children?” 
 
 “Yes, monsieur; but in vain. It is very hard on a mother 
 to be deprived of the affection of her children, particularly 
 when they can give her such happiness as every woman 
 clings to.” 
 
 “The elder must be sixteen,” said Popinot. 
 
 “Fifteen,” said the Marquise eagerly. 
 
 Here Bianchon and Rastignac looked at each other. Ma- 
 dame d’Hspard bit her lips. 
 
 “What can the age of my children matter to you?” 
 
 “Well, madame,” said the lawyer, without seeming to at- 
 tach any importance to his words, “a lad of fifteen and his 
 brother, of thirteen, I suppose, have legs and their wits about 
 them; they might come to see you on the sly. If they do 
 not, it is because they obey their father, and to obey him in 
 that matter they must love him very dearly.” 
 
 “J do not understand,” said the Marquise. 
 
 “You do not know, perhaps,” replied Popinot, “that in your 
 petition your attorney represents your children as being very 
 unhappy with their father?” 
 
 Madame d’Kspard replied with charming innocence: 
 
 “T do not know what my attorney may have put into my 
 mouth.” 
 
 
 
346 THE COMMISSION IN LUNACY 
 
 “Forgive my inferences,” said Popinot, “but Justice weighs 
 
 everything. What I ask you, madame, is suggested by my 
 wish thoroughly to- understand the matter. By your account 
 M. d’Espard deserted you on the most frivolous pretext. 
 Instead of going to Briancgon, where he wished to take you, 
 he remained in Paris. This point is not clear. Did he know 
 this Madame Jeanrenaud before his marriage?” 
 
 “No, monsieur,” replied the Marquise, with some asperity, 
 visible only to Rastignac and the Chevalier d’Espard. 
 
 She was offended at being cross-questioned by this lawyer 
 when she had intended to beguile his judgment; but as 
 Popinot still looked stupid from sheer absence of mind, she 
 ended by attributing his interrogatory to the Questioning 
 Spirit of Voltaire’s bailiff. 
 
 “My parents,” she went on, “married me at the age of six- 
 teen to M. d’Espard, whose name, fortune, and mode of life 
 were such as my family looked for in the man who was to 
 be my husband. M. d’Espard was then six-and-twenty; he 
 was a gentleman in the English sense of the word; his man- 
 ners pleased me, he seemed to have plenty of ambition, and 
 I like ambitious people,” she added, looking at Rastignac. 
 “Tf M. d@Hspard had never met that Madame Jeanrenaud, 
 his character, his learning, his acquirements would have 
 raised oim—as his friends then believed—to high office in 
 the Government. King Charles X., at that time Monsieur, 
 had the greatest esteem for him, and a peer’s seat, an appoint- 
 ment at Court, some important post certainly would have 
 been his. That woman turned his head, and has ruined all 
 the prospects of my family.” 
 
 “What were M. d’Espard’s religious opinions at that time ?” 
 
 “He was, and is still, a very pious man.” 
 
 “You do not suppose that Madame Jeanrenaud may have 
 influenced him by mysticism ?” 
 
 “No, monsieur.” 
 
 “You have a very fine house, madame,” said Popinot sud- 
 denly, taking his hands out of his pockets, and rising to pick 
 up his coat-tails and warm himself, “This boudoir is very 
 
THE COMMISSION IN LUNACY 347 
 
 nice, those chairs are magnificent, the whole apartment is 
 sumptuous. You must indeed be most unhappy when, seeing 
 yourself here, you know that your children are ill lodged, 
 ill clothed, and ill fed. I can imagine nothing more terrible 
 for a mother.” 
 
 “Yes, indeed. I should be so glad to give the poor little 
 fellows some amusement, while their father keeps them at 
 work from morning till night at that wretched history of 
 China.” 
 
 “You give handsome balls; they would enjoy them, but 
 they might acquire a taste for dissipation. However, their 
 father might send them to you once or twice in the course 
 of the winter.” 
 
 “He brings them here on my birthday and on New Year’s 
 Day. On those days M. d’Espard does me the favor of dining 
 here with them.” 
 
 “Tt is very singular behavior,” said the judge, with an air 
 of conviction. “Have you ever seen this Dame Jeanrenaud ?” 
 
 “My brother-in-law one day, out of interest in his 
 brother at 
 
 “Ah! monsieur is M. d’Espard’s brother?” said the lawyer, 
 interrupting her. | 
 
 The Chevalier bowed, but did not speak. 
 
 “M. d’Espard, who has watched this affair, took me to the 
 Oratoire, where this woman goes to sermon, for she is a 
 _ Protestant. I saw her; she is not in the least attractive; she 
 looks like a butcher’s wife, extremely fat, horribly marked 
 with the smallpox; she has feet and hands like a man’s, she 
 squints, in short, she is monstrous !” 
 
 “Tt is inconceivable,” said the judge, looking like the most 
 imbecile judge in the whole kingdom. “And this creature 
 lives near here, Rue Verte, in a fine house? ‘There are no 
 plain folks left, it would seem?” 
 
 “In a mansion on which her son has spent absurd sums.” 
 
 “Madame,” said Popinot, “I live in the Faubourg Saint- 
 Marceau; I know nothing of such expenses. What do you 
 call absurd sums?” 
 
 
 
348 THE COMMISSION IN LUNACY 
 
 “Well,” said the Marquise, “a stable with five horses and 
 
 three carriages, a phaeton, a brougham, and a cabriolet.” 
 
 “That costs a large sum, then?” asked Popinot in surprise. 
 
 “Hnormous sums!” said Rastignac, intervening. “Such 
 an establishment would cost, for the stables, the keeping the 
 carriages in order, and the liveries for the men, between fif- 
 teen and sixteen thousand francs a year.” 
 
 “Should you think so, madame?” said the judge, looking 
 much astonished. 
 
 “Yes, at least,” replied the Marquise. 
 
 “And the furniture, too, must have cost a lot of money?” 
 
 “More than a hundred thousand francs,” replied Madame 
 d’Espard, who could not help smiling at the lawyer’s vul- 
 garity. 
 
 “Judges, madame, are apt to be incredulous; it is what 
 they are paid for, and I am incredulous. The Baron Jean- 
 renaud and his mother must have fleeced M. d’Espard most 
 preposterously, if what you say is correct. There is a stable 
 establishment which, by your account, costs sixteen thousand 
 francs a year. Housekeeping, servants’ wages, and the gross 
 expenses of the house itself must run to twice as much; that 
 makes a total of from fifty to sixty thousand francs a year. 
 Do you suppose that these people, formerly so extremely poor, 
 can have so large a fortune? A million yields scarcely forty 
 thousand a year.” 
 
 “Monsieur, the mother and son invested the money given 
 them by M. d’Espard in the funds when they were at 60 to 80. 
 I should think their income must be more than sixty thousand 
 francs. And then the son has fine appointments.” 
 
 “If they spend sixty thousand francs a year,” said the 
 judge, “how much do you spend ?” 
 
 “Well,” said Madame d’Espard, “about the same.” The 
 Chevalier started a little, the Marquise colored; Bianchon 
 looked at Rastignac; but Popinot preserved an expression of 
 simplicity which quite deceived Madame d’Espard. The 
 Chevalier took no part in the conversation; he saw that all 
 was lost. 
 
 ae 
 
THE COMMISSION IN LUNACY 349 
 
 “These people, madame, might be indicted before the 
 superior Court,” said Popinot. 
 
 “That was my opinion,” exclaimed the Marquise, en- 
 chanted. “If threatened with the police, they would have 
 come to terms.” 
 
 “Madame,” said Popinot, “when M. d’Espard left you, did 
 he not give you a power of attorney enabling you to manage 
 and control your own affairs?” 
 
 “{ do not understand the object of all these questions,” 
 said the Marquise with petulance. “It seems to me that if 
 you would only consider the state in which I am placed by 
 my husband’s insanity, you ought to be troubling yourself 
 about him, and not about me.” 
 
 “We are coming to that, madame,” said the judge. “Be- 
 fore placing in your hands, or in any others, the control of 
 M. d’Espard’s property, supposing he were pronounced in- 
 capable, the Court must inquire as to how you have managed 
 your own. If M. d’Espard gave you power, he would have 
 shown confidence in you, and the Court would recognize the 
 fact. Had you any power from him? You might have 
 bought or sold house property or invested money in busi- 
 ness ?” 
 
 “No, monsieur, the Blamont-Chauvrys are not in the habit 
 of trading,” said she, extremely nettled in her pride as an 
 aristocrat, and forgetting the business in hand. “My prop- 
 erty is intact, and M. d’Espard gave me no power to act.” 
 
 The Chevalier put his hand over his eyes not to betray the 
 vexation he felt at his sister-in-law’s short-sightedness, for she 
 was ruining herself by her answers. Popinot had gone 
 straight to the mark in spite of his apparent doublings. 
 
 “Madame,” said the lawyer, indicating the Chevalier, “this 
 gentleman, of course, is your near connection? May we 
 speak openly before these other gentlemen ?” 
 
 “Speak on,” said the Marquise, surprised at this caution. 
 
 “Well, madame, granting that you spend only sixty thou- 
 sand frances a year, to any one who sees your stables, your 
 house, your train of servants, and a style of housekeeping 
 
350 THE COMMISSION IN LUNACY 
 
 which strikes me as far more luxurious than that of the 
 Jeanrenauds, that sum would seem well laid out.” 
 
 The Marquise bowed an agreement. 
 
 “But,” continued the judge, “if you have no more than 
 twenty-six thousand franes a year, you may have a hundred 
 thousand francs of debt. The Court would therefore have a 
 right to imagine that the motives which prompt you to ask that 
 your husband may be deprived of the control of his property 
 are complicated by self-interest and the need of paying your 
 debts—if—you—-have—any. The requests addressed to me 
 have interested me in your position; consider fully and make 
 your confession. If my suppositions have hit the truth, there 
 is yet time to avoid the blame which the Court would have 
 a perfect right to express in the saving clauses of the verdict 
 if you could not show your attitude to be absolutely honor- 
 able and clear. 
 
 “Tt is our duty to examine the motives of the applicant 
 as well as to listen to the plea of the witness under examina- 
 tion, to ascertain whether the petitioner may not have been 
 prompted by passion, by a desire for money, which is unfor- 
 tunately too common——” 
 
 The Marquise was on Saint Laurence’s gridiron. 
 
 “And I must have explanations on this point. Madame, 
 I have no wish to call you to account; I only want to know 
 how you have managed to live at the rate of sixty thousand 
 francs a year, and that for some years past. There are 
 plenty of women who achieve this in their housekeeping, but 
 you are not one of those. Tell me, you may have the most 
 legitimate resources, a royal pension, or some claim on the 
 indemnities lately granted; but even then you must have had 
 your husband’s authority to receive them.” 
 
 The Marquise did not speak. 
 
 “You must remember,” Popinot went on, “that M. 
 d’Espard may wish to enter a protest, and his counsel will 
 have a right to find out whether you have any creditors. This 
 boudoir is newly furnished, your rooms are not now fur- 
 nished with the things left to you by M. d’Espard in 1816. 
 
THE COMMISSION IN LUNACY 351 
 
 If, as you did me the honor of informing me, furniture is 
 costly for the Jeanrenauds, it must be yet more so for you, 
 who are a great lady. Though I am a judge, I am but a man; 
 I may be wrong—tell me so. Remember the duties imposed 
 on me by the law, and the rigorous inquiries it demands, 
 when the case before it is the suspension from all his func- 
 tions of the father of a family in the prime of life. So you 
 will pardon me, Madame la Marquise, for laying all these 
 difficulties before you; it will be easy for you to give me an 
 explanation. 
 
 “When a man is pronounced incapable of the control of his 
 own affairs, a trustee has to be appointed. Who will be the 
 trustee ?” 
 
 “His brother,” said the Marquise. 
 
 The Chevalier bowed. There was a short silence, very un- 
 comfortable for the five persons who were present. The 
 judge, in sport as it were, had laid open the woman’s sore 
 place. Popinot’s countenance of common, clumsy good- 
 nature, at which the Marquise, the Chevalier, and Rastignac 
 had been inclined to laugh, had gained importance in their 
 eyes. As they stole a look at him, they discerned the various 
 expressions of that eloquent mouth. The ridiculous mortal 
 was a judge of acumen. His studious notice of the boudoir 
 was accounted for: he had started from the gilt elephant 
 supporting the chimney-clock, examining all this luxury, and 
 had. ended by reading this woman’s soul. 
 
 “Tf the Marquis d’Espard is mad about China, I see that 
 you are not less fond of its products,” said Popinot, looking 
 at the porcelain on the chimney-piece. “But perhaps it was 
 from M. le Marquis that you had these charming Oriental 
 pieces,” and he pointed to some precious trifles. 
 
 This irony, in very good taste, made Bianchon smile, and 
 petrified Rastignac, while the Marquise bit her thin lips. 
 
 “Instead of being the protector of a woman placed in a 
 eruel dilemma—an alternative between losing her fortune 
 and her children, and being regarded as her husband’s en- 
 emy,” she said, “you accuse me, monsieur! You suspect my 
 motives! You must own that your conduct is strange!” 
 
352 THE COMMISSION IN LUNACY 
 
 “Madame,” said the judge eagerly, “the caution exercised 
 by the Court in such cases as these might have given you, 
 in any other judge, a perhaps less indulgent critic than I 
 am.—And do you suppose that M. d’Espard’s lawyer will 
 show you any great consideration? Will he not be suspicious 
 of motives which may be perfectly pure and disinterested ? 
 Your life will be at his mercy; he will inquire into it without 
 qualifying his search by the respectful deference I have for 
 you.” 
 
 “T am much obliged to you, monsieur,” said the Marquise 
 satirically. “Admitting for the moment that I owe thirty 
 thousand, or fifty thousand francs, in the first place, it would 
 be a mere trifle to the d’Espards and the Blamont-Chauvrys. 
 But if my husband is not in the possession of his mental fac- 
 ulties, would that prevent his being pronounced incapable?” 
 
 “No, madame,” said Popinot. 
 
 “Although you have questioned me with a sort of cunning 
 which I should not have suspected in a judge, and under 
 circumstances where straightforwardness would have an- 
 swered your purpose,” she went on, “I will tell you without 
 subterfuge that my position in the world, and the efforts I 
 have to make to keep up my connection, are not in the least 
 to my taste. I began my life by a long period of solitude; 
 but my children’s interest appealed to me; I felt that 
 I must fill their father’s place. By receiving my friends, 
 by keeping up all this connection, by contracting these debts, 
 I have secured their future welfare; I have prepared for 
 them a brilliant career where they will find help and favor; 
 and to have what has thus been acquired, many a man of 
 business, lawyer or banker, would gladly pay all it has cost 
 me.” 
 
 “I appreciate your devoted conduct, madame,” replied 
 Popinot. “It does you honor, and I blame you for nothing. 
 A judge belongs to all: he must know and weigh every fact.” 
 
 Madame d’Espard’s tact and practice in estimating men 
 made her understand that M. Popinot was not to be influ- 
 enced by any consideration. She had counted on an ambi- 
 
THE COMMISSION IN LUNACY 358 
 
 tious lawyer, she had found a man of conscience. She at 
 once thought of finding other means for securing the success 
 of her side. 
 
 The servants brought in tea. 
 
 “Have you any further explanations to give me, madame?” 
 said Popinot, seeing these preparations. 
 
 “Monsieur,” she replied haughtily, “do your business your 
 eet: question M. d’Espard, and you will pity me, I am 
 sure.” She raised her head, looking Popinot in the face with 
 pride, mingled with impertinence ; the worthy man bowed 
 himself out respectfully. 
 
 “A nice man is your uncle,” said Rastignac to Bianchon. 
 “Is he really so dense? Does not he know what the Marquise 
 d’Hspard is, what her influence means, her unavowed power 
 over people? The Keeper of the Seals will be with her to- 
 Morrow i 
 
 “My dear fellow, how can I help it?” said Bianchon. “Did 
 not I warn you? He is not a man you can get over.” 
 
 “No,” said Rastignac; “he is a man you must run over.” 
 
 The doctor was obliged to make his bow to the Marquise 
 and her mute Chevalier to catch up Popinot, who, not being 
 the man to endure an embarrassing position, was pacing 
 through the rooms. 
 
 “That woman owes a hundred thousand crowns,” said the 
 judge, as he stepped into his nephew’s cab. 
 
 “And what do you think of the case?” 
 
 “T,” said the judge. “TI never have an opinion till I have 
 gone into everything. ‘To-morrow early I will send to Ma- 
 dame Jeanrenaud to call on me in my private office at four 
 o'clock, to make her explain the facts which concern her, 
 for she is compromised.” 
 
 “T should very much like to know what the end will be.” 
 
 “Why, bless me, do not you see that the Marquise is the 
 tool of that tall lean man who never uttered a word? There is 
 a strain of Cain in him, but of the Cain who goes to the 
 Law Courts for his bludgeon, and there, unluckily for him, 
 we keep more than one Damocles’ sword.” 
 
 2? 
 
 
 
354 THE COMMISSION IN LUNACY 
 
 “Oh, Rastignac! what brought you into that boat, I won-. 
 
 der ?”’ exclaimed Bianchon. 
 
 “Ah, we are used to seeing these little family conspiracies,” 
 said Popinot. “Not a year passes without a number of ver- 
 dicts of ‘insufficient evidence’ against applications of this 
 kind. In our state of society such an attempt brings no dis- 
 honor, while we send a poor devil to the galleys who breaks 
 a pane of glass dividing him from a bowl full of gold. Our 
 Code is not faultless.” 
 
 “But these are the facts?” 
 
 “My boy, do you not know all the judicial romances with 
 which clients impose on their attorneys? If the attorneys 
 condemned themselves to state nothing but the truth, they 
 would not earn enough to keep their office open.” 
 
 Next day, at four in the afternoon, a very stout dame, 
 looking a good deal like a cask dressed up in a gown and 
 belt, mounted Judge Popinot’s stairs, perspiring and panting. 
 She had, with great difficulty, got out of a green landau, 
 which suited her to a miracle; you could not think of the 
 woman without the landau, or the landau without the woman. 
 
 “Tt is I, my dear sir,” said she, appearing in the doorway 
 of the judge’s room. “Madame Jeanrenaud, whom you sum- 
 moned exactly as if I were a thief, neither more nor less.” 
 
 The common words were spoken in a common voice, 
 broken by the wheezing of asthma, and ending in a cough. 
 
 “When I go through a damp place, I can’t tell you what I 
 suffer, sir. I shall never make old bones, saving your presence. 
 However, here I am.” 
 
 The lawyer was quite amazed at the appearance of this 
 supposed Maréchale d’Ancre. Madame Jeanrenaud’s face 
 was pitted with an infinite number of little holes, was very 
 red, with a pug nose and a low forehead, and was as round as 
 a ball; for everything about the good woman was round. 
 She had the bright eyes of a country woman, an honest gaze, 
 a cheerful tone, and chestnut hair held in place by a bonnet 
 cap under a green bonnet decked with a shabby bunch of 
 
 Sa 
 
THE COMMISSION IN LUNACY 355 
 
 auriculas. Her stupendous bust was a thing to laugh at, 
 for it made one fear some grotesque explosion every time she 
 coughed. Her enormous legs were of the shape which make 
 the Paris street boy describe such a woman as being built on 
 piles. The widow wore a green gown trimmed with chin- 
 chilla, which looked on her as a splash of dirty oil would look 
 on a bride’s veil. In short, everything about her harmonized 
 with her last words: “‘Here I am.” 
 
 “Madame,” said Popinot, “you are suspected of having 
 used some seductive arts to induce M. d’Espard to hand over 
 to you very considerable sums of money.” 
 
 “Of what! of what!’ cried she. “Of seductive arts? But, 
 my dear sir, you are a man to be respected, and, moreover, 
 as a lawyer you ought to have some good sense. Look at me! 
 Tell me if I am likely to seduce any one. I cannot tie my 
 own shoes, nor even stoop. For these twenty years past, the 
 Lord be praised, I have not dared to put on a pair of stays 
 under pain of sudden death. I was as thin as an asparagus 
 stalk when I was seventeen, and pretty too—I may say so 
 now. So I married Jeanrenaud, a good fellow, and head- 
 man on the salt-barges. J had my boy, who is a fine young 
 man; he is my pride, and it is not holding myself cheap to 
 say he is my best piece of work. My little Jeanrenaud was 
 a soldier who did Napoleon credit, and who served in the 
 Imperial Guard. But, alas! at the death of my old man, 
 who was drowned, times changed for the worse. I had the 
 smallpox. I was kept two years in my room without stirring, 
 and I came out of it the size you see me, hideous for ever, 
 and as wretched as could be. These are my seductive arts.” 
 
 “But what, then, can the reasons be that have induced M. 
 d’Espard to give you sums rei 
 
 “Hugious sums, monsieur, say the word; I do not mind. 
 But as to his reasons, I am not at liberty to explain them.” 
 
 “You are wrong. At this moment, his family, very natu- 
 rally alarmed, are about to bring an action oi 
 
 “Heavens above us!” said the good woman, starting up. 
 “fs it possible that he should be worried on my account? 
 
 
 
 
 
356 THH COMMISSION IN LUNACY 
 
 That king of men, a man that has not his match! Rather 
 
 than he should have the smallest trouble, or a hair less on 
 his head I could almost say, we would return every sou, 
 monsieur. Write that down on your papers. Heaven above 
 us! I will go at once and tell Jeanrenaud what is going on! 
 A pretty thing indeed !” 
 
 And the little old woman went out, rolled herself down- 
 stairs, and disappeared. 
 
 “That one tells no lies,” said Popinot to himself. “Well, 
 to-morrow I shall know the whole story, for I shall go to 
 see the Marquis d’Espard.” 
 
 People who have outlived the age when a man wastes his 
 vitality at random, know how great an influence may be ex- 
 ercised on more important events by apparently trivial inci- 
 dents, and will not be surprised at the weight here given to 
 the following minor fact. Next day Popinot had an attack 
 of coryza, a complaint which is not dangerous, and generally 
 known by the absurd and inadequate name of a cold in the 
 head. 
 
 The judge, who could not suppose that the delay could 
 be serious, feeling himself a little feverish, kept his room, 
 and did not go to see the Marquis d’Espard. This day lost 
 was, to this affair, what on the Day of Dupes the cup of soup 
 had been, taken by Marie de Medici, which, by delaying her 
 meeting with Louis XIII., enabled Richelieu to arrive at 
 Saint-Germain before her, and recapture his royal slave. 
 
 Before accompanying the lawyer and his registering clerk 
 to the Marquis d’Espard’s house, it may be as well to glance 
 at the home and the private affairs of this father of sons whom 
 his wife’s petition represented to be a madman. 
 
 Here and there in the old parts of Paris a few buildings 
 may still be seen in which the archeologist can discern an 
 intention of decorating the city, and that love of property 
 which leads the owner to give a durable character to the struct- 
 ure. The house in which M. d’Hspard was then living, in 
 the Rue de la Montagne-Sainte-Geneviéve, was one of these 
 old mansions, built in stone, and not devoid of a certain rich- 
 
 ome ° : 
 oe ee ee tes oe, tel 
 
THE COMMISSION IN LUNACY oOt 
 
 ness of style; but time had blackened the stone, and revolu- 
 tions in the town had damaged it both outside and inside. 
 The dignitaries who formerly dwelt in the neighborhood of 
 the University having disappeared with the great ecclesi- 
 astical foundations, this house had become the home of in- 
 dustries and of inhabitants whom it was never destined to 
 shelter. During the last century a printing establishment 
 had worn down the polished floors, soiled the carved wood, 
 blackened the walls, and altered the principal internal ar- 
 rangements. Formerly the residence of a Cardinal, this fine 
 house was now divided among plebeian tenants. The character 
 of the architecture showed that it had been built under the 
 reigns of Henry III., Henry IV., and Louis XIII., at the 
 time when the hdtels Mignon and Serpente were erected in 
 the same neighborhood, with the palace of the Princess Pala- 
 tine, and the Sorbonne. An old man could remember having 
 heard it called, in the last century, the hdtel Duperron, so 
 it seemed probable that the illustrious Cardinal of that name 
 had built, or perhaps merely lived in it. 
 
 There still exists, indeed, in the corner of the courtyard, 
 a perron or flight of several outer steps by which the house 
 is entered ; and the way into the garden on the garden front 
 is down a similar flight of steps. In spite of dilapidations, 
 the luxury lavished by the architect on the balustrade and 
 entrance porch crowning these two perrons suggests the 
 simple-minded purpose of commemorating the owner’s name, 
 a sort of sculptured pun which our ancestors often allowed 
 themselves. Finally, in support of this evidence, archzolo- 
 gists can still discern in the medallions which show on the 
 principal front some traces of the cords of the Roman hat. 
 
 M. le Marquis d’Espard lived on the ground floor, in order, 
 no doubt, to enjoy the garden, which might be called spacious 
 for that neighborhood, and which lay open to the south, two 
 advantages imperatively necessary for his children’s health. 
 The situation of the house, in a street on a steep hill, as its 
 name indicates, secured these ground-floor rooms against 
 ever being damp. M. d’Espard had taken them, no doubt, 
 
358 THE COMMISSION IN LUNACY 
 
 for a very moderate price, rents being low at the time when 
 he settled in that quarter, in order to be among the schools 
 and to superintend his boys’ education. Moreover, the state 
 in which he found the place, with everything to repair, had 
 no doubt induced the owner to be accommodating. Thus M. 
 d’Espard had been able to go to some expense to settle him- 
 self suitably without being accused of extravagance. ‘The 
 loftiness of the rooms, the paneling, of which nothing sur- 
 vived but the frames, the decoration of the ceilings, all dis- 
 played the dignity which the prelacy stamped on whatever 
 it attempted or created, and which artists discern to this day 
 in the smallest relic that remains, though it be but a book, 
 a dress, the panel of a bookcase, or an armchair. 
 
 The Marquis had the rooms painted in the rich brown 
 tones beloved of the Dutch and of the citizens of Old Paris, 
 hues which lend such good effects to the painter of genre. 
 The panels were hung with plain paper in harmony with the 
 paint. The window curtains were of inexpensive materials, 
 but chosen so as to produce a generally happy result; the 
 furniture was not too crowded and judiciously placed. Any 
 one on going into this home could not resist a sense of sweet. 
 peacefulness, produced by the perfect calm, the stillness 
 which prevailed, by the unpretentious unity of color, the 
 keeping of the picture, in the words a painter might use. 
 A certain nobleness in the details, the exquisite cleanliness 
 of the furniture, and a perfect concord of men and things, 
 all brought the word “suavity” to the lips. 
 
 Few persons were admitted to the rooms used by the Mar- 
 quis and his two sons, whose life might perhaps seem mys- 
 terious to their neighbors. In a wing towards the street, on 
 the third floor, there are three large rooms which had been 
 left in the state of dilapidation and grotesque bareness to 
 which they had been reduced by the printing works. These 
 three rooms, devoted to the evolution of the Picturesque His- 
 tory of China, were contrived to serve as a writing-room, a 
 depository, and a private room, where M. d’Espard sat during 
 part of the day; for after breakfast till four in the afternoon 
 
 
 
THE COMMISSION IN LUNACY 309 
 
 the Marquis remained in this room on the third floor to work 
 at the publication he had undertaken. Visitors wanting to 
 see him commonly found him there, and often the two boys 
 on their return from school resorted thither. Thus the 
 ground-floor rooms were a sort of sanctuary where the father 
 and sons spent their time from the hour of dinner till the 
 next day, and his domestic life was carefully closed against 
 the public eye. 
 
 His only servants were a cook—an old woman who had 
 long been attached to his family—and a man-servant forty 
 years old, who was with him when he married Mademoiselle 
 de Blamont. His children’s nurse had also remained with 
 them, and the minute care to which the apartment bore wit- 
 ness revealed the sense of order and the maternal affection 
 expended by this woman in her master’s interest, in the man- 
 agement of his house, and the charge of his children. These 
 three good souls, grave and uncommunicative folk, seemed to 
 have entered into the idea which ruled the Marquis’ domestic 
 life. And the contrast between their habits and those of 
 most servants was a peculiarity which cast an air of mystery 
 over the house, and fomented the calumny to which M. d’Ks- 
 pard himself lent occasion. Very laudable motives had made 
 him determine never to be on visiting terms with any of the 
 other tenants in the house. In undertaking to educate his 
 boys he wished to keep them from all contact with strangers. 
 Perhaps, too, he wished to avoid the intrusion of neighbors. 
 
 In a man of his rank, at a time when the Quartier Latin 
 was distracted by Liberalism, such conduct was sure to rouse 
 in opposition a host of petty passions, of feelings whose folly 
 is only to be measured by their meanness, the outcome of 
 porters’ gossip and malevolent tattle from door to door, all 
 unknown to M. d’Espard and his retainers. His man-servant 
 was stigmatized as a Jesuit, his cook as a sly fox; the nurse 
 was in collusion with Madame Jeanrenaud to rob the mad- 
 man. ‘The madman was the Marquis. By degrees the other 
 tenants came to regard as proofs of madness a number of 
 things they had noticed in M. d’Hspard, and passed through 
 
360 THE. COMMISSION IN LUNACY 
 
 the sieve of their judgment without discerning any reason- 
 able motive for them. 
 
 Having no belief in the success of the History of China, 
 they had managed to convince the landlord of the house that 
 M. d’Espard had no money just at a time when, with the for- 
 getfulness which often befalls busy men, he had allowed the 
 tax-collector to send him a summons for non-payment of 
 arrears. The landlord had forthwith claimed his quarter’s 
 rent from January 1st by sending in a receipt, which the 
 porter’s wife had amused herself by detaining. On the 15th 
 a summons to pay was served on M. d’Espard, the portress 
 had delivered it at her leisure, and he supposed it to be some 
 misunderstanding, not conceiving of any incivility from a 
 man in whose house he had been living for twelve years. The 
 Marquis was actually seized by a bailiff at the time when his 
 man-servant had gone to carry the money for the rent to the 
 landlord. 
 
 This arrest, assiduously reported to the persons with whom 
 he was in treaty for his undertaking, had alarmed some of 
 them who were already doubtful of M. d’Espard’s solvency 
 in consequence of the enormous sums which Baron Jeanre- 
 naud and his mother were said to be receiving from him. 
 And, indeed, these suspicions on the part of the tenants, the 
 creditors, and the landlord had some excuse in the Marquis’ 
 extreme economy in housekeeping. He conducted it as a 
 ruined man might. His servants always paid in ready money 
 for the most trifling necessaries of life, and acted as not choos- 
 ing to take credit; if now they had asked for anything on 
 credit, it would probably have been refused, calumnious gossip 
 had been so widely believed in the neighborhood. There are 
 tradesmen who like those of their customers who pay badly 
 when they see them often, while they hate others, and very 
 good ones, who hold themselves on too high a level to allow 
 of any familiarity as chums, a vulgar but expressive word. 
 Men are made so; in almost every class they will allow to a 
 gossip, or a vulgar soul that flatters them, facilities and favors 
 they refuse to the superiority they resent, in whatever form 
 
THE COMMISSION IN LUNACY 861 
 
 it may show itself. The shopkeeper who rails at the Court 
 has his courtiers. 
 
 In short, the manners of the Marquis and his children 
 were certain to arouse ill-feeling in their neighbors, and to 
 work them up by degrees to the pitch of malevolence when 
 men do not hesitate at an act of meanness if only it may dam- 
 age the adversary they have themselves created. 
 
 M. d’Espard was a gentleman, as his wife was a lady, by 
 birth and breeding; noble types, already so rare in France 
 that the observer can easily count the persons who per- 
 fectly realize them. ‘These two characters are based on prim- 
 itive ideas, on beliefs that may be called innate, on habits 
 formed in infancy, and which have ceased to exist. To be- 
 heve in pure blood, in a privileged race, to stand in thought 
 above other men, must we not from birth have measured the 
 distance which divides patricians from the mob? ‘To com- 
 mand, must we not have never met our equal? And finally, 
 must not education inculcate the ideas with which Nature 
 inspires those great men on whose brow she has placed a 
 crown before their mother has ever set a kiss there? These 
 ideas, this education, are no longer possible in France, where 
 for forty years past chance has arrogated the right of making 
 noblemen by dipping them in the blood of battles, by gilding 
 them with glory, by crowning them with the halo of genius; 
 where the abolition of entail and of eldest sonship, by fritter- 
 ing away estates, compels the nobleman to attend to his own 
 business instead of attending to affairs of state, and where 
 personal greatness can only be such greatness as is acquired 
 by long and patient toil: quite a new era. 
 
 Regarded as a relic of that great institution known as 
 feudalism, M. d’Espard deserved respectful admiration. If 
 he believed himself to be by blood the superior of other men, 
 he also believed in all the obligations of nobility; he had 
 the virtues and the strength it demands. He had brought up 
 his children in his own principles, and taught them from 
 the cradle the religion of their caste. A deep sense of their 
 own dignity, pride of name, the conviction that they were 
 
362 THE COMMISSION IN LUNACY 
 
 by birth great, gave rise in them to a kingly pride, the courage © 
 of knights, and the protecting kindness of a baronial lord; 
 their manners, harmonizing with their notions, would have 
 become princes, and offended all the world of the Rue de la 
 Montagne-Sainte-Geneviéve—a world, above all others, of 
 equality, where every one believed that M. d’Hspard was 
 ruined, and where all, from the lowest to the highest, refused 
 the privileges of nobility to a nobleman without money, be- 
 cause they all were ready to allow an enriched bourgeois to 
 usurp them. Thus the lack of communion between this 
 family and other persons was as much moral as it was 
 physical. 
 
 In the father and the children alike, their personality har- 
 monized with the spirit within. M. d’Espard, at this time 
 about fifty, might have sat as a model to represent the aris- 
 tocracy of birth in the nineteenth century. He was slight 
 and fair; there was in the outline and general expression 
 of his face a native distinction which spoke of lofty senti- 
 ments, but it bore the impress of a deliberate coldness which 
 commanded respect a little too decidedly. His aquiline nose 
 bent at the tip from left to right, a slight crookedness which 
 was not devoid of grace; his blue eyes, his high forehead, 
 prominent enough at the brows to form a thick ridge that 
 checked the light and shaded his eyes, all indicated a spirit 
 of rectitude, capable of perseverance and perfect loyalty, 
 while it gave a singular look to his countenance. This pent- 
 house forehead might, in fact, hint at a touch of madness, 
 and his thick-knitted eyebrows added to the apparent eccen- 
 tricity. He had the white well-kept hands of a gentleman; 
 his foot was high and narrow. His hesitating speech—not 
 merely as to his pronunciation, which was that of a stam- 
 merer, but also in the expression of his ideas, his thought, 
 and language—produced on the mind of the hearer the im- 
 pression of a man who, in familiar phraseology, comes and 
 goes, feels his way, tries everything, breaks off his gestures, 
 and finishes nothing. This defect was purely superficial, and 
 in contrast with the decisiveness of a firmly-set mouth, and. 
 
THE COMMISSION IN LUNACY 363 
 
 the strongly-marked character of his physiognomy. His 
 rather jerky gait matched his mode of speech. These pe- 
 culiarities helped to affirm his supposed insanity. In spite 
 of his elegant appearance, he was systematically parsimonious 
 in his personal expenses, and wore the same black frock-coat 
 for three or four years, brushed with extreme care by his old 
 man-servant. 
 
 As to the children, they both were handsome, and en- 
 dowed with a grace which did not exclude an expression of 
 aristocratic disdain. They had the bright coloring, the clear 
 eye, the transparent flesh which reveal habits of purity, regu- 
 larity of life, and a due proportion of work and play. They 
 both had black hair and blue eyes, and a twist in their nose, 
 like their father; but their mother, perhaps, had transmitted 
 to them the dignity of speech, of look and mien, which are 
 hereditary in the Blamont-Chauvrys. Their voices, as clear 
 as crystal, had an emotional quality, the softness which proves 
 so seductive; they had, in short, the voice a woman would 
 willingly listen to after feeling the flame of their looks. But, 
 above all, they had the modesty of pride, a chaste reserve, a 
 touch-me-not which at a maturer age might have seemed 
 intentional coyness, so much did their demeanor inspire a 
 wish to know them. The elder, Comte Clément de Négre- 
 pelisse, was close upon his sixteenth year. For the last two 
 years he had ceased to wear the pretty English round jacket 
 which his brother, Vicomte Camille d’Espard, still wore. 
 The Count, who for the last six months went no more to 
 the Collége Henri IV., was dressed in the style of a young 
 man enjoying the first pleasures of fashion. His father 
 had not wished to condemn him to a year’s useless study of 
 philosophy; he was trying to give his knowledge some con- 
 sistency by the study of transcendental mathematics. At 
 the same time, the Marquis was having him taught Eastern 
 languages, the international law of Europe, heraldry, and 
 history from the original sources—charters, early documents, 
 and collections of edicts. Camille had lately begun to study 
 rhetoric. 
 
564 THE COMMISSION IN LUNACY 
 
 The day when Popinot arranged to go to question M. — 
 d’Espard was a Thursday, a holiday. At about nine in 
 the morning, before their father was awake, the brothers 
 were playing in the garden. Clément was finding it hard to 
 refuse his brother, who was anxious to go to the shooting- 
 gallery for the first time, and who begged him to second his 
 request to the Marquis. The Viscount always rather took ad- 
 vantage of his weakness, and was very fond of wrestling with 
 his brother. So the couple were quarreling and fighting in 
 play lke schoolboys. As they ran in the garden, chasing each 
 other, they made so much noise as to wake their father, who 
 came to the window without their perceiving him in the heat 
 of the fray. The Marquis amused himself with watching 
 his two children twisted together like snakes, their faces 
 flushed by the exertion of their strength; their complexion 
 was rose and white, their eyes flashed sparks, their limbs 
 writhed like cords in the fire; they fell, sprang up again, and 
 caught each other like athletes in a circus, affording their 
 father one of those moments of happiness which would make 
 amends for the keenest anxieties of a busy life. Two other 
 persons, one on the second and one on the first floor, were 
 also looking into the garden, and saying that the old mad- 
 man was amusing himself by making his children fight. 
 Immediately a number of heads appeared at the windows; 
 the Marquis, noticing them, called a word to his sons, who at 
 once climbed up to the window and jumped into his room, 
 and Clément obtained the permission asked by Camille. 
 
 All through the house every one was talking of the Mar- 
 quis’ new form of insanity. When Popinot arrived at about 
 twelve o’clock, accompanied by his clerk, the portress, when 
 asked for M. d’Espard, conducted him to the third floor, 
 telling his “as how M. d’Espard, no longer ago than that 
 very morning, had set on his two children to fight, and 
 laughed like the monster he was on seeing the younger biting 
 the elder till he bled, and as how no doubt he longed to see 
 them kill each other—Don’t ask me the reason why,” she 
 added; “he doesn’t know himself!” 
 
THE COMMISSION IN LUNACY 365 
 
 Just as the woman spoke these decisive words, she had 
 brought the judge to, the landing on the third floor, face to 
 face with a door covered with notices announcing the suc- 
 cessive numbers of the Picturesque History of China. The 
 muddy floor, the dirty banisters, the door where the printers 
 had left their marks, the dilapidated window, and the ceiling 
 on which the apprentices had amused themselves with draw- 
 ing monstrosities with the smoky flare of their tallow dips, 
 the piles of paper and litter heaped up in the corners, in- 
 tentionally or from sheer neglect—in short, every detail of 
 the picture lying before his eyes, agreed so well with the 
 facts alleged by the Marquise that the judge, in spite of his 
 impartiality, could not help believing them. 
 
 “There you are, gentlemen,” said the porter’s wife; “there 
 is the manifactor, where the Chinese swallow up enough to 
 feed the whole neighborhood.” 
 
 The clerk looked at the judge with a smile, and Popinot 
 found it hard to keep his countenance. They went together 
 into the outer room, where sat an old man, who, no doubt, 
 performed the functions of office clerk, shopman, and 
 cashier. This old man was the Maitre Jacques of China. 
 Along the walls ran long shelves, on which the published 
 numbers lay in piles. A partition in wood, with a grating 
 lined with green curtains, cut off the end of the room, form- 
 ing a private office. A till with a sht to admit or disgorge 
 crown pieces indicated the cash-desk. 
 
 “M. d’Espard?” said Popinot, addressing the man, who 
 wore a gray blouse. 
 
 The shopman opened the door into the next room, where 
 the lawyer and his companion saw a venerable old man, 
 white-headed and simply dressed, wearing the Cross of Saint- 
 Louis, seated at a desk. He ceased comparing some sheets 
 of colored prints to look up at the two visitors. This room 
 was an unpretentious office, full of books and proof-sheets. 
 There was a black wood table at which some one, at the mo- 
 ment absent, no doubt was accustomed to work. 
 
 “The Marquis d’Espard?” said Popinot. 
 
366 THE COMMISSION IN LUNACY 
 
 “No, monsieur,” said the old man, rising; “what do you . 
 want with him?” he added, coming forward, and showing 
 by his demeanor the dignified manners and habits due to a 
 gentlemanly education. 
 
 “We wish to speak to him on business exclusively personal 
 to himself,” replied Popinot. 
 
 “T)’Espard, here are some gentlemen who want to see you,” 
 then said the old man, going into the furthest room, where 
 the Marquis was sitting by the fire reading the newspaper. 
 
 This innermost room had a shabby carpet, the windows 
 were hung with gray holland curtains; the furniture consisted 
 of a few mahogany chairs, two armchairs, a desk with a re- 
 volving front, an ordinary office table, and on the chimney- 
 shelf, a dingy clock and ‘two old candlesticks. The old man 
 led the way for Popinot and his registrar, and pulled forward 
 two chairs, as though he were master of the place; M. 
 d’Espard left it to him. After the preliminary civilities, 
 during which the judge watched the supposed lunatic, the 
 Marquis naturally asked what was the object of this visit. 
 On this Popinot glanced significantly at the old gentleman 
 and the Marquis. 
 
 “T believe, Monsieur le Marquis,” said he, “that the char- 
 acter of my functions, and the inquiry that has brought me 
 here, make it desirable that we should be alone, though it is 
 understood by law that in such cases the inquiries have a 
 sort of family publicity. I am judge on the Inferior Court 
 of Appeal for the Department of the Seine, and charged 
 by the President with the duty of examining you as to certain 
 facts set forth in a petition for a Commission in Lunacy on 
 the part of the Marquise d’Espard.” 
 
 The old man withdrew. When the lawyer and the Mar- 
 quis were alone, the clerk shut the door, and seated himself 
 unceremoniously at the office table, where he laid out his 
 papers and prepared to take down his notes. Popinot had 
 still kept his eye on M. d’Espard; he was watching the ef- 
 fect on him of this crude statement, so painful for a man 
 in full possession of his reason. ‘The Marquis d’Espard, 
 
THE COMMISSION IN LUNACY 367 
 
 whose face was usually pale, as are those of fair men, sud- 
 denly turned scarlet with anger; he trembled for an instant, 
 sat, down, laid his paper on the chimney-piece, and looked 
 down. In a moment he had recovered his gentlemanly dig- 
 nity, and looked steadily at the judge, as if to read in his 
 countenance the indications of his character. 
 
 ““How is it, monsieur,” he asked, “that I have had no notice 
 of such a petition?” 
 
 “Monsieur le Marquis, persons on whom such @ commis- 
 sion is held, not being supposed to have the use of their rea- 
 son, any notice of the petition is unnecessary. The duty of 
 the Court chiefly consists in verifying the allegations of the 
 petitioner.” 
 
 “Nothing can be fairer,’ replied the Marquis. “Well, 
 then, monsieur, be so good as to tell me what I ought to 
 4 gee Nd ’ 
 
 “You have only to answer my questions, omitting nothing. 
 However delicate the reasons may be which may have led 
 you to act in such a manner as to give Madame d’Hspard 
 a pretext for her petition, speak without fear. It is un- 
 necessary to assure you that lawyers know their duties, and 
 that in such cases the profoundest secrecy if 
 
 “Monsieur,” said the Marquis, whose face expressed the 
 sincerest pain, “if my explanations should lead to any blame 
 being attached to Madame d’Hspard’s conduct, what will be 
 the result ?” 
 
 “The Court may add its censure to its reasons for its deci- 
 sion.” 
 
 “Is such censure optional? If I were to stipulate with 
 you, before replying, that nothing should be said that could 
 annoy Madame d’Espard in the event of your report being 
 in my favor, would the Court take my request into considera- 
 tion ?” 
 
 The judge looked at the Marquis, and the two men ex- 
 changed sentiments of equal magnanimity. 
 
 “Noel,” said Popinot to his registrar, “go into the other 
 room. If you can be of use, I will call you in.—If, as I am 
 
 
 
368 THH COMMISSION IN LUNACY 
 
 inclined to think,” he went on, speaking to the Marquis when 
 
 the clerk had gone out, “I find that there is some misunder- 
 standing in this case, I can promise you, monsieur, that on 
 your application the Court will act with due courtesy.” 
 “There is a leading fact put forward by Madame d’Espard, 
 the most serious of all, of which I must beg for an explana- 
 
 tion,” said the judge after a pause. “It refers to the dissipa- 
 
 tion of your fortune to the advantage of a certain Madame 
 Jeanrenaud, the widow of a bargemaster—or rather, to that 
 of her son, Colonel Jeanrenaud, for whom you are said to 
 have procured an appointment, to have exhausted your in- 
 fluence with the King, and at last to have extended such 
 protection as secures him a good marriage. The petition sug- 
 gests that such a friendship is more devoted than any feel- 
 ings, even those which morality must disapprove a 
 
 A sudden flush crimsoned the Marquis’ face and forehead, 
 tears even started to his eyes, for his eyelashes were wet, then 
 wholesome pride crushed the emotions, which in a man are ac- 
 counted a weakness. 
 
 “To tell you the truth, monsieur,” said the Marquis, in a 
 broken voice, “you place me in a strange dilemma. The mo- 
 tives of my conduct were to have died with me. To reveal 
 them I must disclose to you some secret wounds, must place 
 the honor of my family in your keeping, and must speak of 
 myself, a delicate matter, as you will fully understand. I 
 hope, monsieur, that it will all remain a secret between us. 
 You will, no doubt, be able to find in the formulas of the 
 law one which will allow of judgment being pronounced with- 
 out any betrayal of my confidences.” 
 
 “So far as that goes, it is perfectly possible, Monsieur le 
 Marquis.” 
 
 “Some time after my marriage,” said M. d’Espard, “my 
 wife having run into considerable expenses, I was obliged to 
 have recourse to borrowing. You know what was the position 
 of noble families during the Revolution; I had not been able 
 to keep a steward or a man of business. Nowadays gentle- 
 men are for the most part obliged to manage their affairs 
 
 
 
 a 
 
THH COMMISSION IN LUNACY 369 
 
 themselves. Most of my title-deeds had been brought to 
 Paris, from Languedoe, Provence, or le Comtat, by my father, 
 who dreaded, and not without reason, the inquisition which 
 family title-deeds, and what was then styled the ‘parch- 
 ments’ of the privileged class, brought down on the owners. 
 
 “Our name is Négrepelisse; d’Espard is a title acquired in 
 the time of Henri IV. by a marriage which brought us the 
 estates and titles of the house of d’Espard, on condition of 
 our bearing an escutcheon of pretence on our coat-of-arms, 
 those of the house of d’Espard, an old family of Béarn, con- 
 nected in the female line with that of Albret: quarterly, paly 
 of or and sable; and azure two griffins’ claws armed, gules 
 in saltire, with the famous motto Des partem leons. At the 
 time of this alliance we lost Négrepelisse, a little town which 
 was as famous during the religious struggles as was my 
 ancestor who then bore the name. Captain de Négrepelisse 
 was ruined by the burning of all his property, for the 
 Protestants did not spare a friend of Montluc’s. 
 
 “The Crown was unjust to M. de Négrepelisse; he received 
 neither a marshal’s baton, nor a post as governor, nor any 
 indemnity; King Charles IX., who was fond of him, died 
 without being able to reward him; Henri IV. arranged his 
 marriage with Mademoiselle d’Espard, and secured him the 
 estates of that house, but all those of the Négrepelisses had 
 already passed into the hands of his creditors. 
 
 “My great-grandfather, the Marquis d’Espard, was, like 
 me, placed early in life at the head of his family by the death 
 of his father, who, after dissipating his wife’s fortune, left his 
 son nothing but the entailed estates of the d’Espards, bur- 
 dened with a jointure. The young Marquis was all the more 
 straitened for money because he held a post at Court. Being 
 in great favor with Louis XIV., the King’s goodwill brought 
 him a fortune. But here, monsieur, a blot stained our 
 escutcheon, an unconfessed and horrible stain of blood and 
 disgrace which I am making it my business to wipe out. I 
 discovered the secret among the deeds relating to the estate 
 of Négrepelisse and the packets of letters.” 
 
370 THE COMMISSION IN LUNACY 
 
 At this solemn moment the Marquis spoke without hesita- 
 tion or any of the repetition habitual with him; but it is a 
 matter of common observation that persons who, in ordinary 
 life, are afflicted with these two defects, are freed from them 
 as soon as any passionate emotion underlies their speech. 
 
 “The Revocation of the Edict of Nantes was decreed,” he 
 went on. “You are no doubt aware, monsieur, that this was 
 an opportunity for many favorites to make their fortunes. 
 Louis XIV. bestowed on the magnates about his Court the 
 confiscated lands of those Protestant families who did not 
 take the prescribed steps for the sale of their property. Some 
 persons in high favor went ‘Protestant-hunting,’ as the phrase 
 was. I have ascertained beyond a doubt that the fortune en- 
 joyed to this day by two ducal families is derived from lands 
 seized from hapless merchants. 
 
 “T will not attempt to explain to you, a man of law, all 
 the manceuvres employed to entrap the refugees who had 
 large fortunes to carry away. It is enough to say that the 
 lands of Négrepelisse, comprising twenty-two churches and 
 rights over the town, and those of Gravenges which had for- 
 merly belonged to us, were at that time in the hands of a 
 Protestant family. My grandfather recovered them by gift 
 from Louis XIV. This gift was effected by documents hall- 
 marked by atrocious iniquity. ‘The owner of these two 
 estates, thinking he would be able to return, had gone through 
 the form of a sale, and was going to Switzerland to join his 
 family, whom he had sent in advance. He wished, no doubt, 
 to take advantage of every delay granted by the law, so as to 
 settle the concerns of his business. 
 
 “This man was arrested by order of the governor, the 
 trustee confessed the truth, the poor merchant was hanged, 
 and my ancestor had the two estates. I would gladly have 
 been able to ignore the share he took in the plot; but the 
 governor was his uncle on the mother’s side, and I have un- 
 fortunately read the letter in which he begged him to apply 
 to Deodatus, the name agreed upon by the Court to designate 
 the King. In this letter there is a tone of jocosity with refer- 
 
THE COMMISSION IN LUNACY 371 
 
 ence to the victim, which filled me with horror. In the end, 
 the sums of money sent by the refugee family to ransom the 
 poor man’s life were kept by the governor, who despatched 
 the merchant all the same.” 
 
 The Marquis paused, as though the memory of it were 
 still too heavy for him to bear. 
 
 “This unfortunate family were named Jeanrenaud,” he 
 went on. “That name is enough to account for my conduct. 
 I could never think without keen pain of the secret disgrace 
 that weighed on my family. That fortune enabled my grand- 
 father to marry a demoiselle de Navarreins-Lansac, heiress 
 to the younger branch of that house, who were at that time 
 much richer than the elder branch of the Navarreins. My 
 father thus became one of the largest landowners in the 
 kingdom. He was able to marry my mother, a Grandlieu of 
 the younger branch. Though ill-gotten, this property has 
 been singularly profitable. 
 
 “For my part, being determined to remedy the mischief, 
 I wrote to Switzerland, and knew no peace till I was on the 
 traces of the Protestant victim’s heirs. At last I discovered 
 that the Jeanrenauds, reduced to abject want, had left Fri- 
 bourg and returned to live in France. Finally, I found in 
 M. Jeanrenaud, lieutenant in a cavalry regiment under Na- 
 poleon, the sole heir of this unhappy family. In my eyes, 
 monsieur, the rights of the Jeanrenauds were clear. ‘T'o es- 
 tablish a prescriptive right is it not necessary that there 
 should have been some possibility of proceeding against those 
 who are in the enjoyment of it? To whom could these 
 refugees have appealed? Their Court of Justice was on high, 
 or rather, monsieur, it was here,’ and the Marquis struck 
 his hand on his heart. “I did not choose that my children 
 should be able to think of me as I have thought of my father 
 and of my ancestors. I aim at leaving them an unblemished 
 inheritance and escutcheon. I did not choose that nobility 
 should be a lie in my person. And, after all, politically speak- 
 ing, ought those émigrés who are now appealing against revo- 
 lutionary confiscations, to keep the property derived from an- 
 tecedent confiscations by positive crimes? 
 
372 THE COMMISSION IN LUNACY 
 
 “T found in M. Jeanrenaud and his mother the most per- 
 verse honesty; to hear them you would suppose that they 
 were robbing me. In spite of all I could say, they will ac- 
 cept no more than the value of the lands at the time when 
 the King bestowed them on my family. The price was 
 settled between us at the sum of eleven hundred thousand 
 frances, which I was to pay at my convenience and without 
 interest. ‘To achieve this I had to forego my income for a 
 long time. And then, monsieur, began the destruction of 
 some illusions I had allowed myself as to Madame d’Espard’s 
 character. When I proposed to her that we should leave 
 Paris and go into the country, where we could live respected 
 on half of her income, and so more rapidly complete a resti- 
 tution of which I spoke to her without going into the more 
 serious details, Madame d’Espard treated me as a madman. 
 I then understood my wife’s real character. She would have 
 approved of my grandfather’s conduct without a scruple, and 
 have laughed at the Huguenots. Terrified by her coldness, and 
 her little affection for her children, whom she abandoned to 
 me without a regret, I determined to leave her the command 
 of her fortune, after paying our common debts. It was no 
 business of hers, as she told me, to pay for my follies. As 
 I then had not enough to live on and pay for my sons’ educa- 
 tion, I determined to educate them myself, to make them 
 gentlemen and men of feeling. By investing my money in 
 the funds I have been enabled to pay off my obligation sooner 
 than I had dared to hope, for I took advantage of the op- 
 portunities afforded by the improvement in prices. If I 
 had kept four thousand francs a year for my boys and my- 
 self, I could only have paid off twenty thousand crowns 
 a year, and it would have taken almost eighteen years to 
 achieve my freedom. As it is, I have lately repaid the whole 
 of the eleven hundred thousand francs that were due. Thus 
 I enjoy the happiness of having made this restitution without 
 doing my children the smallest wrong. 
 
 “These, monsieur, are the reasons for the payments made 
 to Madame Jeanrenaud and her son.” 
 
THE COMMISSION IN LUNACY 373 
 
 “So Madame d’Espard knew the motives of your retire- 
 ment?” said the judge, controlling the emotion he felt at 
 this narrative. 
 
 “Yes, monsieur.” 
 
 _Popinot gave an expressive shrug; he rose and opened the 
 door into the next room. 
 
 “Noél, you can go,” said he to his clerk. 
 
 “Monsieur,” he went on, “though what you have told me 
 is enough to enlighten me thoroughly, I should like to hear 
 what you have to say to the other facts put forward in the 
 petition. For instance, you are here carrying on a business 
 such as is not habitually undertaken by a man of rank.” 
 
 “We cannot discuss that matter here,” said the Marquis, 
 signing to the judge to quit the room. “Nouvion,” said he 
 to the old man, “I am going down to my rooms; the chil- 
 dren will soon be in; dine with us.” | 
 
 “Then, Monsieur le Marquis,” said Popinot on the stairs, 
 “that is not your apartment ?” 
 
 “No, monsieur; I took those rooms for the office of this 
 undertaking. You see,’ and he pointed to an advertisement 
 sheet, “the History is being brought out by one of the most 
 respectable firms in Paris, and not by me.” 
 
 The Marquis showed the lawyer into the ground-floor 
 rooms, saying, “This is my apartment.” 
 
 Popinot was quite touched by the poetry, not aimed at but 
 pervading this dwelling. The weather was lovely, the win- 
 dows were open, the air from the garden brought in a whole- 
 some earthy smell, the sunshine brightened and gilded the 
 woodwork, of a rather gloomy brown. At the sight Popinot 
 made up his mind that a madman would hardly be capable 
 of inventing the tender harmony of which he was at. that 
 moment conscious. | 
 
 “T should like just such an apartment,” thought he. “You 
 think of leaving this part of the town ?” he inquired. 
 
 “I hope so,” replied the Marquis. “But I shall remain till 
 my younger son has finished his studies, and till the children’s 
 character is thoroughly formed, before introducing them to 
 
374 THE COMMISSION IN LUNACY 
 
 the world and to their mother’s circle. Indeed, after giving 
 them the solid information they possess, 1 intend to com- 
 plete it by taking them to travel to the capitals of Europe, 
 that they may see men and things, and become accustomed to 
 speak the languages they have learned. And, monsieur,” he 
 went on, giving the judge a chair in the drawing-room, “I 
 could not discuss the book on China with you, in the pres- 
 ence of an old friend of my family, the Comte de Nouvion, 
 who, having emigrated, has returned to France without any 
 fortune whatever, and who is my partner in this concern, 
 less for my profit than his. Without telling him what my 
 motives were, I explained to him that I was as poor as he, 
 but that [ had enough money to start a speculation in which 
 he might be usefully employed. My tutor was the Abbé 
 Grozier, whom Charles X. on my recommendation appointed 
 Keeper of the Books at the Arsenal, which were returned 
 to that Prince when he was still Monsieur. The Abbé Grozier 
 was deeply learned with regard to China, its manners and 
 customs; he made me heir to this knowledge at an age when 
 it is difficult not to become a fanatic for the things we learn. 
 At five-and-twenty I knew Chinese, and I confess I have 
 never been able to check myself in an exclusive admiration 
 for that nation, who conquered their conquerors, whose an- 
 nals extend back indisputably to a period more remote than 
 mythological or Bible times, who by their immutable institu- 
 tions have preserved the integrity of their empire, whose 
 monuments are gigantic, whose administration is perfect, 
 among whom revolutions are impossible, who have regarded 
 ideal beauty as a barren element in art, who have carried 
 luxury and industry to such a pitch that we cannot outdo 
 them in anything, while they are our equals in things where 
 we believe ourselves superior. 
 
 “Still, monsieur, though I often make a jest of comparing 
 China with the present condition of European states, I am 
 not a Chinaman, I am a French gentleman. If you enter- 
 tain any doubts as to the financial side of this undertaking, 
 I can prove to you that at this moment we have two thousand 
 
THE COMMISSION IN LUNACY 3875 
 
 five hundred subscribers to this work, which is literary, icono- 
 graphical, statistical, and religious; its importance has been 
 generally appreciated; our subscribers belong to every na- 
 tion in Europe, we have but twelve hundred in France. Our 
 book will cost about three hundred francs, and the Comte de 
 Nouvion will derive from it from six to seven thousand 
 francs a year, for his comfort was the real motive of the un- 
 dertaking. For my part, I aimed only at the possibility of 
 affording my children some pleasures. The hundred thou- 
 sand francs I have made, quite in spite of myself, will pay 
 for their fencing lessons, horses, dress, and theatres, pay the 
 masters who teach them accomplishments, procure them can- 
 vases to spoil, the books they may wish to buy, in short, all the 
 little fancies which a father finds so much pleasure ir gratify- 
 ing. If I had been compelled to refuse these indulgences to 
 my poor boys, who are so good and work so hard, the sacri- 
 fice I made to the honor of my name would have been doubly 
 painful. 
 
 “In point of fact, the twelve years I have spent in retire- 
 ment from the world to educate my children have led to my 
 being completely forgotten at Court. I have given up the 
 eareer of politics; I have lost my historical fortune, and all 
 the distinctions which I might have acquired and bequeathed 
 to my children; but our house will have lost nothing; my 
 boys will be men of mark. Though I have missed the 
 senatorship, they will win it nobly by devoting themselves 
 to the affairs of the country, and doing such service as is 
 not soon forgotten. While purifying the past record of my 
 family, I have insured it a glorious future; and is not that 
 to have achieved a noble task, though in secret and without 
 glory?’—And now, monsieur, have you any other explana- 
 tions to ask me?” : 
 
 At this instant the tramp of horses was heard in the court- 
 yard. 
 
 “Here they are!” said the Marquis. In a moment the two 
 lads, fashionably but plainly dressed, came into the room, 
 booted, spurred, and gloved, and flourishing their riding- 
 
3at6 THE COMMISSION IN LUNACY 
 
 whips. Their beaming faces brought in the freshness of the 
 outer air; they were brilliant with health. They both grasped 
 their father’s hand, giving him a look, as friends do, a glance 
 of unspoken affection, and then they bowed coldly to the law- 
 yer. Popinot felt that it was quite unnecessary to question 
 the Marquis as to his relations towards his sons. 
 
 “Have you enjoyed yourselves?” asked the Marquis. 
 
 “Yes, father; I knocked down six dolls in twelve shots at 
 the first trial!’ cried Camille. 
 
 ‘And where did you ride?” 
 
 “Tn the Bois; we saw my mother.” 
 
 “Did she stop?” 
 
 “We were riding so fast just then that I daresay she did » 
 not see us,” replied the young Count. 
 
 “But, then, why did you not go to speak to her?” 
 
 “T fancy I have noticed, father, that she does not care that 
 we should speak to her in public,” said Clément in an under- 
 tone. “We are a little too big.” 
 
 The judge’s hearing was keen enough to catch these words, 
 which brought a cloud to the Marquis’ brow. Popinot took 
 pleasure in contemplating the picture of the father and his: 
 boys. His eyes went back with a sense of pathos to M. 
 d’Espard’s face; his features, his expression, and his manner 
 all expressed honesty in its noblest aspect, intellectual and 
 chivalrous honesty, nobility in all its beauty. 
 
 “You—you see, monsieur,” said the Marquis, and his hesi- 
 tation had returned, “you see that Justice may look in—in 
 here at any time—yes, at any time—here. If there is any- 
 body crazy, it can only be the children—the children—who 
 are a little crazy about their father, and the father who is 
 very crazy about his children—but that sort of madness rings 
 true.” 
 
 At this juncture Madame Jeanrenaud’s voice was heard in 
 the ante-room, and the good woman came bustling in, in spite 
 of the man-servant’s remonstrances. 
 
 “T take no roundabout ways, I can tell you!”’ she exclaimed. 
 “Yes, Monsieur le Marquis, I want to speak to you, this 
 
THE COMMISSION IN LUNACY 377 
 
 very minute,” she went on, with a comprehensive bow to the 
 company. “By George, and I am too late as it is, since Mon- 
 sieur the criminal Judge is before me.” 
 
 “Criminal!” cried the two boys. 
 
 “Good reason why I did not find you at your own house, 
 since you are here. Well, well! the Law is always to the fore 
 when there is mischief brewing.—I came, Monsieur le Mar- 
 quis, to tell you that my son and I are of one mind to give 
 you everything back, since our honor is threatened. My son 
 and I, we had rather give you back everything than cause 
 you the smallest trouble. My word, they must be as stupid as 
 pans without handles to call you a lunatic i 
 
 “A lunatic! My father?” exclaimed the boys, clinging to 
 the Marquis. “What is this?” 
 
 “Silence, madame,” said Popinot. 
 
 “Children, leave us,” said the Marquis. 
 
 The two boys went into the garden without a word, but 
 very much alarmed. 
 
 “Madame,” said the judge, “the moneys paid to you by 
 Monsieur le Marquis were legally due, though given to you 
 in virtue of a very far-reaching theory of honesty. If all the 
 people possessed of confiscated goods, by whatever cause, even 
 if acquired by treachery, were compelled to make restitution 
 every hundred and fifty years, there would be few legitimate 
 owners in France. The possessions of Jacques Coeur enriched 
 twenty noble families; the confiscations pronounced by the 
 English to the advantage of their adherents at the time when 
 they held a part of France made the fortune of several 
 princely houses. 
 
 “Our law allows M. d’Espard to dispose of his income with- 
 out accounting for it, or suffering him to be accused of its 
 misapplication. A Commission in Lunacy can only be granted 
 when a man’s actions are devoid of reason; but in this case, 
 the remittances made to you have a reason based on the most 
 sacred and most honorable motives. Hence you may keep 
 it all without remorse, and leave the world to misinterpret 
 a noble action. In Paris, the highest virtue is the object of 
 
 
 
378 THE COMMISSION IN LUNACY 
 
 the foulest calumny. It is, unfortunately, the present con-— 
 dition of society that makes the Marquis’ actions sublime. 
 For the honor of my country, I would that such deeds were 
 regarded as a matter of course; but, as things are, I am 
 forced by comparison to look upon M. d’Hspard as a man to 
 whom a crown should be awarded, rather than that he should 
 be threatened with a Commission in Lunacy. 
 
 “In the course of a long professional career, I have seen 
 and heard nothing which has touched me more deeply than 
 that I have just seen and heard. But it is not extraordinary 
 that virtue should wear its noblest aspect when it is prac- 
 tised by men of the highest class. 
 
 “Having heard me express myself in this way, I hope, Mon- 
 sieur le Marquis, that you feel certain of my silence, and that 
 you will not for a moment be uneasy as to the decision pro- 
 nounced in the case—if it comes before the Court.” 
 
 “There, now! Well said,” cried Madame Jeanrenaud. 
 “That is something like a judge! Look here, my dear sir, 
 I would hug you if I were not so ugly; you speak like a 
 book.” 
 
 The Marquis held out his hand to Popinot, who gently 
 pressed it with a look full of sympathetic comprehension at 
 this great man in private life, and the Marquis responded 
 with a pleasant smile. These two natures, both so large and 
 full—one commonplace but divinely kind, the other lofty and — 
 sublime—had fallen into unison gently, without a jar, with- 
 out a flash of passion, as though two pure lights had been 
 merged into one. The father of a whole district felt himself 
 worthy to grasp the hand of this man who was doubly noble, 
 and the Marquis felt in the depths of his soul an instinct 
 that told him that the judge’s hand was one of those from 
 which the treasures of inexhaustible beneficence perennially 
 flow. 
 
 “Monsieur le Marquis,” added Popinot, with a bow, “I am 
 happy to be able to tell you that, from the first words of this 
 inquiry, I regarded my clerk as quite unnecessary.” 
 
 He went close to M. d’Hspard, led him into the window-bay, 
 
 \ 
 
THE COMMISSION IN LUNACY 379 
 
 and said: “It is time that you should return home, monsieur. 
 I believe that Madame la Marquise has acted in this matter 
 under an influence which you ought at once to counteract.” 
 
 Popinot withdrew. He looked back several times as he 
 crossed the courtyard, touched by the recollection of the 
 scene. It was one of those which take root in the memory 
 to blossom again in certain hours when the soul seeks consola- 
 tion. 
 
 “Those rooms would just suit me,” said he to himself as he 
 reached home. “If M. d’Espard leaves them, I will take up 
 his lease.” 
 
 The next day, at about ten in the morning, Popinot, who 
 had written out his report the previous evening, made his way 
 to the Palais de Justice, intending to have prompt and 
 righteous justice done. As he went into the robing-room to 
 put on his gown and bands, the usher told him that the 
 President of his Court begged him to attend in his private 
 room, where he was waiting for him. Popinot forthwith 
 obeyed. 
 
 “Good-morning, my dear Popinot,” said the President, “I 
 have been waiting for you.” 
 
 “Why, Monsieur le Président, is anything wrong?” 
 
 “A mere silly trifle,’ said the President. “The Keeper of 
 the Seals, with whom I had the honor of dining yesterday, 
 led me apart into a corner. He had heard that you had been 
 to tea with Madame d’Espard, in whose case you were em- 
 ployed to make inquiries. He gave me to understand that it 
 would be as well that you should not sit on this case “i 
 
 “But, Monsieur le Président, I can prove that I left 
 Madame d’Espard’s house at the moment when tea was 
 brought in. And my conscience i 
 
 “Yes, yes; the whole Bench, the two Courts, all the pro- 
 fession know you. I need not repeat what I said about you 
 to his Eminence; but, you know, ‘Cxesar’s wife must not be 
 suspected.” So we shall not make this foolish trifle a matter 
 of discipline, but only of the proprieties. Between ourselves, 
 it is not on your account, but on that of the Bench.” 
 
 
 
 
 
380 THE COMMISSION IN LUNACY 
 
 “But, monsieur, if you only knew the kind of woman ig 
 said the judge, trying to pull his report out of his pocket. 
 
 “TI am perfectly certain that you have proceeded in this 
 matter with the strictest independence of judgment. I my- 
 self, in the provinces, have often taken more than a cup of 
 tea with the people I had to try; but the fact that the Keeper 
 of the Seals should have mentioned it, and that you might be 
 talked about, is enough to make the Court avoid any discus- 
 sion of the matter. Any conflict with public opinion must 
 always be dangerous for a constitutional body, even when the 
 right is on its side against the public, because their weapons 
 are not equal. Journalism may.say or suppose anything, and 
 our dignity forbids us even to reply. In fact, I have spoken 
 of the matter to your President, and M. Camusot has been 
 appointed in your place on your retirement, which you will — 
 signify. It is a family matter, so to speak. And I now beg 
 you to signify your retirement from the case as a personal 
 favor. To make up, you will get the Cross of the Legion of 
 Honor, which has so long been due to you. I make that my 
 business.” 
 
 When he saw M. Camusot, a judge recently called to Paris 
 from a provincial Court of the same class, as he went for- 
 ward bowing to the Judge and the President, Popinot could 
 not repress an ironical smile. This pale, fair young man, 
 full of covert ambition, looked ready to hang and unhang, 
 atthe pleasure of any earthly king, the innocent and the 
 guilty alike, and to follow the example of a Laubardemont 
 rather than that of a Molé. 
 
 Popinot withdrew with a bow; he scorned to deny the lying 
 accusation that had been brought against him. 
 
 
 
 PARIs, February 1836. 
 
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